lyulf’s still a teenager – Lyulf/Elizabeth, PG, 300 WC
32 days.
32 days until he saw Lizzie again.
Lyulf’s classroom felt like a prison.
“I really need a coffee,” he muttered to himself, cupping his chin with his palm. Organic chemistry could go suck some balls. He surreptitiously snuck his notebook into his backpack and tucked his pencil pouch away. The minute the bell rung, he bolted out the door.
Biking down the steep street on the far side of campus was becoming his new favorite pastime. As he passed by the shops, he thought about bringing Lizzie to visit them when she came back to the west coast. She’d like a few of them, he surmised, probably the fancy French-sounding boutiques and patisseries the most. They’d take a trip into the city, preferably avoiding the places with bad memories.
Most of all, he wanted to show her that he was serious, that he was dedicated to turning his life around. Lyulf 2.0 if that helped. He grimaced at the cheesiness of the thought.
“You’ve gone soft, Lyulf. What would the boys say if they saw you now?” Chuckling quietly, he turned left and started pedaling faster. Letting go of the handlebars, he stretched, trying to think of Lizzie’s response. She’d probably say that they weren’t with him now so what does it matter? He grinned at its veracity.
He never really knew why he was so drawn to her in the first place. It was just a gut feeling, he guessed, something that extended beyond his supposed rich-girl fetish. If he tried to put it into words he knew he’d fail. In any case, it wasn’t really something to be accurately talked about, was it? In fact, he always thought those who could were strange, because what was affection, really?
32 days.
His excitement really had no control.
in which ethan’s mind almost implodes – Ethan/Dante, PG-15, 600 WC
Ethan didn’t want to admit it, but he loved the way Dante’s arms wrapped around his waist when he slept. It was warm and the older man smelled good, and most of all, he felt inexplicably safe. It’s not surprising, then, that when the Spaniard wasn’t there Ethan had the most difficulties falling asleep. It was half past four when the taller man gingerly let himself into the room. Sitting up immediately, Ethan rubbed out what little grogginess he had in his eyes and stared accusingly at his lover. Whatever he wanted to say disappeared when he saw what Dante scrabbled together as disguise in his haste to make it back to the apartment safely.
“What…what are you wearing?” Ethan’s voice faltered as he scanned Dante up and down, brows knitting close in confusion.
The older man shrugged tiredly. “Necessity called.”
“It looks dumb.”
“What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”
“It’s annoying me. Get rid of it.”
“Come over and make me,” Dante challenged, sticking out his chin petulantly as he leaned against the doorframe. A sly smile made its way onto Ethan’s face. In a fluid swinging motion, he was off the bed and closing the distance between them. He pressed against the taller man, hands tangling themselves in Dante’s shirt collar, as he leaned close enough to catch the faint residuals of the Spaniard’s cologne.
“You heard me. Take. It. Off,” he whispered, tilting his head to look at Dante with hooded eyes.
“What’s in it for me?” Dante’s voice was equally hushed, hands resting comfortably on Ethan’s waist as he returned the weighted stare.
“What do you think?” Ethan teased, biting his lower lip as he slowly drew his lover to the still-warm bed, smooth movements and charming smiles belying his anxiety when all he wanted to do was hang onto Dante and not let go until he knew they were safe.
Sometime later, lying tangled around each other and just on the outskirts of sleep, Ethan shifted to wrap both arms around the older man. He felt Dante’s hand in his hair, compelling him to empty his mind of what remained of his insecurities.
“I thought you were dead. You were so late this time,” he mumbled against the Spaniard’s smooth chest, with the slightest tremble in his voice.
“Sorry for making you worry. It was messy,” Dante pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of the blond’s head and continued running his fingers through his silky hair.
“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”
A small, throaty laugh. “Does that even make sense?”
Ethan paused, then lifted his head and cupped Dante’s cheeks with still quaking hands. He wet his lips, hesitating.
“You’re all I have,” he whispered, finding Dante’s eyes. He saw them grow wider, matching the smile that the older man now had on his face.
