[infinite] o39. myopia; myungsoo/sungyeol; pg
Title: Myopia
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG
Summary: Myungsoo meets Lee Sungyeol on a rainy day. Myungsoo likes to take photographs, and Sungyeol's a design student. Things happen. I suck at summaries. o39. of the 100 infinite fic challenge.
Word count: ~1,900
my·o·pi·a (n)
1. nearsightedness.
They meet on a rainy day, when the clear sky suddenly clutters and forms dense grey clouds and sprinkles of rain land in gentle splatters on the asphalt.
It’s autumn, when the air is meant to be crisp and fresh and the leaves start to lose their green pallor, but this day is an exception.
Myungsoo’s in the middle of a photoshoot when he feels water on the tip of his nose.
This is bad, Myungsoo thinks, hugging his camera to his chest as he hurriedly takes shelter under an awning. He gazes at the reddening trees from under his shelter, as the rain pelts harder, and brings his camera up to his eyes.
Snap.
He doesn’t notice that there’s another boy standing next to him, black-rimmed glasses sitting on his face, peering up into the sky, until he sees a hand reach out to catch the rain. The boy sighs, and Myungsoo’s attention is drawn from photographing the trees to the figure next to him.
The boy’s tall. Well dressed, neat, and clutching a brown shoulder bag. Myungsoo watches as the raindrops trickle down through his perfect fingers and pool at his palm. He raises his camera.
Snap.
The boy jerks his head towards Myungsoo and drops his hand, startled. Myungsoo slowly lowers his camera, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s never a good idea to take pictures of random strangers, and Myungsoo really doesn’t know why he decided to just then, but he simply wanted to capture the rain on those perfect fingers.
There’s a silence. It’s broken when the boy breaks out into a gentle laugh, and Myungsoo relaxes.
“Great weather, huh?” the boy remarks, wiping his wet hand on his pant leg, and Myungsoo watches the ways his fingers curl. “It’s strange for it to be raining at this time of the year though, don’t you think?”
Myungsoo nods in agreement. He clutches nervously at his camera, and the boy nods to it.
“Photographer?” he asks, and Myungsoo shakes his head.
“No, just an art student. Photography’s my pastime,” he answers, blushing slightly, and looks back up. The boy nods interestedly, then looks to the pouring rain and sighs.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime. I think it might be a better idea to go inside -- there’s a nice café on the second level. Do you wanna come with me?”
His name is Lee Sungyeol.
He’s a bit strange, a bit too gangly for his height, but his eyes crinkle up and laugh lines form when he smiles, which Myungsoo thinks is rather charming.
Myungsoo finds out that he’s a third year design student living by himself. It certainly explains his good taste in clothes, he notes wryly. All he has sitting at home are racks of plaid shirts and hats that all look the same, and he thinks that maybe he could learn a lesson or two from this boy.
“So you take pictures of everything?” Sungyeol’s asking, sipping on his long black, and Myungsoo nods.
“Anything I find interesting, really, I’m not picky,” he replies, and points his camera at Sungyeol’s hands wrapping around the coffee mug.
“Do you mind?” he asks, and Sungyeol shakes his head.
Snap.
“You have really nice fingers, by the way,” Myungsoo blurts out involuntarily, and flushes immediately. Sungyeol just laughs it off, and sets the mug down on the coaster.
“That’s a new pickup line,” he teases, and stretches out his hand. “It’s definitely not every day that people take an interest in my hands.”
“They fit you,” Myungsoo hears himself reply, and raises his camera again.
They talk. The rain stops, but they keep talking, and when the sun starts to set and Sungyeol has to go, he punches his number into Myungsoo’s phone.
“Text me,” he says, and Myungsoo does.
The café becomes their rendezvous. Autumn turns into winter, but neither of them ever misses a week. They both sit at the corner of the café, their café, waiting until the other comes.
They learn about each other, their likes, dislikes, little odd bits of information here and there, and they becomes good friends somewhere along the line, but there’s always a tension between the two that manifests in lingering touches and too-long-to-be-just-friends goodbye hugs.
Myungsoo finds more often than not the subject of his photography is Sungyeol, and Sungyeol finds that sometimes when he’s designing, he’ll imagine the model is Myungsoo.
