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writetomyheart2015-10-09 11:58 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-09 11:58 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] promises
First words from Wedding Bells?!.
Title from Promises by Nero.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest. This is the final installment; the complete story is falling in love.
This story isn't finished but I ran out of time to meet this sonic deadline; you can read the full version here.
"Now kiss." And as the words are spoken, the wedding finally coming to a close—this whole stage in their life ending and another beginning as they'll walk out in a moment, hand in hand, the applause and smiles of their friends and family watching them—Sungjoo stares into Yixuan's eyes before he leans in, Yixuan meeting him halfway, and their lips touch in a silent promise.
I'm here for you.
"Do you remember how we first met?"
They're sitting at the kitchen table, Yixuan's foot darting out to nudge at Sungjoo's ankle, and Sungjoo makes a face even though he doesn't mind, because there's something comfortable about the wamth, their ankles tangling under the table, the cotton knit of Yixuan's sock tickling the skin of his leg.
"Of course," Yixuan says, his expression dark at he glares at Sungjoo over the mess of papers scattering the surface of the table. "You always got flattened by a truck!"
"It wasn't my fault," Sungjoo protests, but there's still a fluttering his chest, the adrenaline of realizing that it had almost been over, and then the tight grasp on his wrist, looking back at the stranger who'd just singlehandedly saved his life, and he'd been so scattered, so focused on the present and yet caught in the tangles of what might have been, and yet his thoughts had still managed to register, somewhere in the chaos, that the stranger staring at him with wide eyes was oh so handsome; he'd remembered it properly later, reliving the memory curled up in bed, and blushed then, in the privacy of the shadows of his own bedroom, secondhand embarassment at something that he hadn't been able to react to at the time.
He still remembers the slip of paper with Yixuan's phone number on it, that had almost burned a hole in his pocket all the way home, as Yixuan had called after him,
"Be careful and look both ways when you cross the street!" Sungjoo had stepped off down the sidewalk, only to be stopped by a shout and Yixuan thrusting a slip of paper into the curl of his fingers around his palm— "Just send me a text when you get home safely, okay?" Sungjoo had stared at him, nonplussed, noticing with a growing curiousity the faint blush spreading across Yixiuan's face as he'd muttered some that had sounded surprisingly like, "Or else I won't be able to sleep. . ."
"You took your own sweet time getting home too," Yixiuan frowns over the recollection. "I honestly wondered if you'd gotten into an accident for real that time."
"What would you have done if I hand't texted?" Sungjoo asks curiously, both because he wants to know but also because it's fun, sometimes, to poke at Yixiuan and make a blush rise in his cheeks, perfect for rounding the table and pressing his lips to, which is what he does now, inching his chair around the wood surface until they're sitting side by side.
"I was seriously considering phoning the nearby hospitals to see if they'd admitted someone who looked like you," Yixuan mutters sheepishly, as Sungjoo presses a kiss to his cheek, and Yixian gives him a half-assed glare.
"You're so sweet," Sungjoo says, pulling back slightly to stare Yixuan in the face, tracing the curve of his eyebrows with his gaze, and Yixuan leans forward and surprised him with a kiss.
"You're not allowed to scare me like that anymore, ever," Yixuan says adamantly, and Sungjoo doesn't say anything, just leans over to rest his head on Yixuan's shoulder.
"I promise," he says, and he means it.
"Good," Yixian says, and his fingers reach over to tangle in Sungjoo's warm grasp.
"One, two, three, lift!" It takes three people to carry Sungjoo's sofa into Yixuan's apartment, and Wenhan, Seungyoun and Yixuan are all sweating by the time it's safely deposited next to the window.
"What do you keep in your sofa?" Wenhan asks, mopping his forehead with a towel before tossing it to Seungyoung who scowls but flips it over and wipes his forehead and neck anyway. "Rocks?"
"I don't know what was wrong with my sofa anyway?" Yixuan grumbles, though he hadn't really put up much of a fuss when Sungjoo had mentioned he wanted to bring it along—they have too many memories caught up in the upholstry, secrets woven inthe fabric and comfortable silences scattered between the cushions.
"It's my grandma's sofa," Sungjoo says, tossing Yixuan a beer; the rest of the six-pack he sends flying at Seungyoun who snatches it out of the air and portions out the bottles, leaving two for himself, though Sungjoo can see Yibo eyeing it. "It's solid wood and you can't get anything like it nowadays."
"It's solid wood?" Yibo says, eyebrows raised at he twists off the cap and chugs down half a bottle in one swallow. "No wonder it weighed a tonne."
"I just hope it's worth it," Wenhan says, flopping down onto the sofa, the others soon following.
