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catskilt
eunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 2,333 words; multi-chapter
this is the fic where donghae is a baker and hyukjae is a prostitute, and together they make something out of the city of romance that is paris.
part one; part two
Part Three-
There are two important facts to this story.
The first fact is that Donghae had never meant to fall in love in Paris, and if so, most definitely not with a whore. Donghae had come to Paris to realise his dream of being a baker.
It was his most long-lasting dream. Donghae had had dreams ever since he was seven, out on his first fishing trip with his dad. The sun had shone aggressively down on them from a blue cloudless sky and Donghae, his face shaded by a big straw hat that his mum had fastened with a strap around his chin, had peered over the side of the boat down at the murky sea waters and dreamed of being a fish, free to roam those mysterious depths. Imagine what pretty things those fishes saw down there! Maybe they swam with water fairies! Later, when he saw a fish from that morning's catch lying fried on his dinner table, he thought that maybe it wasn't such a good thing to be a fish after all. But that had been a dream nonetheless.
At thirteen, Donghae dreamed of being a policeman. The type that arrested bad men and interrogated them in bare rooms with naked light bulbs. The type that risked their lives to stand up for justice and wage war against evil.
At fourteen, he thought that maybe being an outlaw was cooler. He could have an illustrious career robbing banks in the most charming way and outrunning the law until they caught up with him and he died gloriously in a fierce gunfight that would leave him emblazoned across the history of South Korea forever. For the next fifty years, men would tell their sons, "That Lee Donghae, now he was what I call a criminal."
At seventeen he wanted to be a footballer, but the good football clubs were all in Seoul and he was too busy attending school in Mokpo.
At twenty, he dreamed of marrying Park Daehyun, his classmate with the beautiful heart-melting eyes and deep voice. He dreamt of it while holding Daehyun in his arms, watching him sleep, and thinking happily, stupidly, of how nice it felt to have lost his virginity.
At twenty-two, heartbroken over Daehyun, he learned how to bake. It was purely out of boredom. He found a cookbook in the kitchen, flipped through a few cake recipes, and decided to try his hand at it. The cheesecake turned out too hard to be eaten, but the hours had been whiled away so pleasantly that he went to the supermarket, bought up a whole stash of baking ingredients, went home and spent the next two weeks experimenting with cakes, cupcakes, cookies, tarts.
At twenty-three, he worked in a bakery shop as an apprentice baker and began to dream of opening his own shop one day, presiding over cupcakes that girls would exclaim in delight over. And hopefully buy boxes of. He would become the Cupcake Millionaire.
At twenty-four, he watched a documentary about Paris and thought of how nice it would be to open up a bakery in a quaint little French neighbourhood, rent a little apartment and ride on his bicycle all day past the picturesque sidewalk cafes. At twenty-four, it's not so difficult to imagine owning the world. In the meanwhile, he perfected his macarons.
At almost-twenty-five, a huge pile of money dropped into his bank account when his grandfather, a rich retailer in Seoul, passed away and, by some stroke of strange luck, left a major portion of his money to his two grandsons, Donghae and his brother Donghwa. Donghwa, already married with a well-paying job that he loved, said that he would put his share into financing Donghae's dream of opening a bakery. Donghae decided that he would go to Paris with his own share.
It took some time to settle the details and get his license, but at twenty-six, Donghae finally opened his bakery in Paris. It was a triumph, even though nobody was at its opening. It didn't matter. He sat on his bicycle in front of his bakery, his own bakery, and gloated over it. His baby. He would pour all his love into it.
And then Lee Hyukjae showed up, three weeks into its opening, and bought a strawberry shortcake. Donghae hadn't expected to see a fellow Korean in Paris, much less one who would walk into his store, and when Hyukjae came in, bought the strawberry shortcake and ate it up right in front of him, smiled slightly and said "Tastes as good as Paris Baguette's", Donghae had fallen in love with him. Just like that.
It didn't matter that Hyukjae immediately followed up his compliment with a "But there aren't enough strawberries, and the strawberries that you've put in aren't sweet enough. Where are you getting these rubbish fruits?" It didn't matter, because Donghae was in love with him, and Donghae would spend all his free time scouring the neighbourhood for a new fruit stall that would sell strawberries juicy and sweet enough to keep Hyukjae coming back.