The first time Myungsoo’s let into Sungyeol’s design studio in the basement floor of his apartment, his eyes light up in delight. Sungyeol’s designs are amazing, Myungsoo thinks, and runs his eyes over the hundreds of sketches just plastered onto the wall, and scraps of coloured material sitting across the desk and draped over the sewing machine.
“You’re incredible,” he breathes, reaching his hand out to touch the meticulous drawings, and Sungyeol chuckles a bit.
“Your photographs are better,” he replies.
Myungsoo makes a face, pulling him in and linking their fingers together. He looks at the contrast; his rough wide palm and unkempt fingernails in contrast to Sungyeol’s long, slender fingers, and presses his lips to the back of his hand.
“And these are the hands that create all of these designs,” Myungsoo marvels, pulling their linked hands behind his head so Sungyeol’s hands rested behind his neck. He moves a step in, breathing in the scent of Sungyeol’s cologne. He doesn’t move away, and he can feel his heart thumping in his chest. Sungyeol presses a kiss to his forehead, then a gentle, sweet kiss to his lips.
“And these are the lips that boast too much about me,” Sungyeol retorts half-heartedly, breathless, and he’s shut up by a pair of lips pressing back against his.
They go upstairs into Sungyeol’s bedroom and Myungsoo unbuttons Sungyeol’s shirt and trails kisses down his chest and it’s a mash of lips and tongue and teeth and skin and neither of them really know what they’re doing, but it’s right and everything’s right and Myungsoo wants to capture this moment, this feeling, forever.
Snap.
Winter becomes spring, and university gets busier for both of them. Myungsoo’s working on his final art project, a collection of oil on canvas, and Sungyeol has to design a set of ten outfits for the upcoming student designer showcase.
“Why don’t you ever model your designs?” Myungsoo murmurs, drawing lines up and down Sungyeol’s chest, on a day when both of them find a little space to breathe from the looming deadlines. Sungyeol chuckles.
“Me, as a model? I’d probably trip over something,” he jests, and Myungsoo has to concur on that point.
“I don’t have the right feel,” he adds softly, after a contemplative silence. “Models are meant to be sharp. Graceful. And my designs aren’t good enough anyway.”
Myungsoo’s hands travel to Sungyeol’s collarbones, and then to his face, where his glasses sit. Even if the black rimmed glasses were lenseless and for fashion purposes only, Myungsoo thinks that maybe Sungyeol is a bit myopic. He underestimates himself, his talent, his potential, whereas Myungsoo sees it for what it is.
“You’re more than good enough,” Myungsoo murmurs, but all he gets back is a low laugh and a sigh.
Myungsoo’s much too aware of Sungyeol’s insecurities. You’re beautiful, he wants to say. He wants to show Sungyeol his long legs, his perfectly proportioned waist, his model height, but Sungyeol can only see too thin a frame, bulldog cheeks, and two left feet in himself.
Spring turns to summer, and before they know it, the semester is over and they’re on summer break. Sungyeol’s designs get one of the top marks in his class, and Myungsoo’s happy enough with his passing mark.
“You really should model for your designs,” Myungsoo hints to Sungyeol one day when they’re lying on the floor of Sungyeol’s apartment, fanning themselves in the sweltering heat. “They’d look good on you.”
“I can’t,” he gets in reply, “I’m not meant to be a model,” and Myungsoo feels his heart sinking in his chest.
Myungsoo decides that night that he’ll show him just how beautiful he really is.
He visits the 24 hour printing store in his neighbourhood and prints out a hundred photos of Sungyeol, ignoring the strange look he receives from the cashier when he goes up to pay.
“He’s beautiful, right?” he asks, and the cashier just hands him his change silently, one eyebrow raised.
It’s almost midnight when Myungsoo presses in the pin to Sungyeol’s apartment and lets himself in. He’s holding a brown paper bag filled with the photos, paper, string and scissors in one hand, and a black marker in the other. His heart pounds unnaturally fast, and he breathes to calm himself.
The door to Sungyeol’s bedroom is ajar and Myungsoo can hear gentle snoring from inside the room. Sungyeol’s an exceptionally light sleeper, so he takes extra care to make as little noise as possible as he pads in and starts his handiwork.
Sungyeol stirs and wakes just when Myungsoo’s tying up the last string.
