fic; yoosu
title burnout
rating pg to pg-13
pairing implied yoosu but really could be anyone/su
summary It takes as long as a cigarette finished between his lips.
It takes as long as a cigarette finished between his lips. He lights up and sits down at the piano, fingers curled delicately over the white keys; shifts his fingers a few notes. The chord he plays is in minor.
I wrote this song for you, he says, smoke unfurling from his lips, ash drifting into the cracks of the keyboard. Before, breathing in the smoke, letting it out, you reminisce about the way his lips taste like tobacco, his breath feels like fire; the smoke twists with the melody he plays, quickly fading as the vibrations lessen.
When he stands the smoke breaks like a curtain, and you feel as though you should be applauding, but then he's taken the cigarette from his lips and pushed it into the ashtray on top of the piano, taken a few steps toward you, taken your breath with the gentle touch of lips against lips, breathing smoke into your mouth.
I can't see you anymore, the smoke says, and you swallow and shiver and cough when he pulls away.
What do you mean?
I can't. My wife. She-- but he doesn't have to finish, and you feel yourself on your knees, and the fire on the ashtray is burning out, smoking, dissolving, dying.
When the smoke fizzles away he's gone, too, leaving with a last word:
Under different circumstances, Junsu, maybe we could have.
-x-
a/n comments/concrit always appreciated. ♥
rating pg to pg-13
pairing implied yoosu but really could be anyone/su
summary It takes as long as a cigarette finished between his lips.
It takes as long as a cigarette finished between his lips. He lights up and sits down at the piano, fingers curled delicately over the white keys; shifts his fingers a few notes. The chord he plays is in minor.
I wrote this song for you, he says, smoke unfurling from his lips, ash drifting into the cracks of the keyboard. Before, breathing in the smoke, letting it out, you reminisce about the way his lips taste like tobacco, his breath feels like fire; the smoke twists with the melody he plays, quickly fading as the vibrations lessen.
When he stands the smoke breaks like a curtain, and you feel as though you should be applauding, but then he's taken the cigarette from his lips and pushed it into the ashtray on top of the piano, taken a few steps toward you, taken your breath with the gentle touch of lips against lips, breathing smoke into your mouth.
I can't see you anymore, the smoke says, and you swallow and shiver and cough when he pulls away.
What do you mean?
I can't. My wife. She-- but he doesn't have to finish, and you feel yourself on your knees, and the fire on the ashtray is burning out, smoking, dissolving, dying.
When the smoke fizzles away he's gone, too, leaving with a last word:
Under different circumstances, Junsu, maybe we could have.
-x-
a/n comments/concrit always appreciated. ♥