wip (not)
Kris chuckles all the same. He doesn’t need to know what the man is or read the subtitles to know what the boy wants.
He flicks the remote to turn off the TV, shaking his head all the while.
Crap!
Kris is sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, tying his sneakers. He straightens up after a while, frowning at the tangled laces and how the end of the left one limps over to the wooden floor beneath him.*** He ignores it, though, and stands up.
One of these days, little things like silly shoestrings will hurt him, trip him and push him to the ground. But that’s kind of the point.
His guitar is sitting at an odd angle on one of the chairs. Kris grabs it absentmindedly, putting the strap over his shoulder, and steps out of his studio in short quick strides. He slows down along the hallway, cramped by strangers-neighbors-blowing cigarette smokes; the guitar on his back keeps thudding against the wall as he maneuvers around them.
He’s sniffing-rather than breathing-the air, heavy with cheap perfumes and sweat. The ghost of the scents follows him as he descends two flights of stairs and finally reaches the front door. It opens to a narrow street, where cars are few and strayed kittens are fighting with rats for leftover food. Kris sighs and drags his feet lazily along the sidewalk, not-too-carefully walking passed the sleeping construction workers, sprawled across the hard cement. Overworked and underpaid, they have no other choice but this. Kris frowns at their sight, half disgusted.
One of them shifts abruptly; feet kicking the air in restless sleep, and Kris jumps in surprise. His back hits a tall brick fence that the men set up to barricade the building-new bar? Brothel?-they’re working on.
And it stings. Even after all these years.
Kris closes his eyes and hisses as he waits for the pain on the right side of his body to subside. When he opens them again, he finds himself looking at the worker and the way he yawns rather peacefully.
He chuckles then, feeling grateful all of a sudden. Because he needs this. He needs it to remind him of their existence and how it will end tonight.
*** this sentence is weird.
And, that's it.
Like I said, it was supposed to be an Antihero AU, where Kris goes to Thailand and comes home with something entirely different from Land of Smiles. A guitarist, working in a small café by day and a superhero by night. Where Kris meets Adam the Glampire and his boyfriend, Cheeks the terrorist (I was gonna use Drake at first but then they broke up), and together they plan to blow things. Where Kris meets Katy the mind reader.
Too ambitious, I know. I guess that's why I never finished it.
Feel free to criticize it. I will be more than happy to read your thoughts *g*
He flicks the remote to turn off the TV, shaking his head all the while.
Crap!
Kris is sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, tying his sneakers. He straightens up after a while, frowning at the tangled laces and how the end of the left one limps over to the wooden floor beneath him.*** He ignores it, though, and stands up.
One of these days, little things like silly shoestrings will hurt him, trip him and push him to the ground. But that’s kind of the point.
His guitar is sitting at an odd angle on one of the chairs. Kris grabs it absentmindedly, putting the strap over his shoulder, and steps out of his studio in short quick strides. He slows down along the hallway, cramped by strangers-neighbors-blowing cigarette smokes; the guitar on his back keeps thudding against the wall as he maneuvers around them.
He’s sniffing-rather than breathing-the air, heavy with cheap perfumes and sweat. The ghost of the scents follows him as he descends two flights of stairs and finally reaches the front door. It opens to a narrow street, where cars are few and strayed kittens are fighting with rats for leftover food. Kris sighs and drags his feet lazily along the sidewalk, not-too-carefully walking passed the sleeping construction workers, sprawled across the hard cement. Overworked and underpaid, they have no other choice but this. Kris frowns at their sight, half disgusted.
One of them shifts abruptly; feet kicking the air in restless sleep, and Kris jumps in surprise. His back hits a tall brick fence that the men set up to barricade the building-new bar? Brothel?-they’re working on.
And it stings. Even after all these years.
Kris closes his eyes and hisses as he waits for the pain on the right side of his body to subside. When he opens them again, he finds himself looking at the worker and the way he yawns rather peacefully.
He chuckles then, feeling grateful all of a sudden. Because he needs this. He needs it to remind him of their existence and how it will end tonight.
*** this sentence is weird.
And, that's it.
Like I said, it was supposed to be an Antihero AU, where Kris goes to Thailand and comes home with something entirely different from Land of Smiles. A guitarist, working in a small café by day and a superhero by night. Where Kris meets Adam the Glampire and his boyfriend, Cheeks the terrorist (I was gonna use Drake at first but then they broke up), and together they plan to blow things. Where Kris meets Katy the mind reader.
Too ambitious, I know. I guess that's why I never finished it.
Feel free to criticize it. I will be more than happy to read your thoughts *g*