“Myungsoo? Is that you?” he hears from behind him, and turns to see Sungyeol’s dark silhouette groggily rubbing his eyes, sitting up in bed. Sungyeol reaches to switch on the bedside lamp, and the whole room is flooded with a dim orange light. Myungsoo blinks, momentarily blinded.
Sungyeol's eyes adjust to the light, and he squints as he sees the spectacle on his wall. His mouth falls open.
Myungsoo’s strung up all hundred photos on four long strings stretching from the wardrobe to the windows on the wall in front of him. There’s a gap in the middle, where a piece of paper sticks to the wall. ‘My model, Lee Sungyeol,’ it reads, letters drawn on neatly in black marker, and Sungyeol furrows his eyebrows at it.
“When did you take all these?” Sungyeol asks as he runs his eyes over the shots of him drinking coffee, laughing, making ridiculous faces, sticking out his tongue, and Myungsoo sits down on the bed, fiddling with the cap of the marker.
“One of the perks of photography,” Myungsoo answers sheepishly, “is that it captures the moments that we tend to forget.”
Sungyeol presses his hands over his face, goggling, mouth open like a goldfish, and Myungsoo giggles a bit at his comical expression.
“My god Myungsoo, why did you do this?” Sungyeol mutters. “What am I even doing in half these photos?”
“You’re being Lee Sungyeol,” Myungsoo replies, amused, and takes Sungyeol’s face in his hands. “And I did this because I want to show you that you are beautiful, stupid.”
Sungyeol falls silent, but Myungsoo can see a smile twitching on the edge of his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and presses a kiss to Myungsoo’s hands, then pulls him into a big hug.
“Does that mean you’ll model your designs for me now?” Myungsoo murmurs into Sungyeol’s hair half-jokingly, and Sungyeol chuckles.
“They were never designed to fit me anyway.”
(Myungsoo ends up staying the night, curled up against Sungyeol, breathing in his warmth. He looks at Sungyeol's face surreptitiously when he feels his breaths settle, his body relaxing, and his lips curl up at the content smile on Sungyeol's face.
Snap.)
a/n: this was...meant to be not-fluff lol but brain...plot...OTL. uh. promises to have a sequel :3
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG
Summary: Myungsoo meets Lee Sungyeol on a rainy day. Myungsoo likes to take photographs, and Sungyeol's a design student. Things happen. I suck at summaries. o39. of the 100 infinite fic challenge.
Word count: ~1,900
my·o·pi·a (n)
1. nearsightedness.
They meet on a rainy day, when the clear sky suddenly clutters and forms dense grey clouds and sprinkles of rain land in gentle splatters on the asphalt.
It’s autumn, when the air is meant to be crisp and fresh and the leaves start to lose their green pallor, but this day is an exception.
Myungsoo’s in the middle of a photoshoot when he feels water on the tip of his nose.
This is bad, Myungsoo thinks, hugging his camera to his chest as he hurriedly takes shelter under an awning. He gazes at the reddening trees from under his shelter, as the rain pelts harder, and brings his camera up to his eyes.
Snap.
He doesn’t notice that there’s another boy standing next to him, black-rimmed glasses sitting on his face, peering up into the sky, until he sees a hand reach out to catch the rain. The boy sighs, and Myungsoo’s attention is drawn from photographing the trees to the figure next to him.
The boy’s tall. Well dressed, neat, and clutching a brown shoulder bag. Myungsoo watches as the raindrops trickle down through his perfect fingers and pool at his palm. He raises his camera.
Snap.
The boy jerks his head towards Myungsoo and drops his hand, startled. Myungsoo slowly lowers his camera, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s never a good idea to take pictures of random strangers, and Myungsoo really doesn’t know why he decided to just then, but he simply wanted to capture the rain on those perfect fingers.
There’s a silence. It’s broken when the boy breaks out into a gentle laugh, and Myungsoo relaxes.
“Great weather, huh?” the boy remarks, wiping his wet hand on his pant leg, and Myungsoo watches the ways his fingers curl. “It’s strange for it to be raining at this time of the year though, don’t you think?”
Myungsoo nods in agreement. He clutches nervously at his camera, and the boy nods to it.
“Photographer?” he asks, and Myungsoo shakes his head.
