zeppelin 1/4
seyoung (johnny from sm rookies)
NC-17
drug use, bad wording, nah
a/n: beta what i'm completely drained i'm sorry if this is bullshit
makes me anxious, gives me patience, calms me down
"so, what i've been trying to say is: i'm not a sex addict, but a mother-fucking lucky bastard who happens to be able to solve the problems of miserable - in general - feelings, with the, uh, enthusiastic support from sex. but for the sake of my brother's cries," sehun can't help smiling, "i thought i'd give myself a worthy shot to try for real, with the help from other people."
he assumes that was the best speech he has ever given in his whole life of being a part of the printing industry in which he contributes by revolving around his chrome-shiny apple products and little icons of different adobe systems' software applications. sehun also assumed there would be something like a brick ending his sentence in the face, or a punch from the nearest guy named chanyeol who had a really tragic story about being a sex addict ('i scare off all of the neighbors although we all had a good time') or at least weird stares so joonmyeon at the back will finally go soft on him and withdraw his little brother from this whole activity, but everyone gives him another round of clapping like they've grown used to listening to newbies giving life-changing speeches then becoming bored - just like them
sehun rolls his eyes dramatically. the world has gone insane he's not kicked out yet, and that lets him down because all sehun needs is an outspoken affirmation that he doesn't have to be here
insane. out of mind. as wrong as how sehun could learn by heart the html codes and statistics of the three colors on the indesign's little icon. it's not just a fucking pink icon on the dock; it's #f932a8 or r(249) g(50) b(168) in rgb color model or h(324º) s(80%) b(98%) in hsb color space or l(59) a(76) b(-15) in lab color space for the thin border, #d83193 for the id characters, and #3c222e for the background. he feels squeezed and suffocated andㅡ
ㅡor c(1%) m(86%) y(0%) k(0%) in cmyk color model. brilliant; just brilliant the moment he thinks his lungs would burst. sehun believes that the rest of that counseling group, no, the rest of that community center can't even tell what on earth is rgb and it has not even come to cmyk or lab and all those shits; let's say, google some other tons of their kind, wiki them, blow heads off
and somehow that fact doesn't make he feel any better
probably because that's just the cs6 icon. imagine, yeah, imagine cs5 and their parents
sehun wakes up to a day full of sunshine, like every other day of september, with blood-shot eyes and an exhausted body after living a couple of years more than twenty
he can feel the blood of printing and publishing, which he had thought to be coursing through his veins since high school, being drained from his body and soon will disappear. he feels like spitting on the stack of brochures he just tested last week, feeding sampled magazines to his paper shredder, and burn all the books. he's too exhausted, too soon in a day, to look up at those few of award-received pages of newspapers and magazines, all framed with glasses, trapping him in the space of an apartment
he no longer knows how he did all of that, and it doesn't take much time for sehun to realize that he actually hates being a graphic designercrap
so he picks up the phone and dials a memorized row of numbers which would be more dangerous to be saved under any kind of name. a random man will show up at his door and from the moment it is closed, everything will be shut out for the night
until when sehun has to wake up again
it's his counseling day again. now it has become a schedule, the red marker is finally useful again since sehun refused touching all the work-related devices so he can't follow his imprinted habit of creating a systematized-style reminder to add into the collection already littered all over his desktop
he started out liking to organize things. things that were not really his but didn't belong to anyone specifically, like toys in class and stuffs at home following the order of colors and just what he thought that looked the best. he wrote in rows without defined lines and discarded the sheet even just for half a mistake if he could. he doodled within the space given and grew up a hobby to link between those. he swam in excitement to find out what he can do with his laptop and how documents exceed the limit of microsoft word. ten years from an ancient ibm thinkpad to full set apples and receiving his first award for the first page about rebuilding business exactly five years after the economic depression. he couldn't care less about the event, he still had the award, so there had to be something right there inside sehun that was born for this career
never has he felt that satiated and energized, to be fueled with so much adrenaline there would be no second time
the world never stopped spinning after that and sehun thought he had stood on the giant's shoulder, so firmly he couldn't fall
sehun slept through the first half of the meeting despite the effort to wake him up of chanyeol and the mocking of baekhyun, because hey that petite guy mocks everyone and chanyeol doesn't want anyone to get into trouble (if there was really one)