“Someone’s vocal tonight,” joking, the Spaniard covered Ethan’s hands with his own—it was his way of showing appreciation. The blond blushed, catching his allusion, and stuck out his lip.
“Oh,” Dante continued, amused, “I forgot to mention. They might be onto something, so I’ll need to lie low for the time being. Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while.”
Feeling generous, Ethan held down the groan that arose in his throat. It wasn’t so bad. Maybe now Dante will come back at relatively normal times at night. Maybe now they could do normal things, things any two people in a relationship would do. Smiling to himself, he nestled himself into the crook of the older man’s neck.
“I don’t mind. Now go to sleep.”
Ides of May, Chapter 3 – High School AU, PG-13, 2780 WC
“So, the investigation continued, and Jun and I hung out more and more, and as I came to know her I thought she was actually pretty interesting. And you know, thought that maybe something could actually work between us. For a while, I thought she felt the same.”
“So what happened?”
“She got more and more moody, like sometimes I’d come into her homeroom and she’d just be sitting there really still, staring out the window or something.”
“Did you try talking to her about it? Maybe go to the nurse or a therapist or something?”
“I tried. But she always dismissed it as her not getting enough sleep and being tired or something. So I thought to just observe her for a bit more, and if things didn’t change, then bring her to a professional.”
“I see. So you don’t know if she was at risk for suicide or anything, which would explain why you just left her alone like that at the trail.”
“Yeah, also,” Kain looked up, “Officer Park, do you know if she…”
“Don’t worry, she’s safe. Er…someone found her there and brought her in.”
Kain nodded, then folded his hands on the desk, “Okay…okay. As long as she’s okay…um, so what else would you like to know?”
“Just a minute. Let me summarize. So, you and your friends somehow dug up this information around Chinatown, and you were able to get a longtime family friend to meet with her to tell her himself. You realize that this could be borderline illegal, right?”
The blond remained silent. Sighing, Officer Park passed a hand over his haggard face.
“Do you teenagers even know what limits are these days?” he glared at the boy in front of him before his gaze softened, “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I understand that you were just trying to help someone you like. I get that. Anyway…you mentioned that Sehnsucht had said something to the effect of ‘you got what you wanted’ when he was talking to Ran. Do you believe Ran orchestrated this?”
Shaking his head, Kain looked the officer dead in the eye.
“No? Why not?”
“Because the look on his face was one of surprise…and pure terror too. At that point, none of us knew where Jun was, because she turned off her phone, so we didn’t know if she decided to come later or not. And I think…he was scared that she might have been there. I don’t think he would pull a stunt like that. It’s not…his style. No matter how much attention he craved, he would never resort to something that could actually kill another person.”
“I see. Nevertheless, he’s someone we’ll have to look further into. And his relationship with his friend is a bit strange as well. Seems like he never forgave Sehnsucht for his mother’s death?”
“O-oh, really?” Now that was something Kain had never heard about. “I didn’t know…”
Park exhaled again, twisting his lips to the side for a quick smile, “Well, anyway, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Jaeger.” He rose from his seat, extending a weathered hand.
“Is…is that it?”
“Yes, for now. If we have any more questions, we’ll call you in for further interrogation. I’ll see you out,” the Asian man paused, then looked at him gently, “I can bring you to where your friend Jun is, if you’d like…”
“Y-yeah, please,” Kain rose up eagerly, pushing the chair in behind him as he followed the policeman out, “thank you.”
“There she is. Take care, you two.”
Beyond glass, Jun was curled in on herself, head buried into tightly gripped arms. Every now and then a slight tremor would rack her frame; each time Kain could feel his heart tug as well. Silently opening the door and closing it behind him, he carefully picked his way over.
“Hey, hey Jun, are…are you okay?” he whispered as he fell into the chair beside her. Her head bobbed, rising up slowly. Reaching forward, he softly pushed her hair back, then wiped the streaks of black from her cheeks.
“Shen…is Shen okay? What about Ran? Was he there too? He was supposed to be…what am I going to do if…if…” She couldn’t continue speaking.
A sinking feeling. The words that had already formed in Kain’s throat slid back down, fell into a pit of acid and drowned. Despite all of the rough patches they had, they were the only ones she had complete faith in. Was he to always remain in their shadow?
