post #37
TL;DR RULES
1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else
2. use the subject line to indicate pairing (in alphabetical order using stage names i.e.baekhyun/chanyeol) prompt details go in the comment.
3. use necessary content warnings
4. do not embed on meme. link to images/videos. label nsfw content.
5. do not repost prompts ( Read more... )
1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else
2. use the subject line to indicate pairing (in alphabetical order using stage names i.e.baekhyun/chanyeol) prompt details go in the comment.
3. use necessary content warnings
4. do not embed on meme. link to images/videos. label nsfw content.
5. do not repost prompts ( Read more... )
'There are people who say I'm too pretty for a boy,' Xiao Lu had said, pausing only to carefully run black eyeliner across his upper eyelid, 'and that if I were a girl, I would be too pretty to be trusted.' He capped his eyeliner angrily before picking up an eyeshadow palette from his bed. 'I may have had stupid, silly dreams when I was younger, but they gave me the hope and the strength to get to where I am now.' He streaked the crease of his eyelid with silver eyeshadow, blending it with his pinky into the bright gold eyeshadow he'd previously applied all over. 'I am Xiao Lu and it is a term of affection, not of weakness.'
Xiao Lu had paused, muttering something in Chinese as he searched the desk in front of him. 'Aha,' he said, uncapping a shiny clear lipgloss. 'This country will always be my home,' he said, pausing only briefly to apply his lipgloss, 'but it will not be my prison.'
He pouted his lips, twisting from side to side to check his make up, and Minseok had dropped his chopsticks into his bowl of shin ramyeon. He'd never seen anyone quite like Xiao Lu before.
'Minseok,' Yixing said, slamming the room to their shared dorm shut. 'You'll never guess--' He stops, swaying awkwardly on his heels as Minseok calmly hits pause and swivels in his chair, one eyebrow raised.
'If this is about the instruments coming alive in the darkness when no one else was there, I don't want to hear it, Xing,' Minseok says. Yixing sometimes spends more time in the music department than he does at home. He's a constant source of worry in Minseok's life, but Minseok would feel unanchored without him.
'No, but--don't you have a midterm tomorrow?' Yixing stares pointedly at where Xiao Lu is frozen on Minseok's screen, red eyeshadow streaked across half his eye.
'Study break,' Minseok says. He tries to shift in his chair to hide the fact that his notebook is still unopened and he hasn't even pulled out his assigned readings. Yixing raises an eyebrow, and Minseok sighs. 'I've been studying for this midterm for two weeks,' he tries. 'I don't know how much more I can possibly learn by tomorrow.'
Yixing wavers, his shoes half kicked off in the doorway, and Minseok attempts a pout that Yixing says reminds him of a hamster. 'Alright, alright,' Yixing says. He kicks off his shoes completely before dropping his coat onto his bed and falling face first onto Minseok's. 'There's this guy,' he says, and Minseok groans.
'There's always a guy, Xing,' Minseok says, and Yixing makes a pained sound.
'Not like this one,' he says. 'He tried to break a wine glass with his voice.'
Minseok carefully closes his laptop, placing his still-closed notebook on top before shoving at Yixing's shoulder. 'If we're going to do this properly, you need to move,' Minseok says. Yixing groans but shuffles over to the wall. Minseok settles in beside him, stretching out on his back and resting his hands behind his head.
'Start from the beginning,' Minseok says, and Yixing sighs.
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'Thank you, Kyungsoo-ssi,' he says, and Kyungsoo attempts a smile. He accepts the heavily marked-up copy of his draft submission with a small bow, trying to not grate his teeth at the knowledge that Kyungsoo is younger than him but effectively stands between Junmyeon and publication.
'Please let me know if you have any further questions,' Kyungsoo says. When Junmyeon only nods, he turns back to his computer and pulls up the draft responses to Letters to the Editor.
