[exo] what we do in seoul is secret
wtf i was supposed to be on a hiatus. revising for exams. all because my lecturer uploaded an article about smoking. and tumblr anon who wanted smoking porn. why.
what we do in seoul is secret
exo // lu han, kai // pg // 1000~ words
trainee days. first meeting.
-
Late autumn, beginning of winter, nine in the evening, Seoul in transition was grey and bleak, even in the glittering lights of Apgujeong. Neon colours and stark concrete. Shrill female laughter and the smooth rumble of sports car engines. He couldn't see them from all the way up here on the SM building's rooftop, but that was the point. The metal railing pressed cold and hard against his stomach even through the layers of his shirt and hoodie. The concrete under his feet was black with ash, years upon years of hasty smokes and frustrated dreams crushed into the ground.
It was a wonder there was no one else up here but him that night, so Jongin dragged out his break, savouring the taste of smoke, harsh and comforting at the back of his throat. Five more minutes until he was back to the room with the blinding lights and blinding mirrors downstairs.
He almost didn't hear the door open and close, but the presence of another person in his little sanctuary was immediately too easy to sense. He stifled a disappointed sigh, turning the other way, as if he could will that other person into not existing by not looking at them. Except there were footsteps getting louder towards his direction, and soon that other person was right next to him, a shadow of insistent distraction.
"Sorry, do you have a light?"
He turned to look at them then. Another trainee kid, big eyes, typical pretty boy face, lanky form, not one he was familiar with. The unlit cigarette dangled precariously between slender fingers. Casual disarming smile on his lips. Jongin fished out the lighter from the pocket of his sweatpants, handing it out to the other boy, not saying a word.
Except Pretty Face made no move to reach out for the lighter, his hand only reaching up to place the cigarette between his lips, his big eyes staring up at Jongin all guileless and expectant. That gave him pause for a second.
Jongin took a quick drag of his own cigarette, then shifting it to his left hand, smoothly switching it with the lighter. He leaned closer to the other boy, holding the lighter to the appropriate level. The flame sputtered out with an easy flick, warm against his fingers.
Pretty Face leaned down, touching the flame with the tip of his cigarette. His free hand wrapped around Jongin's fingers, as if to keep them steady. The slender fingers were warm around his. He'd somehow expected them to look delicate and pretty, like a girl's hand, but they didn't. Jongin kept the flame steady to the first inhale. Pretty Face had a scar running across his bottom lip, the pink line illuminated under the soft orange light.
Jongin dropped his hand and took a step back. Slender fingers still lingered around his hand for a few beats until the other boy turned away, exhaling in a thin cloud of smoke. Thin white t-shirt, thick grey hoodie pulled over a messy head of dark hair. Jongin had seen him around, maybe. Once, or twice. One of the new recruits. Didn't make much of an impression. It didn't matter much anyway. Kids came and went.
He expected Pretty Face to shift away after he'd got what he'd wanted, but he didn't. The boy just settled next to him, leaning against the railing. Jongin halfheartedly hoped he wouldn't actually open his mouth and talk.
"My name's Lu Han."
"...That sounds Chinese."
"It is."
"Oh." Jongin glanced over again. That explained the accent he couldn't quite place. "Your Korean's really good." Obligatory small talk. He glanced at his watch.
"Thanks." The boy's eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Though the twitch of Lu Han's lips was more of amusement than anything else. Like a running inside joke. Lu Han kept staring at the burning cigarette between his lips. "Aren't you starting a bit young?"
He frowned, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the blatant staring, fingers brushing over lips. "What does it matter? I dance." Not like it was any of this guy's business. "And you're one to talk."
"I'm a 90-liner." Still that disarming smile. Lu Han's deceptively guileless eyes staring him down.
He knew that look, the look of older siblings who demanded authority on the edge of seniority in age and numbers, the look that said "kid, you don't know any better, sit the fuck down and listen to what I say." Well, fuck that, because in here the rules were different. Counting years of sweat soaking into the hardwood floor, that was all that mattered, and Jongin had the phantom ache under his skin to prove it. He stared back, gaze hard and unwavering.
Lu Han broke the eye contact first, laughing around his cigarette. He flicked the end with a thumb, black ash drifting in the air, slender fingers curled and stretched with swift movements of the wrist. Not delicate, but graceful. Lu Han's profile was sharp against the muddy sky.
"So you're a dancer."
"And I guess you're a performer." It struck him then, the way Lu Han smoked. Graceful and well-rehearsed. A ritual for the sake of appearance, all fluid arch and curling fingers. The thin white stick placed on pink lips at the perfect angle for a profile shot. He wondered how much smoke actually went into Lu Han's lungs the way he inhaled, all theatrics and deliberate casual charm.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
The cigarette was hot against Jongin's fingers now, burning down to the butt end. He flicked it down, crushing black ash into the concrete. Time to go.
"Guess I'll see you around." He pulled his hoodie tight around his body, pushing himself away from the railing.
"I'll see you."
Walking away, not looking back. The weight of Lu Han's stare on the back of his head, silently judging, sizing him up. Kim Jongin, that infamous trainee in the whispered rumours down the hallways, behind back doors. It didn't matter, Lu Han or whatever. Just another Chinese boy, struggling to make it in Seoul's glitter and concrete lanes. They came and went.
