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writetomyheart2015-10-07 09:15 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-07 09:15 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] future
First words from ツンデレ.
Title from Future by Paramore.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
"A very long time," Yixuan says, in response to the unspoken question in Sungjoo's eyes, the key sitting on his hand, outstretched between them. How long have you had these, waiting?
"I—" Sungjoo seems tongue-tied, and it's strange, not the fact that he's stumbling over his words because he does that sometimes, it's just a part of what makes him Sungjoo, but rather what's strange is the fact that he doesn't seem to know what to say at all.
Sungjoo always knows what to say.
"It. . .it doesn't have to mean anything," Yixuan says quietly, watching his fingers as they begin to curl up around the key by themselves, though he's not telling them to, it's just an automatic reaction, like raising a hand to your face to block the sun, or curling into yourself to avoid a blow.
He doesn't look at Sungjoo, because he might see an answer in his eyes and he's scared, suddenly, that he's read the timing wrong, that his very long time wasn't long enough, or conversely, that it was too long and Sungjoo has gotten tired of waiting and started to move on.
"I just wanted to give them to you," he says quietly, "that's all. But if you don't want. . ." His fingers close around the key, now hidden from view, shielded from the expectations that Yixuan had attached to it, as his hand slowly falls to his side.
The room is silent, not the comfortable silence that usually wraps around them, warm and friendly and full of the things they already know and don't need to put into words. Instead, all Yixuan can hear are doubts, as his eyes trace patterns in the grains of of the wood that makes up the floor. I'm sorry. I thought this was. . .I thought this was what was supposed to happen next, but I see now that I was wrong.
He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't consciously process the sound until a few heartbeats after his ears first pick it up. It's not laughter, it's not—
"Why are you crying?" Yixuan asks, shocked, as he looks up to see the tears pooling in Sungjoo's eyes, as he blinks them back, the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the way his nose is turning red and the sound of his sniffles, his hand reaching up to smear across his cheeks and nose—
"I'm happy, you jerk," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan doesn't understand until the words hit home and it feels like emotional whiplash, like he can't keep up, can't process what is happening right now, but his arms, his fingers, his body memory isn't caught up in the tangle of his emotions as he reaches forward, fingers touching Sungjoo's cheek, feeling the wetness beneath his fingertip. That's all it takes for Sungjoo to reach forward, wrapping his arms around Yixuan and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that knocks the breath right out of him, but it's okay.
Everything is okay.
Yixuan's fingers curl around the blunt metal edges of the key clasped tightly in his hand and feels Sungjoo's heartbeat racing in counterpoint to his own, as they stand there, entangled, as their heartbeats align and fall into step. Together.
Title from Future by Paramore.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
"A very long time," Yixuan says, in response to the unspoken question in Sungjoo's eyes, the key sitting on his hand, outstretched between them. How long have you had these, waiting?
"I—" Sungjoo seems tongue-tied, and it's strange, not the fact that he's stumbling over his words because he does that sometimes, it's just a part of what makes him Sungjoo, but rather what's strange is the fact that he doesn't seem to know what to say at all.
Sungjoo always knows what to say.
"It. . .it doesn't have to mean anything," Yixuan says quietly, watching his fingers as they begin to curl up around the key by themselves, though he's not telling them to, it's just an automatic reaction, like raising a hand to your face to block the sun, or curling into yourself to avoid a blow.
He doesn't look at Sungjoo, because he might see an answer in his eyes and he's scared, suddenly, that he's read the timing wrong, that his very long time wasn't long enough, or conversely, that it was too long and Sungjoo has gotten tired of waiting and started to move on.
"I just wanted to give them to you," he says quietly, "that's all. But if you don't want. . ." His fingers close around the key, now hidden from view, shielded from the expectations that Yixuan had attached to it, as his hand slowly falls to his side.
The room is silent, not the comfortable silence that usually wraps around them, warm and friendly and full of the things they already know and don't need to put into words. Instead, all Yixuan can hear are doubts, as his eyes trace patterns in the grains of of the wood that makes up the floor. I'm sorry. I thought this was. . .I thought this was what was supposed to happen next, but I see now that I was wrong.
He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't consciously process the sound until a few heartbeats after his ears first pick it up. It's not laughter, it's not—
"Why are you crying?" Yixuan asks, shocked, as he looks up to see the tears pooling in Sungjoo's eyes, as he blinks them back, the droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the way his nose is turning red and the sound of his sniffles, his hand reaching up to smear across his cheeks and nose—
"I'm happy, you jerk," Sungjoo says, and Yixuan doesn't understand until the words hit home and it feels like emotional whiplash, like he can't keep up, can't process what is happening right now, but his arms, his fingers, his body memory isn't caught up in the tangle of his emotions as he reaches forward, fingers touching Sungjoo's cheek, feeling the wetness beneath his fingertip. That's all it takes for Sungjoo to reach forward, wrapping his arms around Yixuan and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that knocks the breath right out of him, but it's okay.
Everything is okay.
Yixuan's fingers curl around the blunt metal edges of the key clasped tightly in his hand and feels Sungjoo's heartbeat racing in counterpoint to his own, as they stand there, entangled, as their heartbeats align and fall into step. Together.