Drabbles
Glass Walls
Glass Walls - Chantao
All that is keeping Zitao from jumping, relatively speaking, is a thin glass wall. If he delves deeper into it, there’s so much more. He has a cat, a cat that’s far too dependable on him; a cat that lacks trust just like Zitao. And he’s got classes, a project to turn in in physics, and a book to read in British literature. There’s his job at his father’s law firm as a mail boy, passing out parcels and envelopes that don’t get opened for weeks.
And of course there’s Chanyeol, the ditzy boy down the hall of his dorm, who wakes up all the residents with bad renditions of the who songs. Chanyeol, the only person willing to sit with Zitao and hold a conversation longer than a minute with him.
Really, when Zitao thinks about it, all that is keeping him from jumping is a glass wall.
And Chanyeol.
Postcards
Postcards - Kaitao
Zitao leaves with a promise on his lips, a promise that he will write every day until he comes back. Jongin says nothing, simply nods his head and waves Zitao off.
Zitao leaves with reminders to write and whispered I love you’s.
Zitao keeps his promise, something Jongin honestly wasn’t expecting- because Zitao would forget the simplest of things, like turning in a worksheet.
He sends a postcard, with a picture of swans on the front and his scribbled Korean that only Jongin can read.
California’s weather is temperamental; there is a restaurant here that serves kimchi rice, you’d love it.
I miss you.
Zitao draws a small picture of a bunny with a cone of ice cream. It looks more like an elephant.
3 more postcards come two weeks later, all dated day after day after day.
I’ve made a new friend, you would like him.
I miss you.
This one has a drawing of a cat with a bow, it looks oddly like Jongin’s neighbor’s cat.
People on the beaches are rude, someone pushed me down.
I miss you.
Zitao draws a beach ball, and he’s gone through the trouble of coloring it in.
It’s intimidating here, and I can’t wait to be back.
And of course, I miss you.
There’s no drawing, just a small droplet of coffee.
Zitao doesn’t drink coffee.
Zitao staggers with the post cards, sending one every odd week and the message is short, always signed with a messy I love you.
The last one Jongin sees arrives in December, a few days before Christmas.
It doesn’t snow here in California, remember our snow ball fights? I’ll be home soon, just a few more days.
The postcard is devoid of Zitao’s familiar signature.
Zitao comes back in January, tanner then before and a smile wider than Jongin has ever seen.
“I didn’t write every day,” he mutters. “I tried and I failed, but I missed you.”
“I know.” Jongin smiles, grabbing Zitao’s hand and kissing him before he can say any more.
Days like this
Days Like This - Chansoo
On days like this, Chanyeol wakes up to the scent of eggs and pancakes and sunlight filtering in through the small crack of the curtains. His bones ache from odd sleeping positions and Kyungsoo’s habit of hogging the blanket and pillows on especially cold days. His eyes are crusted because he’s slept longer than he’s intended and he has lingering dreams swirling around in his mind.
On days like this, Kyungsoo wakes up particularly early to make up for the snagged blankets and pillows, and he cooks Chanyeol's favorites.
Cinnamon chocolate chip pancakes, and eggs sunny side up. Two- or several- pieces of toast lightly buttered, and heavily covered in strawberry jam. And orange juice, because Chanyeol ‘needs something tangy to wash it all down’.
Chanyeol will not move from the bed, instead he will grab the pillows Kyungsoo had stolen late at night and cover his long legs in the itchy comforter.
On days like this, Kyungsoo will bring in Chanyeol's breakfast on a tray, a single fake flower in a small vase in the middle, to top it all off. They’ll stay there for a few hours, watching reruns of sappy dramas and Chanyeol will fling a piece of egg at Kyungsoo, who will punch his arm in return.
On days like this, both Chanyeol and Kyungsoo cherish the time they have together, relishing in husky laughs and savory breakfast.
Unfitting
Unfitting - Sekai
“Realistically, you’re just skin and bones and a very pathetic amount of muscle,” Jongin takes a drag of what’s left of his cigarette, dropping it onto the ground and stubbing out the ember before the snow can. “but if you think about it, you’re so much more.”
Sehun supposes the first half is true, because he’s tall and gangly and skin pulled tightly across protruding bones. Jongin breathes out a puff of air, it smells like stale smoke and raspberry scones, and it’s a translucent white in the cold air. It laces through Sehun’s hair, lingering and chilling his skin, then disappearing.
“You’re Oh Sehun, the awkward third year in college.”
Jongin is right.
“On the surface you’re just some kid struggling to finish projects on time and guzzling down cup after cup of coffee.” Jongin buries his hands into his pocket and looks up at Sehun through thick eyelashes. “But I’ve figured you out. You don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere.”
Sehun shrugs, because Jongin is right again and it’s annoying, but he’d rather not get into it. So he drinks the last drops of his hazelnut coffee, throws the cup away and leaves.
