Title : Soundtrack.

Character : Wonwoo, Seungkwan

Paring :Wonkwan ((my not so secret angst otp))

Genre : idk it’s not exactly angst but it’s not exactly fluff either. ok maybe this is more of a angst???

Length : Was supposed to be a drabble but I got carried away. One shot.

Warning : depression.

Synopsis : Wonwoo wonders a lot about Seungkwan.

A/N : Inspired from Lang Leav’s Soundtrack (one of my fave pieces from Lullabies). Also, tagging adorewoo who joined me on this beautiful cruise and also for torturing purposes. ((Also, this isn’t beta I’m sorry)) (((Also, this is my best work to date omg I love this??)))

He first met the younger male when the brunette was singing on stage. He was mesmerized and pulled in into the male’s presence as if the ocean waves are pulling him to it’s depth. There’s just something about the other male that makes Wonwoo hold his gaze at the charming male before him. He sworn the stars that the night sky shimmered were never as bright as of the latter’s smile whose image had bore the back of the raven-haired male’s head. His first wonders were of whether if Seungkwan could be his.

He soon came to learn that the male whom sang as if they were of angel’s is called Seungkwan. Boo Seungkwan. He likes it just as to how his smile is evident whenever he slips the word ‘Seungkwan’ past his lips. He also finds out they share a few common interest; composing, poetry, passion for music, as if it weren’t obvious since day one - and what not, bad pick up lines, mixtapes and usage of metaphors. Wonwoo then learns to wonder about Seungkwan’s playlist and the ghost who lives in them.

Time after time, he not only learns that Seungkwan laughs at the little things in life, he also got to know like how he prefers hot chocolate over coffee, how he likes his tea mild hotness with 2 tablespoons of sugar because he hates bitter consumption, how he would pick out the olives and pineapples from his hawaiian chicken pizza and dump it to Wonwoo’s plate, how he likes picnic and watching the stars at night and how he mostly write his composition in a notebook he got for him and he only does it past midnight when the raven-haired is asleep. He also like how he is the first to listen most of the brunette’s composition and he likes how they each tell a story of their own - their story, to be accurate. Wonwoo then wonders about their future together.

But even photographs have faded memories - what not their ‘relationship’. He first came to find flaws in Seungkwan, not that he had gave two coins of thoughts about them in the first place, but he now sees them in a more physical appearance. The brunette had sunken into depression; bloodshot eyes and heavy eye bags, provoking demons and pondering thoughts, constant shrugging and overbearing arguments. They drifted, and drifted. And he’s back to square one, wondering if he would still be able to wonder about the faces that Seungkwan sees in his transpositions and the voices he hears between the lines of scrawly drawn musical clefs and counted music notes.

Wonwoo meets Seungkwan a year later in the hospital. He sees the male’s smile, how it’s wider now compared to before. He also sees the healthy glow of the brunette and how the other was radiating with happiness. The smile was however, taken away and was replaced with a questioning, if not a confused expression when someone beside him mention his name and he wondered why. He could then see Seungkwan looking at his way and he realized that he was fading. “Ah.”, was what the raven-haired had exclaimed, a bitter laugh following. “I suppose time is up. Soundtracks do finish immediately just when a ending four beat count ends on a bold double bar line.”, he could only smile as Seungkwan stares at him, though not accurately at him but the skies instead. Wonwoo’s final wondering was will ever Seungkwan think of him as the ghost that wonders between the musical notes of his composition and if he would hear the raven-haired’s whispers when he plays his song.

Bonus ::

Seungkwan pauses the track he had composed, one of his latest composition; a masterwork, his friends whom had listen to it had told him; by far one of his best works. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of fondness to it; albeit a image of a raven-haired with a genuine, canine smile had he thought of. He recalls his voice; husky, if not, of lukewarm honey. 

And he still does not know why he has tears in his eyes when he replays this song for the nth time, the smile of the pictured male remained to the back of his head and hushed whispers of unspoken ‘I love you’s’.