Junmyeon lets himself out of Kyungsoo's cramped office, tucked away in the corner of the floor dominated by editors and publication staff. One of the other editors raises his eyebrow as Junmyeon attempts to slip past, his draft clutched tightly to his chest, but says nothing, even as Junmyeon trips over his own two feet and stumbles into the stairwell.
He's been writing for the publication for three years and has more accolades than he knows what to do with. He'd been drawn to the publication because of their direct and sincere approach to reporting news, and the publication in turn had rewarded him for his personal and thoughtful pieces on life in Seoul, Korean politics, and international news.
Now he's staring down at a print out of his latest piece on the changing face of the average Korean and it's covered in so much red ink Junmyeon can scarcely even make out his original text. He hasn't seen this much red on his work since his first semester at university.
He sinks to the floor in the stairwell, wincing as the wall rubs against his bare skin where the back of his shirt has ridden up. Maybe the other editors directed his work to Kyungsoo because he would be unafraid to say what everyone else wanted was thinking. Maybe he has become too comfortable, too predictable. The thought makes Junmyeon wince. Too many good writers have been dropped for the very same reason.
Junmyeon refuses to be one of them.
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'Stay still,' Yifan says, and Luhan sighs before tucking his chin back against his bare chest, his face turned away from Yifan and pressed gently against the back of the chair. His knees are close to his chest, and Luhan can feel a cramp building in one of his thighs, but he doesn't move. 'Just a few more minutes until I'm done sketching and you can stand up, alright?'
Luhan nods, counting the number of times rain drops splash against the window overhead. The music in the background is some kind of smooth jazz, featuring a voice so soft that it almost vanishes into the piano backing track. The lyrics are in Korean. Luhan wonders if Yifan chose the song for how pretty they are, or for how it almost seems to match the way he carefully coaxes movement into stillness on his canvas.
'Up you get,' Yifan says, and Luhan nods. He scrambles off the chair, stretching from side to side as the cramp in his thigh tightens noticeably. Luhan tries to steal a peek at Yifan's sketch, but Yifan's reach is longer than Luhan's and the canvas is whisked away before Luhan can even come close to it. 'Your break just got five minutes shorter,' Yifan says, and Luhan groans.
He stumbles over to the fridge, shoving aside a half-finished bottle of Yifan's preferred cheap red whine to reach for a leftover bowl of fried rice. 'I'm finishing the rice,' Luhan says, and Yifan hums his assent, bent over his canvas as he works on the background of the piece.
Luhan tucks into the plate of cold rice, watching as Yifan folds in half to try and fix a small detail at the bottom of the canvas. Yifan is rich, probably has more money than he knows what to do with, but he still hasn't moved out of the apartment he moved into after his mother died and had less to his name than even Luhan.
'Almost done?' Yifan asks. The song has changed again; this time, it's an upbeat song just a few beats shy of a dance track. Luhan shovels the last bit of rice into his mouth before nodding. 'Back in the chair, please,' Yifan says, and Luhan shakes out his limbs before trying to fold himself back into the way he was before.
Yifan's hands settle on Luhan's shoulders, carefully repositioning him until he's where Yifan wants him to be, and Luhan closes his eyes. Maybe, if he's lucky, when he falls asleep he'll stay on the chair.
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The door clicks shut as Jongin searches through the dog food aisle, carefully pulling out the larger bags to see if the kitten has found a new favourite hiding spot. Most of the kittens hide wherever it's warmest, and the dog food bags are propped up near the wall-mounted radiator.
'Can I help you?' Jongin drops one of the bags of dog food and winces when the side bursts open and kibble goes everywhere. When he looks up, the kid looks apologetic. He wrings out his hands before grasping tightly at the strap of his shoulder bag.
He's underdressed for the weather, his jacket too thin but kept immaculate, and Jongin thinks he can see a stack of papers tucked in the kid's messenger bag. Probably resumes, he thinks, and he tries to remember how to do the calming breaths his cousin is always going on about.