He really should have expected it.
They met like two whirlwinds out of sync, crashing together to fuse for a short, destructive period of time before separating and going their different ways again. Yes, they were exactly like two out-of-control whirlwinds, stuck in the delusion of love. He could almost touch their affection, so real, so palpable it had seemed. He could still remember the fleeting, warm touches and the soft smiles and the wordless communication; he could still remember her low yet soft voice, the way her head fit into the crook of his neck, her slender hands.
Granted, it was only a few hours, but he realized that every novel, every romantic comedy, was right—time seemed to stop. Eternity was only a concept until it hit him in the face.
“They…they’re okay,” he finally muttered, drawing her to his chest, “they’re all fine. So what about you?” She nodded, held on to herself for mere moments more before finally wrapping still chilled arms around him.
“Jun, do you believe in the red string?”
When his grandmother finally called to him, he had already created a sizable pile. Grabbing an armful, he headed inside, where he knew dessert was waiting. It anything could lift his spirits now, it was his grandmother’s fruit bars.
“It hurts doesn’t it? Sometimes too much,” she asked as she patted his shoulders with weathered hands. He took a seat at the round dining table and forked a piece onto his plate.
“But that’s just how it is. Sometimes you feel like you’re being lifted a hundred miles in the air, and other times, you feel like you’re falling just as fast. But then you never hit the ground…”
“Stop, Oma,” Sehnsucht sighed, placing his forehead on the table. The crackle of the fire filled the air above his head. A comforting hand ran itself through his hair.
“Don’t the ups and downs make it exciting?”
“No, it’s tiring. And I don’t want anything that feels that way. It takes too much out of me, grandmamma. It makes me feel…exposed.”
“But Liebchen, that’s what living is, is it not?”
Sehnsucht had no comeback. Instead he lifted his head and took a bite out of the fresh pastry. He couldn’t deny the truth in her words; the sheer number of times he’s simultaneously wanted to laugh and scream and cry within the last few months was mind-boggling, but if that was living, then he was perfectly fine with merely existing. He didn’t want to have to open part of himself and make room for another person, and it was just too hard, too prone to error, too high a possibility of him getting hurt.
“We’re just too different,” he murmured, eyes sliding over to the window. In the reflection of the dark glass he saw a man he didn’t know. Had he already changed this much? Beyond that, swirling flakes fell, faint outlines barely visible to the eye. What was the probability of getting two of a kind? Astronomically small, but not impossible, right? Were they actually similar?
Sehnsucht scoffed. What a silly notion. But Ran was indeed a flame, able to burn in the darkest of nights, coldest of winters, casting a strong glow on whomever and whatever strayed too close. Was it not enough to scorch? Was Sehnsucht a moth, drawn to a dazzling light only to fall prey to its brilliant luminosity, tricked by promises of better things? He was too much like firewood, too easy to set ablaze, too soon in turning to ash.
He disliked the way Ran jumped head first, passion rolling off him in fiery bursts; it did nothing but created a fog around Sehnsucht, sitting in his dank corner of peaceful solitude.
It scared him, being blind, because that required him to touch, to rely solely on feelings and the tangible—a contradiction in its own right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care any further.
His mind was already made.
Sehnsucht would wait, but he wasn’t wasting any time.
Limited German and broken English got him his peace offering and onto the train headed for the North Sea. He settled back against the hard seat and focused on the expanses of white outside the window. Well on his way of understanding why it was such a beloved annual trip to Sehnsucht, he mulled over the flowers in his hand. Cheesy? Yes. Guaranteed to work? He wasn’t so sure. But at least it was better than showing up empty-handed, right? He entertained with a shiver the thought of Sehn actually leaving him outside to freeze to death. Instead he focused on the real question—would he be able to create an igloo before frostbite claimed his fingers?
Ran chuckled into his coat collar. Sometimes he cracked himself up at his idiocy. Realizing he must have sounded crazy, he immediately clamped his mouth shut. Good thing he was in the compartment by himself. The last thing he wanted to do was end up on the front page of some German newspaper—the fourth page was fine, but never the first.
