acatwhowrites: (Lay♡kissus)
A Cat Who Writes ([personal profile] acatwhowrites) wrote2014-01-04 09:06 pm


title: Tonight
players: Zhang Yixing/Lay, Oh Sehun
word count: 500
rating: PG-13
summary: Sehun gets a night before leaving only with memories.

a/n: Written for an epm prompt. Title influence was BIGBANG's Tonight. I liked the sound of the quote, moreso when I found the full thing, but OP wanted something "bittersweet and really cute and fluffy." I think I only succeeded on the bittersweet part. I kind of want to write the same thing from the other point of view. There are honestly more ideas coming with these two; maybe I'll continue with small drabbles about them in this 'verse [which could easily be written as canon].

“I want you to spend the night,” you said. And it was definitely your phrasing that ensured it. If you had said, “Let’s have sex,” or “Let’s go to my place,” or even “I really want you,” I’m not sure we would have gone quite as far as we did. But I loved the notion that the night was mine to spend, and I immediately decided to spend it with you.” ― David Levithan, The Lover's Dictionary

Slender fingers ghosted over his lips, down to his chin and along his neck, mapping a course to Sehun's flushed chest. "I want you to spend the night," he had said. Sehun loved the notion that the night was his to spend, that he wasn't seen as a child, and he immediately decided to spend it on the pianist.

It wasn't all sweaty, feverish bodies sliding and rolling against one another, legs tangling in the sheets. There were whispered conversations, as well, too precious to fully vocalise. Legs tangled in legs and chasing kisses while hands took on the task of memorising one another and discovering ticklish spots.

The night is short, cut shorter by an early flight out of Seoul and back to Beijing. Sehun is barely awake when one last kiss is pressed to his forehead. He shifts further down the mattress, snuggling into the residual warmth of an absent body.

Morning sunlight seeks out Sehun's face, slowly breathing warmth onto his cheeks and teasing his eyes with bright beams squeezed between the slats of the blinds. He hums as he stretches and rolls onto his belly, arm reaching wide and settling in the cool mess of blankets. He misses the warmth already, the subtle dips in the mattress that he rolled into, bodies creating a single depression in the soft memory foam.

Funny how the moment someone leaves, they're reduced to a memory.

He knows he should go. His phone is dead; he has class in a few hours. No amount of burrowing and dozing would bring back the young man who'd left with the moon.

Dressing in silence, he forgoes a shower in favour of getting home before his room mate found him still gone. Jeans, sock, hoodie, and shoes are easily located. He slept in his boxers. His shirt is no where to be found. Tearing the sheets off the bed, he finds his other sock, but his shirt is still missing.

Oh, well. He has more at home.

A key was left on the small table beside the door. Sehun closes the door behind him, locks it, and slides the key back under the door. He has half a mind to hang onto it, but he shakes his head and takes his memories with him instead.

The walk home is cold, beyond chilly. He wishes he had his shirt beneath his hoodie, or a jacket, or any semblance of layers to keep out the wind, but wishes don't keep him warm.

His room mate is still asleep when he lets himself into their dorm, even in the early afternoon. Sehun strips quietly and plugs his phone in to charge, showering both to warm himself and wash away the night's sweat.

The phone chirps before Sehun even steps out of the shower. It wasn't low on battery; he had turned it off before going to the apartment.

Sehun vigorously rubs his wet hair with a towel and drops it inside the bathroom door, padding naked to his room. His phone chirps a second time, with a text.

张艺兴: sorry. i took your shirt.