'If you can find the orange kitten that escaped from its cage, I'll see what I can do about getting you a job here,' Jongin says. The way the kid's eyes light up is almost depressing. The kid ducks halfway into a bow before Jongin waves him off and starts looking behind another stack of dog food.
The kid's footsteps recede, and Jongin makes his way down the aisle rustling a bag of cat treats. He can't hear anything, not even the bell attached to the kitten's collar, and he's about to lock the store in until he finds the damn animal when the kid says something.
'Here, she's here,' he says, and Jongin almost drops the bag of treats as he makes his way to where the kid is standing in the fish section, a small ball of orange fur purring in his arms.
'Oh thank God,' Jongin says, and the kid smiles. Jongin fishes out a small treat and the kitten looks away from the kid's chest just long enough to snatch it away from Jongin's fingertips.
'I'm Zitao,' the kid says. Jongin dusts off his hand before holding it out for a handshake. Zitao carefully shifts the kitten until he's holding it with only one arm and accepts the handshake with a smile.
'Jongin,' he says. 'When can you start?'
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'Take thirty, everyone,' his manager says. Baekhyun closes his eyes, tries to imagine tiny doors swinging shut over his ears to block out the disappointment in his manager's voice. His hiatus started a month ago, is scheduled to go on for another two months, and this is what he had asked for: three months to write his own album, his own music, and if the company liked it enough they would give him the green light.
The door to the recording booth swings open, and Baekhyun sighs. 'Can we just call it a day?'
'Okay,' his manager says. 'Be back here tomorrow, bright and early, if you want to practice before the studio musicians arrive at nine.' He no longer sounds disappointed, just exhausted. Baekhyun wonders if that's a reflection of himself.
'I will,' Baekhyun says. The door clicks shut behind his manager, and Baekhyun carefully rearranges the notes on the music stand before him before switching off the microphone. One of the technicians will turn everything off properly later, but he doesn't want anyone to hear him cry.
He's tired; tired of touring, tired of singing love songs written by strangers, tired of being woken up after two hours of sleep by his manager who has slept even less. And here he is, one third of the way through his break, and he's still overworking them both.
He stays in the booth until his breathing is even, tries to scrub at the heat that has spread through his cheeks, and inhales deeply before opening the door. The studio is empty, and he puts on his coat and scarf in silence.
It's still early when he heads outside. His driver isn't supposed to pick him up for another few hours yet, but Baekhyun doesn't call him. Instead he rewraps his scarf to cover more of his face before starting to walk down the sidewalk.
He hasn't been allowed to wander like this in years. First, as a trainee, with barely any time to see his family between school and training; then, as a performer, as an idol, with no privacy to speak of. There's a coffee shop on the corner that he's been meaning to try for months, so he stops. No one seems to recognise him, not even when he accidentally shuts the door too harshly and draws attention to himself, so he's able to order his americano in relative peace.
Baekhyun drinks half of it curled up in one of the comfier chairs away from the store windows. No one here seems to have recognised him, but he'd like to keep it that way, so he focusses on his drink and the way it seems to warm every inch of him from the inside out. A few seats over, a couple is arguing quietly, the boy gesticulating wildly while the girl covers her face with her hands.
The knowledge that he's never been in an actual relationship, never fought over silly things, makes his stomach sink. He wonders if the boy is going to go out later and buy her something, plead for her forgiveness through the door to her apartment, or if they're going to go their separate ways forever.
He leaves his half-finished coffee on the table beside the chair. Outside, snow has started to fall, and as people begin to rush around him Baekhyun lets himself be caught in the tide.
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When he goes into the gallery, the lady behind the desk takes one look at him and gasps. Baekhyun sighs. One of his songs plays in the background, a song he barely remembers recording and he's pretty sure he's never performed live, and the woman can't take her eyes off him.
'I'd like to purchase a piece of art,' he says.
'Which piece were you interested in?' she asks. Baekhyun turns to gesture at the back of the piece he saw from outside. 'The Wu Kris piece?'
