Oneshot: Watching
Title: Watching
Author: asianchik92
Rating: PG
Pairing: Yoochun/FC
Genre: fluff? romance? I don't really know...
Word Count: 772
A/N: this is fictional, comments welcome!
She isn’t a stalker, neither is he.
But she sees into his house and he sees into hers. Across a vast open space of the alley they can watch without any hindrances.
He hears her laughing on the phone when his window is open, which it is most of the time. He hears her talking and singing, cooking and dancing on the shiny wood floors. He watches her when he thinks she cannot see him. He watches her and needs to know her name.
She can hear him laughing and talking, the low seductive drawl that carries across the small alley. He sees him having friends over just as handsome as he is, if not more, and she sees him playing the piano, his fingers ghosting over the ivory keys and head hanging down.
He sees her at times at the café where his friend works. She is always writing and always drinking the same type of coffee. Her pencil is always correcting mistakes and writing better passages. ‘She is a writer’ he thinks, notebooks upon notebooks lay in her apartment. Ranging in color and in size he watches her pick out a few and start to read before reaching for a pencil and correcting. He wants to know her name, but they are so far apart yet so close to each other.
She watches as he moves across the window, cleaning and cooking. He likes to prance around his house with his shirt off, his fingers jittery and his mind filled with music. She thinks he is a musician by trade, sitting in front of the piano playing a few bars then writing them down on a score sheet, or any other paper he can find. She sees him at the music store that one of her friends works at, looking at pianos, and humming softly to himself. She sees him buy music sheets in bulk and he always comes back the next week at the same time to buy the same amount. She sees him, she can touch him, but she doesn’t know him, and she doesn’t know how to get to know him.
They both get invited to the apartment block party held by the old man two floors down from him. He knows when he sees the flowery invitation in her hands the day after he helped make them. He has his own, sitting on the bench he has next to his window. The flowery-ness has him gagging but in her hands it makes her look even more beautiful as she opens the envelope and reads the invitation that the old man made him write his name on. He hopes that she is going because he didn’t want it to be like last time, when the old ladies started to touch him.
She sees him making these invitations. She sees his invitation on the bench near his window. She sees him looking that the invitation in disgust. She laughs just when he laughs but stops just to hear the sound of his laughter. She smiles and closes her eyes to take in the sounds; the rich sound of the deep laughter is beautiful with the bird chirping in Central Park. She wants to spend time with him, just talking, laughing and sighing into a content silence.
He comes to the party ahead of time, only because he is helping with some of the food. He stands with gray slacks and a royal blue button down shirt that has its first few buttons undone showing off his collarbones, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Making strawberry tarts and mixing gins and tonics he smiles when guest start arriving. The older generation comes first, because they have an early bed time then you kids, jokes the old man. Well-dressed men walk in with women attached to their arms. And the party only starts when his neighbors that are his age start to arrive.
All time stops for both of them, when she walks in wearing a lavender sundress, her hair down framing her face. They know each other, they know their emotions and they know the other’s lives. The know so much about the other but they don’t even know their name.
He walks towards her, and holds out his hand, she takes it, her eyes looking into his.
“Glad to finally meet you,” He says bowing slightly.
“Me too.” She replies her head tilting in recognition of the bow.
“I don’t know your name.,” he states.
“Neither do I”
He smiles. “Then I guess we have to learn each others name.”
She smiles back. “I guess we do”
A/n: This is a story that was stuck in my head since last night and i couldn't get it out of my head... and my sister edited it so hopefully there is no grammar mistakes... if there are please tell me
Author: asianchik92
Rating: PG
Pairing: Yoochun/FC
Genre: fluff? romance? I don't really know...
Word Count: 772
A/N: this is fictional, comments welcome!
She isn’t a stalker, neither is he.
But she sees into his house and he sees into hers. Across a vast open space of the alley they can watch without any hindrances.
He hears her laughing on the phone when his window is open, which it is most of the time. He hears her talking and singing, cooking and dancing on the shiny wood floors. He watches her when he thinks she cannot see him. He watches her and needs to know her name.
She can hear him laughing and talking, the low seductive drawl that carries across the small alley. He sees him having friends over just as handsome as he is, if not more, and she sees him playing the piano, his fingers ghosting over the ivory keys and head hanging down.
He sees her at times at the café where his friend works. She is always writing and always drinking the same type of coffee. Her pencil is always correcting mistakes and writing better passages. ‘She is a writer’ he thinks, notebooks upon notebooks lay in her apartment. Ranging in color and in size he watches her pick out a few and start to read before reaching for a pencil and correcting. He wants to know her name, but they are so far apart yet so close to each other.
She watches as he moves across the window, cleaning and cooking. He likes to prance around his house with his shirt off, his fingers jittery and his mind filled with music. She thinks he is a musician by trade, sitting in front of the piano playing a few bars then writing them down on a score sheet, or any other paper he can find. She sees him at the music store that one of her friends works at, looking at pianos, and humming softly to himself. She sees him buy music sheets in bulk and he always comes back the next week at the same time to buy the same amount. She sees him, she can touch him, but she doesn’t know him, and she doesn’t know how to get to know him.
They both get invited to the apartment block party held by the old man two floors down from him. He knows when he sees the flowery invitation in her hands the day after he helped make them. He has his own, sitting on the bench he has next to his window. The flowery-ness has him gagging but in her hands it makes her look even more beautiful as she opens the envelope and reads the invitation that the old man made him write his name on. He hopes that she is going because he didn’t want it to be like last time, when the old ladies started to touch him.
She sees him making these invitations. She sees his invitation on the bench near his window. She sees him looking that the invitation in disgust. She laughs just when he laughs but stops just to hear the sound of his laughter. She smiles and closes her eyes to take in the sounds; the rich sound of the deep laughter is beautiful with the bird chirping in Central Park. She wants to spend time with him, just talking, laughing and sighing into a content silence.
He comes to the party ahead of time, only because he is helping with some of the food. He stands with gray slacks and a royal blue button down shirt that has its first few buttons undone showing off his collarbones, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Making strawberry tarts and mixing gins and tonics he smiles when guest start arriving. The older generation comes first, because they have an early bed time then you kids, jokes the old man. Well-dressed men walk in with women attached to their arms. And the party only starts when his neighbors that are his age start to arrive.
All time stops for both of them, when she walks in wearing a lavender sundress, her hair down framing her face. They know each other, they know their emotions and they know the other’s lives. The know so much about the other but they don’t even know their name.
He walks towards her, and holds out his hand, she takes it, her eyes looking into his.
“Glad to finally meet you,” He says bowing slightly.
“Me too.” She replies her head tilting in recognition of the bow.
“I don’t know your name.,” he states.
“Neither do I”
He smiles. “Then I guess we have to learn each others name.”
She smiles back. “I guess we do”
A/n: This is a story that was stuck in my head since last night and i couldn't get it out of my head... and my sister edited it so hopefully there is no grammar mistakes... if there are please tell me