In the subsequent weeks, Hyukjae not only came back, but taught him the basics of French, took him on minor sightseeing trips around Paris, took a photo with him on top of the Eiffel Tower, influenced him in the way of strawberry milk, criticised the Italian name of his bakery, inspired him to create all sorts of cupcake designs with hearts and flowers, and, one unforgettable evening, backed him up against the kitchen island and fucked him senseless. Hyukjae was extremely talented in the art of lovemaking, but then of course he would be; it was the key to his success. Donghae sometimes felt that he wouldn't mind spending his entire life in bed with Hyukjae.
But the fact remains that Donghae had not meant to fall in love in Paris, and he still doesn't see it as part of the overall plan. He might have fallen in love, inadvertently, helplessly, because who wouldn't fall in love with Lee Hyukjae, as sweet and charming and funny and ridiculously beautiful as he is? Who wouldn't fall in love with practically his only regular customer, whose regular purchases are pretty much keeping the bakery going? But love isn't part of the grand scheme of things. It's not like love has ever really worked out for him. He'll be in love with Hyukjae for as long as it's convenient, for as long as they have fun together and enjoy having each other's company in this lovely lonely city.
And when Donghae has grown tired of their love, or tired of Paris, or a little too homesick for Korea, he'll sell off his bakery, pack up his belongings, and book his air ticket. He'll have one last fuck with Hyukjae, the great hurrah, and then he'll leave forever. And they'll never see each other ever again, nor think of each other, except for the times when they'll look back on their wild youth and say, "Well, those were the days!"
That's the plan for now. Though it's furthest from his mind when he's sitting on the steps in the cool evening breeze, sipping at his first carton of strawberry milk, wondering if Hyukjae will come today.
… …
The second fact is that Hyukjae does not actually dislike his occupation.
He had disliked being practically penniless in his second year of college in Paris. He was supposed to have enough money to last him till final year. His dad had promised him that much. But his dad had also, at the end of his first year at school, placed an overseas call from Korea to inform him that they'd run out of funds and Hyukjae had two options: one, to return home, two, to find a job in Paris and somehow see himself through school.
He found out later that his dad had appropriated his college funds to buy himself a brand new Jaguar. Hyukjae should have been bitter at the world, very bitter and hurt and angry, but he was too busy struggling to earn enough money to feed himself and pay his rent for the dorm room.
So when he found out that prostitution did, in fact, bring in the bucks, it didn't seem a terribly twisted business to give over his body in exchange for food, rent, and paid school bills. Most men weren't too demanding. All they wanted was a blow job, some of them a hand job, others a penetration, and Hyukjae gave over feeling violated when he saw how willingly they forked out their money and how quickly they wanted to be sated so that they could go home to their families. But his career would have stagnated there if Pierre had not talent-scouted him, if Pierre had not drawn him into a pub and talked things over with him, showed him that he could really be going places.
Perhaps Hyukjae had been too embittered at that point to think rationally, too frustrated with his family situation back home and the fact that he had to work so hard to earn that bit of money to keep himself going, but he didn't spend too much time thinking about Pierre's offer. He accepted it, and when the job offers started rolling in, when his bank account increased from three figures to five, when Pierre introduced him to the owner of Paris' most infamous and wealthy brothels and he was given a very fair deal of dropping out of college in return for a beautifully furnished apartment, a choice selection of clients, a dance performance at the brothel as and when he wanted and enough incentives to bankroll any whims and fancies, it didn't seem such a bad idea to go along with it.
Perhaps, too, it was the giddy fact that when he rolled his hips or rubbed himself against a pole or moved his body from head to toe in one smooth, slick movement, all those fabulously wealthy and important men actually desired him, grew hard for him, demanded private time with him. It was the sense of power he felt when princes fell at his feet, when the CEO of a major multi-national corporation lay begging for his touch, when famous movie stars moaned out his name as he held their hips and thrust into them. It was the arrogance of having so many men at the mercy of his looks and sexual prowess, of being able to choose who he wanted to fuck with, of having to be booked six months in advance.
He participated in many of the sexual games that they wanted – it was eye-opening, really, that the more powerful and wealthy a man was, the more perverted he was in matters of sex and arousal. He whipped, bound, role-played, strip-teased, got into all sorts of acrobatic positions; seduced the men with both the fantasy-inducing beauty of his carefully planned apartment and the beauty of his own body which he nurtured and cared for, kept in prime physical condition. When he undressed and ran a hand from his chest to his cock, few men could resist him, could argue against spending an obscene amount of money for the privilege of touching his body.
