the boys i mean are not refined. (open challenge; drabble challenge 12: intersections)
title the boys i mean are not refined.
author sunfever.
word count 677.
concrit hit me.
pairing jaejoong/changmin, jaejoong+yoochun.
a/n so, so gratuitous. e. e. cummings title. and hi, shay, again.
"this place is high class wallet rape, yoochun, why're we here?" jaejoong hisses, tugging at yoochun's wrist. the entire restaurant is bathed in warm orange light and lined with fancy wall decorations. jaejoong feels like dirt, just breathing the high class air. he looks at the table they've been led to and thinks: this set of silverware is worth more than my fucking existence.
"you're allowed to spoil yourself once in a millenium," yoochun says as they sit down.
jaejoong looks around, feeling under-dressed and out of place. "no, really, yoochun. i could've just made dinner."
"it's not about the food," yoochun says. there's this light in his eyes as he looks around too, one jaejoong recognizes from when they used to go clubbing and pick out girls on the dance floor.
jaejoong bumps his ankle into yoochun's under the table to steal his attention again. "so what's it about?"
"there's something here i know you'll like." yoochun's eyes are still scanning, and jaejoong chews on his thumbnail and watches them move until they snap onto something behind him.
"okay," yoochun says. "two o'clock."
"your two o'clock or my two o'clock?"
"mine. your," yoochun calculates, "four o'clock?"
jaejoong turns.
"shit, no. wrong way."
jaejoong rolls his eyes at yoochun, turns around to his eight o'clock. pauses. "the lady who's about to choke on her lobster?"
"behind her. taller."
"oh," jaejoong says, and makes a funny sound in his throat. "oh."
at first glance, shim changmin is stunning. at second glance, he is still really stunning. he stays really fucking stunning for every glance after that.
yoochun kicks jaejoong under the table, whispering, "stop looking he'll see you!"
shim changmin does see him. jaejoong scrambles back around. "he's coming over here he's coming over here hurry act like we're talking intelligently."
"so," yoochun starts, "global warming."
"it's getting warmer," jaejoong says, lamely. "across the globe."
shim changmin hands out their menus, says he'll be their waiter tonight, and can i get you two something to drink? jaejoong's more interested in how shim changmin's neck slopes under the white collar of his uniform, and how shim changmin's eyes move when he smiles.
jaejoong picks his ability to pronounce korean off the restaurant's high class floor and dusts it off after shim changmin leaves to get their water. "yoochun," he says.
yoochun rubs his lower leg against jaejoong's, sympathetic. "i told you."
jaejoong makes another funny sound and hides behind his menu.
epilogue:
jaejoong says his order wrong, spills his glass of water, and the people around them are starting to notice that he and yoochun are playing footsie under the table. shim changmin comes by once in a while to ask how they're doing, are they enjoying their dinner. his fingers are cold and wet and accidental against the back of jaejoong's as he takes jaejoong's glass to refill. jaejoong is three seconds from saying how he's pretty sure he'd enjoy shim changmin's mouth a lot better.
jaejoong spends five minutes gnawing at his bottom lip, drumming his fingers on the high class table cloth. maybe shim changmin likes the clumsy, broke, and incapable-of-pronouncing-names-of-pasta type.
yoochun offers him a pen and the helpful idea: "suck tomato sauce off of your pinky."
jaejoong pretend-snarls at him.
when shim changmin returns with their check, jaejoong says, "wait," and scribbles his number onto a corner of his napkin with yoochun's pen as he continues, "do you have a cellphone? because i have a cellphone. call my cellphone sometime?" five seconds later, realizes: he just ruined a high class restaurant napkin.
wonders: where is the tomato sauce.
shim changmin is laughing at him. jaejoong is turning thirteen shades of pink, then fourteen when shim changmin snatches yoochun's pen away.
"i have friday nights off," he says. natural, effortless, fucking stunning.