'If that's the artist,' Baekhyun says. The woman blushes, nodding quickly as she flips through a series of folders to find the pricing information for the piece.
'I'm afraid it's quite expensive, sir,' she says, her lips quirking as Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. 'He's quite popular, sir, and that piece is an original.'
Baekhyun thumbs the edge of his wallet. He hasn't had to purchase anything for himself in a long time. The company feeds him, keeps him clothed. His fans send him more electronics than he'll ever use in a single lifetime. He's saved up a tidy sum. He glances back at the back of the piece, sees the date scrawled across the bottom left hand corner of the frame, and smiles.
Turning back to the woman, he pulls out his wallet and takes out his credit card. He sets it on the counter and offers her a smile. 'I'd like it delivered tomorrow, if at all possible,' he says. In the background, the song changes to his most recent single.
'I'll see what I can do, sir,' she says, and Baekhyun smiles.
author's note: hi OP... so plotting turned into this. um. please let me know if you like it. i've got the skeleton of the next few sections laid out, but if there's anything you really aren't fond of please let me know and i'll rework it.^^
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you understood what i was trying to convey in the prompt. thank jesus! I like this. Keep going forever if you like. The pacing is perfect. I like natural, slow easy going pacing. I was scared that you might try to cram everything in at once.
I've never seen Love Actually, but I know the premise is the same. Everyone is connected, but they don't realize it.
pls, let us be friends o great filler anon!
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'Did you forget your keys?' Kyungsoo. Chanyeol straightens before turning around and smiling broadly. Kyungsoo looks torn between being amused and unimpressed. He's carrying a large bag of groceries and a stack of catalogue envelopes. Chanyeol reaches out for the groceries, and Kyungsoo laughs softly before digging out his set of keys. 'You need to stop doing this, Chanyeol,' Kyungsoo says, and Chanyeol shrugs.
'I can always afford to get the locks changed,' Chanyeol says, and Kyungsoo sighs.
'I'd really rather you didn't have to,' Kyungsoo says. He sets down the stack of envelopes on his desk before turning to Chanyeol. 'Groceries, please.' Chanyeol hands them over before grinning sheepishly and running a hand through his hair.
'There's just been a lot on my mind lately, is all,' Chanyeol says. He kicks at the carpet, his eyes flickering up briefly to meet Kyungsoo's. Kyungsoo sometimes wonders how Chanyeol can switch from this to his radio personality in the mere seconds that fall between Chanyeol slipping on his headphones and the recording light switching in.
'Baekhyun hyung left a message,' Kyungsoo says, putting the bags on the kitchen counter. He glances over at where Chanyeol is shifting his weight back and forth, eyes trained on the ground.
'Yeah, he got my cell right after the show,' Chanyeol says. He looks up just long enough to flash Kyungsoo a smile. 'He's scrapping the whole orchestra thing he was going for, wants me to come by and help put together a few tracks. Something about being inspired and going back to the basics.' Kyungsoo hums, putting the new container of gochujang on the counter. 'I'm heading over early tomorrow morning. Worst comes to worst, I do my afternoon show from Baekhyun's studio.'
'I'll call your manager in the morning,' Kyungsoo says. He stares at the inside of their refrigerator and curses quietly. They need way more than the list Chanyeol texted him halfway through the day. He sighs, poking around until he emerges with the basics for a stir fry. 'It's not an interview day tomorrow?'
'Not tomorrow,' Chanyeol says.
'I'll make dinner,' Kyungsoo says, 'if you want you can wait in--' Hands settle on Kyungsoo's hips. Kyungsoo can feel the heat emanating from Chanyeol where he's standing just behind Kyungsoo, can feel the soft rasp of Chanyeol's breath along the side of his head, but Chanyeol's not touching him anywhere else. Just where his fingers are digging lightly into Kyungsoo's hips.
'Hey,' Chanyeol says, and Kyungsoo puts down the knife he's holding, tries to brush the scraps of mushrooms off his hands and away from the edge of the cutting board. He tips back just slightly until his shoulders knock against Chanyeol's chest. He peers up through his fringe at where Chanyeol is biting his lip.