No, Hyukjae does not dislike his occupation. He does not love it; there are better occupations out there, less dirty and invasive, more emotionally fulfilling; but he does not dislike it. He sees the benefits of it, the shortcomings, knows how transient he is, how at thirty everything will collapse and a younger man will take over his place.
It is perhaps because of this knowledge that he spends a majority of his free afternoons and evenings with Donghae. Donghae, who isn't wealthy or powerful, who owns an Italian-named bakery and makes quirky cupcakes and drowns his strawberry shortcakes with strawberries in the hope that Hyukjae will keep buying them. Donghae, who's steadily losing money but is still able to laugh into the sunset, talk of Angry Birds cupcakes, dance with his mop to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.
He doesn't have to think about how much Donghae is willing to pay him, because any sex they have is out of his own free will, his own voluntary giving of body, and it's nice to not have his free will hampered by any considerations about the size of Donghae's chequebook. It's nice to be able to lie in bed, sweaty and sweetly aching, without thinking of how he can make use of more sexual techniques to squeeze a bigger tip out of Donghae. Donghae isn't rich enough to be perverted. Donghae likes whatever Hyukjae likes, which is in actuality plain and sweet and old-fashioned, and the evenings that they spend simply giggling into each other's skin and kissing lazily down the length of their bodies give Hyukjae not a sense of power but a stronger, giddier sense of happiness.
But still, he does not dislike his occupation. It is what he does, it is what keeps him, and when he goes back to work after a few hours with Donghae he reverts into being strictly business-like. And it is rare, very rare, that he allows himself to think, I never knew it could be like this until I met you.
… …
"Cake?" says Donghae, pondering the menu.
"Wine," says Hyukjae.
"Well, I'll have a cake," Donghae decides. "I want to check out the competition."
"If I have cake, I'll have two pecs instead of six tonight," says Hyukjae.
"Liar!" Donghae says. "You have eight, not six."
"And you have one," says Hyukjae.
Donghae looks sad.
"A nice, flat one," Hyukjae amends. "Like a pancake."
"I'll pancake you," Donghae says.
It's four o'clock in Paris. The afternoon sun is warm and golden, liquid. Hyukjae smiles first, then laughs, and Donghae laughs too, because Hyukjae's eyes are crinkling up adorably and the wine is arriving and it feels in this moment that they could remain in love forever.
---
Again, thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter ♥ this fic has about two or three more chapters to go. I'm not too sure. We'll see! :D
catskilteunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 2,333 words; multi-chapter
this is the fic where donghae is a baker and hyukjae is a prostitute, and together they make something out of the city of romance that is paris.
part one; part two
Part Three-
There are two important facts to this story.
The first fact is that Donghae had never meant to fall in love in Paris, and if so, most definitely not with a whore. Donghae had come to Paris to realise his dream of being a baker.
It was his most long-lasting dream. Donghae had had dreams ever since he was seven, out on his first fishing trip with his dad. The sun had shone aggressively down on them from a blue cloudless sky and Donghae, his face shaded by a big straw hat that his mum had fastened with a strap around his chin, had peered over the side of the boat down at the murky sea waters and dreamed of being a fish, free to roam those mysterious depths. Imagine what pretty things those fishes saw down there! Maybe they swam with water fairies! Later, when he saw a fish from that morning's catch lying fried on his dinner table, he thought that maybe it wasn't such a good thing to be a fish after all. But that had been a dream nonetheless.
At thirteen, Donghae dreamed of being a policeman. The type that arrested bad men and interrogated them in bare rooms with naked light bulbs. The type that risked their lives to stand up for justice and wage war against evil.
At fourteen, he thought that maybe being an outlaw was cooler. He could have an illustrious career robbing banks in the most charming way and outrunning the law until they caught up with him and he died gloriously in a fierce gunfight that would leave him emblazoned across the history of South Korea forever. For the next fifty years, men would tell their sons, "That Lee Donghae, now he was what I call a criminal."
At seventeen he wanted to be a footballer, but the good football clubs were all in Seoul and he was too busy attending school in Mokpo.
