Post #5.
After a slow third week, post four yielded a lot of prompts -- and, more importantly, a lot of fills! I was afraid that we were slowing down, but you guys really put a lot of effort into making post four a good one, and I have faith in you to continue leaving prompts and writing (or drawing, as one anon did!) fills. ♥
Fics ( #4)
Suho as a Composer ( ( Read more... )
Fics ( #4)
Suho as a Composer ( ( Read more... )
"This is music composition class, not poetry writing class."
Lu Han elbows him in his side and offers the seat beside Yixing when slam poetry person loses the seat near the board to someone else.
His name is Huang Zitao, and he is two years younger than Yixing. The logic behind Zitao's being in the same advanced class as Yixing escapes the latter entirely, even if the simple answer that Zitao might just be a boy genius is plausible. Yixing puts on his best smile when Lu Han introduces Zitao to him, and tries as much as possible to not call the former "slam poetry person".
"We met before, didn't we, during the open mic night?"
Yixing laughs, preventing himself from blurting, Why did you even have to remember, and replies, "Ah, yes. Yes, we did."
Zitao, Yixing soon learns while they're having lunch, is the type of person you'd love to hate. He maintains an excellent academic record despite being an active member of the Wushu club - a club known for its intense and cut-throat training. He's not too shabby a dancer and he's not too bad a singer, either.
"So you're perfect," he blurts out, and quickly bites back into his burger when he realizes that it's not exactly the smartest thing to say to a person he's just met.
Lu Han raises an eyebrow at him. Zitao leans forward and asks, "Sorry, come again?"
"I said, the girls probably think you're perfect."
Zitao laughs and shakes his head. "Hardly. They think my poems suck."
And there it is, a fancy tingle clawing at the pit of Yixing's stomach, eliciting hearty laughter from him. He doesn't bother covering his mouth, even when Lu Han gives him and Zitao a weird look, and Zitao doesn't either. It takes ten full seconds before either of them stop, and another five before they exchange weird glances and laugh again.
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"I'm chugging down everything I could but it's not working; I'm alcohol-proof- Are you seriously writing a song about getting drunk because of a break up?"
“Can you please just respect my creativity and accept that you can’t write lyrics for shit?”
Lu Han gives Yixing a wry smile. “Mhmm. Creativity. Yeah.”
Yixing knows better than to argue, so he just shrugs and waves it off, and goes back to his newfound hobby. It’s surprisingly therapeutic, he thinks, especially when you’re writing about a real-life experience. Except he’s never been through a break up so bad that he resorted to getting drunk.
“So, what are you up to?”
Zitao has this habit of resting his chin on Yixing’s shoulder and speaking into his ear, this very annoying habit of sending a fancy feeling to Yixing’s toes whenever he does this. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Yixing, especially when Zitao moves closer, so much closer that the tip of his nose grazes Yixing’s neck just lightly.
Yixing worries his lower lip. “Stuff.”
“If you mean crappy lyrics, then yeah, he’s writing that,” Lu Han calls out from the bedroom. “He’s been doing that a lot lately.”
“Oh, that’s great! Can I read it?”
Yixing’s not sure if it’s just him, but the way Zitao’s lips curve up to form a smile elicits the same feeling as that of Lu Han’s, a sinking sensation in his stomach that’s set to send tingles to his fingertips if he doesn’t give in to Zitao’s request. So he looks away, his left hand still covering the lyrics he’s writing, his right busy with clenching and unclenching itself so that he won’t lose the feeling in his fingertips.
“No. Sorry. I mean, not now. It really sounds awful.”
“Alright. When you’re already happy with it, then?”
Lu Han’s laughter breaks from the room and Yixing just smiles as he shakes his head and says, “Sure. You can count on it.”
It’s the first time Yixing spends Christmas in the dorms without Lu Han.
Lu Han had been invited to attend a digital media conference in New York, and was set to stay there until the first week of January. “Might as well maximize my stay, go around and stuff,” Yixing remembers Lu Han saying during their exchange of goodbyes. “We will talk on Skype, won’t we?”
Yixing chuckles, and tries wiping the tears welling up at the corner of his eyes inconspicuously. “Of course, unless you don’t know how to Skype.”
“I taught you how to Skype.”
“Well, whatever.” Yixing takes a deep breath, then rushes, “I’ll miss you.”