“No, just an art student. Photography’s my pastime,” he answers, blushing slightly, and looks back up. The boy nods interestedly, then looks to the pouring rain and sighs.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime. I think it might be a better idea to go inside -- there’s a nice café on the second level. Do you wanna come with me?”
His name is Lee Sungyeol.
He’s a bit strange, a bit too gangly for his height, but his eyes crinkle up and laugh lines form when he smiles, which Myungsoo thinks is rather charming.
Myungsoo finds out that he’s a third year design student living by himself. It certainly explains his good taste in clothes, he notes wryly. All he has sitting at home are racks of plaid shirts and hats that all look the same, and he thinks that maybe he could learn a lesson or two from this boy.
“So you take pictures of everything?” Sungyeol’s asking, sipping on his long black, and Myungsoo nods.
“Anything I find interesting, really, I’m not picky,” he replies, and points his camera at Sungyeol’s hands wrapping around the coffee mug.
“Do you mind?” he asks, and Sungyeol shakes his head.
Snap.
“You have really nice fingers, by the way,” Myungsoo blurts out involuntarily, and flushes immediately. Sungyeol just laughs it off, and sets the mug down on the coaster.
“That’s a new pickup line,” he teases, and stretches out his hand. “It’s definitely not every day that people take an interest in my hands.”
“They fit you,” Myungsoo hears himself reply, and raises his camera again.
They talk. The rain stops, but they keep talking, and when the sun starts to set and Sungyeol has to go, he punches his number into Myungsoo’s phone.
“Text me,” he says, and Myungsoo does.
The café becomes their rendezvous. Autumn turns into winter, but neither of them ever misses a week. They both sit at the corner of the café, their café, waiting until the other comes.
They learn about each other, their likes, dislikes, little odd bits of information here and there, and they becomes good friends somewhere along the line, but there’s always a tension between the two that manifests in lingering touches and too-long-to-be-just-friends goodbye hugs.
Myungsoo finds more often than not the subject of his photography is Sungyeol, and Sungyeol finds that sometimes when he’s designing, he’ll imagine the model is Myungsoo.
The first time Myungsoo’s let into Sungyeol’s design studio in the basement floor of his apartment, his eyes light up in delight. Sungyeol’s designs are amazing, Myungsoo thinks, and runs his eyes over the hundreds of sketches just plastered onto the wall, and scraps of coloured material sitting across the desk and draped over the sewing machine.
“You’re incredible,” he breathes, reaching his hand out to touch the meticulous drawings, and Sungyeol chuckles a bit.
“Your photographs are better,” he replies.
Myungsoo makes a face, pulling him in and linking their fingers together. He looks at the contrast; his rough wide palm and unkempt fingernails in contrast to Sungyeol’s long, slender fingers, and presses his lips to the back of his hand.
“And these are the hands that create all of these designs,” Myungsoo marvels, pulling their linked hands behind his head so Sungyeol’s hands rested behind his neck. He moves a step in, breathing in the scent of Sungyeol’s cologne. He doesn’t move away, and he can feel his heart thumping in his chest. Sungyeol presses a kiss to his forehead, then a gentle, sweet kiss to his lips.
“And these are the lips that boast too much about me,” Sungyeol retorts half-heartedly, breathless, and he’s shut up by a pair of lips pressing back against his.
They go upstairs into Sungyeol’s bedroom and Myungsoo unbuttons Sungyeol’s shirt and trails kisses down his chest and it’s a mash of lips and tongue and teeth and skin and neither of them really know what they’re doing, but it’s right and everything’s right and Myungsoo wants to capture this moment, this feeling, forever.
Snap.
Winter becomes spring, and university gets busier for both of them. Myungsoo’s working on his final art project, a collection of oil on canvas, and Sungyeol has to design a set of ten outfits for the upcoming student designer showcase.
“Why don’t you ever model your designs?” Myungsoo murmurs, drawing lines up and down Sungyeol’s chest, on a day when both of them find a little space to breathe from the looming deadlines. Sungyeol chuckles.
“Me, as a model? I’d probably trip over something,” he jests, and Myungsoo has to concur on that point.
“I don’t have the right feel,” he adds softly, after a contemplative silence. “Models are meant to be sharp. Graceful. And my designs aren’t good enough anyway.”
