Waste Of Time (Seongjoong)

~24~

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Seonghwa insisted that I could stay in his home without him, he'd only be gone three hours. It felt weird, and empty. Being in another person's home was always weird, but especially when they weren't here. His house was quiet, the café sat on a mostly quiet street, the only car noise being the occasional motorcycle, or car stopping by the café. I could sometimes here the quiet murmuring of people talking downstairs.

I just laid in his bed, for what felt like hours. His house and sheets smelled like him, he smelled sweet and floral. And I couldn't even tell if it was his perfume, or bathroom products. His hair, and pillow, had the same artificial almost lavender like scent from his dollar shampoo. I've only just now started wondering why he used such cheap products now knowing just how much money he had, but knowing that did explained why he could live in this apartment though.

I wasn't particularly tired, but I wanted to sleep. I was bored. I took more time to look around Seonghwa's room. I only now noticed that I hadn't paid much attention to it, anytime I was in here, I was only looking at Seonghwa.

The room was small, but full.

His room was painted a dusty lavender color, he had tiny string lights string across his ceiling that I knew would probably look gorgeous when they're lit, his desk was shoved away into a corner with a mirror, and an array of makeup products and jewelry strewn across it. He had a shelf against another wall completely filled with books, and I wondered if he had read them all. A few plants sat in the window along with a cousined bench.

And then of course his bed, shoved tightly into the corner, with white and light purple blankets. A white side table sat right next to it with a little lamp, an alarm clock, and a small navy blue leather bound book. It peaked my interest. The leather was worn, especially at the bottom and top of the spine. The pages, just from the side, looked yellowed, and none of them laid completely flat. The whole little book felt loved, and used for probably some years now.

I opened it, and flipped through some of the pages. All of them filled with pretty writing from letters to friends, and even prettier poetry and music. Some with small notes of what instruments the particular song should be played on.

Some of them describing inner battles of mental health, and suicide. Other describing places, and feelings of being in those places. And more then a few describing I cute blue haired boy with piercings and wide round eyes.

And for a moment. I didn't realize these songs were talking about me. He described me much more attractive then I actually am. He wrote about me like some sort of perfect being.

"Whatcha think?"
Seonghwa's voice startled me. I felt the mattress give to another person's weight on it.
"You scared the living shit out of me me,"
I laughed, putting my hand over my chest, Seonghwa leaned over me to kiss my cheek his hand came up to grip my face and turn my head so he could give me another kiss, on my lips this time. I hummed against him.
"It's pretty."
I quietly responded after he leaned away ever so slightly. Our faces were still so close that I decided to press another kiss onto his lips.
"You're pretty."
He breathed against my lips reconnecting them again. This kiss was longer, and more heated, Seonghwa teeth caught my lower lip quickly letting it go. His body shoved into mine pushing me back until my back hit the mattress. I still had Seonghwa's little song book held to my chest.

He pushed his hips down into mine making me moan and in turn opening my mouth to let his tongue slip in. I was moaning, quickly, into the kiss.

"How much did you read?"
Seonghwa asked sweetly, a complete mood switch from literal seconds ago, pressing more kisses across my face.
"Half-ish,"
I responded.
"Most of them are about you, you know that Hongjoong?"
He asked pulling away from me a bit. I nodded at him a little.
"You write such pretty things about such an unpretty person."
I laughed.
"You are the prettiest person I've ever met. So, so lovely."
I shook my head at him out of just pure reaction, I didn't even have control over the response.
"Read more."
He said fully sitting up away from me.

I sat up in front of him and flipped through the pages I had already read through. And read more of his pretty lyrics and poetry. His handwriting was smooth, and all of it was written in a different colored pen, every page was filled with colorful letters, some words scribbled out, either misspelled or he'd chosen a better word to describe whatever it was he was describing.

His words were written with thought, and expertise. Everything was written with such pretty structure, each word flowed to the next easily and flawlessly, and even to the next stanza.

Perfect poetry.

______

We spoke about his poems for hours, I listened inventively to his immense interest in how literature worked. Absolutely nothing I would really ever be particularly interested in, but his voice made anything so interesting.

"What should we do tonight?"
He asked lying back into the bed his eyes fluttering shut in the process.
"I was about ask you the same thing."
I rested my head on his lower ribs, not laying down, but rather just folding myself in half to do so.
"I actually feel like going out to drink."
He laughed. I didn't hold alcohol well, and was very drunk, very fast. And here I was pretty much immediate agreeing like I wasn't almost positive I would make a fool of myself the second I had more then three drinks.
"Sure. That sounds really fun."

_______

I'm sorry this chapter took so fucking long to come out and that it's really short. I've been hella busy with work.

The next chap will be longer!