At twenty, he dreamed of marrying Park Daehyun, his classmate with the beautiful heart-melting eyes and deep voice. He dreamt of it while holding Daehyun in his arms, watching him sleep, and thinking happily, stupidly, of how nice it felt to have lost his virginity.
At twenty-two, heartbroken over Daehyun, he learned how to bake. It was purely out of boredom. He found a cookbook in the kitchen, flipped through a few cake recipes, and decided to try his hand at it. The cheesecake turned out too hard to be eaten, but the hours had been whiled away so pleasantly that he went to the supermarket, bought up a whole stash of baking ingredients, went home and spent the next two weeks experimenting with cakes, cupcakes, cookies, tarts.
At twenty-three, he worked in a bakery shop as an apprentice baker and began to dream of opening his own shop one day, presiding over cupcakes that girls would exclaim in delight over. And hopefully buy boxes of. He would become the Cupcake Millionaire.
At twenty-four, he watched a documentary about Paris and thought of how nice it would be to open up a bakery in a quaint little French neighbourhood, rent a little apartment and ride on his bicycle all day past the picturesque sidewalk cafes. At twenty-four, it's not so difficult to imagine owning the world. In the meanwhile, he perfected his macarons.
At almost-twenty-five, a huge pile of money dropped into his bank account when his grandfather, a rich retailer in Seoul, passed away and, by some stroke of strange luck, left a major portion of his money to his two grandsons, Donghae and his brother Donghwa. Donghwa, already married with a well-paying job that he loved, said that he would put his share into financing Donghae's dream of opening a bakery. Donghae decided that he would go to Paris with his own share.
It took some time to settle the details and get his license, but at twenty-six, Donghae finally opened his bakery in Paris. It was a triumph, even though nobody was at its opening. It didn't matter. He sat on his bicycle in front of his bakery, his own bakery, and gloated over it. His baby. He would pour all his love into it.
And then Lee Hyukjae showed up, three weeks into its opening, and bought a strawberry shortcake. Donghae hadn't expected to see a fellow Korean in Paris, much less one who would walk into his store, and when Hyukjae came in, bought the strawberry shortcake and ate it up right in front of him, smiled slightly and said "Tastes as good as Paris Baguette's", Donghae had fallen in love with him. Just like that.
It didn't matter that Hyukjae immediately followed up his compliment with a "But there aren't enough strawberries, and the strawberries that you've put in aren't sweet enough. Where are you getting these rubbish fruits?" It didn't matter, because Donghae was in love with him, and Donghae would spend all his free time scouring the neighbourhood for a new fruit stall that would sell strawberries juicy and sweet enough to keep Hyukjae coming back.
In the subsequent weeks, Hyukjae not only came back, but taught him the basics of French, took him on minor sightseeing trips around Paris, took a photo with him on top of the Eiffel Tower, influenced him in the way of strawberry milk, criticised the Italian name of his bakery, inspired him to create all sorts of cupcake designs with hearts and flowers, and, one unforgettable evening, backed him up against the kitchen island and fucked him senseless. Hyukjae was extremely talented in the art of lovemaking, but then of course he would be; it was the key to his success. Donghae sometimes felt that he wouldn't mind spending his entire life in bed with Hyukjae.
But the fact remains that Donghae had not meant to fall in love in Paris, and he still doesn't see it as part of the overall plan. He might have fallen in love, inadvertently, helplessly, because who wouldn't fall in love with Lee Hyukjae, as sweet and charming and funny and ridiculously beautiful as he is? Who wouldn't fall in love with practically his only regular customer, whose regular purchases are pretty much keeping the bakery going? But love isn't part of the grand scheme of things. It's not like love has ever really worked out for him. He'll be in love with Hyukjae for as long as it's convenient, for as long as they have fun together and enjoy having each other's company in this lovely lonely city.
And when Donghae has grown tired of their love, or tired of Paris, or a little too homesick for Korea, he'll sell off his bakery, pack up his belongings, and book his air ticket. He'll have one last fuck with Hyukjae, the great hurrah, and then he'll leave forever. And they'll never see each other ever again, nor think of each other, except for the times when they'll look back on their wild youth and say, "Well, those were the days!"
That's the plan for now. Though it's furthest from his mind when he's sitting on the steps in the cool evening breeze, sipping at his first carton of strawberry milk, wondering if Hyukjae will come today.
