Rating: R to be safe
Genre: Angst, romance
Summary: 'Him Chan’s heart expanded with adoration as he allowed his eyes to take in every part of the man that they could; heavily lidded eyes, a soft looking mouth, short blonde hair, strong shoulders and elegant hands that cradled the instrument that Him Chan had come to greatly envy.'
Author's Note: Ignoring everything else I should be doing. OTL Cross posted to my AFF account
I should be working on my HimUp story, but I could win awards for my procrastination skills, yo. I was listening to Toni Braxton’s ‘Spanish Guitar’ and got slapped in the face with Banghim feels which led to this. I feel that I should say that Yong Guk isn’t mentioned by name, but it’s him...just in case you get confused.
It’s 4am right now, so forgive me if this story is god awful.
Him Chan took his seat, a mix of anticipation and unjustifiable desperation fluttering in his stomach. From his seat at one of the tables pushed up against the side of the room, he cast his eyes anxiously over the small and slightly dingy cafe that he had frequented more times then he’d care to admit.
The waitress brought over the black coffee that he had ordered and he mumbled his thanks with a polite smile, missing the appreciative glance that she sent his way. It was a Thursday evening, and despite the offers he had received from a friend for a movie night and from a pretty girl to get dinner, Him Chan found himself grimacing as he sipped at the worst coffee he’d ever tasted just waiting for the whole reason he was in a part of town he’d normally try to avoid. The whole reason he hadn’t been interested in pretty girls for some time, and why Thursday evenings had quickly become the best part of his week.
He couldn’t help but think back to the series of events that had led him to this place a little less than two months ago; despite having lived in this city for the past three years or so, that day the black haired man had managed to take the wrong bus. In his defence he usually took the underground, and he had ended up travelling about ten stops in the opposite direction of his intended location before he had realised his mistake. He had stepped off the bus and taken in his immediate surroundings with a wary expression; run-down buildings and scary looking people with who he tried to avoid all eye-contact. Wearing a characteristically expensive suit, he stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighbourhood. If he was going to stand out, he had little desire to stand out in the open and become a walking invitation for muggers, so he hastily checked when the next bus back to civilisation would arrive and then deftly made his way into the nearest (and cleanest) looking cafe he could find to wait it out. Once inside he had ordered the first drink he could think of, raising his voice slightly to be able to be heard clearly over the soft strains of a guitar being played at the back of the room. He tapped his fingers against the counter while he waited for the disinterested waitress to finish making his drink, and found himself somewhat enjoying the soft melody being plucked on the instrument.
It was relaxing.
It wasn’t long until a deep, rich voice began to accompany the instrument and Him Chan found himself involuntarily turning to find the source of such a wonderful sound. Just one look at the man sat at the back of the room, guitar cradled to his body like it was his most treasured possession, had Him Chan melting inside and leaning back against the counter before his legs could give out on him. The musician appeared to be about the same age as himself, but a little taller and more well-built. The man’s voice was husky as his expression belied his passion and his eyebrows furrowed a little where he was lost in the music he was making. Him Chan was caught up in this man’s countenance and intensity, and it was this that kept him returning to this place every week without fail.
Him Chan grew more anxious the closer it got to 8pm, the time the nameless stranger that he had foolishly fallen in love with would begin to play. The night was young and the lights in the cafe were dim, exacerbating the slightly smoky effect which constantly permeated across the small, dull cafe. This provided an almost romantic atmosphere which didn’t help the way that Him Chan’s heart was beating double time in his chest. The cafe had begun to fill up as the handful of tables that could fit in the room had become occupied, mostly by dolled-up women he noted a little bitterly, but realised that he recognised a couple of them. They were Thursday night regulars too, and by the looks of their revealing clothes and seductive postures, they were here for the same reason as him.
Him Chan found his breath hitching and all envious thoughts of women’s enticing, soft curves and pretty smiles that were more likely to seduce the musician than his own deep voice and angular profile disappeared as the door to the back room of the cafe clicked open. Him Chan bit his lip to ground himself as the musician emerged with his guitar in hand. Without introducing himself any further than offering a small smile to the cafes patrons, the man took his seat at the small make-shift stage at the back of the room before turning his undivided attention to the Spanish Guitar he held lovingly in his hands. Him Chan’s heart expanded with adoration as he allowed his eyes to take in every part of the man that they could; heavily lidded eyes, a soft looking mouth, short blonde hair, strong shoulders and elegant hands that cradled the instrument that Him Chan had come to greatly envy.
