writetomyheart | stardust

sf9; rowoon/chani; 200-something-w; G — short, unfinished, working 42hrs a week is inhuman.

pushing through the crowd of stars, making his way through the path they form, seokwoo walks. head tucked as low as possible, eventually held high when the crowd dissipates (when the stars become sparse and lonely and eventually, rare), he floats, he manipulates the floor beneath him — he advances, towards his goal, as quickly as étiquette allows, as timidly as is starly possible (for it is not welcome, for his heart to flounder like this) — like a moth called by a light, like one magnet attracted by another — like a star that has fallen just a little, that hasn't yet figured how to say it out loud.

he walks, he goes up, up and up, and then,

finally,

he lands where he meant to be.

'chanhee,' he calls, and it is much less than usual — much more than what is needed, for stars have ears and can hear things — for chanhee has learned to recognise seokwoo's gait, seokwoo's scent, seokwoo's inability to be discreet when it comes to greetings, feelings. and thus

he knows.

'yes?'

there is silver and gold, glowing bright all around the being — there is silver and gold, in chanhee's eyes, all over his body — on his hands, in his hair, on his lips (plump and inviting). there is silver and gold, in seokwoo's heart as his eyes meet chanhee's.

there is silver and gold, in love as we know it.

shinysylver, you're next!