ice cream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bluedreaming) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writetomyheart2015-09-28 11:59 am
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-09-28 11:59 am
Entry tags:
[team sonic] our venn diagrams are one circle
First word from Disconnect.
Title is from Portugal by Walk the Moon.
Wounds of the heart, just like anything else in life that's not death and taxes, can be, if not cured, at least remedied by good coffee. Yixuan closes the folder, paper sighing, and stands up from his seat behind a desk covered with too many papers and too little anything else.
"I need to step out," he says, to no one in particular, to no one there. Dust spirals lazily through the air in the beam of light jutting out from the window as he takes one last glance at the room before shutting the door with a soft click.
"I'll be back," he nods to the secretary, who smiles at him, telephone receiver tucked under one ear as she scrawls notes on a paper.
The air outside is crisp, autumn in all its glory of red and gold and orange leaves, the smell of winter waiting in the wings but for now summer has signed an extra lease and the sun is glorious. Yixuan finds himself rolling up his sleeves, slinging his blazer over one shoulder as he just lets himself breathe.
Something catches his eye, a flicker of orange and black—it's a butterfly he realizes, kilometres off course and fluttering about on the wind, and suddently Yixuan finds himself following the tiny shard of spring around the corner and down a sidewalk he wouldn't normally walk along during his normal coffee run, he's not really paying attention to where he's going and by the time the butterfly flutters up over a roof and is gone from view, Yixuan finds himself standing in front of a coffee shop he's never seen before. Portugal, the sign over the door says, white metal over red brick, and he's pushing the door open before his thoughts have caught up with his fingers.
There's no bell that rings overhead, like most independent coffee shops, just a warm kind of silence, expectant, faint music playing in the distance like the room itself is saying Hi! We've been waiting for you. Yixuan wanders up the the counter, scanning for a menu, but there's nothing on the wall, only a full scale reproduction of Un bar aux Folies Bergère. He's almost expecting to see a reflection of himself in the woman's eyes, but of course not, she doesn't exit.
He finds his thoughts slipping to another woman. . .shakes his head to clear his thoughts, closing his eyes for a moment to breathe in the lingering fragrance of coffee.
When he opens his eyes, there's a man standing behind the counter, slightly curly brown hair that's espresso rich in the golden light pooling in through a skylight, a crooked smile on his face.
"Can I get you some coffee?" the man asks. The name tag on his shirt says Sungjoo.
"You don't have a menu," Yixuan points out, "though I do like your bar at the Folies-Bergère." It's not his imagination, he thinks, when Sungjoo's eyes sharpen, and he rests his elbows on the counter, peering at Yixuan curiously.
"I haven't seen you before," Sungjoo says. "What brought you here?"
"I was following a butterfly," Yixuan replies without thinking, then flushes slightly in embarassment because he sounds slightly unhinged. But Sungjoo's smile widens, if that's even possible.
"I like you," he says. "Pick anything you like and I'll make it."
"Even an iced orange cream Dutch coffee?" Yixuan asks, just for the heck of it, because even though he usually likes his coffee black he still can't get that particular drink out of his head, that he'd had on that little trip to Luxembourg back when. . .
"Even that," Sungjoo says. "You have good taste." He winks, rummaging behind the counter and gesturing for Yixuan to take a seat. Yixuan does, and the leather armchair is surprisingly comfortable, as he glances around the coffee shop, listenging to Sungjoo humming a harmony to the piano music in the background.
"Here you go!" Sungjoo finally says brightly, and Yixuan realizes he's been drifting off, drooped over the table, nose almost touching the table; he startles, jumping up and crashing his knee into the bottom of the table—
"Ouch," he grimaces, rubbing his knee as he limps over to the counter, pulling out his wallet as Sungjoo laughs at him, pushing the money away.
"It's on the house," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan frows, holding out the money.
"It's on the house," Sungjoo says, and he's still smiling but his tone brooks no argument. Yixuan takes the coffee and isn't even surprised when Sungjoo follows him to the table, plopping down on the seat across from him with his own drink.
"You look like you have something on your mind," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan nods but doesn't say anything, taking a sip of his drink. It's absolutely perfect.
"You can tell me all about it next time," Sungjoo says, taking a sip of his own coffee, it looks like a standard Americano, after which he sighs in satisfaction.
Yixuan finds, sipping his drink, that he's looking forward to this next time. He really is.
