strawberry verse
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“Too much?” Hyunjin asks, suddenly feeling stupid for assuming. Chan’s cravings have been singularly focused on strawberries all through the first and second trimester but…but maybe that’s not the case anymore. Maybe it’s become something new in the span of fifteen minutes since Hyunjin spoke to him on the phone. And it doesn’t matter that telepathy is impossible, Hyunjin should have known better—
“No it’s… It’s just… It’s really nice,” Chan says, covering his face with hands as pale as the cheesecake and knuckles as pink as the strawberries that decorate it. He’s just as sweet as one, too. The kind of sweetness that has Hyunjin scrunching his nose up, like a puff of powdered sugar right into his lungs.
Hyunjin put a baby in Chan and now he's suffering the fruit-flavored consequences.
Series
- Part 1 of strawberry verse
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Hyunjin thinks he could pluck him out, if he tried. Selfishly, he thinks he’s the only one who can. The only one certain to take enough time to, to stand in front of soft down-lighting, amidst crowds and onlookers and passersby—to stand until his feet ache and his back settles out of shape—and look. Look, look, look. Wait. Wait for the paint to bubble up and crack at the corner, a place too inconspicuous to ever look intentional, because Chan is master of many things, but his ability to hide in plain sight is his magnum opus. And Hyunjin knows this, because all he ever does is watch. He sees Chan. He’s seen him since the very first day, when his canvas was nothing but black.
But there, always there, the gentlest haze of white. An accident, to any less attuned eye. A soft streak of light. Begging to be seen. From the very beginning.
There.
“There you are,” Hyunjin breathes.
Bang Chan and the mortifying ordeal of being known by Hwang Hyunjin.
Series
- Part 2 of strawberry verse