so he skips the second half and rests himself on a stone bench in front of a lake. he reaches for the pack of smoke in the pocket, the crumpled pall mall blue, but then he thinks about how it would taste - not so well since he has had many of that today, so he passes the option and puts himself on idle
time has to change, always. it's not a flow; it's moments colliding against each other in an order sehun used to be so eager to find out. he was not built for endless works and sleepless nights even after ten years, twenty years, eternity, but free time was the selfishness. how bitter he felt to smoke and take the longest time possible to stare at the sampled lung cancer campaign poster until his collaborator had to drag him away. he thought about how the world would never find out how much of irony had been injected into his idea, how bold and thin fonts contrast even after the embellishment of italic degrees from left to right being folded upside-down scarring the images still in related orders he had to memorize into another system. how he stood on this side with cigarettes and sufferers on the other, making a mess in between to present it to the world
he sure was not mentally built to welcome depression and solutions available. it's easy to fall, but it's not the forbidden things people do that get them addicted, but they get off on living between the bright and the dark and how great they are to be able to
sehun did just that
the damp, cold sweat clings to his skin, but sehun is less than willing to get rid of that. he sticks to the bed instead, falling back onto the soft cotton and groans softly for the familiar frustration of an other morning
he skips the whole meeting this time, but still comes to the lake, sitting on the same bench, feeling the new cold as september turned into october. sehun smokes a new pall mall pack because his lungs don't feel occupied this time, scrolling through his call log with a constant frown to delete the familiar row of numbers one by one before checking the whole long list again, so joonmyeon won't find anything suspicious
it doesn't have to be always fucked up like this, like how sehun is. he didn't even look like fighting with himself, but one doesn't escape his own thoughts that easily. he doesn't know where it had gone wrong and probably never will; maybe right in every exhausted gazes that belong to every member of every team he had been with, and they play vividly in sehun's mind, surpassing all the thumbs up and thumbs down from collaborators and clients
he makes a test search and finds nothing after the input text passes three numbers. clean. wiped out
so joonmyeon won't know about his private emotional therapy
drugs are always there with their welcoming arms of trips for imagination getaway
and temporary warmth
the guy last night - or this morning, doesn't differ much - has left a few joints back on his bedside table, so after forever of staring out the window, sehun lits one up like a routine before everything else comes. he drags, drags, and drags more smoke out, the tip of the joint burns bright like it's the pitch black darkness around not soft yellow light. smoke and air fill his lungs to their top before sehun buries his head deeper into the pillow
he feels tired, dead tired, but can't help not choking on the smoke or puking. his body has grown used to this kind of spoiling and slacking down - destroying what is what people are just overestimating the act
he comes to the center, way too late to drag himself into the meeting room, so he locks the car door and maybe he can find a nap somewhere near
just right then an orange figure appears in the view of his window, knocking impatiently on the firm glass until he gets sehun's attention
his brows knit together in a confusing look while the guy dressed in orange one-piece stares back. sehun rolls down his window to a considerably safe gap - not that safe if Orange's intention is to drop a bomb or something explosive into his car just for fun maybe - to initiate a question but the other speaks up first
"do you happen to have cigarettes, sir?"
sehun is truly relieved to realize the community center's name tag being stuck to the front pocket of Orange's outfit which doesn't indicate a random stranger. johnny seo, it says
"here you go, johnny." he hands both his pall mall and the lighter out through the gap his window allows. johnny gives him a cranky grin since he's keeping the cigarette between his lips - full, curved, perfectly molded ones
tall, lean boy, with a pretty face
too bad he doesn't work for luhan, he thinks, as johnny returns his things through the gap
"do you happen to have a lighter with you?"
johnny sits down by sehun's side, on his favorite stone bench by the lake. sehun pulls his chrome lighter out and lights the cigarette between johnny's lips. he stares at them for a good second before turning away with his lighter, shifting his gaze back to the surface of the water reflecting the sky above like a silver mirror
sehun wonders what codes there are for the color on johnny's lips, but he gives up eventually. it's no use; his perfect memory and analyzation is running away with his career now
"weather is good, huh?" johnny sticks the cigarette to his mouth again, his mumbling almost incoherent. sehun nods, then adds a small yeah because isn't weather one of the most boring topic ever called by human?