Another call had connected right before the plane took off. It was the same three words. Ran secretly delighted in the fact that Sehnsucht still had no idea what was coming to hit him. He’d be as swift as a coursing river, except iced over. He found himself not making any more sense.
Ran blamed the lack of sleep and the change in time zones.
No, no more excuses. No more running. Feelings were feelings. Nervousness was nervousness. Nothing more, nothing less.
He seemed to have stepped off the train into a postcard.
It took only five tries to connect.
“…what?” This time, there was more inflection. Ran licked his lips.
“So, what do you think?”
“I hate you.”
Raising an eyebrow, the pharmacist had half a mind to just knock on the forest green wood.
“That…should be the hundredth time you’ve said that.”
“…fourth actually,” Sehnsucht paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the fogged air, “I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, Sehn—”
“…what?”
Wetting his lips again, Ran grinned.
“Open the door.”
It was only on the train back to his grandmother’s sea-side village that he saw the news, printed on page four of the German newspaper, nestled in a once relaxed and now blaringly distasteful font in the World Affairs section.
A face he knew all too well stared unblinkingly at him, an easy smile both on his face and the woman’s next to him.
It wasn’t fair.
Sehnsucht let the papers drop on the seat next to him.
It wasn’t fair.
He had entered a losing game—it was his fault, he conceded, but still—
Sehnsucht drew his knees to his chest, buried his head in arms trembling not from the cold.
An hour later, they were sitting with their backs to the wall, shirts soaked through with exertion. Sehnsucht toyed with the dark glass of the bottle, spun it a few times on the coffee table before stopping it mid-motion with a finger. He knew he was utterly drunk, with the amount he ingested, but he felt no effects, deciding that it must have been because of the exhilaration from the duel. They had been geared to go on for another hour or two before Sehnsucht finally lost control and nicked Ran on the collarbone, instantly drawing blood.
Laughing, Ran had called him out on his earlier confidence in his ability to not harm, much to Sehnsucht’s chagrin, but quickly brushed it aside when the isopropyl went down on his cut.
“So, do you feel better now?” Ran asked lazily, poking at the writer with the sword.
Yes. But the last thing he wanted to do was admit it.
“It was fun,” he said instead. It was a decidedly vague answer, something worthy of his English and Political Science majors.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Chuckles followed. “…sorry, Sehn.”
“Yeah,” he replied, maybe a bit too curtly, “I got it. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“Okay.”
A comfortable silence blanketed them; how much of it was because of the alcohol’s influence neither man had enough lucidity to ponder, but it felt more than agreeable and so they left it at that.
“Want coffee?” Ran suddenly sprung on him, sitting up straighter, or as straight as the wine could allow, at least. Sehnsucht looked at him like he was stupid.
“You, out of all people, should know it doesn’t work against alcohol,” the writer rolled his eyes, brought a hand to his temples.
“Yeah, of course. But it smells good.”
Sehnsucht couldn’t deny that. He waved his capitulation as Ran meandered into the kitchen.
Indeed, it smelled heavenly, even better with eyes closed. He cocooned himself in its warmth.
A hand found its way around his; light, persistent, squeezes prompted him to reciprocate.
“So, do you forgive me?” Ran’s soft deep voice came from somewhere near his ear. It almost had a vibrating quality to it. Sehnsucht found it oddly comforting.
He grunted, laid his head on the other’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing to do.
Halfway through the boiling of the potatoes, Sehn had sauntered over to peer at the progress, rubbing at his eyes at the steam that had erupted in his face.
“You know, if you wanted a facial…”
“Shut up,” Sehn had managed to sound rough, but couldn’t prevent a smile from quirking up the sides of his lips.
“I’ve actually been doing that for the past half hour,” Ran countered as he swatted away Sehnsucht’s incoming hand, nose wrinkling. The counter to the small push with his other hand was less effective, though, and Ran would have stumbled into the stacked dishes behind him if it wasn’t for a steadying grip to his upper arm. They froze, staring at each other with equal looks of being caught red-handed at a crime neither knew of. The taller man backed away.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push that hard.”
