Certain things just make sense, like puzzle pieces that look almost the same until you try a different one and you realize you were trying to smash the wrong piece into the slot all along. It just looked like an easy fit, the colors matched, all that, but something was off. It didn't fit no matter how much you wanted it to.
Junhui holds up a puzzle piece to the light and inspects it. “Hey, you’re just like me!” he says to it with a hoarse laugh. Joking to a cardboard audience is pretty unsatisfying, but Junhui has always been determined to make the best out of any performance opportunities.
“Are you talking to the puzzle?”
Junhui drops the puzzle piece. It falls to the floor, out of sight. He turns around to see Wonwoo standing behind him, wrapped in one of the fluffy white robes that came with the linens set for the guest house, his hair damp, glasses absent. Despite the fact that he certainly couldn’t see the puzzle piece, he stares hard at the small gap between Junhui’s fingers, befuddled.
“What? No!” Junhui blusters, laughing again. He slides out of his seat and down to the floor, in pursuit of the puzzle piece. Unfortunately the floor is the color of cardboard and a lot of the lights are off in the small room. It’s weirdly quiet, too, the camera crews and staff having long vacated it in favor of the downstairs room where the snacks table had been set up. Junhui scoots back out from under the table and reaches up to smack the table, blindly searching for his phone.
“Here,” says Wonwoo, closer now. Junhui remains in place, listening as Wonwoo picks up his phone, clicks on the flashlight, and hands it to him. A moment later, Wonwoo’s face appears below the table as well, brow creased as he searches the floor in consternation.
Junhui spots the puzzle piece a moment later, almost on the opposite side of the table. “Aha!” he exclaims, scrambling over to grab it. He pops back up to standing on the other side, and shows it proudly to Wonwoo, who smiles although he probably can’t see it.
“Why are you out here doing puzzles?” Wonwoo asks. “It’s two in the morning. We have to go sky diving tomorrow or something.”
“I thought it was a ropes course?” Junhui asks, frowning. He sets the puzzle piece down in the small clump of blue he’d been making.
“Oh. Well that sounds better.”
Junhui finds the right piece and slots it neatly into place. Perfect.
“Junnie.”
Junhui looks up. Wonwoo is looking at him with the kind of expression that could make Junhui do some truly stupid things, if he were inclined to ruin everything. He’s not, though. He looks back down at the puzzle.
“Why is the puzzle piece just like you?” Wonwoo presses.
“I said that in Mandarin. You heard wrong.”
There’s a stretch of silence. Junhui looks up, surprised to find a tinge of hurt in Wonwoo’s otherwise placid expression. But the thread between them is thin, and snaps as soon as Wonwoo crouches down, eyeing a piece and then standing back up to fit it into the right slot. A blue sky takes shape in front of them.
Junhui puts his fingers over the puzzle pieces and slides them back and forth on the table. “It’s just, you know? Self-pity. It’s nothing.”
Wonwoo looks up. He doesn’t have to say anything for discomfort to shiver down Junhui’s spine, as he tries to find a way to backtrack out of this conversation.
“I mean, some things don’t change, you know?” he tries, laughing. “Like me. It doesn’t matter, though!”
He nervously attempts to place another puzzle piece, but what do you know, it doesn’t fit. This leaves Junhui staring hard at the puzzle, vaguely aware that if he were another sort of person, he could start crying. But he’s been crying on cue since he was five years old and there’s no reason to cry without a camera to capture it, so he just decides not to. He tries to place another piece, but it doesn’t fit, either.
“You’re not going to go to bed until you finish this, are you?” Wonwoo asks.
Junhui looks up. Wonwoo is looking at the puzzle, not at him, tapping two fingers against the back of the chair. It always surprises Junhui a bit, remembering that Wonwoo cares when he doesn’t have to. He’s never had to, really. And Junhui wasn’t lying—sometimes everything seems exactly as it was ten years ago, when he was trying to form his mouth around Korean syllables and wishing someone would take him by the hand and hold on tight.
“Uh, yeah, I’ll probably just stay up and finish it,” Junhui shrugs.
Wonwoo looks up and gives him a small smile. “I’ll go get my glasses.”