Myungsoo’s hands travel to Sungyeol’s collarbones, and then to his face, where his glasses sit. Even if the black rimmed glasses were lenseless and for fashion purposes only, Myungsoo thinks that maybe Sungyeol is a bit myopic. He underestimates himself, his talent, his potential, whereas Myungsoo sees it for what it is.
“You’re more than good enough,” Myungsoo murmurs, but all he gets back is a low laugh and a sigh.
Myungsoo’s much too aware of Sungyeol’s insecurities. You’re beautiful, he wants to say. He wants to show Sungyeol his long legs, his perfectly proportioned waist, his model height, but Sungyeol can only see too thin a frame, bulldog cheeks, and two left feet in himself.
Spring turns to summer, and before they know it, the semester is over and they’re on summer break. Sungyeol’s designs get one of the top marks in his class, and Myungsoo’s happy enough with his passing mark.
“You really should model for your designs,” Myungsoo hints to Sungyeol one day when they’re lying on the floor of Sungyeol’s apartment, fanning themselves in the sweltering heat. “They’d look good on you.”
“I can’t,” he gets in reply, “I’m not meant to be a model,” and Myungsoo feels his heart sinking in his chest.
Myungsoo decides that night that he’ll show him just how beautiful he really is.
He visits the 24 hour printing store in his neighbourhood and prints out a hundred photos of Sungyeol, ignoring the strange look he receives from the cashier when he goes up to pay.
“He’s beautiful, right?” he asks, and the cashier just hands him his change silently, one eyebrow raised.
It’s almost midnight when Myungsoo presses in the pin to Sungyeol’s apartment and lets himself in. He’s holding a brown paper bag filled with the photos, paper, string and scissors in one hand, and a black marker in the other. His heart pounds unnaturally fast, and he breathes to calm himself.
The door to Sungyeol’s bedroom is ajar and Myungsoo can hear gentle snoring from inside the room. Sungyeol’s an exceptionally light sleeper, so he takes extra care to make as little noise as possible as he pads in and starts his handiwork.
Sungyeol stirs and wakes just when Myungsoo’s tying up the last string.
“Myungsoo? Is that you?” he hears from behind him, and turns to see Sungyeol’s dark silhouette groggily rubbing his eyes, sitting up in bed. Sungyeol reaches to switch on the bedside lamp, and the whole room is flooded with a dim orange light. Myungsoo blinks, momentarily blinded.
Sungyeol's eyes adjust to the light, and he squints as he sees the spectacle on his wall. His mouth falls open.
Myungsoo’s strung up all hundred photos on four long strings stretching from the wardrobe to the windows on the wall in front of him. There’s a gap in the middle, where a piece of paper sticks to the wall. ‘My model, Lee Sungyeol,’ it reads, letters drawn on neatly in black marker, and Sungyeol furrows his eyebrows at it.
“When did you take all these?” Sungyeol asks as he runs his eyes over the shots of him drinking coffee, laughing, making ridiculous faces, sticking out his tongue, and Myungsoo sits down on the bed, fiddling with the cap of the marker.
“One of the perks of photography,” Myungsoo answers sheepishly, “is that it captures the moments that we tend to forget.”
Sungyeol presses his hands over his face, goggling, mouth open like a goldfish, and Myungsoo giggles a bit at his comical expression.
“My god Myungsoo, why did you do this?” Sungyeol mutters. “What am I even doing in half these photos?”
“You’re being Lee Sungyeol,” Myungsoo replies, amused, and takes Sungyeol’s face in his hands. “And I did this because I want to show you that you are beautiful, stupid.”
Sungyeol falls silent, but Myungsoo can see a smile twitching on the edge of his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and presses a kiss to Myungsoo’s hands, then pulls him into a big hug.
“Does that mean you’ll model your designs for me now?” Myungsoo murmurs into Sungyeol’s hair half-jokingly, and Sungyeol chuckles.
“They were never designed to fit me anyway.”
(Myungsoo ends up staying the night, curled up against Sungyeol, breathing in his warmth. He looks at Sungyeol's face surreptitiously when he feels his breaths settle, his body relaxing, and his lips curl up at the content smile on Sungyeol's face.
Snap.)
a/n: this was...meant to be not-fluff lol but brain...plot...OTL. uh. promises to have a sequel :3