Ran glanced behind him, made sure the porcelain was intact. “It’s ok. No harm done.”
Sehn nodded absentmindedly, already retreating from the cove, “Call me when it’s finished cooking, I’ll help mash.” It was Ran’s turn to grunt.
Soft tapping filled the void left behind by voices again.
“It’s good,” Sehn commented as he forked a small mountain of starch into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. A few more words made their way onto the screen.
“Of course, I made it,” Ran raised an eyebrow, shooting the other a smug smirk. He grinned at Sehn’s pursed lips.
“Why do I know you?” mumbled the writer, spearing more potatoes.
“Because I’m awesome and you know it.”
“Awesome my ass…” It came out as a snort and the pharmacist chuckled at the garbled sound, nearly choking on the fluff threatening to jump down his windpipe.
“Good job.” Ran could hear the dryness in the other’s tone and pouted, then saw his chance.
“Good job to you too,” he replied triumphantly, reaching over to wipe away a crumb at the corner of Sehnsucht’s mouth. Immediately, almost-maroon eyes locked on his, wide in their confusion. Finger movements ceased. Time seemed to slow. The silence was deafening.
Shit. He messed up.
Beaming—rather stupidly, he’d made sure—was the only remedy. It seemed to work; in the next moment, the essay had been revisited, and the only uncertainty and annoyance left resided on Sehnsucht’s knitted brows.
“Stop that, it’s creeping me out.” Sehnsucht muttered, passing a hand over his ears. That simple gesture jolted Ran from the fog he had momentarily lost himself in.
“Actually, people tell me I look quite handsome when I smile.” A successful rebound. Withering in Sehnsucht’s judging glare, he quickly stuffed the root of all his problems and smiled sheepishly. Finally, mild approval was sent his way.
“Am I annoying you?” Ran asked, swallowed the lump in his throat.
“…not really,” was the response, yet he could see in the older man’s eyes the clear gaze of took-you-long-enough.
“I see,” eyes flickered down to Sehnsucht’s nearly empty plate, “well, I’m done. Wanna finish and then give me your plate?” Wordlessly, the last bit was forked away and the silverware clinked emptily against the china. Ran brought both sets to the sink, quickly rinsed them off, and set them in the rack to dry. He relocated the potatoes, trying to come up with an excuse to stay a bit longer, and failed.
“I’ll visit you some other time. Good luck with…whatever you’re writing. Let me know when you’re free.” From Ran’s vantage point, so cloaked in his own pity, the disappointment seeping into Sehnsucht’s eyes went unnoticed.
Soundlessly the door closed between them.
Two more weeks passed without event.
Ran often found himself passed out on the couch, worked to exhaustion during the night and catching fitful winks in the wee hours, without recollection of how he’d get there. His workspace was in his room, for pete’s sake. Why he chose to sleep on an uncomfortable futon instead of his expensively mattressed bed was beyond him. Maybe it was because on some days he was able to spy another working figure through double blinds and across ten feet of a one-way at three or four or five in the morning and he just couldn’t bring himself to return to his room; maybe it wasn’t. He refused to acknowledge it either way, didn’t want to accept that someone—who was too preoccupied to spare him more than a passing thought—leveraged that much agency on him.
The crest of the wave finally broke.
Ran found himself home before six. He rolled back the plastic pieces to the side, threw open the screen door to the patio, trembled at the chilly early autumn air and retreated inside, wrapping his coat tighter around his frame. Reclining against the sofa, he closed his eyes, too lazy and unmotivated to do anything else but supervise the room airing itself out. To his left another door slid open, soft footsteps filtered onto concrete, then stopped.
Ran knew who it was without looking. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He did anyway. Shifting so he could glance out of the corner of his eye, he waited until he was sure Sehnsucht wasn’t paying attention before fully turning his head.
He was watering his flowers. How typical—yet, for some odd reason, endearing.
Right before Sehnsucht could catch him, Ran looked away.