Without delay the man began to play his signature Latin-style music, and Him Chan wanted to cry with the longing he already felt in his chest at the way those hands moved expertly over guitar strings. His eyes slid shut of their own volition as the soothing melody washed over him and brought back his heart-wrenchingly vivid dreams wherein this gentle man belonged to him. Night after night, he had become helpless as that man visited Him Chan in his King size bed where they spent the nights making love as beautiful as the notes that the man coaxed from his guitar. The man would smooth his calloused hands along the heated skin of Him Chan’s body who in turn could only sigh and whimper out in desire and pleasure from the unrelenting touches and the unfathomable heat that came from the tanned skin of the man above him. They spent those nights rocking together and chasing pleasure until the dawn, bodies tight together as mouths pressed against any flushed skin they could reach. Him Chan always felt cheated as he never failed to wake from these dreams before he ever reached a happy ending, and had become uncomfortably accustomed to waking abruptly in a stifling room, panting and needy for a man who didn’t know that he existed. More and more, Him Chan hated waking up alone.
The deep, luxurious tones of the stranger’s voice began to resonate around the dimly lit room which caused Him Chan to immediately force his eyes open. He refused to miss a single second more of the man’s endearing and inordinately attractive expressions as he crooned softly along with the guitar. In the weeks that Him Chan had been returning to this little cafe so far from his home, he had slowly come to terms with how crazy this all was. He had fallen for a man that he only saw for about twenty minutes a week, and he had never even spoken to him or even found out his name. It was insanity, but still he found himself in this cafe every Thursday evening without fail, pounding heart full of longing for a man that had never looked his way.
He watched the man continue to play, and his own hands started to fist themselves on top of the table as the strangers hands kept moving methodically and steadily over the instrument. Him Chan wanted the stranger to take responsibility for the way he seemed to live his life for these Thursday nights spent in such a horrible little dive, and the way that just hearing Latin music sent his heart racing and had his body warming; aching for that man to touch him as tenderly as his Spanish Guitar.
Him Chan’s gaze never left the man as he kept playing and singing for a while longer. The more he played the heavier Him Chan’s heart got as he knew that it wouldn’t be long until the man had finished his set for the night. He could play for hours and it still would never be long enough for Him Chan; he was never ready for the man to leave his sight. He would always finish his set and be gone, the cafe returning to a quite hum of patron’s chatter as if the man had never played at all.
Him Chan exhaled a shuddering breath as the last few chords of the evening stole away into the smoky air, and the man stood up to bow modestly to the small crowd that had built up in the time he was playing. Him Chan could hear the sound of his own heart still beating to the rhythm of the musician’s guitar, drowning out the delicate clapping coming from the women at other tables. His longing for the man to even just look at him had built exponentially as it had become almost tangible in the air.
As the man began to make his way back towards the door he had come through earlier Him Chan felt an all too familiar desperation rise through his body and a cold wave of sickly dread crept up his spine at the prospect of losing another chance of getting to know the man who had unwittingly staked his claim in Him Chan’s heart and soul. This man whose name he didn’t know but whose face and voice featured heavily in his dreams had stolen his heart with every note that he had played, and he didn’t even know that Him Chan was there. That Him Chan was out in the crowd with a heart full of a powerful yearning for him, and only him.
Him Chan could only watch as the man slipped into the back room and out of sight before Him Chan could do a thing, and he could taste bitter disappointment sliding down his throat. He cursed himself for being rendered motionless under the weight of his desire again as he had been in all the weeks previous. Him Chan couldn’t stop his eyes from stinging as he came to terms with yet another missed chance.
Him Chan slowly unclenched his hands and ran shaky fingers through his stylishly messy hair as he took steadying breaths in an attempt to calm his shaky breathing. He allowed himself a few minutes to collect his thoughts as his unruly feelings began to ebb away into a more manageable state. At this point, only one thing was certain; there was no doubt that he would be back in this cafe the following Thursday.
He would return to watch his nameless man play the guitar, and pray that one day he would look his way.
I have nothing to say.