"It definitely is," Sungjoo insists, as he perches on the arm and surveys the apartment.
Title from Promises by Nero.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest. This is the final installment; the complete story is falling in love.
This story isn't finished but I ran out of time to meet this sonic deadline; you can read the full version here.
"Now kiss." And as the words are spoken, the wedding finally coming to a close—this whole stage in their life ending and another beginning as they'll walk out in a moment, hand in hand, the applause and smiles of their friends and family watching them—Sungjoo stares into Yixuan's eyes before he leans in, Yixuan meeting him halfway, and their lips touch in a silent promise.
I'm here for you.
"Do you remember how we first met?"
They're sitting at the kitchen table, Yixuan's foot darting out to nudge at Sungjoo's ankle, and Sungjoo makes a face even though he doesn't mind, because there's something comfortable about the wamth, their ankles tangling under the table, the cotton knit of Yixuan's sock tickling the skin of his leg.
"Of course," Yixuan says, his expression dark at he glares at Sungjoo over the mess of papers scattering the surface of the table. "You always got flattened by a truck!"
"It wasn't my fault," Sungjoo protests, but there's still a fluttering his chest, the adrenaline of realizing that it had almost been over, and then the tight grasp on his wrist, looking back at the stranger who'd just singlehandedly saved his life, and he'd been so scattered, so focused on the present and yet caught in the tangles of what might have been, and yet his thoughts had still managed to register, somewhere in the chaos, that the stranger staring at him with wide eyes was oh so handsome; he'd remembered it properly later, reliving the memory curled up in bed, and blushed then, in the privacy of the shadows of his own bedroom, secondhand embarassment at something that he hadn't been able to react to at the time.
He still remembers the slip of paper with Yixuan's phone number on it, that had almost burned a hole in his pocket all the way home, as Yixuan had called after him,
"Be careful and look both ways when you cross the street!" Sungjoo had stepped off down the sidewalk, only to be stopped by a shout and Yixuan thrusting a slip of paper into the curl of his fingers around his palm— "Just send me a text when you get home safely, okay?" Sungjoo had stared at him, nonplussed, noticing with a growing curiousity the faint blush spreading across Yixiuan's face as he'd muttered some that had sounded surprisingly like, "Or else I won't be able to sleep. . ."
"You took your own sweet time getting home too," Yixiuan frowns over the recollection. "I honestly wondered if you'd gotten into an accident for real that time."
"What would you have done if I hand't texted?" Sungjoo asks curiously, both because he wants to know but also because it's fun, sometimes, to poke at Yixiuan and make a blush rise in his cheeks, perfect for rounding the table and pressing his lips to, which is what he does now, inching his chair around the wood surface until they're sitting side by side.
"I was seriously considering phoning the nearby hospitals to see if they'd admitted someone who looked like you," Yixuan mutters sheepishly, as Sungjoo presses a kiss to his cheek, and Yixian gives him a half-assed glare.
"You're so sweet," Sungjoo says, pulling back slightly to stare Yixuan in the face, tracing the curve of his eyebrows with his gaze, and Yixuan leans forward and surprised him with a kiss.
"You're not allowed to scare me like that anymore, ever," Yixuan says adamantly, and Sungjoo doesn't say anything, just leans over to rest his head on Yixuan's shoulder.
"I promise," he says, and he means it.
"Good," Yixian says, and his fingers reach over to tangle in Sungjoo's warm grasp.
"One, two, three, lift!" It takes three people to carry Sungjoo's sofa into Yixuan's apartment, and Wenhan, Seungyoun and Yixuan are all sweating by the time it's safely deposited next to the window.
"What do you keep in your sofa?" Wenhan asks, mopping his forehead with a towel before tossing it to Seungyoung who scowls but flips it over and wipes his forehead and neck anyway. "Rocks?"
"I don't know what was wrong with my sofa anyway?" Yixuan grumbles, though he hadn't really put up much of a fuss when Sungjoo had mentioned he wanted to bring it along—they have too many memories caught up in the upholstry, secrets woven inthe fabric and comfortable silences scattered between the cushions.
"It's my grandma's sofa," Sungjoo says, tossing Yixuan a beer; the rest of the six-pack he sends flying at Seungyoun who snatches it out of the air and portions out the bottles, leaving two for himself, though Sungjoo can see Yibo eyeing it. "It's solid wood and you can't get anything like it nowadays."
"It's solid wood?" Yibo says, eyebrows raised at he twists off the cap and chugs down half a bottle in one swallow. "No wonder it weighed a tonne."
"I just hope it's worth it," Wenhan says, flopping down onto the sofa, the others soon following.
"It definitely is," Sungjoo insists, as he perches on the arm and surveys the apartment.