"oh," jaejoong says, and it takes five more minutes and yoochun's foot against the inside of his thigh to get him to stop re-reading shim changmin's name and number written on the back of his hand.
author sunfever.
word count 677.
concrit hit me.
pairing jaejoong/changmin, jaejoong+yoochun.
a/n so, so gratuitous. e. e. cummings title. and hi, shay, again.
"this place is high class wallet rape, yoochun, why're we here?" jaejoong hisses, tugging at yoochun's wrist. the entire restaurant is bathed in warm orange light and lined with fancy wall decorations. jaejoong feels like dirt, just breathing the high class air. he looks at the table they've been led to and thinks: this set of silverware is worth more than my fucking existence.
"you're allowed to spoil yourself once in a millenium," yoochun says as they sit down.
jaejoong looks around, feeling under-dressed and out of place. "no, really, yoochun. i could've just made dinner."
"it's not about the food," yoochun says. there's this light in his eyes as he looks around too, one jaejoong recognizes from when they used to go clubbing and pick out girls on the dance floor.
jaejoong bumps his ankle into yoochun's under the table to steal his attention again. "so what's it about?"
"there's something here i know you'll like." yoochun's eyes are still scanning, and jaejoong chews on his thumbnail and watches them move until they snap onto something behind him.
"okay," yoochun says. "two o'clock."
"your two o'clock or my two o'clock?"
"mine. your," yoochun calculates, "four o'clock?"
jaejoong turns.
"shit, no. wrong way."
jaejoong rolls his eyes at yoochun, turns around to his eight o'clock. pauses. "the lady who's about to choke on her lobster?"
"behind her. taller."
"oh," jaejoong says, and makes a funny sound in his throat. "oh."
at first glance, shim changmin is stunning. at second glance, he is still really stunning. he stays really fucking stunning for every glance after that.
yoochun kicks jaejoong under the table, whispering, "stop looking he'll see you!"
shim changmin does see him. jaejoong scrambles back around. "he's coming over here he's coming over here hurry act like we're talking intelligently."
"so," yoochun starts, "global warming."
"it's getting warmer," jaejoong says, lamely. "across the globe."
shim changmin hands out their menus, says he'll be their waiter tonight, and can i get you two something to drink? jaejoong's more interested in how shim changmin's neck slopes under the white collar of his uniform, and how shim changmin's eyes move when he smiles.
jaejoong picks his ability to pronounce korean off the restaurant's high class floor and dusts it off after shim changmin leaves to get their water. "yoochun," he says.
yoochun rubs his lower leg against jaejoong's, sympathetic. "i told you."
jaejoong makes another funny sound and hides behind his menu.
epilogue:
jaejoong says his order wrong, spills his glass of water, and the people around them are starting to notice that he and yoochun are playing footsie under the table. shim changmin comes by once in a while to ask how they're doing, are they enjoying their dinner. his fingers are cold and wet and accidental against the back of jaejoong's as he takes jaejoong's glass to refill. jaejoong is three seconds from saying how he's pretty sure he'd enjoy shim changmin's mouth a lot better.
jaejoong spends five minutes gnawing at his bottom lip, drumming his fingers on the high class table cloth. maybe shim changmin likes the clumsy, broke, and incapable-of-pronouncing-names-of-pasta type.
yoochun offers him a pen and the helpful idea: "suck tomato sauce off of your pinky."
jaejoong pretend-snarls at him.
when shim changmin returns with their check, jaejoong says, "wait," and scribbles his number onto a corner of his napkin with yoochun's pen as he continues, "do you have a cellphone? because i have a cellphone. call my cellphone sometime?" five seconds later, realizes: he just ruined a high class restaurant napkin.
wonders: where is the tomato sauce.
shim changmin is laughing at him. jaejoong is turning thirteen shades of pink, then fourteen when shim changmin snatches yoochun's pen away.
"i have friday nights off," he says. natural, effortless, fucking stunning.
"oh," jaejoong says, and it takes five more minutes and yoochun's foot against the inside of his thigh to get him to stop re-reading shim changmin's name and number written on the back of his hand.