draw fictions on the wall
draw fictions on the wall
~ 1.680 w, pg-13, (suzy/myungsoo)
He sees Suzy two weeks later in a Literature about Tolstoy words vomit and doesn’t remember her then
■ overdue fic/gift for uljima with this prompt!
■ I'm sorry this is so horrible! I had it all planned out then I just crashed and burn :/ Maybe it's because I haven't written any fics in a long time now...
■ would love it if you guys could leave me more ideas in the drop box
i.
In school, Suzy’s popular. So is L.
She’s too busy being the good girl, turning down jocks and he’s too busy being the bad boy, picking up different girls every Saturday night.
They never cross paths and L likes to think it’s his luck; Suzy would have never given him a second glance then and if he’s being honest with himself, she wouldn’t be much more than a straight lace, high pony tailed, church going gal.
The first word comes at graduation; all he says to her is ‘goodbye’.
That should have been the first sign.
ii.
Locations change, territory doesn’t.
It’s set in first year of university and he’s in journalism and she, in something about art. Chances are they’ll never of each other but they do, in a little dim room across the street known as the cinema.
L couldn’t really see her face at first but he hears her asks in this tiny little voice, “Did you go to Gwangju high school by any chance?”
“Yeah,” he replies, leaving an awkward pause between them as she takes a seat next to him. “Yeah, I did, graduated just last year actually.”
The trailer starts playing and there are flashes off red and purple and green coming from the big screen, lighting her smile in ways he thought was only possible in paintings.
“I remember you.”
He doesn’t remember her by that point and offers popcorn to soften the blow, “Sorry, I don’t,” Her smile does a flip into a frown so L does what he’s best at, “But I will from now on.”
“You’re sweet,” she says and her voice is sweeter than his words, fits three popcorns between her lip gloss covered lips and smiles like the angel. “But you know, chances are we won’t see each other ever again.”
Someone will ask L later on how they met - his friends, her friends and he won’t be able to say which movie or what day or what month or if he asked for her number. He sees Suzy two weeks later in a Literature about Tolstoy words vomit and doesn’t remember her then either but she does, always.
iii.
He wakes up one day, hung over and half naked, moaning for some Panadol to no one in particular when: “Wake up, lazy ass, cute chick at the door asking for you.”
“How cute?” L groans groggily and uses up all the energy left in his aching body to push off the alcohol stained mattress.
“Cuter than you, jackass, I’ll give you that.” Hoya yells hoarsely, then disappears into a series of unfunny jokes supposedly useful to seduce girls, the drunk ones he’d think.
His fingers trail blindly on the side of the night stand, feeling the coolness of his lighter that he usually mistakes for his belt buckle. It’s only when he gives up and hang his head low that L
catches a glimpse of his denim jeans on the ground along with his leather jacket on top of the pile of discarded clothing from when who knows.
“I’m coming!” L attempts to shout but ends up murmuring into his, hopefully, alcohol stained pillow before rolling over with another groan, clumsily slipping into his pants on the way over to the door.
And there she was, in her usual pair of white flats, along with her matching pass the knee length white skirt. Bae Suzy, her name comes into his mind in Time New Roman font like the one from the copy of Anna Karina she had tucked under her arm. There are things he would never notice about her when she’s sitting up, those little details only occurs to him in a body shot. Suzy’s tall - taller than most girls, probably one of the tallest he’s ever seen. Nail biting - hers are not the normal girly pretty ones that are covered pastel shades. Her posture is one only a ballet dancer, graceful and elegant, beautifully crippled with pain from head to toes.
L clears his throat, “Suzy…”
Her mouth cracks into a perfectly aligned smile and waves, shy gaze that shocks Hoya into stone.
L snickers at his roommate, hand firmly on his chest as he gently pushes him out of Suzy’s way.
“What can I do for you?”
She’s wordless, the silence between them stretches into a road, leading to something L would never dare say.
But Suzy does, “I - I just - really had to see you again.”
iv.
