vixx: shuffle
Title: shuffle
Pairing: (slight) Leo/Ravi
Rating: G
Word Count: 1.3k
Summary: Because Taekwoon cares and Wonsik needs caring.
The bag’s thin plastic crinkles as Taekwoon shifts it to his other hand. He fishes for keys out of his coat pocket, gloved fingers fumbling around for the tangled, jingling mess. He should label these. One for the dorm, one for the studio, one for his parents’ house. There’s a key that he has no idea what it’s for; it unlocks nothing of his, and he wonders how it even made it to his key ring.
Warm air begins to thaw out his face as he leaves the outside behind. Snowflakes dust his shoulders, probably his hat as well, and Taekwoon begins his slow unravel of layers. His gloves are the first, stuffed in his pockets, and he unknots his scarf as he opens the door he’s arrived in front of. He calls inside.
There’s a low sound -- Taekwoon’s taking that as an okay to come in -- and the plastic bag makes noise as it shifts again.
“Oh, hyung.” Wonsik’s got his music loud; it hits Taekwoon almost like a wall as he shuts the door behind him. Some sort of bass-heavy beat; something you move your head to. Wonsik turns it down. “What do you have?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.” Wonsik’s studio is tighter than Taekwoon’s, not so much wiggle room. He stands behind Wonsik’s chair and puts the bag on the desk. “Hakyeon was getting worried.”
Wonsik huffs a breath. Not in anger but in tiredness. “Well, he knows where I am.”
“Yeah.” Taekwoon takes the soda out of the bag. “He does.” He can tell Wonsik’s watching -- he’s got his hand supporting his cheek, eyes peering out of their corners at him.
“What do you have?” he asks again.
Taekwoon pushes the soda closer to Wonsik and also a small bag of candy. “Jaehwan mentioned you liked these.”
“Did Hakyeon send you to check up on me?”
Taekwoon pulls up the chair in the corner, sitting close to the wall. It takes a moment, but Wonsik accepts what’s been gifted to him. His fingers dive into the bag and starts to chew on the sugary sweets. He’s turning his chair back and forth and his eyes will fall over Taekwoon before back to his monitor and then back to Taekwoon.
He chuckles, mouth puckered and full of candy. “Hyung, c’mere.” Taekwoon scoots the chair closer, and Wonsik’s hands are brushing him off. Brisk. “Is it snowing? You still have snowflakes on you.” His hands touch the pieces of hair that stick out from under the beanie. Lingering. “Wet.”
Taekwoon pushes Wonsik’s hand away and guides it back to the younger’s personal space. “Your voice doesn’t sound too good.”
Harsh clearing of the throat. Wonsik turns back to his computer, rearranging windows on the screen. He clears his throat again. “Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe I’ll bring back some of Hakyeon’s vitamins.”
This gets a smile out of Wonsik. “He keeps pestering me about that….”
“Me, too.”
Wonsik’s not wearing his hat; it sits beside his mousepad, and his hair sticks up in untamed peaks. It looks like he hasn’t washed it for a bit, old hairspray helping create this tumultuous shape. Wonsik’s known to sleep here. He didn’t come back to the dorm last night.
“So what have you been doing?” Wonsik keeps shooting him glances, and Taekwoon can’t tell if he doesn't want him here or would welcome a break. He takes off his coat anyway.
“Nothing. I was at the dorm, but it got quiet.”
Wonsik, who had slumped forward onto his desk, has his face turned toward him, resting on his bicep and peeks over the curve of his shoulder. “Hakyeon didn’t send you, then?”
Taekwoon reaches an arm out to knock Wonsik on the shoulder. “No.” He purses his lips.
“Oh.” He looks back at the can of soda, half-empty, and the bag, crumpled and hollowed. He looks at Taekwoon’s wet footprints on the floor. His eyes rest on Taekwoon’s face, lowered to where his nose sits, to where the damp hair frames his face. “Thanks.”
Taekwoon nods. He tugs his sleeves over his fingers scrunches the material into his palms. “Is it alright if I stay here a bit?” There’s cold shivers still in his voice. Maybe from outside.
“Sure. I wanted you to listen to something anyway.” Wonsik types quick on his keyboard, and the speaker’s thrumming quiets. Soon a softer sound filters through, and Wonsik turns it up. “It’s not done yet.” He adds that, one hand clenching, unclenching.
Taekwoon laughs. “Is that Jaehwan?” The song’s voice is Jaehwan’s -- question unneeded.
“Yeah, he, uh, was helping.”
Taekwoon listens a bit more, and he can tell it’s unfinished, but it sounds like something he’d like. He hums along to Jaehwan’s voice, and Wonsik’s fingers slowly loosen and start to tap on the desk. “It’s good so far,” Taekwoon tells him. This draws out a small smile, eyes turned down in pleased satisfaction.
“You know the thing they were talking about?” Wonsik means the meeting last weekend, chairs pulled up along the shining silver table, serious talk. Serious talk about possible subunits -- two-person subunits. His name and Wonsik’s was tossed around a few times. “I was thinking this might be something we could use -- I don’t know.”
