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writetomyheart2015-10-07 02:12 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-07 02:12 pm
[team sonic] letters
First words from warm and familiar.
Title from Letters by Abel Korzeniowski for the W.E. soundtrack.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
He’s home, and that’s all that matters. Sunjoo smiles to himself, humming in the kitchen, making French toast even though he's not exactly sure how to make French toast, but it can't be hard, just eggs and milk whisked together in a bowl, dip in the bread slices and cook them on a hot and greased pan until the egg is cooked and they're lovely and golden on both sides—Yixuan is sleeping in his bedroom, Sungjoo can hear his soft breaths if he stops moving, takes the pan off the flame and just listens.
Maybe it's just his imagination, but it doesn't matter. He knows that Yixuan is here, is home, and even if the sound of him breathing is really too quiet to make out from the kitchen, that's just a minor detail.
Sungjoo is quiet as he finishes up the French toast, and it was just as easy as he'd thought, Martha Stewart can go suck it he thinks as he stacks them neatly in a casserole with a tiny stainless steel bowl of water, pops the lid on and slips it into the oven, temperature set to the lowest possible setting. Yixian just flew in and he's exhausted and probably jet-lagged and Sungjoo doesn't ever plan on waking him up; he's going to wake up when his body tells him its had enough sleep for once.
After he's done wiping the counter and washing the dishes, Sungjoo settles on the cough, tucking his legs up under the fleece blanket Yixuan keeps folded over the back just for cuddling like this, when Sungjoo is over to watch a movie but they end up kissing in the dark instead, the popcorn slipping to the ground. It's a little cold by himself, but Sungjoo doesn't mind, because Yixuan is home, sleeping in the next room. He tiptoes over to his back instead, and pulls out the stack of letters that he'd found waiting on his kitchen table after dropping Yixuan off at the airport, blinking back the wetness in his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat long enough to wave cheerfully as Yixuan disappeared into the long line for security.
Letters; they're kind of strange. No one sends letters anymore, everything is email and text and sns messages and snapshots on IG with smiles and video clips with dramatic background music. Sungjoo thinks about emojis, the fact that you don't even have to use words anymore.
He's read the small stack of letters over and over and over again, all the days that Yixuan has been away, but he doesn't think he could ever get tired of reading them.
I know that you're sad that I'm going to be out of the country for a while and I know you'll be cheerful and smile and wave me off at the airport and then go home, angrily batting tears out of your eyes and I won't be there to wipe them away gently, which makes me sad. I know I can send you a message on kkt or whatsapp but we do that anyway and I wanted to do something extra special this time, so I thought I'd write you letters instead, like the letters my grandpa wrote my grandpa when he was away at sea, so even if you laugh I'm doing it anyway. . .
Sungjoo hadn't laughed the first time he'd read them, holding the paper to his chest where it had crumpled beneath his fingers as he'd curled over, resting his wet eyes on his propped up knees, and he's not laughing now, even though his eyes are mostly dry this time. He just reads the words over again, though he's nearly memorized them by now, and it's like the mental equivalent of a hug, Yixuan murmuring into his ear even though he's sleeping in the other room.
Tucking the last folded piece of paper into its envelope, Sungjoo can't hold himself back any longer, even if Yixuan is so tired, even if he'd promised himself that he'd let him sleep as long as he needed, Sungjoo slips into Yixuan's bedroom, dim with the blinds pulled down, and slides between the covers next to his slumbering form, gently wrapping his arms around Yixuan's warm skin and pressing his nose to the nape of his neck.
Yixuan stirs then, not really awake, but conscious enough to mumble, "Where were you? I was waiting for you." He sighs softly, and Sungjoo just breathes in his familiar scent and drinks in the warm comfortable feeling of home.
"I'm here now," he whispers into Yixuan's skin, as his breathing evens out again and they both slip off into dreams.
Title from Letters by Abel Korzeniowski for the W.E. soundtrack.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
He’s home, and that’s all that matters. Sunjoo smiles to himself, humming in the kitchen, making French toast even though he's not exactly sure how to make French toast, but it can't be hard, just eggs and milk whisked together in a bowl, dip in the bread slices and cook them on a hot and greased pan until the egg is cooked and they're lovely and golden on both sides—Yixuan is sleeping in his bedroom, Sungjoo can hear his soft breaths if he stops moving, takes the pan off the flame and just listens.
Maybe it's just his imagination, but it doesn't matter. He knows that Yixuan is here, is home, and even if the sound of him breathing is really too quiet to make out from the kitchen, that's just a minor detail.
Sungjoo is quiet as he finishes up the French toast, and it was just as easy as he'd thought, Martha Stewart can go suck it he thinks as he stacks them neatly in a casserole with a tiny stainless steel bowl of water, pops the lid on and slips it into the oven, temperature set to the lowest possible setting. Yixian just flew in and he's exhausted and probably jet-lagged and Sungjoo doesn't ever plan on waking him up; he's going to wake up when his body tells him its had enough sleep for once.
After he's done wiping the counter and washing the dishes, Sungjoo settles on the cough, tucking his legs up under the fleece blanket Yixuan keeps folded over the back just for cuddling like this, when Sungjoo is over to watch a movie but they end up kissing in the dark instead, the popcorn slipping to the ground. It's a little cold by himself, but Sungjoo doesn't mind, because Yixuan is home, sleeping in the next room. He tiptoes over to his back instead, and pulls out the stack of letters that he'd found waiting on his kitchen table after dropping Yixuan off at the airport, blinking back the wetness in his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat long enough to wave cheerfully as Yixuan disappeared into the long line for security.
Letters; they're kind of strange. No one sends letters anymore, everything is email and text and sns messages and snapshots on IG with smiles and video clips with dramatic background music. Sungjoo thinks about emojis, the fact that you don't even have to use words anymore.
He's read the small stack of letters over and over and over again, all the days that Yixuan has been away, but he doesn't think he could ever get tired of reading them.
I know that you're sad that I'm going to be out of the country for a while and I know you'll be cheerful and smile and wave me off at the airport and then go home, angrily batting tears out of your eyes and I won't be there to wipe them away gently, which makes me sad. I know I can send you a message on kkt or whatsapp but we do that anyway and I wanted to do something extra special this time, so I thought I'd write you letters instead, like the letters my grandpa wrote my grandpa when he was away at sea, so even if you laugh I'm doing it anyway. . .
Sungjoo hadn't laughed the first time he'd read them, holding the paper to his chest where it had crumpled beneath his fingers as he'd curled over, resting his wet eyes on his propped up knees, and he's not laughing now, even though his eyes are mostly dry this time. He just reads the words over again, though he's nearly memorized them by now, and it's like the mental equivalent of a hug, Yixuan murmuring into his ear even though he's sleeping in the other room.
Tucking the last folded piece of paper into its envelope, Sungjoo can't hold himself back any longer, even if Yixuan is so tired, even if he'd promised himself that he'd let him sleep as long as he needed, Sungjoo slips into Yixuan's bedroom, dim with the blinds pulled down, and slides between the covers next to his slumbering form, gently wrapping his arms around Yixuan's warm skin and pressing his nose to the nape of his neck.
Yixuan stirs then, not really awake, but conscious enough to mumble, "Where were you? I was waiting for you." He sighs softly, and Sungjoo just breathes in his familiar scent and drinks in the warm comfortable feeling of home.
"I'm here now," he whispers into Yixuan's skin, as his breathing evens out again and they both slip off into dreams.