Schlimazel
Schlimazelschli·ma·zel
/SHləˈmäzəl/
1. a consistently unlucky or accident-prone person.
/SHləˈmäzəl/
1. a consistently unlucky or accident-prone person.
It starts with a cup of coffee—
All over a brand new shirt.
“Are you ing ser—” he’s cut off by quick hands, already clutching napkins and dabbing at his shirt, their owner muttering a mantra of, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry’ just loud enough to be heard.
He looks up from the hands on his shirt and jumps into the large, round eyes staring at him with the most apologetic expression he’s ever seen.
He kills the coo rising in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” the boy says again. He pulls his hands off the stained shirt and looks down, cringing slightly as if he’s waiting to be yelled at.
“No,” he manages to choke out. “S’fine, s’probably my fault.” He beats himself mentally for sounding like a caveman.
They stare at each other. People trying to walk past stare, too.
Awkward.
He clears his throat and the boy’s eyes widen a bit more. He nods, turns, and walks away.
--
It starts with a cup of coffee—
All over a favorite shirt.
He squeaks as it scalds him, the skin under his shirt probably a nice, bright red.
“! Sorry,” a deep voice mutters. His eyes widen. No way.
He looks up to make sure and—
Yup.
The events of just yesterday replay in his mind. It seems the stranger remembers, too.
“Is this karma?” he wonders.
The stranger laughs. “No, just me being a klutz. Sorry. Oh, uh, here.”
And he’s presented with napkins and the surprise that the stranger is a lot more verbose than he originally thought.
“Thank you,” he smiles.
“Sorry again,” and there. They begin staring at each other. Again. And people stare, too. Again.
The stranger clears his throat, nods, and turns to walk away. Again.
--
It starts with a cup of coffee—
And a silent conversation.
They both manage to avoid running into each other and thus any spills or awkwardity that may have arisen. Instead, they catch themselves before they trip and fall and smile at each other, their little inside joke tilting their lips up only that much more.
“Would you like to have coffee with me?”
“I would love to.”
So here they sit, smiling, observing each other.
“I’m Jongin,” the stranger with the deep voice says.
“Kyungsoo,” replies the stranger with large, round eyes.
And it all starts with a cup of coffee.
All over a brand new shirt.
“Are you ing ser—” he’s cut off by quick hands, already clutching napkins and dabbing at his shirt, their owner muttering a mantra of, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry’ just loud enough to be heard.
He looks up from the hands on his shirt and jumps into the large, round eyes staring at him with the most apologetic expression he’s ever seen.
He kills the coo rising in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” the boy says again. He pulls his hands off the stained shirt and looks down, cringing slightly as if he’s waiting to be yelled at.
“No,” he manages to choke out. “S’fine, s’probably my fault.” He beats himself mentally for sounding like a caveman.
They stare at each other. People trying to walk past stare, too.
Awkward.
He clears his throat and the boy’s eyes widen a bit more. He nods, turns, and walks away.
--
It starts with a cup of coffee—
All over a favorite shirt.
He squeaks as it scalds him, the skin under his shirt probably a nice, bright red.
“! Sorry,” a deep voice mutters. His eyes widen. No way.
He looks up to make sure and—
Yup.
The events of just yesterday replay in his mind. It seems the stranger remembers, too.
“Is this karma?” he wonders.
The stranger laughs. “No, just me being a klutz. Sorry. Oh, uh, here.”
And he’s presented with napkins and the surprise that the stranger is a lot more verbose than he originally thought.
“Thank you,” he smiles.
“Sorry again,” and there. They begin staring at each other. Again. And people stare, too. Again.
The stranger clears his throat, nods, and turns to walk away. Again.
--
It starts with a cup of coffee—
And a silent conversation.
They both manage to avoid running into each other and thus any spills or awkwardity that may have arisen. Instead, they catch themselves before they trip and fall and smile at each other, their little inside joke tilting their lips up only that much more.
“Would you like to have coffee with me?”
“I would love to.”
So here they sit, smiling, observing each other.
“I’m Jongin,” the stranger with the deep voice says.
“Kyungsoo,” replies the stranger with large, round eyes.
And it all starts with a cup of coffee.
(◡‿◡✿)
A/N: Oh hi :3
So this was the first actual EXO fic that I finished (I wrote this wayyyy back in November of last year and totally forgot about it OTL)
Fun fact: I live and breathe Kaisoo even though I've written better things for Suchen cRIES
Comments! Those would be wonderful! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
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