http://yunsias.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
yunsias.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writetomyheart2016-11-05 11:15 am
yunsias.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2016-11-05 11:15 am
Entry tags:
[team four] disillusionment
it is incomplete, as usual.
“Nicely handled. Don’t worry, the next meeting will be better. See you tomorrow.”
The black characters had initially swayed and whirled in front of Seungkwan’s squinting eyes but after a minute of intense glaring at the phone, he is finally able to pin down a rough meaning of Jongdae’s text.
Winding down the window of the moving vehicle, he wishes he has enough pluck to fling the device out and leaves his troubled thoughts at the side of the streets. Instead, he roughly stuffs it into the front pocket of his bag with whatever dignity he has remaining, and a laugh so hollow and echoing in the car that Mingyu risks a concerned glance at him.
“Yah, keep your eyes on the road.” He still has the decency to reprimand because he’s a responsible lawyer, even if he isn’t a capable one. But the rebuke is muffled against the door of the glove compartment, and so, loses all bite that a Boo-Seungkwan-admonishment is originally armed with.
The driver next to him has the audacity to chuckle and pat his shoulder in an attempt of friendly comfort when they stop at a red light but it’s okay, the other had seen him naked, seen his face covered with snot and seen him get into many messy relationships over the years.
He knows of all people, Mingyu is the one person he doesn’t need to face with the pretence of an intact dignity.
It takes approximately five steps from the elevator to their apartment. Seungkwan knows that full well because on the very first day he moved in, he had excitedly counted every step his boyfriend led him from the car to the apartment’s door.
Maybe it’s the alcohol tipping the world against him, or the bitterness swirling in his chest, but the house key is a heavy burden he carries in his quivering hand. His head thuds softly against the door, weariness seeping into his muscles and bones and though he longs for the safety of arms to sink into, the thought of returning home no longer brings any sort of comfort to him.
Why should it, when the person waiting for him at home now is a reminder of battles waged in the courtrooms, of misleading words and money forged as weapons. Who fights in the name of justice and who wields sharp swords of deceit for selfish motives, he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore.
It’s a wonder how he manages to let himself into the apartment, despite extremely unhelpful fingers and legs that feel stuffed with more cotton buds than actual muscles. Through the alcohol’s fogginess that has his head wrapped up in, he notices the dim orange orbs of light casted on the dining table and his heart drops at the sight of the various packets of food, still sitting out in the cold.
“You’re back.” Long fingers accompany the deep voice, brushing away the fringe hanging down over his eyelids while his gaze lowers to the ground.
No, Boo Seungkwan is not stupid enough to picture the soft curls of damp fringe fresh from the shower, the dews of water clinging to eyelashes, and certainly not the gentle crescent of a fond smile, still as earnest and devastating as the first time they met on a rainy day outside Seoul High Court. But in the closeness between them, the coconut-musk scene of Wonwoo’s soap is overpowering and alluring, and though warning alarms blare frantically in Seungkwan’s head, he’s unable to move away from the headiness of body warmth so familiar, so close and so inviting to his aching body.
(The heart is a foolish thing, prone to fall at the slightest touch or word. It is after all, a muscle the size of a useless balled-up fist he keeps at each of his sides – one for his indignation, one for his resolve, and both rendered pointless in the face of Jeon Wonwoo’s tenderness towards him.)
“Are you hungry? I can heat up some food if you are.” The growl from Seungkwan’s stomach is an answer loud enough to amuse Wonwoo, and a lesson learned that the tiny bowls of mixed nuts provided in the pub aren’t always a sufficient substitute for dinner. Wonwoo’s amusement only lasts a few seconds before a second rumble sounds out in the air between them, quieter and muffled through cashmere sweater but also magnified in the way he bites his lower lip and in the sheepish grin worming its way to his face.
Seungkwan can’t help the frown pinching his brows together and the disapproval bristling in his voice. “You haven’t eaten dinner? Hyung, you know what the doctor said about skipping meals. And coffee.” And a million of things you shouldn’t do but still do anyway, those unsaid words are left like carrion birds beating their awful wings and circling the red puddle of concern and guilt (mostly the latter) pooling at the base of his guts.
“I wasn’t hungry then so I thought I’ll wait for you to come home to have dinner together.” With a chuckle, Wonwoo smoothens the frown lines ploughed deep on Seungkwan’s forehead before pressing a gentle kiss on the bridge of the younger one’s nose. “It’s nice that my boyfriend is worried about me and even though it’s really difficult for me to do so, I’m actually cutting down on my coffee intake these day. I love you, stop worrying your pretty little head about me.”