"white sky. i know which day is a good day by looking at the sky and see daylight without sunshine. soft breezes and quiet water. like today."
white. sehun cracks a rare smile in the morning. he brings the cigarette up to his lips and leaves it there like johnny does, sucking and blowing continuously. and it feels funny because it's not even white. to make it easiest, use the hsb color space with hue at 324º, saturation at 0% and let brightness runs wild between 99 and 89 percent. it may vary, there are possibilities, one of them is johnny's whiteness of the sky, or sehun's white of brightness at 100%. the breezes are transparent, though. like a layer, a texture, a content with the lowest opacity
sehun gives up on the water. it's a reflection and nothing is real. beside, he's tired
a missed call from luhan when sehun hears his door creaking shut after the quiet steps of his latest fuck. he's dead tired, as the last of his stamina was used to lay back on the mattress and moan to the rhythm of body against body. and a long ass message
i think your brother noticed something, he checked on me today. stick to texting, burn your bill when it comes and make up some plausible lies. last but not least, i honestly think you should be more moderate, although i don't want to lose a regular like you to an institute located at somewhere like an isolated island. keke
institute was all joonmyeon's idea. it's merely a threat, not a possibility or even solution
sehun pushes the pall mall and lighter to johnny's side the next time they meet at the bench
"not going in today?"
"boring than this bench."
"why did you even bother to come?" johnny doesn't wait for an answer, but still sehun opens his mouth
"brother signed me in." it's not even a reason. he thinks a bit, then continues. "i think i like the lake."
"then chill."
offenders
"that's a violation of the rules, you know."
young offenders
"not my fault that nathan's pocket is full with these." johnny hands him the joint, and sehun swears it's the thick smoke curling around those lips that makes him take it
youngsters do as they like. the excuse is always that it's their nature to act that way. sehun doesn't even bat an eyelash thinking about how useless it will be to report this not so huge revelation, and suddenly there's nothing else to talk about
"hey, come on, walk with me to the back of the building. i'll show you this."
"are you going to murder me?"
"no. shit." johnny grins, "your imagination runs too far."
sehun remembers that lips and how the younger's hair waves in the soft wind to the fluttering of his orange collar
johnny tramples upon the grass as they are taking a walk to the back of the center where lays a vast abandoned field. "i'm telling you, this is the true therapy. my secret hiding."
"yeah." sehun softly replies, then the only sounds left are from bugs flying and their shoes smashing gently on all tones of the green color. it's peaceful, he has to admit, and obviously quiet without all the boring talking and ridiculous situations
just... green. and orange
2/4
NC-17
drug use, bad wording, nah
a/n: beta what i'm completely drained i'm sorry if this is bullshit
makes me anxious, gives me patience, calms me down
"so, what i've been trying to say is: i'm not a sex addict, but a mother-fucking lucky bastard who happens to be able to solve the problems of miserable - in general - feelings, with the, uh, enthusiastic support from sex. but for the sake of my brother's cries," sehun can't help smiling, "i thought i'd give myself a worthy shot to try for real, with the help from other people."
he assumes that was the best speech he has ever given in his whole life of being a part of the printing industry in which he contributes by revolving around his chrome-shiny apple products and little icons of different adobe systems' software applications. sehun also assumed there would be something like a brick ending his sentence in the face, or a punch from the nearest guy named chanyeol who had a really tragic story about being a sex addict ('i scare off all of the neighbors although we all had a good time') or at least weird stares so joonmyeon at the back will finally go soft on him and withdraw his little brother from this whole activity, but everyone gives him another round of clapping like they've grown used to listening to newbies giving life-changing speeches then becoming bored - just like them
sehun rolls his eyes dramatically. the world has gone insane he's not kicked out yet, and that lets him down because all sehun needs is an outspoken affirmation that he doesn't have to be here
insane. out of mind. as wrong as how sehun could learn by heart the html codes and statistics of the three colors on the indesign's little icon. it's not just a fucking pink icon on the dock; it's #f932a8 or r(249) g(50) b(168) in rgb color model or h(324º) s(80%) b(98%) in hsb color space or l(59) a(76) b(-15) in lab color space for the thin border, #d83193 for the id characters, and #3c222e for the background. he feels squeezed and suffocated andㅡ
ㅡor c(1%) m(86%) y(0%) k(0%) in cmyk color model. brilliant; just brilliant the moment he thinks his lungs would burst. sehun believes that the rest of that counseling group, no, the rest of that community center can't even tell what on earth is rgb and it has not even come to cmyk or lab and all those shits; let's say, google some other tons of their kind, wiki them, blow heads off
and somehow that fact doesn't make he feel any better
probably because that's just the cs6 icon. imagine, yeah, imagine cs5 and their parents
sehun wakes up to a day full of sunshine, like every other day of september, with blood-shot eyes and an exhausted body after living a couple of years more than twenty
he can feel the blood of printing and publishing, which he had thought to be coursing through his veins since high school, being drained from his body and soon will disappear. he feels like spitting on the stack of brochures he just tested last week, feeding sampled magazines to his paper shredder, and burn all the books. he's too exhausted, too soon in a day, to look up at those few of award-received pages of newspapers and magazines, all framed with glasses, trapping him in the space of an apartment
