Date: 131113

Word: wrong

Character/s: Kim Joonmyun (EXO), Park Chorong (APink)

Inspiration: life.

Word Count: 788

A/N: I ship, yet they don't have a whole lot of actual moments. but still, a ship must sail ... or crash against the rocks for a bit. ugh feels.

“You look … lovely,” he squeaks. With his fingers fused together in a permanent ball of nerves and regret he begins to pluck compliments from the air to fill the empty space between the two of them. “Your hair … it’s a nice brown.”

She glances down at her cutlery and responds with a meek “thankyou”.

When Joonmyun had planned his 5^th date with the shifty yet reputable dating agency down the block, never in his wildest dreams did he expect to meet the perfect girl. The girl with the husky voice, caramel locks and chicken feet was the one he loved. Everything, down to the last detail was perfect. Intelligence? Check. Beauty? Check. Personality? Double Check. Except, one thing was missing now. Sitting in the pallid noodle bar, a weekly favourite of his, it was all just terribly wrong.

He bites his lip and inhales another breath of oxygen molecules. She’s checking the time on her watch and double checking just in case the faulty minute hand is attempting to play tricks on her. They reside in their own bubbles of silence until the noodles arrive. Even after the ramen slurps and chopsticks clinking against ceramic they do not utter a sound.

At least not until the bill arrives. “I’ll pay for it,” Joonmyun motions as he grabs the slip of paper.

“No I’ll pay,” Chorong states as she nips the end of the receipt and attempts to coax it out of his hands as if he’s a baby stuck on a rattle. The battle is unsuccessful and only goes downhill when his other hand reaches out to envelope her own in an all too terrifying gesture. He freezes her with the intensity of liquid nitrogen and she is forced to look into the cool orbs that had once been her favourite constellations in the sky. Now they were only the faded remains of what was once a beautiful glow.

“Why are you doing this?” he’s whispering, his voice echoing more voices that question her with have you eaten, do you want some tea, are you staying over tonight. Glacial reminders of what her frozen heart rejects.

“Don’t be like this Suho, okay? I’ve had a long day at work, I bet you have too. This meal was more than uncomfortable for the both of us so please don’t make this any harder.”

His complexion darkens into an approaching storm cloud. “You used to call me Joonmyun.”

She sighs, frustration all that is left. “I’m sorry but I just can’t do this today. Or any other day.” She detangles herself from the mess of their hands. Rising with her purse clutched in her hands she gives him a final look that speaks it all before moving towards the door.

He doesn’t want her to leave. Not again. “Park Chorong.” He strides towards her with each purposeful step weighing what feels like tonnes. She still keeps her back towards him but has left her hand to linger on the door handle. “I don’t want us to end like this again.”

And for the second time, she sighs. Twisting around to face him she peers once again at what she thought she loved more than the world itself. It was dimmer, duller and even more foreign than she remembered, but what she loved flickered subtly, just breaking the surface of a man who didn’t know how to love her right. “I don’t want to either.” Her words are breathy and short.

He grabs her free hand and places the bill in her palm, fresh from printing and ready to be paid. Leaving his final remorseful glance with the flimsy paper, he leaves. Walking blocks away from the place he once adored. He’ll find a new place he thinks to himself. Maybe he’ll try the Italian restaurant near his office. Red tiled roof and bowls of Bolognese on the walls. Yeah, he could like it there. During his poor attempts at convincing himself that tagliatelle is far greater than jjajangmyun, his mind, of course, drifts back to where she is. He wonders how she's doing, has she been eating well, does she still enjoy her tea, would she ever still find a place for herself in his arms? Burning questions that he wants to know the answers to, but will never. He will never know if she still binge eats whenever she sees a chicken, he will never know whether she still enjoys her green tea with a singular mint leaf and he will never be able to know that when he had left her, he left more than a bill for her to ponder over. He left her with a smile; a luxury he would never see for another two years.