It’s infuriating because Wonwoo is wearing a terribly sincere smile now, with tenderness glazing black irises and everything Seungkwan can never resist embedded in the palms laid on his cheeks. It’s maddening because he has nothing more to say, especially knowing the truth in the other’s words; the tea stains left at the bottom of Wonwoo’s red mug in the morning and the rose buds steeped in hot water in the late hours of the night are evidence enough to clear the older one of all charges.
As lawyers, they can only arm themselves with the double-edged sword of every heavy-loaded word spilled out in the wars they each stand behind different lines. In the gap of his silence in front of Wonwoo’s confession, Seungkwan can only admit to himself that he is guilty as charged – for not being understanding enough, for not realizing how difficult it must have been for the older one to go without the daily fix of coffee, while handling the huge workload and responsibilities of a senior partner in a large law firm.
A quick peck on his lips and the sudden loss of warmth around his frame pull him out of his thoughts, and he is left standing alone in the living room while Wonwoo is already in the kitchen, hands busily unpacking and placing the food into the microwave oven.
“I bought your favourite kimbap and tteokbokki from the ahjumma down the corner from your office.” The older one calls out jovially from the kitchen, as he always does when it comes to food or Seungkwan, or a combination of the two.
(“Jeon Wonwoo, brilliant solicitor and the youngest to be made senior partner in the history of Jung & Co. … To think he’s the same person who has been spoiling you rotten at home.”
Mingyu had once remarked in a stage whisper last year, while taking in the scene of secretaries and legal clerks squealing over the magazines spread out on the pantry table in front of them. Splashed out in gaudy bold font, the words “TOP ELIGIBLE BACHELOR” accompanied Wonwoo’s stoic face peeking out from every single magazine, along with “exclusive” write-ups and background information about the attractive solicitor, all written in varying degrees of detailedness.
The tallest one in the pantry could only shake his head dramatically and allow a theatrical sigh to escape from his heavy chest, as if playing the part of a sage who laments the ruin of his beloved country.
Just an ordinary day of his close friend being a cynical asshole, a typical coffee break ruined by the giggle of gossipmongers, and so Seungkwan merely responded with a scowl and an extremely emphatic clink of yellow mug on metal sink.
A year later, he concedes that maybe, there is some truth to Mingyu’s words.)
It's your turn,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
airplanewishes :)
“Nicely handled. Don’t worry, the next meeting will be better. See you tomorrow.”
The black characters had initially swayed and whirled in front of Seungkwan’s squinting eyes but after a minute of intense glaring at the phone, he is finally able to pin down a rough meaning of Jongdae’s text.
Winding down the window of the moving vehicle, he wishes he has enough pluck to fling the device out and leaves his troubled thoughts at the side of the streets. Instead, he roughly stuffs it into the front pocket of his bag with whatever dignity he has remaining, and a laugh so hollow and echoing in the car that Mingyu risks a concerned glance at him.
“Yah, keep your eyes on the road.” He still has the decency to reprimand because he’s a responsible lawyer, even if he isn’t a capable one. But the rebuke is muffled against the door of the glove compartment, and so, loses all bite that a Boo-Seungkwan-admonishment is originally armed with.
The driver next to him has the audacity to chuckle and pat his shoulder in an attempt of friendly comfort when they stop at a red light but it’s okay, the other had seen him naked, seen his face covered with snot and seen him get into many messy relationships over the years.
He knows of all people, Mingyu is the one person he doesn’t need to face with the pretence of an intact dignity.
It takes approximately five steps from the elevator to their apartment. Seungkwan knows that full well because on the very first day he moved in, he had excitedly counted every step his boyfriend led him from the car to the apartment’s door.
Maybe it’s the alcohol tipping the world against him, or the bitterness swirling in his chest, but the house key is a heavy burden he carries in his quivering hand. His head thuds softly against the door, weariness seeping into his muscles and bones and though he longs for the safety of arms to sink into, the thought of returning home no longer brings any sort of comfort to him.
Why should it, when the person waiting for him at home now is a reminder of battles waged in the courtrooms, of misleading words and money forged as weapons. Who fights in the name of justice and who wields sharp swords of deceit for selfish motives, he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore.
It’s a wonder how he manages to let himself into the apartment, despite extremely unhelpful fingers and legs that feel stuffed with more cotton buds than actual muscles. Through the alcohol’s fogginess that has his head wrapped up in, he notices the dim orange orbs of light casted on the dining table and his heart drops at the sight of the various packets of food, still sitting out in the cold.
