(no subject)
fragile plates
256 word drabble | tvxq, yoochun-centric, g, there's a hernia in his heart and he makes excuses
yoochun sips amber from a bowl because the cups are all dirtied. he's done the dishes once (it's yunho's job, but he hadn't seen him in months) but the dish soap burned his knuckles and the fumes made his eyes sting. he debated drying the dishes (changmin's responsibility - he hadn't seen him in longer) and finally decided that dishcloths were a health risk and reaching up to place (fragile) plates and jaejoong's expensive porcelain in their respective places would tear at the hernia in his heart. he leaves them in the kitchen sink - won't use them, won't touch them - and buys a pack of plastic plates (and when he runs out of those, he uses, rinses, and reuses the same bowl for every meal and beverage for three months.)
he thinks it's making him sick; but the sickness is nostalgia and melting pots in his stomach when he passes picture frames with five grins and matching hearts, and heavy tears when the radio lets out a familiar tune (a sonnet / i miss you / i love you / a war cry.)
he stops drinking water; starts drinking rum and brandy and cocktails without the sugary liquids and flavoring. he stops making meals and instead settles on instant ramen; stops eating eggs and toast for breakfast in favour of coffee and apples. one pack of cigarettes a week turns into two a day, and he's sitting on the porch, feet bare on the railing, flicking ashes into a bowl
(because all the ashtrays are dirtied.)
256 word drabble | tvxq, yoochun-centric, g, there's a hernia in his heart and he makes excuses
yoochun sips amber from a bowl because the cups are all dirtied. he's done the dishes once (it's yunho's job, but he hadn't seen him in months) but the dish soap burned his knuckles and the fumes made his eyes sting. he debated drying the dishes (changmin's responsibility - he hadn't seen him in longer) and finally decided that dishcloths were a health risk and reaching up to place (fragile) plates and jaejoong's expensive porcelain in their respective places would tear at the hernia in his heart. he leaves them in the kitchen sink - won't use them, won't touch them - and buys a pack of plastic plates (and when he runs out of those, he uses, rinses, and reuses the same bowl for every meal and beverage for three months.)
he thinks it's making him sick; but the sickness is nostalgia and melting pots in his stomach when he passes picture frames with five grins and matching hearts, and heavy tears when the radio lets out a familiar tune (a sonnet / i miss you / i love you / a war cry.)
he stops drinking water; starts drinking rum and brandy and cocktails without the sugary liquids and flavoring. he stops making meals and instead settles on instant ramen; stops eating eggs and toast for breakfast in favour of coffee and apples. one pack of cigarettes a week turns into two a day, and he's sitting on the porch, feet bare on the railing, flicking ashes into a bowl
(because all the ashtrays are dirtied.)