Taekwoon smiles, unbidden, and tucks his sleeve against his mouth. “Jaehwan…. He’ll gripe about his song being taken away.”
Wonsik bites a fingernail and barks out a laugh that scrunches his nose, probably thinking about Jaehwan’s reaction when he finds out. That’s what Taekwoon’s thinking of. “He probably won’t let it go.”
“He’ll pretend to be upset.”
“If you do sing it, though, he’ll be happy it’s you.” Wonsik’s hands aren’t tight like they were when he started the song. They rest, loose, on his thighs. “Your voice would suit it well.”
Taekwoon ignores the compliment and digs in his bag for his notebook. It’s thick with papers stuffed in the back -- these are collections from the members: Jaehwan’s drawings, Hongbin and Sanghyuk’s scribbles of lines, Hakyeon’s rambling thought jotted on the back of a receipt, Wonsik’s song reclist he wrote out for Taekwoon. His pages are fraying, spilled coffee darkening the edges. He needs a new notebook but hasn’t committed to making the change.
He flips open to a page; Wonsik’s watching.
“If this is real--” Wonsik’s already nodding to know he means the subunit talk, “--then I think I have some things we could use as well.”
“If you bring your stuff next time we can,” Wonsik licks his lips, “take a look at each other’s stuff. Like a better look. I don’t think I have anything else to show right now.”
Taekwoon returns a nod. He plugs his earphones into his phone. “That sounds good.”
There’s a pause. Wonsik’s music has not started yet; there’s a lapse. A real silence. Then, in a small voice: “You’re gonna stay for awhile?”
Taekwoon looks up from his notebook, from the smudge of words and crossed out jumbles, and to Wonsik, who looks much the same as an unfinished work. Not quite put together. His eyes blink a few times like they burn and itch -- probably from staring at a lit monitor for hours on end.
“Yeah.” Taekwoon’s voice sounds louder with nothing behind it. “You said that was fine, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wonsik swivels back to his monitor, but before he starts up again, he gestures back to the treats, now truly finished with them. “We’ll get real food later. I’ll buy you something.”
Taekwoon knows Wonsik can’t accept something without offering a return, so he doesn’t refuse. Wonsik has a need to care, and sometimes he just needs a prod, a reminder, to take care of himself. To not let that be a disproportionate, hanging one-way flow.
The music starts back up, more bass, and the two musicians return to their creative processes, each in his own way. Not separate but together -- not alone. Wonsik’s hands find the back of Taekwoon’s chair, now tilted close, and Taekwoon’s smile isn’t visible to Wonsik.
a/n: 1) i finally evicted this 2) this is more friendship centered but y'know 3) i love how vixx loves each other
Pairing: (slight) Leo/Ravi
Rating: G
Word Count: 1.3k
Summary: Because Taekwoon cares and Wonsik needs caring.
The bag’s thin plastic crinkles as Taekwoon shifts it to his other hand. He fishes for keys out of his coat pocket, gloved fingers fumbling around for the tangled, jingling mess. He should label these. One for the dorm, one for the studio, one for his parents’ house. There’s a key that he has no idea what it’s for; it unlocks nothing of his, and he wonders how it even made it to his key ring.
Warm air begins to thaw out his face as he leaves the outside behind. Snowflakes dust his shoulders, probably his hat as well, and Taekwoon begins his slow unravel of layers. His gloves are the first, stuffed in his pockets, and he unknots his scarf as he opens the door he’s arrived in front of. He calls inside.
There’s a low sound -- Taekwoon’s taking that as an okay to come in -- and the plastic bag makes noise as it shifts again.
“Oh, hyung.” Wonsik’s got his music loud; it hits Taekwoon almost like a wall as he shuts the door behind him. Some sort of bass-heavy beat; something you move your head to. Wonsik turns it down. “What do you have?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.” Wonsik’s studio is tighter than Taekwoon’s, not so much wiggle room. He stands behind Wonsik’s chair and puts the bag on the desk. “Hakyeon was getting worried.”
Wonsik huffs a breath. Not in anger but in tiredness. “Well, he knows where I am.”
“Yeah.” Taekwoon takes the soda out of the bag. “He does.” He can tell Wonsik’s watching -- he’s got his hand supporting his cheek, eyes peering out of their corners at him.
“What do you have?” he asks again.
Taekwoon pushes the soda closer to Wonsik and also a small bag of candy. “Jaehwan mentioned you liked these.”
“Did Hakyeon send you to check up on me?”
Taekwoon pulls up the chair in the corner, sitting close to the wall. It takes a moment, but Wonsik accepts what’s been gifted to him. His fingers dive into the bag and starts to chew on the sugary sweets. He’s turning his chair back and forth and his eyes will fall over Taekwoon before back to his monitor and then back to Taekwoon.
He chuckles, mouth puckered and full of candy. “Hyung, c’mere.” Taekwoon scoots the chair closer, and Wonsik’s hands are brushing him off. Brisk. “Is it snowing? You still have snowflakes on you.” His hands touch the pieces of hair that stick out from under the beanie. Lingering. “Wet.”
Taekwoon pushes Wonsik’s hand away and guides it back to the younger’s personal space. “Your voice doesn’t sound too good.”