His fingers still smelled of smoke on the late bus home, the phantom warmth of Lu Han's fingers curled around his hand.
-
what we do in seoul is secret
exo // lu han, kai // pg // 1000~ words
trainee days. first meeting.
-
Late autumn, beginning of winter, nine in the evening, Seoul in transition was grey and bleak, even in the glittering lights of Apgujeong. Neon colours and stark concrete. Shrill female laughter and the smooth rumble of sports car engines. He couldn't see them from all the way up here on the SM building's rooftop, but that was the point. The metal railing pressed cold and hard against his stomach even through the layers of his shirt and hoodie. The concrete under his feet was black with ash, years upon years of hasty smokes and frustrated dreams crushed into the ground.
It was a wonder there was no one else up here but him that night, so Jongin dragged out his break, savouring the taste of smoke, harsh and comforting at the back of his throat. Five more minutes until he was back to the room with the blinding lights and blinding mirrors downstairs.
He almost didn't hear the door open and close, but the presence of another person in his little sanctuary was immediately too easy to sense. He stifled a disappointed sigh, turning the other way, as if he could will that other person into not existing by not looking at them. Except there were footsteps getting louder towards his direction, and soon that other person was right next to him, a shadow of insistent distraction.
"Sorry, do you have a light?"
He turned to look at them then. Another trainee kid, big eyes, typical pretty boy face, lanky form, not one he was familiar with. The unlit cigarette dangled precariously between slender fingers. Casual disarming smile on his lips. Jongin fished out the lighter from the pocket of his sweatpants, handing it out to the other boy, not saying a word.
Except Pretty Face made no move to reach out for the lighter, his hand only reaching up to place the cigarette between his lips, his big eyes staring up at Jongin all guileless and expectant. That gave him pause for a second.
Jongin took a quick drag of his own cigarette, then shifting it to his left hand, smoothly switching it with the lighter. He leaned closer to the other boy, holding the lighter to the appropriate level. The flame sputtered out with an easy flick, warm against his fingers.
Pretty Face leaned down, touching the flame with the tip of his cigarette. His free hand wrapped around Jongin's fingers, as if to keep them steady. The slender fingers were warm around his. He'd somehow expected them to look delicate and pretty, like a girl's hand, but they didn't. Jongin kept the flame steady to the first inhale. Pretty Face had a scar running across his bottom lip, the pink line illuminated under the soft orange light.
Jongin dropped his hand and took a step back. Slender fingers still lingered around his hand for a few beats until the other boy turned away, exhaling in a thin cloud of smoke. Thin white t-shirt, thick grey hoodie pulled over a messy head of dark hair. Jongin had seen him around, maybe. Once, or twice. One of the new recruits. Didn't make much of an impression. It didn't matter much anyway. Kids came and went.
He expected Pretty Face to shift away after he'd got what he'd wanted, but he didn't. The boy just settled next to him, leaning against the railing. Jongin halfheartedly hoped he wouldn't actually open his mouth and talk.
"My name's Lu Han."
"...That sounds Chinese."
"It is."
"Oh." Jongin glanced over again. That explained the accent he couldn't quite place. "Your Korean's really good." Obligatory small talk. He glanced at his watch.
"Thanks." The boy's eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Though the twitch of Lu Han's lips was more of amusement than anything else. Like a running inside joke. Lu Han kept staring at the burning cigarette between his lips. "Aren't you starting a bit young?"
He frowned, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the blatant staring, fingers brushing over lips. "What does it matter? I dance." Not like it was any of this guy's business. "And you're one to talk."
"I'm a 90-liner." Still that disarming smile. Lu Han's deceptively guileless eyes staring him down.
He knew that look, the look of older siblings who demanded authority on the edge of seniority in age and numbers, the look that said "kid, you don't know any better, sit the fuck down and listen to what I say." Well, fuck that, because in here the rules were different. Counting years of sweat soaking into the hardwood floor, that was all that mattered, and Jongin had the phantom ache under his skin to prove it. He stared back, gaze hard and unwavering.
Lu Han broke the eye contact first, laughing around his cigarette. He flicked the end with a thumb, black ash drifting in the air, slender fingers curled and stretched with swift movements of the wrist. Not delicate, but graceful. Lu Han's profile was sharp against the muddy sky.
"So you're a dancer."
"And I guess you're a performer." It struck him then, the way Lu Han smoked. Graceful and well-rehearsed. A ritual for the sake of appearance, all fluid arch and curling fingers. The thin white stick placed on pink lips at the perfect angle for a profile shot. He wondered how much smoke actually went into Lu Han's lungs the way he inhaled, all theatrics and deliberate casual charm.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
The cigarette was hot against Jongin's fingers now, burning down to the butt end. He flicked it down, crushing black ash into the concrete. Time to go.
"Guess I'll see you around." He pulled his hoodie tight around his body, pushing himself away from the railing.
"I'll see you."
Walking away, not looking back. The weight of Lu Han's stare on the back of his head, silently judging, sizing him up. Kim Jongin, that infamous trainee in the whispered rumours down the hallways, behind back doors. It didn't matter, Lu Han or whatever. Just another Chinese boy, struggling to make it in Seoul's glitter and concrete lanes. They came and went.
His fingers still smelled of smoke on the late bus home, the phantom warmth of Lu Han's fingers curled around his hand.
-