A tiny, light blue airplane glided across the treacherous currents of an altitude twenty feet above ground, valiantly steered to the table’s edge before unaccounted problems in aerodynamics sent it tumbling into the center. Surprised, Ran gingerly unfolded the messenger, failed in his quest to hide the grin conquering his face.
Sorry I didn’t contact you for so long. I tried to finish the politician’s speech as soon as possible…
Ran didn’t chance it; he could feel the other man’s eyes on him, gauging his reactions.
Another one soon followed, this time in a lime green.
Could you make me some more mashed potatoes?
Crouched, Sehn was still focused intensely on the plants when Ran mirrored him at the edge of his own balcony with chin in hands, one fond hand tipping the watering can for a steady stream of nourishment, the back of the other indignantly shielding half of his face from scrutiny.
They did nothing for his pink-tipped ears.
“I’ll be over in five.”
Greeting his return from work at the local flower shop was the bouquet from that morning, sunnily faced his way from the opposite window on the other side of the narrow street, a thin ribbon of canary yellow expertly fitted around the smooth glass vase in which it rested.
Sehnsucht decided that the day wasn’t just better.
It was the best in a long while.
He dug out his phone, speedily scrolled until he found what he was looking for.
My bird wants a duet partner…
Sliding it closed with a confident click, he leaned against the railing and closed his eyes against the setting sun, knowing fully well that in just a few moments when he opened them, a man with an empty birdcage would already be there, upturned face smirking a smirk that Sehnsucht somehow innately sensed was characteristic of only him.
They’d talk.
Maybe figure out the reason behind déjà vu.
For some reason unbeknownst, he knew that no matter what they did, no matter what happened to them, between them, they’d be okay.
And that, to him, was more than enough.
Ethan swung into the bakery by the university; he preferred it over the campus café because it was quieter, and more so because the quality was unparalleled for the measly price he paid for a cup of coffee. Flipping open the screen of his new computer, he slid his fingers over the keys and sighed, mind already elsewhere. He had one more lab to conduct, afterwards, he would consolidate the data and present it to the department—the fate of his experiment depended on it.
Things looked hopeful. A small smile tugged at his lips.
“Your coffee.”
He looked up.
“Thank you.”
Marionette – Nell
Sam and Ella looked so happy in their wedding photos; catching the happiness, Ethan ducked into the café, intent on trying one of the sweets. He realized his eyes lingered on them every time he visited, but hadn’t brought himself to buy one while he was still so busy.
“The strawberry mousse, please.”
He took his customary table, setting his bag down by the floor; rummaging through it, he found the small case he was looking for. It was Ella’s jewelry box, the case that he couldn’t open until she was married. A clink of porcelain broke his gaze and he glanced up, quizzical.
“On the house.” The waiter smiled brightly.
Smiling, Ethan let the smell of freshly ground coffee wash over him as he raised the caffe latte to his lips.
I For You – Luna Sea
“You’re the owner?” Incredulous, the blond’s hand almost slipped from the glass handle.
“Is it really that surprising?” The other man’s voice was teasing as he reached for the slipping cup. Regaining his grip, Ethan swallowed.
“Not really…I guess.”
“That’s good. So, what do you say about dinner tonight?”
His fingers almost malfunctioned again. Ethan blew out a mouthful of air then looked Marcel playfully in the eye.
“Sure.”
“Great, hopefully you’ll stay until closing?” Another winning grin. The blond nodded, returning the smile, and silently noted with satisfaction the widening of the man’s pupils.
“Any preferences?”
He reached over and lightly squeezed the Spaniard’s hand.
“Surprise me.”
Coma – B.A.P
Glass. Plates. Dirt on the freshly laundered carpet. Harsh breaths in an oppressive room. Silence.
Ethan’s eyelids fluttered. Sharp pricks at his eye-corners.
“Let’s end it then.”
He felt light, like he was spinning in space on a trajectory toward the sun, now passing through Mercury’s darkness, as he lifted his head and stared blankly at the taller man.
Spinning.
Out of control.
He stepped back.
“Fine.”
Tokyo Shinjuu – The GazettE
They were happy.
They really were.
Both understood the enjoyment found in work. Both understood the intimacy found in the entanglement of two bodies.
They understood.