Harsh clearing of the throat. Wonsik turns back to his computer, rearranging windows on the screen. He clears his throat again. “Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe I’ll bring back some of Hakyeon’s vitamins.”
This gets a smile out of Wonsik. “He keeps pestering me about that….”
“Me, too.”
Wonsik’s not wearing his hat; it sits beside his mousepad, and his hair sticks up in untamed peaks. It looks like he hasn’t washed it for a bit, old hairspray helping create this tumultuous shape. Wonsik’s known to sleep here. He didn’t come back to the dorm last night.
“So what have you been doing?” Wonsik keeps shooting him glances, and Taekwoon can’t tell if he doesn't want him here or would welcome a break. He takes off his coat anyway.
“Nothing. I was at the dorm, but it got quiet.”
Wonsik, who had slumped forward onto his desk, has his face turned toward him, resting on his bicep and peeks over the curve of his shoulder. “Hakyeon didn’t send you, then?”
Taekwoon reaches an arm out to knock Wonsik on the shoulder. “No.” He purses his lips.
“Oh.” He looks back at the can of soda, half-empty, and the bag, crumpled and hollowed. He looks at Taekwoon’s wet footprints on the floor. His eyes rest on Taekwoon’s face, lowered to where his nose sits, to where the damp hair frames his face. “Thanks.”
Taekwoon nods. He tugs his sleeves over his fingers scrunches the material into his palms. “Is it alright if I stay here a bit?” There’s cold shivers still in his voice. Maybe from outside.
“Sure. I wanted you to listen to something anyway.” Wonsik types quick on his keyboard, and the speaker’s thrumming quiets. Soon a softer sound filters through, and Wonsik turns it up. “It’s not done yet.” He adds that, one hand clenching, unclenching.
Taekwoon laughs. “Is that Jaehwan?” The song’s voice is Jaehwan’s -- question unneeded.
“Yeah, he, uh, was helping.”
Taekwoon listens a bit more, and he can tell it’s unfinished, but it sounds like something he’d like. He hums along to Jaehwan’s voice, and Wonsik’s fingers slowly loosen and start to tap on the desk. “It’s good so far,” Taekwoon tells him. This draws out a small smile, eyes turned down in pleased satisfaction.
“You know the thing they were talking about?” Wonsik means the meeting last weekend, chairs pulled up along the shining silver table, serious talk. Serious talk about possible subunits -- two-person subunits. His name and Wonsik’s was tossed around a few times. “I was thinking this might be something we could use -- I don’t know.”
Taekwoon smiles, unbidden, and tucks his sleeve against his mouth. “Jaehwan…. He’ll gripe about his song being taken away.”
Wonsik bites a fingernail and barks out a laugh that scrunches his nose, probably thinking about Jaehwan’s reaction when he finds out. That’s what Taekwoon’s thinking of. “He probably won’t let it go.”
“He’ll pretend to be upset.”
“If you do sing it, though, he’ll be happy it’s you.” Wonsik’s hands aren’t tight like they were when he started the song. They rest, loose, on his thighs. “Your voice would suit it well.”
Taekwoon ignores the compliment and digs in his bag for his notebook. It’s thick with papers stuffed in the back -- these are collections from the members: Jaehwan’s drawings, Hongbin and Sanghyuk’s scribbles of lines, Hakyeon’s rambling thought jotted on the back of a receipt, Wonsik’s song reclist he wrote out for Taekwoon. His pages are fraying, spilled coffee darkening the edges. He needs a new notebook but hasn’t committed to making the change.
He flips open to a page; Wonsik’s watching.
“If this is real--” Wonsik’s already nodding to know he means the subunit talk, “--then I think I have some things we could use as well.”
“If you bring your stuff next time we can,” Wonsik licks his lips, “take a look at each other’s stuff. Like a better look. I don’t think I have anything else to show right now.”
Taekwoon returns a nod. He plugs his earphones into his phone. “That sounds good.”
There’s a pause. Wonsik’s music has not started yet; there’s a lapse. A real silence. Then, in a small voice: “You’re gonna stay for awhile?”
Taekwoon looks up from his notebook, from the smudge of words and crossed out jumbles, and to Wonsik, who looks much the same as an unfinished work. Not quite put together. His eyes blink a few times like they burn and itch -- probably from staring at a lit monitor for hours on end.
“Yeah.” Taekwoon’s voice sounds louder with nothing behind it. “You said that was fine, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wonsik swivels back to his monitor, but before he starts up again, he gestures back to the treats, now truly finished with them. “We’ll get real food later. I’ll buy you something.”
Taekwoon knows Wonsik can’t accept something without offering a return, so he doesn’t refuse. Wonsik has a need to care, and sometimes he just needs a prod, a reminder, to take care of himself. To not let that be a disproportionate, hanging one-way flow.
The music starts back up, more bass, and the two musicians return to their creative processes, each in his own way. Not separate but together -- not alone. Wonsik’s hands find the back of Taekwoon’s chair, now tilted close, and Taekwoon’s smile isn’t visible to Wonsik.
a/n: 1) i finally evicted this 2) this is more friendship centered but y'know 3) i love how vixx loves each other