'I still haven't forgiven you,' Kyungsoo says, but he's smiling. The blind date was a stupid idea, but he knows Chanyeol meant well. Chanyeol winces, and Kyungsoo laughs.
'I didn't realise he'd be that boring,' Chanyeol says. 'He's friends with one of the sound mixers at the station--'
'It's fine,' Kyungsoo says. 'Now, if you don't move, I'm going to accidentally cut your hand off.' He picks the knife back up and makes to wave it menacingly, but his heart isn't in it.
'Okay, okay,' Chanyeol says. His hands drop away from Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo counts the number of heartbeats that fall in between him letting go and speaking again. 'I'll be in the living room if you need me,' he says. Seventeen.
'Sounds good,' Kyungsoo says. He waits until Chanyeol's footsteps have receded before turning his attention back to the decimated mushrooms on the cutting board. When he looks up, he catches sight of the work he brought home, and sighs.
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He's never felt more like a Gangnam kid than he does now, his notebook tucked in his pocket as he makes his way to one of the less affluent districts by subway. He's not entirely sure why he's doing this, what he expects to happen or see, but he's tired and at a loss for what to do next.
The copy of his draft Kyungsoo marked up is tucked in his jacket pocket. He scrapped the story, asked for an extension on his assignment, and now he's here. Stuck between two old men on a subway he's never taken.
His stop is called, and Junmyeon carefully extricates himself from where one of the two men has backed him against a pole before slipping out the subway doors and onto the platform. Everyone around him is in a rush to be somewhere. He lets himself be taken away by the rush of people trying to exit the platform, carefully keeping his arms close to his body as small children weave through the crowd and brush past him.
The first few hours pass uneventfully. Junmyeon ducks in and out of shops, tries to follow people down the street unobtrusively, and ends up in a rundown cafe with a half-decent cup of coffee and no new words put to the paper of his notebook. He feels slightly ridiculous, almost inappropriately voyeuristic, and it's after his second cup of coffee that he decides he's wasting his time. Outside, the sun has almost set, and the cold air is licking at his exposed hands every time the cafe door opens.
He leaves his mug on the table, wrapping his coat around his body as tightly as he can before burrowing his hands in his pockets to keep it in place. The streets are emptier than he expected, and Junmyeon darts between streetlights as snow builds up on his shoes.
Junmyeon is three blocks away from the subway when someone grabs the back of his coat. The move startles a yelp out of Junmyeon, but the grip on his jacket tightens and he's sent sprawling across the pavement of an alleyway before he can say anything.
Junmyeon rolls over onto his back with a groan. He looks up to see three men staring back down at him, one with a soju bottle in hand, and Junmyeon tries to smile as he scrambles backwards, trying to get his feet underneath him.
'Stop moving, pretty boy,' one of them says, and Junmyeon freezes. Melted snow is seeping through his jeans and he shivers. 'What's a princess like you doing here?'
'Maybe he got lost,' another one says. 'Or he's looking for a little company.' The man punctuates the statement by grabbing at his crotch and the other two laugh. Back on the main road, someone smashes a bottle, and Junmyeon tries to get back to his feet before someone smashes a bottle over him instead.
'He said to stop moving,' the third man says, and he tangles his hand in the collar of Junmyeon's collar before shoving him back against the cement. 'My, my. You are a cute one.'
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'Stop harassing the goods, jerk offs,' someone says, and Junmyeon feels his stomach drop. This voice sounds sober.
'Or?'
The new shadow shifts and Junmyeon squeezes his eyes shut just as the sound of a punch landing reaches his ears. When the grip on his collar loosens, he rolls away and to the side, pulling himself to his feet along the side of a building as he watches some guy he doesn't even know shove his way through the men until he's standing between them and Junmyeon.