… …
The second fact is that Hyukjae does not actually dislike his occupation.
He had disliked being practically penniless in his second year of college in Paris. He was supposed to have enough money to last him till final year. His dad had promised him that much. But his dad had also, at the end of his first year at school, placed an overseas call from Korea to inform him that they'd run out of funds and Hyukjae had two options: one, to return home, two, to find a job in Paris and somehow see himself through school.
He found out later that his dad had appropriated his college funds to buy himself a brand new Jaguar. Hyukjae should have been bitter at the world, very bitter and hurt and angry, but he was too busy struggling to earn enough money to feed himself and pay his rent for the dorm room.
So when he found out that prostitution did, in fact, bring in the bucks, it didn't seem a terribly twisted business to give over his body in exchange for food, rent, and paid school bills. Most men weren't too demanding. All they wanted was a blow job, some of them a hand job, others a penetration, and Hyukjae gave over feeling violated when he saw how willingly they forked out their money and how quickly they wanted to be sated so that they could go home to their families. But his career would have stagnated there if Pierre had not talent-scouted him, if Pierre had not drawn him into a pub and talked things over with him, showed him that he could really be going places.
Perhaps Hyukjae had been too embittered at that point to think rationally, too frustrated with his family situation back home and the fact that he had to work so hard to earn that bit of money to keep himself going, but he didn't spend too much time thinking about Pierre's offer. He accepted it, and when the job offers started rolling in, when his bank account increased from three figures to five, when Pierre introduced him to the owner of Paris' most infamous and wealthy brothels and he was given a very fair deal of dropping out of college in return for a beautifully furnished apartment, a choice selection of clients, a dance performance at the brothel as and when he wanted and enough incentives to bankroll any whims and fancies, it didn't seem such a bad idea to go along with it.
Perhaps, too, it was the giddy fact that when he rolled his hips or rubbed himself against a pole or moved his body from head to toe in one smooth, slick movement, all those fabulously wealthy and important men actually desired him, grew hard for him, demanded private time with him. It was the sense of power he felt when princes fell at his feet, when the CEO of a major multi-national corporation lay begging for his touch, when famous movie stars moaned out his name as he held their hips and thrust into them. It was the arrogance of having so many men at the mercy of his looks and sexual prowess, of being able to choose who he wanted to fuck with, of having to be booked six months in advance.
He participated in many of the sexual games that they wanted – it was eye-opening, really, that the more powerful and wealthy a man was, the more perverted he was in matters of sex and arousal. He whipped, bound, role-played, strip-teased, got into all sorts of acrobatic positions; seduced the men with both the fantasy-inducing beauty of his carefully planned apartment and the beauty of his own body which he nurtured and cared for, kept in prime physical condition. When he undressed and ran a hand from his chest to his cock, few men could resist him, could argue against spending an obscene amount of money for the privilege of touching his body.
No, Hyukjae does not dislike his occupation. He does not love it; there are better occupations out there, less dirty and invasive, more emotionally fulfilling; but he does not dislike it. He sees the benefits of it, the shortcomings, knows how transient he is, how at thirty everything will collapse and a younger man will take over his place.
It is perhaps because of this knowledge that he spends a majority of his free afternoons and evenings with Donghae. Donghae, who isn't wealthy or powerful, who owns an Italian-named bakery and makes quirky cupcakes and drowns his strawberry shortcakes with strawberries in the hope that Hyukjae will keep buying them. Donghae, who's steadily losing money but is still able to laugh into the sunset, talk of Angry Birds cupcakes, dance with his mop to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.
He doesn't have to think about how much Donghae is willing to pay him, because any sex they have is out of his own free will, his own voluntary giving of body, and it's nice to not have his free will hampered by any considerations about the size of Donghae's chequebook. It's nice to be able to lie in bed, sweaty and sweetly aching, without thinking of how he can make use of more sexual techniques to squeeze a bigger tip out of Donghae. Donghae isn't rich enough to be perverted. Donghae likes whatever Hyukjae likes, which is in actuality plain and sweet and old-fashioned, and the evenings that they spend simply giggling into each other's skin and kissing lazily down the length of their bodies give Hyukjae not a sense of power but a stronger, giddier sense of happiness.
