(oneshot) doojoon/yoseob | come towards me
come towards me
doojoon/yoseob
PG, 900~ words, fluff
dedicated to kigae cause you know i can dissapear and stop talking, but i can never stop writing you fics about your ultimate otp <3
come towards me
It’s summer, and how, for this life of his own, Yoseob hates summer. He hates the heat, the sun beating down his nape, the sweat running down his temples and all over his sticky body, his shirt stuck to his back as a second skin. He hates the heat rising from the asphalt and slowly boiling the streets, he hates that, and he hates walking home after school below a harsh sun.
He wipes off his forehead and keeps walking, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his bag, head lowered, staring at the cracks of the paved street passing by since there wasn’t anything really relevant to his interest to think about (in fact the last few days he had been feeling kind of dull and weird, but he would rather think it’s just the sun that boils his thoughts…)
And he first saw him during a day of summer.
He first saw him during a day of summer through all the rushed passers-by talking aloud against their phones as if they were giving vital instructions so the business wouldn’t crumble down, passer-by with lowered heads, walking with long strides. He saw him through all the rushed figures of those strangers filling the streets and the world suddenly stopped spinning, and everything started to fade out at the background, because he saw him.
He was sitting near a bank with a guitar in his arms, with such a peaceful expression on his face while the entire multitude was rushing around him, without noticing him, too busy to hear a few chords of the guitar, that was impossible to not notice him, and maybe that was what caught Yoseob’s eyes.
The figures of the strangers and all the city noise were fading away somewhere at the back of his head, or at least, they became imperceptible to Yoseob’s ears and eyes, because all he could hear now, all he could see now was his fingers moving deftly over the chords and him strumming the guitar strings while singing a song, a kind of soft and husky murmur.
The street musician was maybe older than him since he wasn’t wearing a school uniform as Yoseob was. His skin was brown and the sun at his back created a halo of gold behind his short black hair. His fingers were long and probably callused for all the years he’s been manipulating the guitar, and Yoseob couldn’t help but stare, stare and stare until the musician looked up and glanced directly at the school guy, as if he had always known he was there hypnotizing by him, and he smirked because he thought it was adorable. Yoseob’s heart skipped not just one, but two beats before he fled away anywhere he could hide from him.
The same musician always sets up himself in the same bank with a threadbare and faded hat resting in front of him where sometimes people would leave him some money. He doesn’t seem to do this for money, Yoseob always thinks, pretending he is not there again just to hear him (and he has already memorized his repertoire), and he always diverts his eyes when the musician stares back at him (as if he were stupid enough to not notice he has been observed by a pair of beautiful and soulful dark eyes the last half of hour).
He regrets it’s only glances and not something more concrete as a hey, my name is… and I’ve been looking at you (and I kind of can’t take my eyes off you), but he doesn’t blame himself ‘cause he doesn’t have the guts to tell him how much he always longs to see him there every day.
Then there comes a day when Yoseob stays until the end. The day dies in the horizon and the neon lights glow in the night lighting half of Yoseob’s face (the other half remains in the shadows), and the street musician knows he’s waiting for something, a word, a smile, anything.
He picks up the tip people gave him (just a couple of coins), puts on the faded hat, hangs his guitar at his back and walks towards him.
“Hey, I’m Doojoon,” he smiles. “is there something you need?” Yoseob doesn’t look too surprised by this sudden talk as much as he thought he’d be, but he looks down anyway and is glad it’s dark enough so this guy won’t be able see his cheeks blushing.
“would you sing… for me?” he asks and Doojoon seems surprised by this sudden petition, but he doesn’t ask back why and sits down again near the bank, singing and playing the guitar as he wanted.
The next day the street musician is not in the same place where he always is, but the rushing passers-by are too busy to notice (people often don’t notice when there’s someone missing). He’s waiting outside Yoseob’s school with the headphones on and the guitar always hung at his back.
They walk the city together hand in hand, sometimes humming a song together, seeking a place where they can hide from this freaking heat. And they are still together when the sun goes down and when the stars come out.