'Go back to the bar,' the guy says, licking at where his lip is starting to swell. One of the drunk men has a black eye beginning to bloom. Junmyeon tries to vanish into the wall, pressing his shoulders firmly against it as the stranger shifts into a sturdier stance.
The men back away, one of them sending a wink to Junmyeon who tries not to flinch. He stares at his feet until soft footsteps approach him. His head snaps up, and it's the guy from earlier. His looks are severe, though the shadows that fall across his face make his features seem harsher than Junmyeon thinks they actually are.
'Did they touch you?' Junmyeon shakes his head, but the guy is quickly searching along Junmyeon's arms anyway, his fingers skating along the edges of Junmyeon's coat as he looks for damage.
'Really they didn't,' Junmyeon tries, and the guy quirks an eyebrow. 'You came really quickly.'
The guy nods slowly, and Junmyeon shifts uncertainly. 'You aren't from around here.'
'Not even close,' Junmyeon says, and the guy snorts. 'Gangnam.'
The guy whistles low. Junmyeon tries to smile, but winces instead when he tries to step forward. 'Liar,' the guy says softly, and Junmyeon shakes his head.
'It didn't hurt until now.'
'You've rolled it,' the guy says. 'Do you have somewhere to stay?'
'My apartment,' Junmyeon says. 'In Gangnam.'
The guy rolls his eyes. 'Only a rich guy would think going on the subway looking injured is a good idea.' He hesitates, before turning his back to Junmyeon and crouching down slightly. He's taller than Junmyeon by a noticeable amount. When Junmyeon doesn't move, the guy looks back at him over his shoulder. 'Well?'
'I don't even know your name,' Junmyeon says.
'That's really your biggest concern at the moment?' The guy turns back around, shaking out his arms, and Junmyeon shies away from the attention the guy is giving him. 'You almost get turned into someone's plaything for the evening, and you're hung up on the fact that you don't know the name of the guy who now has a fat lip because of you?' Junmyeon's eyes flicker to where the guy is tonguing at a sluggishly bleeding cut on his lower lip. When he looks back up, the guy is rolling his eyes again. 'It's Sehun,' he says. 'Oh Sehun.'
'Kim Junmyeon.'
Sehun raises an eyebrow. 'Now will you let me help you?'
When Junmyeon nods, Sehun turns back around and crouches even lower, holding his arms out backwards. Junmyeon carefully wraps his arms around Sehun's neck, settling against Sehun's back before Sehun's arms come down to wrap around his thighs.
'We're ten minutes away from my apartment,' Sehun says. 'Think you can make it?'
Junmyeon huffs out a laugh. 'I just might be able to,' he says, and tightens his grip as Sehun sets off.
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:D
this made my week! i'm so happy someone was able to fill my prompt.
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Instead, he takes a photo of himself with his eyes shut, passed out on his bed, and uploads it to his homepage. Post exam coma, he writes, and hits post. His dashboard is quiet, Yixing is out, and the only new posts he cares about are Xiao Lu's.
Xiao Lu has posted an update for his next video (I'll post it tomorrow! I promise! My face will be worth the wait, won't it? kekekeke) and a photo of himself slumped over his Korean literature books. The caption is in Chinese, but Minseok can see where exhaustion has deepened the lines on Xiao Lu's face.
첫술에 배부르랴? he replies. 샤오루씨 화이팅! Xiao Lu, fighting!
When the page reloads, there are only twenty six replies to the post. Hopefully Xiao Lu will find see it before it gets buried under messages from other people. He shuts off his computer before curling up in a ball and facing the wall. Maybe if Yixing comes back soon, they can go drinking to celebrate the end of another week. If he's not busy dealing with the strange short opera man who seems to have set his sights on Yixing, even if Yixing is too slow to notice it.
His phone goes off where he left it beside his head, and Minseok groans. He doesn't want to deal with his friends comparing answers. Maybe he can escape to the library if Yixing doesn't come home. He opens his eyes, scrubbing at them with his hands before blearily peering at his phone.
