dรฉjeuner du matin: bang chan
bonjour tout le monde!! Iโm sorry itโs been so long since Iโve posted anything, Iโve been super busy :-)
anyways, this is a little something I wrote for my own enjoyment based off of the poem dรฉjeuner du matin by jacques prรฉvert
a/n: this is purely fictional,,, bang chan is only smoking to fit the plot thx
Il a mis le cafรฉ dans la tasse
The bathroom door shuts quietly, echoing in the morning hours of the silent apartment. I sit at the kitchen island, sipping green tea from a mug and mindlessly scrolling through social media on my phone. I ignore every text from each of my friendsโI donโt feel like reliving last night. His gentle footsteps resound in the hallway as he approaches the kitchen. Chan passes by me, avoiding my gaze and refusing to acknowledge my presence. His skin glows red beneath his white shirt from the relentless heat of the shower, and damp strands of hair fall on to his forehead as a bead of water rolls down his nape. My hand reaches up to wipe the water away, but after lingering in the air for a second, it returns to resting in my lap.
The tension is nearly unbearable. A longing gaze follows him as he shuffles around the kitchen: my eyes never even meet his face. He stretches his arm to pull a mug from the cupboard. A small, melancholic smile spreads across my face as he grabs the mug I bought him back home. Greetings from Sydney is blazoned across the front; he doesnโt give it another thought as he sets it on the counter before pouring black coffee into the shallow mug. Steam rises from the black rim, billowing towards the ceiling before evaporating into nothing.
Il a mis le lait dans le tasse de cafรฉ
Il a mis le sucre dans le cafรฉ au lait
Avec la petite cuillรจre, il a tournรฉ
Chan takes quiet steps towards the fridge, searching for the milk buried beneath leftovers and beer. He pours it into his mug. The silence is stifling. He opens the utensils drawer to grab a spoon and dips it into the sugar bowl, dropping a couple cubes into his cup. The clinging of the metal spoon against the ceramic accompanies the ticking clock above the sink. It is the only sound in the room.
Il a bu le cafรฉ au lait
Et il a reposรฉ la tasse
Sans me parler
He sets the mug on the island, sitting a couple seats away from me. He mimics my movements, sipping from a mug and scrolling on his phone. Our eyes never meet. My phone buzzes once again with the texts of frantic friends; Chan never even glances over.
Seolhyun: what happened last night? you and chan left earlyโฆ. you both seemed angry
Nayeon: let me know youโre alright,,,, love you!!
Changbin: are you guys ok?
I read my through my texts, sending vague responses to each person. By the time I finish and look up, Chan is finished with his coffee. He sets the cup in the sink, the ceramic clinging in the metal basin, and reaches into a drawer beside the refrigerator. I glance at his hand as he brushes past me. A pack of Dunhills and a lighter are hidden inside his fist, but before I can say anything, he is sitting near the cracked window with smoke drifting from his lips. He doesnโt smoke oftenโI feel guilty for putting him through the stress of the previous night.
Il a allumรฉ une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds avec la fumรฉe
Il a mis les cendres dans la cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
He blows occasional rings from his mouth, and his secondhand smoke gets caught in my lungs. His cologne, his smoke, his presenceโit all becomes overwhelming. Yet I sit there in silence, silently pleading for him to look at me. He doesnโt speak a word.
Barely halfway down the cigarette, and Chan jams it into the ash tray on the windowsill. Smoke continues to bleed into the atmosphere, dancing with the drizzling rain. He rises from his position, once again brushing past me without a single acknowledgement, and steps into my bedroom. His cologne and secondhand smoke trail behind him, and all I wish for is for him to see me.
Il sโest levรฉ
Il a mis son chapeau sur la tรชte
Il a mis son manteau de pluie parce quโil pleuvait
After a couple of painfully silent minutes filled with confusion and longing, he appears from the bedroom. The hem of black sweatpants fall just over his shoes, and his graphic tee is covered by a rain jacket. I feel a pang as I see the hat he is wearingโthe hat I bought him. A small duffel bag hangs off his shoulder as he reaches into the fridge for a water bottle. I never once moved from my seat at the kitchen island. An ache erupts in my chest as he heads towards the front door, his shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors. Tears well in my eyesโGod, why am I doing this?
โChan,โ my voice startles us both in the quiet apartment. Rain hitting the cracked window resounds. He freezes in his spot in front of the door, never speaking a word or turning around to look me in the eyes.
โPlease,โ a barely there whisper exits my lips, one full of pain and longing and confusion and regret.
He looks back for a brief moment, our eyes meeting for mere seconds, โI canโt do this right now.โ
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
I find myself jumping up from the counter and rushing over to his distant figureโwhat had happened to us? My hand falls upon his shoulder as one final plea for him to stay. He shrugs it off without a single word.
Chanโs fingers wrap around the brass doorknob, twisting it until he hears the gentle click of the lock. He steps out of the apartment without ever looking back. The door slams shut behind him, and I am once again left in silence. The clock continues to tick, echoing on the marble countertops. Tears continue to roll down my cheeks, and anger overcomes me as sadness continues to emanate from my being. A draft blows through cracked window. I shut the window, watching Chan trudge down the sidewalk, through the rain, and become lost in the passing faces. He doesnโt look back once.
Et moi jโai pris
ma tรชte dans ma main
Et jโai pleurรฉ
I sit back at my spot at the island, looking down at my phone once more. A tear lands in the center of my screen. Texts appear from my friends and from Chanโs friends, but never does his name present itself to me. What happened to usโwhat caused us so much heartbreak? When do we stop trying?
The pack of Dunhills and his lighter sit on the corner of the island and his cup rests in the sinkโthe only remnants left of his presence. The ticking of the clock is drowned out by my tears. I place my head in my hands, elbows on the counter, and cryโcomforted by nothing but the passing seconds and the lingering scent of him.
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