he no longer knows how he did all of that, and it doesn't take much time for sehun to realize that he actually hates being a graphic designercrap
so he picks up the phone and dials a memorized row of numbers which would be more dangerous to be saved under any kind of name. a random man will show up at his door and from the moment it is closed, everything will be shut out for the night
until when sehun has to wake up again
it's his counseling day again. now it has become a schedule, the red marker is finally useful again since sehun refused touching all the work-related devices so he can't follow his imprinted habit of creating a systematized-style reminder to add into the collection already littered all over his desktop
he started out liking to organize things. things that were not really his but didn't belong to anyone specifically, like toys in class and stuffs at home following the order of colors and just what he thought that looked the best. he wrote in rows without defined lines and discarded the sheet even just for half a mistake if he could. he doodled within the space given and grew up a hobby to link between those. he swam in excitement to find out what he can do with his laptop and how documents exceed the limit of microsoft word. ten years from an ancient ibm thinkpad to full set apples and receiving his first award for the first page about rebuilding business exactly five years after the economic depression. he couldn't care less about the event, he still had the award, so there had to be something right there inside sehun that was born for this career
never has he felt that satiated and energized, to be fueled with so much adrenaline there would be no second time
the world never stopped spinning after that and sehun thought he had stood on the giant's shoulder, so firmly he couldn't fall
sehun slept through the first half of the meeting despite the effort to wake him up of chanyeol and the mocking of baekhyun, because hey that petite guy mocks everyone and chanyeol doesn't want anyone to get into trouble (if there was really one)
so he skips the second half and rests himself on a stone bench in front of a lake. he reaches for the pack of smoke in the pocket, the crumpled pall mall blue, but then he thinks about how it would taste - not so well since he has had many of that today, so he passes the option and puts himself on idle
time has to change, always. it's not a flow; it's moments colliding against each other in an order sehun used to be so eager to find out. he was not built for endless works and sleepless nights even after ten years, twenty years, eternity, but free time was the selfishness. how bitter he felt to smoke and take the longest time possible to stare at the sampled lung cancer campaign poster until his collaborator had to drag him away. he thought about how the world would never find out how much of irony had been injected into his idea, how bold and thin fonts contrast even after the embellishment of italic degrees from left to right being folded upside-down scarring the images still in related orders he had to memorize into another system. how he stood on this side with cigarettes and sufferers on the other, making a mess in between to present it to the world
he sure was not mentally built to welcome depression and solutions available. it's easy to fall, but it's not the forbidden things people do that get them addicted, but they get off on living between the bright and the dark and how great they are to be able to
sehun did just that
the damp, cold sweat clings to his skin, but sehun is less than willing to get rid of that. he sticks to the bed instead, falling back onto the soft cotton and groans softly for the familiar frustration of an other morning
he skips the whole meeting this time, but still comes to the lake, sitting on the same bench, feeling the new cold as september turned into october. sehun smokes a new pall mall pack because his lungs don't feel occupied this time, scrolling through his call log with a constant frown to delete the familiar row of numbers one by one before checking the whole long list again, so joonmyeon won't find anything suspicious
it doesn't have to be always fucked up like this, like how sehun is. he didn't even look like fighting with himself, but one doesn't escape his own thoughts that easily. he doesn't know where it had gone wrong and probably never will; maybe right in every exhausted gazes that belong to every member of every team he had been with, and they play vividly in sehun's mind, surpassing all the thumbs up and thumbs down from collaborators and clients
he makes a test search and finds nothing after the input text passes three numbers. clean. wiped out
so joonmyeon won't know about his private emotional therapy
drugs are always there with their welcoming arms of trips for imagination getaway
and temporary warmth
the guy last night - or this morning, doesn't differ much - has left a few joints back on his bedside table, so after forever of staring out the window, sehun lits one up like a routine before everything else comes. he drags, drags, and drags more smoke out, the tip of the joint burns bright like it's the pitch black darkness around not soft yellow light. smoke and air fill his lungs to their top before sehun buries his head deeper into the pillow
he feels tired, dead tired, but can't help not choking on the smoke or puking. his body has grown used to this kind of spoiling and slacking down - destroying what is what people are just overestimating the act
he comes to the center, way too late to drag himself into the meeting room, so he locks the car door and maybe he can find a nap somewhere near
just right then an orange figure appears in the view of his window, knocking impatiently on the firm glass until he gets sehun's attention
his brows knit together in a confusing look while the guy dressed in orange one-piece stares back. sehun rolls down his window to a considerably safe gap - not that safe if Orange's intention is to drop a bomb or something explosive into his car just for fun maybe - to initiate a question but the other speaks up first
"do you happen to have cigarettes, sir?"