He lets Lu Han ruffle his hair because the later won’t be able to for the next few weeks, and he admits that he will miss it. He lets Lu Han hug him and dote on him more than necessary because January is so far away. He lets Lu Han tell Zitao to, “Take care of Yixing, okay? And bear with his weirdness.” He doesn’t even bother retaliating when Zitao puts and arm around him and replies, “You bet, I will.”
“You miss him, don’t you?” Zitao asks two weeks into Lu Han’s absence, and one week since their last Skype conversation. Zitao’s chin is on his shoulder again, but this time Yixing doesn’t budge and just continues what he is doing. “It’s okay, I won’t judge you. I miss my friends, too.
“I mean, really. It’s okay.”
Yixing looks up from what he’s writing - it’s a new song, this time about friendship and the prospect of losing a friend - and meets Zitao’s eyes, warm and welcoming. There’s something akin to home in the way Zitao looks at him, in the way Zitao squeezes his arm lightly, in the way Zitao’s hand runs across his back, up to his nape, and slowly draws his face close to his. “It’s okay,” Zitao whispers and, when Yixing feels the tingle of Zitao’s breath on his lips, he realizes that they’re so, so close. “It’s okay.”
Yixing closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
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Zitao kisses much like a slow song, easy on the head, languid, leaving him wanting more; he caresses like a teenager, all ghosting fingers and tentative touches. Yixing is awful at world-building, but he crafts a world of his own, one built on an undeniable liking for Zitao, his lips, his hands. At the end of December, he manages to write a song about meeting the person of your destiny. He manages to complete the second verse, but only just.
He stops writing when Lu Han comes back.
It’s Zitao’s turn to get whisked away by a training camp. He had received an invitation earlier to join the training and get the chance to be part of the regional competition, and he gladly indulges, much to Yixing’s chagrin. “I’ll be back before you know it,” Zitao tells Yixing, and the latter just offers a small smile, a pat on the back, and a brief yet tight hug.
“You miss him already,” Lu Han comments from beside him, shortly after Zitao exits the dorm. “You miss him and you regret not telling him and you’re probably annoyed now.”
Yixing gives Lu Han a wry smile. “You’re so smart. I hate you.”
Lu Han beams at him. “I see I haven’t lost my touch.”
Lu Han takes him out for milk tea, for a movie, for dinner, and of course they have milk tea again after that. They take the longest route home because it allows for more time to talk, and because Lu Han loves taking long walks in the rain. Later, when they get home, they’ll be dripping with rain water and laughter, and Yixing will trip on his shoes and Lu Han will catch him. Lu Han will pin him to the ground and let his fingers ghost on his chest, inside his shirt. And their leftover milk tea will remain forgotten on the now slippery floor.
The news about the death of Lu Han’s family reaches them the day after.
“A car crash killed them,” Lu Han begins, voice understandably shaky on the other side of the line. Yixing has gone off to grab some breakfast when Lu Han got the call from the police. “The guy was drunk, said he didn’t think he’d lose control- For fuck’s sake, he was driving a fucking ten-wheeler truck! Who even drives a huge truck after drinking so much-”
Lu Han never gets to finish narrating the story, but Yixing stays on the other end of the line, letting loose a, “Ssh, ssh. It will be okay. He’s stupid. Everything will work out somehow” every so often. He isn’t expecting a reply, but the soft sobbing from Lu Han that slowly drifts off tells him that the message has gotten across.
He shoves a cup of milk tea in Lu Han’s chest when he gets back, and Lu Han punches him lightly on the arm because, “Must you really draw my face on the cover? You’re a terrible artist.” Yixing just laughs, smiles, and relishes the feeling of having been able to successfully make Lu Han smile again, to see that same bright smile that made him take the stage on one open mic event.
He holds his breath when Lu Han erupts into a lovely peal of laughter.
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It’s not as if they haven’t done this before. They’ve always had an agreement that they could seek each other’s help when needed and kissing is part of the deal, but the way Lu Han kisses tonight, right now is different, maybe because of what has just happened. Or maybe, just because.
“Just this once, please-” Lu Han whispers, and his voice trails off. Yixing cups his face and presses his lips lightly on Lu Han’s until the later lets him in.
“That’s what you said the first time we did this,” Yixing says minutes after, while Lu Han works on the waistband of his pants. “And we never stopped.”