And when the lights go on again.
doojoon/yoseob
PG, 900~ words, fluff
dedicated to kigae cause you know i can dissapear and stop talking, but i can never stop writing you fics about your ultimate otp <3
come towards me
It’s summer, and how, for this life of his own, Yoseob hates summer. He hates the heat, the sun beating down his nape, the sweat running down his temples and all over his sticky body, his shirt stuck to his back as a second skin. He hates the heat rising from the asphalt and slowly boiling the streets, he hates that, and he hates walking home after school below a harsh sun.
He wipes off his forehead and keeps walking, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his bag, head lowered, staring at the cracks of the paved street passing by since there wasn’t anything really relevant to his interest to think about (in fact the last few days he had been feeling kind of dull and weird, but he would rather think it’s just the sun that boils his thoughts…)
And he first saw him during a day of summer.
He first saw him during a day of summer through all the rushed passers-by talking aloud against their phones as if they were giving vital instructions so the business wouldn’t crumble down, passer-by with lowered heads, walking with long strides. He saw him through all the rushed figures of those strangers filling the streets and the world suddenly stopped spinning, and everything started to fade out at the background, because he saw him.
He was sitting near a bank with a guitar in his arms, with such a peaceful expression on his face while the entire multitude was rushing around him, without noticing him, too busy to hear a few chords of the guitar, that was impossible to not notice him, and maybe that was what caught Yoseob’s eyes.
The figures of the strangers and all the city noise were fading away somewhere at the back of his head, or at least, they became imperceptible to Yoseob’s ears and eyes, because all he could hear now, all he could see now was his fingers moving deftly over the chords and him strumming the guitar strings while singing a song, a kind of soft and husky murmur.
The street musician was maybe older than him since he wasn’t wearing a school uniform as Yoseob was. His skin was brown and the sun at his back created a halo of gold behind his short black hair. His fingers were long and probably callused for all the years he’s been manipulating the guitar, and Yoseob couldn’t help but stare, stare and stare until the musician looked up and glanced directly at the school guy, as if he had always known he was there hypnotizing by him, and he smirked because he thought it was adorable. Yoseob’s heart skipped not just one, but two beats before he fled away anywhere he could hide from him.
The same musician always sets up himself in the same bank with a threadbare and faded hat resting in front of him where sometimes people would leave him some money. He doesn’t seem to do this for money, Yoseob always thinks, pretending he is not there again just to hear him (and he has already memorized his repertoire), and he always diverts his eyes when the musician stares back at him (as if he were stupid enough to not notice he has been observed by a pair of beautiful and soulful dark eyes the last half of hour).
He regrets it’s only glances and not something more concrete as a hey, my name is… and I’ve been looking at you (and I kind of can’t take my eyes off you), but he doesn’t blame himself ‘cause he doesn’t have the guts to tell him how much he always longs to see him there every day.
Then there comes a day when Yoseob stays until the end. The day dies in the horizon and the neon lights glow in the night lighting half of Yoseob’s face (the other half remains in the shadows), and the street musician knows he’s waiting for something, a word, a smile, anything.
He picks up the tip people gave him (just a couple of coins), puts on the faded hat, hangs his guitar at his back and walks towards him.
“Hey, I’m Doojoon,” he smiles. “is there something you need?” Yoseob doesn’t look too surprised by this sudden talk as much as he thought he’d be, but he looks down anyway and is glad it’s dark enough so this guy won’t be able see his cheeks blushing.
“would you sing… for me?” he asks and Doojoon seems surprised by this sudden petition, but he doesn’t ask back why and sits down again near the bank, singing and playing the guitar as he wanted.
The next day the street musician is not in the same place where he always is, but the rushing passers-by are too busy to notice (people often don’t notice when there’s someone missing). He’s waiting outside Yoseob’s school with the headphones on and the guitar always hung at his back.
They walk the city together hand in hand, sometimes humming a song together, seeking a place where they can hide from this freaking heat. And they are still together when the sun goes down and when the stars come out.
And when the lights go on again.