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fit together – Junhui/Wonwoo (seventeen) – canon
Date: Thu, Jan. 18th, 2024 05:44 pm (UTC)Junhui holds up a puzzle piece to the light and inspects it. “Hey, you’re just like me!” he says to it with a hoarse laugh. Joking to a cardboard audience is pretty unsatisfying, but Junhui has always been determined to make the best out of any performance opportunities.
“Are you talking to the puzzle?”
Junhui drops the puzzle piece. It falls to the floor, out of sight. He turns around to see Wonwoo standing behind him, wrapped in one of the fluffy white robes that came with the linens set for the guest house, his hair damp, glasses absent. Despite the fact that he certainly couldn’t see the puzzle piece, he stares hard at the small gap between Junhui’s fingers, befuddled.
“What? No!” Junhui blusters, laughing again. He slides out of his seat and down to the floor, in pursuit of the puzzle piece. Unfortunately the floor is the color of cardboard and a lot of the lights are off in the small room. It’s weirdly quiet, too, the camera crews and staff having long vacated it in favor of the downstairs room where the snacks table had been set up. Junhui scoots back out from under the table and reaches up to smack the table, blindly searching for his phone.
“Here,” says Wonwoo, closer now. Junhui remains in place, listening as Wonwoo picks up his phone, clicks on the flashlight, and hands it to him. A moment later, Wonwoo’s face appears below the table as well, brow creased as he searches the floor in consternation.
Junhui spots the puzzle piece a moment later, almost on the opposite side of the table. “Aha!” he exclaims, scrambling over to grab it. He pops back up to standing on the other side, and shows it proudly to Wonwoo, who smiles although he probably can’t see it.
“Why are you out here doing puzzles?” Wonwoo asks. “It’s two in the morning. We have to go sky diving tomorrow or something.”
“I thought it was a ropes course?” Junhui asks, frowning. He sets the puzzle piece down in the small clump of blue he’d been making.
“Oh. Well that sounds better.”
Junhui finds the right piece and slots it neatly into place. Perfect.
“Junnie.”
Junhui looks up. Wonwoo is looking at him with the kind of expression that could make Junhui do some truly stupid things, if he were inclined to ruin everything. He’s not, though. He looks back down at the puzzle.
“Why is the puzzle piece just like you?” Wonwoo presses.
“I said that in Mandarin. You heard wrong.”
There’s a stretch of silence. Junhui looks up, surprised to find a tinge of hurt in Wonwoo’s otherwise placid expression. But the thread between them is thin, and snaps as soon as Wonwoo crouches down, eyeing a piece and then standing back up to fit it into the right slot. A blue sky takes shape in front of them.
Junhui puts his fingers over the puzzle pieces and slides them back and forth on the table. “It’s just, you know? Self-pity. It’s nothing.”
Wonwoo glances up, then picks up another piece.
“Everyone else—fits,” Junhui attempts. “And I—don’t always? That’s all.”
Wonwoo looks up. He doesn’t have to say anything for discomfort to shiver down Junhui’s spine, as he tries to find a way to backtrack out of this conversation.
“I mean, some things don’t change, you know?” he tries, laughing. “Like me. It doesn’t matter, though!”
He nervously attempts to place another puzzle piece, but what do you know, it doesn’t fit. This leaves Junhui staring hard at the puzzle, vaguely aware that if he were another sort of person, he could start crying. But he’s been crying on cue since he was five years old and there’s no reason to cry without a camera to capture it, so he just decides not to. He tries to place another piece, but it doesn’t fit, either.
“You’re not going to go to bed until you finish this, are you?” Wonwoo asks.
Junhui looks up. Wonwoo is looking at the puzzle, not at him, tapping two fingers against the back of the chair. It always surprises Junhui a bit, remembering that Wonwoo cares when he doesn’t have to. He’s never had to, really. And Junhui wasn’t lying—sometimes everything seems exactly as it was ten years ago, when he was trying to form his mouth around Korean syllables and wishing someone would take him by the hand and hold on tight.
“Uh, yeah, I’ll probably just stay up and finish it,” Junhui shrugs.
Wonwoo looks up and gives him a small smile. “I’ll go get my glasses.”