But still, he does not dislike his occupation. It is what he does, it is what keeps him, and when he goes back to work after a few hours with Donghae he reverts into being strictly business-like. And it is rare, very rare, that he allows himself to think, I never knew it could be like this until I met you.
… …
"Cake?" says Donghae, pondering the menu.
"Wine," says Hyukjae.
"Well, I'll have a cake," Donghae decides. "I want to check out the competition."
"If I have cake, I'll have two pecs instead of six tonight," says Hyukjae.
"Liar!" Donghae says. "You have eight, not six."
"And you have one," says Hyukjae.
Donghae looks sad.
"A nice, flat one," Hyukjae amends. "Like a pancake."
"I'll pancake you," Donghae says.
It's four o'clock in Paris. The afternoon sun is warm and golden, liquid. Hyukjae smiles first, then laughs, and Donghae laughs too, because Hyukjae's eyes are crinkling up adorably and the wine is arriving and it feels in this moment that they could remain in love forever.
---
Again, thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter ♥ this fic has about two or three more chapters to go. I'm not too sure. We'll see! :D
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 04:02 pm (UTC)srsly this fic is just too cute how did you do it ;aaaa;
and this "If I have cake, I'll have two pecs instead of six tonight," says Hyukjae.
"Liar!" Donghae says. "You have eight, not six."
"And you have one," says Hyukjae.
cry cry this is so adorable the hyukabs and haebelly talk XDD
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 07:16 pm (UTC)like I said hyukjae seriously stubborn.......
"...Donghae, his face shaded by a big straw hat that his mum had fastened with a strap around his chin, had peered over the side of the boat down at the murky sea waters and dreamed of being a fish, free to roam those mysterious depths. Imagine what pretty things those fishes saw down there! Maybe they swam with water fairies! Later, when he saw a fish from that morning's catch lying fried on his dinner table he thought that maybe it wasn't such a good thing to be a fish after all..." <---what a way to turn off one dream XDDD
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 07:57 pm (UTC)this fic is so fluffy and sweet
"A nice, flat one," Hyukjae amends. "Like a pancake."
"I'll pancake you," Donghae says.
Such a childish/Donghae thing to say xD
♥
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 08:17 pm (UTC)adorable adorable adorable adorable
p.s I would love to spend the whole life time with hyuk in bed a- *kicked*
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 09:19 pm (UTC)I need more, like now. It's my druuuuug~
Jk, I would wait all eternity just to read the next chapter! I love it <3
no subject
Date: 2012-05-05 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 03:39 am (UTC)I love this story.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 05:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 10:23 am (UTC)owh,,i thought hyuk got 6 pecks...huhu...
no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 11:44 am (UTC)i totally liked it, but this love story is kind of bittersweet love T_T
i'll be waiting for the next chapter <3
no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 01:09 pm (UTC)I love how it's almost bittersweet the way Donghae has all these emotions for Hyukjae. It's so like him.
I don't even know where everything is going with this story. Is it like jut a story of this baker boy and a high-end prostitute and they fell in love in the city of Love? I don't know. And I'm so happy to be kept on being surprised at the progression of this story. Beautiful!!!!!! /gah
no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-07 01:04 am (UTC)Hyuk is more of the realist versus the dreamer. He knows what he does for a living and while he might not enjoy it, he knows that it could be worse. He's able to keep himself afloat and have enough money to help Hae if he needs it and all of that money came from him being a realist.
Dreamer versus realist. Will they each learn a little from the other?
no subject
Date: 2012-05-09 08:19 pm (UTC)But anyway, I don't know what to say at this point...
All I know is that I effing love this story SO MUCH because it's so calm, so sweet, so...adorable!~
...For now, I'm sure. lol
But I don't want it to end! DX
Oh. And I love how not much happened here and all you did was describe Donghae and Hyukjae's story up to this point in their lives and I just find it so amazing how in love with this story I am right now lol Have I told you before how much you make me want to stop everything I'm doing at the moment and just go back to writing??? Cuz you do. So hard. And then I'm like, fuck...I have nothing to write... Then I go back to reading your stories and get inspired again and it's a never-ending cycle lol
no subject
Date: 2012-06-02 07:15 pm (UTC)thanks for sharing this story!
and i think my love for Paris made me loooooooooove this fic sooooo soooooo much :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-09 01:02 pm (UTC)skdjfhksjdfhksdjhfkjds