Title is from Portugal by Walk the Moon.
Wounds of the heart, just like anything else in life that's not death and taxes, can be, if not cured, at least remedied by good coffee. Yixuan closes the folder, paper sighing, and stands up from his seat behind a desk covered with too many papers and too little anything else.
"I need to step out," he says, to no one in particular, to no one there. Dust spirals lazily through the air in the beam of light jutting out from the window as he takes one last glance at the room before shutting the door with a soft click.
"I'll be back," he nods to the secretary, who smiles at him, telephone receiver tucked under one ear as she scrawls notes on a paper.
The air outside is crisp, autumn in all its glory of red and gold and orange leaves, the smell of winter waiting in the wings but for now summer has signed an extra lease and the sun is glorious. Yixuan finds himself rolling up his sleeves, slinging his blazer over one shoulder as he just lets himself breathe.
Something catches his eye, a flicker of orange and black—it's a butterfly he realizes, kilometres off course and fluttering about on the wind, and suddently Yixuan finds himself following the tiny shard of spring around the corner and down a sidewalk he wouldn't normally walk along during his normal coffee run, he's not really paying attention to where he's going and by the time the butterfly flutters up over a roof and is gone from view, Yixuan finds himself standing in front of a coffee shop he's never seen before. Portugal, the sign over the door says, white metal over red brick, and he's pushing the door open before his thoughts have caught up with his fingers.
There's no bell that rings overhead, like most independent coffee shops, just a warm kind of silence, expectant, faint music playing in the distance like the room itself is saying Hi! We've been waiting for you. Yixuan wanders up the the counter, scanning for a menu, but there's nothing on the wall, only a full scale reproduction of Un bar aux Folies Bergère. He's almost expecting to see a reflection of himself in the woman's eyes, but of course not, she doesn't exit.
He finds his thoughts slipping to another woman. . .shakes his head to clear his thoughts, closing his eyes for a moment to breathe in the lingering fragrance of coffee.
When he opens his eyes, there's a man standing behind the counter, slightly curly brown hair that's espresso rich in the golden light pooling in through a skylight, a crooked smile on his face.
"Can I get you some coffee?" the man asks. The name tag on his shirt says Sungjoo.
"You don't have a menu," Yixuan points out, "though I do like your bar at the Folies-Bergère." It's not his imagination, he thinks, when Sungjoo's eyes sharpen, and he rests his elbows on the counter, peering at Yixuan curiously.
"I haven't seen you before," Sungjoo says. "What brought you here?"
"I was following a butterfly," Yixuan replies without thinking, then flushes slightly in embarassment because he sounds slightly unhinged. But Sungjoo's smile widens, if that's even possible.
"I like you," he says. "Pick anything you like and I'll make it."
"Even an iced orange cream Dutch coffee?" Yixuan asks, just for the heck of it, because even though he usually likes his coffee black he still can't get that particular drink out of his head, that he'd had on that little trip to Luxembourg back when. . .
"Even that," Sungjoo says. "You have good taste." He winks, rummaging behind the counter and gesturing for Yixuan to take a seat. Yixuan does, and the leather armchair is surprisingly comfortable, as he glances around the coffee shop, listenging to Sungjoo humming a harmony to the piano music in the background.
"Here you go!" Sungjoo finally says brightly, and Yixuan realizes he's been drifting off, drooped over the table, nose almost touching the table; he startles, jumping up and crashing his knee into the bottom of the table—
"Ouch," he grimaces, rubbing his knee as he limps over to the counter, pulling out his wallet as Sungjoo laughs at him, pushing the money away.
"It's on the house," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan frows, holding out the money.
"It's on the house," Sungjoo says, and he's still smiling but his tone brooks no argument. Yixuan takes the coffee and isn't even surprised when Sungjoo follows him to the table, plopping down on the seat across from him with his own drink.
"You look like you have something on your mind," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan nods but doesn't say anything, taking a sip of his drink. It's absolutely perfect.
"You can tell me all about it next time," Sungjoo says, taking a sip of his own coffee, it looks like a standard Americano, after which he sighs in satisfaction.
Yixuan finds, sipping his drink, that he's looking forward to this next time. He really is.
no subject
Wounds of the heart, just like anything else in life that's not death and taxes, can be, if not cured, at least remedied by good coffee. oqilefinlka mv i love this lin e
no subject