“You’re back.” Long fingers accompany the deep voice, brushing away the fringe hanging down over his eyelids while his gaze lowers to the ground.
No, Boo Seungkwan is not stupid enough to picture the soft curls of damp fringe fresh from the shower, the dews of water clinging to eyelashes, and certainly not the gentle crescent of a fond smile, still as earnest and devastating as the first time they met on a rainy day outside Seoul High Court. But in the closeness between them, the coconut-musk scene of Wonwoo’s soap is overpowering and alluring, and though warning alarms blare frantically in Seungkwan’s head, he’s unable to move away from the headiness of body warmth so familiar, so close and so inviting to his aching body.
(The heart is a foolish thing, prone to fall at the slightest touch or word. It is after all, a muscle the size of a useless balled-up fist he keeps at each of his sides – one for his indignation, one for his resolve, and both rendered pointless in the face of Jeon Wonwoo’s tenderness towards him.)
“Are you hungry? I can heat up some food if you are.” The growl from Seungkwan’s stomach is an answer loud enough to amuse Wonwoo, and a lesson learned that the tiny bowls of mixed nuts provided in the pub aren’t always a sufficient substitute for dinner. Wonwoo’s amusement only lasts a few seconds before a second rumble sounds out in the air between them, quieter and muffled through cashmere sweater but also magnified in the way he bites his lower lip and in the sheepish grin worming its way to his face.
Seungkwan can’t help the frown pinching his brows together and the disapproval bristling in his voice. “You haven’t eaten dinner? Hyung, you know what the doctor said about skipping meals. And coffee.” And a million of things you shouldn’t do but still do anyway, those unsaid words are left like carrion birds beating their awful wings and circling the red puddle of concern and guilt (mostly the latter) pooling at the base of his guts.
“I wasn’t hungry then so I thought I’ll wait for you to come home to have dinner together.” With a chuckle, Wonwoo smoothens the frown lines ploughed deep on Seungkwan’s forehead before pressing a gentle kiss on the bridge of the younger one’s nose. “It’s nice that my boyfriend is worried about me and even though it’s really difficult for me to do so, I’m actually cutting down on my coffee intake these day. I love you, stop worrying your pretty little head about me.”
It’s infuriating because Wonwoo is wearing a terribly sincere smile now, with tenderness glazing black irises and everything Seungkwan can never resist embedded in the palms laid on his cheeks. It’s maddening because he has nothing more to say, especially knowing the truth in the other’s words; the tea stains left at the bottom of Wonwoo’s red mug in the morning and the rose buds steeped in hot water in the late hours of the night are evidence enough to clear the older one of all charges.
As lawyers, they can only arm themselves with the double-edged sword of every heavy-loaded word spilled out in the wars they each stand behind different lines. In the gap of his silence in front of Wonwoo’s confession, Seungkwan can only admit to himself that he is guilty as charged – for not being understanding enough, for not realizing how difficult it must have been for the older one to go without the daily fix of coffee, while handling the huge workload and responsibilities of a senior partner in a large law firm.
A quick peck on his lips and the sudden loss of warmth around his frame pull him out of his thoughts, and he is left standing alone in the living room while Wonwoo is already in the kitchen, hands busily unpacking and placing the food into the microwave oven.
“I bought your favourite kimbap and tteokbokki from the ahjumma down the corner from your office.” The older one calls out jovially from the kitchen, as he always does when it comes to food or Seungkwan, or a combination of the two.
(“Jeon Wonwoo, brilliant solicitor and the youngest to be made senior partner in the history of Jung & Co. … To think he’s the same person who has been spoiling you rotten at home.”
Mingyu had once remarked in a stage whisper last year, while taking in the scene of secretaries and legal clerks squealing over the magazines spread out on the pantry table in front of them. Splashed out in gaudy bold font, the words “TOP ELIGIBLE BACHELOR” accompanied Wonwoo’s stoic face peeking out from every single magazine, along with “exclusive” write-ups and background information about the attractive solicitor, all written in varying degrees of detailedness.
The tallest one in the pantry could only shake his head dramatically and allow a theatrical sigh to escape from his heavy chest, as if playing the part of a sage who laments the ruin of his beloved country.
Just an ordinary day of his close friend being a cynical asshole, a typical coffee break ruined by the giggle of gossipmongers, and so Seungkwan merely responded with a scowl and an extremely emphatic clink of yellow mug on metal sink.
A year later, he concedes that maybe, there is some truth to Mingyu’s words.)
It's your turn,
airplanewishes :)