So why was it empty?
Ethan often caught himself staring at the back of Marcel as he navigated the kitchen. Turning, he smiled at the blond and offered a lick of the crème fresh that he had just finished. Another lick—this time of the chocolate ganache.
He wondered if he was being selfish, asking for personalized eclairs even though the café was still severely understaffed. His pout elicited a concerned frown from the older man; the brunet reached over and brushed a gentle hand through Ethan’s flaxen hair and down his cheek, lifting his chin up.
“You have a bit of crème…here.” Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of the doctor-in-training’s lips. A red flush immediately commanded the blond’s cheeks.
No, he wasn’t being selfish.
He was just being in love.
Even if the love was still half-vacant.
I Belong To You – Muse
Ethan blamed his lingering feelings on the Spaniard’s brother.
They look kinda alike, don’t they?
But they were completely different.
First-hand experiences were the best way to learn, he mused, as they tumbled into bed, sheets casually dragged aside. Fiery kisses and hasty hands stole his attention away as he arched up to meet the heat of the body above him, head thrown back breathlessly as he tightly clutched the other’s defined shoulders to himself.
“Marcel. Slow…down—”
“No.” It was almost a growl. Shivering, the blond wrapped his arms around the Spaniard’s neck and hoisted his legs over the taller man’s waist, burrowing his head into the junction between shoulder and ear.
He smells like coffee…
A whimper, a moan.
A scream.
Love Disease – Super Junior
Sam teased him, much more following the anticipated first date. And then, the teasing grew in intensity—it’s like he could tell what happened between Ethan and Marcel.
“I don’t know,” he responded lightly when the blond questioned him about it one day, “you just have that new-wife-on-honeymoon glow, you know?”
He soon clutched his bicep in pain.
Pushing the hair away from his eyes, Ethan pressed his lips together, wondering if it was really fine to start something with Dante’s brother—their break-up wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly mutual either, even though they claimed to be friends afterward.
Sam clapped a hefty hand on his shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, you can’t live thinking about him forever. Take this chance, because I know Marcel will be able to make you happy.”
A brief pause.
“How?”
“Because this is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you—which is incredible, because—”
Ethan hid his face in embarrassment. “Okay, okay. I got it.”
“Good. Now go make yourself look pretty.”
Sam yelped again.
Behind his hand, Ethan could only chuckle.
Stop Girl – U-Kiss
Marcel was the first to call. Ethan appreciated the space. But most of all, he appreciated his unwavering kindness because—it was his fault. He shouldn’t have been so weak-willed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Can we talk?”
“Yeah, my place?”
It wasn’t even five minutes later before Ethan’s doorbell rang; swinging it open, he was soon engulfed by arms of baked apples and cinnamon and molasses. He lost himself.
“Thank you.”
“Why…are you thanking me?”
“Thank you, for choosing me.”
Can I Love – 8eight
“…What? You should be mad—”
“But I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because I can see it in your eyes. When we were going out before, there was always this distance. But I don’t feel it anymore, because you don’t love him anymore, do you?”
Ethan couldn’t speak. Wetting his lips, he blinked.
“When you see his face, you don’t feel anything anymore, right?”
“How…how’d you know?”
“Because the way you look at him changed.”
He didn’t know what took over him—throwing his arms around Marcel, he buried his nose into the other’s shoulder. The arms around his waist tightened.
It was warm. It was so warm.
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Marcel…I—I love you.”
“Finally. Took you long enough.”
The slap was met by rich laughs, deft fingers through hair, a kiss to his burning cheeks.
“You…I love you too.”
She Is – Clazziquai
Soon Ethan realized that no matter how hard he tried forcing the tears out, they just wouldn’t fall. He wondered if it was really because that man wasn’t as important as Ethan thought he was—as he once was.
He rolled over, hugging the pillow to his side, eyelids fluttering. The familiar smell of powdered sugar and strawberry cream soothed him. He turned to face the ceiling, cloth-covered goose down resting on his stomach.
Closing his eyes, grinning, Ethan let go, finally making peace—
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
janainaart
areudirty
romaincrisis
dededos
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