Lu Han chuckles. “And you never complained about it.”
Lu Han abandons the waistband in favor of Yixing’s lips. It’s always been sloppy and messy, the way they make out, and in the end they always find themselves wrapped in blankets and pillows afterwards. Lu Han will crawl on top of him and bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. Lu Han will whisper, “Thank you. Thank you,” and, sometimes, “I love you.” Yixing barely makes sense of the words but he smiles and kisses Lu Han and they’re back at the beginning where Lu Han talks about doing this for one last time, except their clothes are already off, and they keep doing this again, and again, and again.
The next few lines come to him in the middle of the night. He sees when he closes his eyes, stuck to Lu Han’s hair, crawling on Lu Han’s skin. He reaches for the notebook on the bedside table and scribbles, “So what’s another night? The seats rolled back, we can’t see through. The rain’s the rain, some air would be good for you.”
He grips the pen tight. “Some air would be good for you,” he writes again, then takes a deep breath.
Yixing wakes up to the sound of Zitao’s footsteps.
A “huh” escapes Zitao’s lips when Yixing bolts from the bed and Lu Han’s arms circle Yixing’s waist. “I brought breakfast,” Zitao says a few minutes after, then rushes, “I’ll just leave the food in the kitchen. I don’t want to disturb the you.”
The kitchen witnesses a confrontation that’s more of a sharing session than a confession. “His parents and grandparents got into a car crash,” Yixing begins, then goes on about the driver almost performing a hit-and-run on Lu Han’s family. “But they caught him and Lu Han’s trying to make things work out.” The conversation stretches past clarifications and confirmations, and by the time they finish talking, Yixing can already hear footsteps coming from the bedroom, and the food Zitao brought is not as warm anymore.
“Do you want to stay for breakfast? We can share.”
Zitao laughs a little. There’s a peculiar glint at the curve of his lips. “I’m sure you won’t want that.”
“Hey Zitao, you’re back.” Lu Han walks to Zitao and gives the latter a brief hug, then a squeeze on the arm. Lu Han’s never been afraid of showing affection. “Did the camp get called off or did you just finish it before everyone else did?”
“I’m just too awesome for them.”
The exchange of glances between Zitao and Yixing lasts long enough for Yixing to know that the former might have seen this coming. Maybe the chin-on-shoulder gesture is a way for Zitao to learn more about people, a way for him to cut through walls and barriers. Maybe the slam poetry stint is just a way to bring out the hidden critic in people (although Zitao’s a much better poet than Yixing can ever be). Maybe the whole month he spent with Zitao, giggling under the sheets, away from Lu Han’s scrutinizing gaze, is Zitao’s way of making Yixing see things clearly.
Zitao gives Lu Han and Yixing a pat on the shoulder, then excuses himself. “Awesomeness awaits,” Zitao says before bidding them goodbye. Yixing laughs a little.
Awesomeness awaits, indeed.
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He clenches and unclenches his fists. He can still feel Lu Han’s palms pressed securely against his.
“Graduation jitters?” Lu Han asks from beside him. “I mean, yeah, you’re bad at goodbyes, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
Yixing laughs. There it is again, that bright, bright smile on Lu Han’s lips, and it occurs to him - a moment of clarity. He takes Lu Han’s hands, rests them on his lip, and says, “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“You’re graduating with honors, Yixing. You can’t possibly screw anything up anymore-”
“I said, I don’t want to screw this up.”
He can see the slow rise of Lu Han’s chest, the parted lips, the tentative and questioning gaze. He takes a leap of faith even before regret overcomes him and places a kiss on Lu Han’s lips, brief and feather-light.
“You’re my best friend,” Lu Han says, and then, “You can’t screw this up.”
Lu Han’s still fashioning that crazy smile, and Yixing isn’t so sure if he’s willing to take a risk, but if there’s anyone, anyone at all, who knows what Yixing is and isn’t capable of, it’s Lu Han. So he presses on, letting his hand slide up Lu Han’s back and pulling the latter closer for a kiss, and another, and another. He can feel the breadth of Lu Han’s smile on his lips and it sends fancy tingles to his toes, to his fingertips, setting off fireworks at the back of his eyes.
Screwing things up can’t possibly get better than this.
requester anon, sorry for the delay! i didn't think it would be this long. i hope i don't disappoint!
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