For those who have given up on love. From someone who never will.
Based on a true story. Unbeta-ed.
It was love and he was sure.
Jungsu quietly hums an easy tune as he crumbles cheese over the spaghetti. It was almost eight-thirty and everything was almost perfect. The balcony looked like Christmas in February, he made faux French bread from scratch, and had successfully restrained himself against opening the bottle of bubbly that was already laid in the ice bucket.
After seven years, Jungsu laughs at himself for still planning perfect dates for each anniversary. He secretly calls himself a hopeless romantic and says that each year will be the last, but he adores the surprises anyway.
Jungsu steps into the bathroom to fix his hair and the front door clicks open. "I'm home," a deep, warm voice calls out.
Jungsu looks at his reflection and watches his dimple pop out as his lips formed a silly, helpless smile. How many years it has been, but the sound of his voice still made Jungsu shiver. He tried to shake the goofy smile off his face, but it stubbornly froze in place.
He stepped out of the bathroom and in sight of the balcony door, slid open. Youngwoon's broad back was in plain view and his waist just wide enough for Jungsu to slip his arms around.
Jungsu comes a little closer.
It was love and he was sure.
Youngwoon's mouth parts in sheer amazement as he surveys the tiny balcony of the apartment. White drapes and lace dropped from ceiling to floor, and candy-shaped lights swirled around the banister. A round table stood in the middle, covered in flowing white and lighted with naked, chubby candles. A bottle of champagne, uncorked, sat divinely in between plates of spaghetti (with cheese crumbled on top, just the way he liked it), oddly-shaped French bread and a cake in the shape of a heart.
Youngwoon clamps his mouth shut as he darts his gaze towards the most beautiful man he has ever met. His chestnut-colored hair was swept in a small ponytail and he had tied a white apron over a long-sleeved shirt and neatly-pressed slacks. A dimple caved deep at one side of his mouth, his teeth biting a bright smile.
Youngwoon suddenly remembers why he fell in love. His heart unceremoniously beats a little faster and he wonders why it does that every time he looks at him.
He steps forward and offers his hand.
It was love and she was sure.
Tiffany leans against the bedroom door.
She looked at the man she loves look at the man he loves. He looked at him as if he had wings and Sofia Vergara's body, and she knew that Youngwoon will never look at her the way he looks at Jungsu. Youngwoon loves her too, but never in ways he loves him-- not in the way his lips played a tender smile almost too faint to notice or the way he unconsciously leaned towards the sound of his voice.
Tiffany's heart pulled and throbbed as she tiptoes past Jungsu and places her hand atop Youngwoon's. Youngwoon laced his fingers through hers and she smiled like she's supposed to. Letting the warmth of his skin seep into the coldness of hers, she whispered an apology to the night sky, saying "I deserve him too."
Love remained pure and true, and she had nothing to regret. But, after all those years of watching Youngwoon and Jungsu share brief, meaningful glances, Tiffany believed that the ring she wore wasn't meant for her finger.
Author's Note: A quick fic because I was inspired (teehee!). For Isabelle, because she has no prepaid credits and she can't text me and I miss her. And for the non-ChangSoo shippers who hate me because I write nothing but ChangSoo over the past year. Trolled.