Glass Walls - Chantao
All that is keeping Zitao from jumping, relatively speaking, is a thin glass wall. If he delves deeper into it, there’s so much more. He has a cat, a cat that’s far too dependable on him; a cat that lacks trust just like Zitao. And he’s got classes, a project to turn in in physics, and a book to read in British literature. There’s his job at his father’s law firm as a mail boy, passing out parcels and envelopes that don’t get opened for weeks.
And of course there’s Chanyeol, the ditzy boy down the hall of his dorm, who wakes up all the residents with bad renditions of the who songs. Chanyeol, the only person willing to sit with Zitao and hold a conversation longer than a minute with him.
Really, when Zitao thinks about it, all that is keeping him from jumping is a glass wall.
And Chanyeol.
Postcards
Postcards - Kaitao
Zitao leaves with a promise on his lips, a promise that he will write every day until he comes back. Jongin says nothing, simply nods his head and waves Zitao off.
Zitao leaves with reminders to write and whispered I love you’s.
Zitao keeps his promise, something Jongin honestly wasn’t expecting- because Zitao would forget the simplest of things, like turning in a worksheet.
He sends a postcard, with a picture of swans on the front and his scribbled Korean that only Jongin can read.
California’s weather is temperamental; there is a restaurant here that serves kimchi rice, you’d love it.
I miss you.
Zitao draws a small picture of a bunny with a cone of ice cream. It looks more like an elephant.
3 more postcards come two weeks later, all dated day after day after day.
I’ve made a new friend, you would like him.
I miss you.
This one has a drawing of a cat with a bow, it looks oddly like Jongin’s neighbor’s cat.
People on the beaches are rude, someone pushed me down.
I miss you.
Zitao draws a beach ball, and he’s gone through the trouble of coloring it in.
It’s intimidating here, and I can’t wait to be back.
And of course, I miss you.
There’s no drawing, just a small droplet of coffee.
Zitao doesn’t drink coffee.
Zitao staggers with the post cards, sending one every odd week and the message is short, always signed with a messy I love you.
The last one Jongin sees arrives in December, a few days before Christmas.
It doesn’t snow here in California, remember our snow ball fights? I’ll be home soon, just a few more days.
The postcard is devoid of Zitao’s familiar signature.
Zitao comes back in January, tanner then before and a smile wider than Jongin has ever seen.
“I didn’t write every day,” he mutters. “I tried and I failed, but I missed you.”
“I know.” Jongin smiles, grabbing Zitao’s hand and kissing him before he can say any more.
Days like this
Days Like This - Chansoo
On days like this, Chanyeol wakes up to the scent of eggs and pancakes and sunlight filtering in through the small crack of the curtains. His bones ache from odd sleeping positions and Kyungsoo’s habit of hogging the blanket and pillows on especially cold days. His eyes are crusted because he’s slept longer than he’s intended and he has lingering dreams swirling around in his mind.
On days like this, Kyungsoo wakes up particularly early to make up for the snagged blankets and pillows, and he cooks Chanyeol's favorites.
Cinnamon chocolate chip pancakes, and eggs sunny side up. Two- or several- pieces of toast lightly buttered, and heavily covered in strawberry jam. And orange juice, because Chanyeol ‘needs something tangy to wash it all down’.
Chanyeol will not move from the bed, instead he will grab the pillows Kyungsoo had stolen late at night and cover his long legs in the itchy comforter.
On days like this, Kyungsoo will bring in Chanyeol's breakfast on a tray, a single fake flower in a small vase in the middle, to top it all off. They’ll stay there for a few hours, watching reruns of sappy dramas and Chanyeol will fling a piece of egg at Kyungsoo, who will punch his arm in return.
On days like this, both Chanyeol and Kyungsoo cherish the time they have together, relishing in husky laughs and savory breakfast.
Unfitting
Unfitting - Sekai
“Realistically, you’re just skin and bones and a very pathetic amount of muscle,” Jongin takes a drag of what’s left of his cigarette, dropping it onto the ground and stubbing out the ember before the snow can. “but if you think about it, you’re so much more.”
Sehun supposes the first half is true, because he’s tall and gangly and skin pulled tightly across protruding bones. Jongin breathes out a puff of air, it smells like stale smoke and raspberry scones, and it’s a translucent white in the cold air. It laces through Sehun’s hair, lingering and chilling his skin, then disappearing.
“You’re Oh Sehun, the awkward third year in college.”
Jongin is right.
“On the surface you’re just some kid struggling to finish projects on time and guzzling down cup after cup of coffee.” Jongin buries his hands into his pocket and looks up at Sehun through thick eyelashes. “But I’ve figured you out. You don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere.”
Sehun shrugs, because Jongin is right again and it’s annoying, but he’d rather not get into it. So he drinks the last drops of his hazelnut coffee, throws the cup away and leaves.