sehun is truly relieved to realize the community center's name tag being stuck to the front pocket of Orange's outfit which doesn't indicate a random stranger. johnny seo, it says
"here you go, johnny." he hands both his pall mall and the lighter out through the gap his window allows. johnny gives him a cranky grin since he's keeping the cigarette between his lips - full, curved, perfectly molded ones
tall, lean boy, with a pretty face
too bad he doesn't work for luhan, he thinks, as johnny returns his things through the gap
"do you happen to have a lighter with you?"
johnny sits down by sehun's side, on his favorite stone bench by the lake. sehun pulls his chrome lighter out and lights the cigarette between johnny's lips. he stares at them for a good second before turning away with his lighter, shifting his gaze back to the surface of the water reflecting the sky above like a silver mirror
sehun wonders what codes there are for the color on johnny's lips, but he gives up eventually. it's no use; his perfect memory and analyzation is running away with his career now
"weather is good, huh?" johnny sticks the cigarette to his mouth again, his mumbling almost incoherent. sehun nods, then adds a small yeah because isn't weather one of the most boring topic ever called by human?
"white sky. i know which day is a good day by looking at the sky and see daylight without sunshine. soft breezes and quiet water. like today."
white. sehun cracks a rare smile in the morning. he brings the cigarette up to his lips and leaves it there like johnny does, sucking and blowing continuously. and it feels funny because it's not even white. to make it easiest, use the hsb color space with hue at 324º, saturation at 0% and let brightness runs wild between 99 and 89 percent. it may vary, there are possibilities, one of them is johnny's whiteness of the sky, or sehun's white of brightness at 100%. the breezes are transparent, though. like a layer, a texture, a content with the lowest opacity
sehun gives up on the water. it's a reflection and nothing is real. beside, he's tired
a missed call from luhan when sehun hears his door creaking shut after the quiet steps of his latest fuck. he's dead tired, as the last of his stamina was used to lay back on the mattress and moan to the rhythm of body against body. and a long ass message
i think your brother noticed something, he checked on me today. stick to texting, burn your bill when it comes and make up some plausible lies. last but not least, i honestly think you should be more moderate, although i don't want to lose a regular like you to an institute located at somewhere like an isolated island. keke
institute was all joonmyeon's idea. it's merely a threat, not a possibility or even solution
sehun pushes the pall mall and lighter to johnny's side the next time they meet at the bench
"not going in today?"
"boring than this bench."
"why did you even bother to come?" johnny doesn't wait for an answer, but still sehun opens his mouth
"brother signed me in." it's not even a reason. he thinks a bit, then continues. "i think i like the lake."
"then chill."
offenders
"that's a violation of the rules, you know."
young offenders
"not my fault that nathan's pocket is full with these." johnny hands him the joint, and sehun swears it's the thick smoke curling around those lips that makes him take it
youngsters do as they like. the excuse is always that it's their nature to act that way. sehun doesn't even bat an eyelash thinking about how useless it will be to report this not so huge revelation, and suddenly there's nothing else to talk about
"hey, come on, walk with me to the back of the building. i'll show you this."
"are you going to murder me?"
"no. shit." johnny grins, "your imagination runs too far."
sehun remembers that lips and how the younger's hair waves in the soft wind to the fluttering of his orange collar
johnny tramples upon the grass as they are taking a walk to the back of the center where lays a vast abandoned field. "i'm telling you, this is the true therapy. my secret hiding."
"yeah." sehun softly replies, then the only sounds left are from bugs flying and their shoes smashing gently on all tones of the green color. it's peaceful, he has to admit, and obviously quiet without all the boring talking and ridiculous situations
just... green. and orange
2/4