There's a new message waiting for him from someone. He opens it, and waits for it to load, and almost drops it when he see's that it's from Xiao Lu.
That's unfair kekekeke using sayings I don't know and not explaining them after.
Minseok swallows his tongue before entering a reply.
I guess I expected more from our Xiao Lu... it means that some things take time keke
He hits send and tries not to smile too broadly. When his phone buzzes again, it's to let him know that he has a new follower, xiaodeer, and he drops his phone. The next message from Xiao Lu reads Xiumin is so straightforward keke your face is too cute for someone so blunt.
Minseok is halfway through his reply when another alert pops up, telling him that xiaodeer has liked his most recent selfie. The door to his dorm swings open, and it's Yixing with someone Minseok doesn't recognise.
He puts down his phone after deleting his response, his eyes trained on the guy at Yixing's side. He's shorter than Yixing, and his black bangs are too long, but when he reaches up to shove them out of his eyes he stares at Yixing like Minseok's dad stares at his mom.
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'It went as well as I expected,' Minseok says. He shifts upright and shuffles backwards until his back is pressed against the wall. Yixing quickly walks over to sprawl across the bottom half of Minseok's bed, leaving the stranger to quietly close the door and perch at the end of Yixing's bed.
'This is Jongdae,' Yixing says. 'He's an opera student I'm working with for a project this semester.'
Jongdae grins, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, and Minseok raises an eyebrow. 'Nice to meet you,' he says. 'I'm Minseok. Yixing's roommate.'
'Nice to meet you,' Jongdae chirps, and Yixing rolls over until he's laying on his back. Minseok squints his eyes, trying to make the pattern of Yixing's sweater seem less garish. 'Yixing talks about you a lot.'
Minseok nods, at a loss for words. His phone goes off where he left it at his feet and Yixing scrambles to look at it before Minseok can reach it. 'Xiaodeer?' Yixing asks, a small smile on his face. 'He left a comment on a post.'
Heat floods Minseok's cheeks and Yixing laughs. 'It's Xiao Lu,' he says, 'that's his username.'
Yixing reaches up to flick at Minseok's forehead. 'Lu is Chinese for deer.' The burn in Minseok's cheeks intensifies, and he thinks he can hear Jongdae laughing quietly in the background. He doesn't want to discuss his thing for an internet blogger he doesn't even know with the kid who likes to try to break wine glasses with his voice.
'We're going out for drinks,' Jongdae says, and Minseok jolts. 'Did you want to come?'
'I wouldn't want to intrude,' Minseok says and Yixing shrugs before stretching his arms over his head. He's wearing the strange charm bracelets the girls at the hospital made him the last time he volunteered there. Minseok thinks Yixing would have made an excellent camp counsellor if he didn't spend every summer practicing.
'You wouldn't be,' Yixing says, his voice muffled as he presses his face against his arm.
'Yixing suggested we come back here first to find you,' Jongdae says. 'He was sick of me trying to teach him how to read music.'
'Like I said,' Yixing says. He lowers his arms before reaching out to grasp the hem of Minseok's jeans. 'No intruding.'
'Okay,' Minseok says. He leans off the side of his bed to grab the hoodie he left there before his exam. 'Where to?'
hi op sorry this is going to seemingly take forever... hope you don't mind long fic. ): also i apologise for knowing nothing about nodame cantabile... thus far yixing is mostly just a weird musician and jongdae smitten. D:
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don't worry about not knowing nodame cantabile. i watched the live action like 3+ years ago and I can't really remember a lot of the details. you got what I wanted down perfectly. Yixing as the eccentric unorthodox music student who can't read music and Jongdae as the play-by-the-books music student with the genius opera skills. Most importantly Jongdae is the one who's smitten instead of the other way around.
this is really perfectly written. it's exactly how I wanted the plot to go with alternating scenes from each pairing. and the connections are spot on. kyungsoo being joonmyun's editor. luhan and yifan being friends. chanyeol and baekhyun. literally you read my mind or something.
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