A girl likes a boy, the boy doesn’t like her. The girl spends her time dropping by with morning coffee and wastes her free time walking the boy to class with chitter chatter that he half-heartedly reply to.
L tells this story often enough to his friends. It’s a novel idea, they all admit so one Saturday morning, while smoking some fancy electronic cigarette, L sits and stare at the blinking cursor on his word document.
He gives up eventually. The ending’s too predictable anyway.
v.
L sees it on the notice board, pastel pink with italic gold fonts, artistically yet intentionally plastered over much more boring ones to stand out more. He sees it, he ignores it but it is her creation, therefore it is bound to find its way to him - shoved under his door, contrasting against the whites of his and Hoya’s letters.
“You are invited to class two thousand and thirteen ballet’s recital; students partaking in this wonderful event include Bae Suzy and blah blah blah.”
Suzy comes over that night, uninvited, naturally. He wonders if she sees it in the trashcan when the door hits her on the way out.
vi.
She catches a girl leaving his room at three in the morning, it really shouldn’t be in discussion when they’re far from sentiment and close to platonic but Suzy proposes a question that goes something like this:
“What are we, exactly?”
And it sounds like the death bell, the end of an era and the beginning of the end.
Do friends kiss? L thought, hands running up and down her creamy thighs and lips pressed on her neck. Do friends lie in bed together? Use one’s arm as the pillow and the pillow as a means to wake the other up.
What is Bae Suzy to Kim L? Just another girl doing weekly night shifts in his bed room or the exception of that holy rule?
Soon enough, the thoughts jumble up into something much more complicated than Shakespeare. L pushes her off and pushes himself away from the closest thing to security, emotions and dare he says it, love?
vii.
L never turned up to her performance. His excuse? Lost the invitation in the trash.
She did splendidly, so he heard. Graceful as the white swan and prettiest out of them all - perfect, the judges said. It goes around the campus that she’s newest star of the department, she’s going to make it - big and global. Cities like New York and Paris pops into his mind when he thinks about it. Suzy would fit in well, she’s got such artistic temperament, that would be her bunch.
He gets high with Hoya and writes three pages of nonsense about a girl who shined so bright, no man is really worthy - a goddess trapped in this cruel world.
viii.
Man
Hey L, you seen this?
L observes the piece of pamphlet handed to him, flips it back and forth with disinterest.
L (CONT’D)
Yeah but what about it? Just some fancy dancey thing from last month.
Man frowns in confusion when taking the pamphlet back from L, tug it back in his pocket.
Man (CONT’D)
Bae Suzy was in it. Have you talked to her lately?
L (CONT’D)
If you mean written to her, then no. We decided to not keep in contact after she moved to Tokyo for that world ballet program.
Man (CONT’D)
True, why bother to keep in touch with a fuck-buddy, yeah?
L scoffs and throws his half burnt cig on the ground, crushing it under the heel of his shoes. Proceeds to punch man on the face then lights a new cig, smiles.
ix.
L dreams come true as much as Suzy’s did.
He sleeps with more girl than any man could wish more. His books are on New York Time’s best seller list. He managed to quit smoking and have the rare ability to write and type all novel ideas when intoxicated.
But when he sleeps, his dream is Suzy - a thing found and lost so quickly, he never comprehended the happiness she brought and the sadness she left.
x.
There’s no moral to the story, L would really like there to be one but there isn’t. His purpose of writing this series of paragraphs is to express his true emotions about a girl, fictional name of Bae Suzy and real name, never to be revealed.
This story does not give anyone a conclusion, it does not get to the point of anything It’s never going to impress the female audience due to the lack of cliché cheesiness typically displayed by the man to the woman or what normally would be called a ‘grand gesture’ but this compilation you are holding is one from me.
With utmost sincerity, Kim Myungsoo.
-
If you’re reading this, you know who you are, he writes, an answer to all the questions she would never dare to ask. Suji curls up against the back of her chair and flips the book shut.
Because it was never him that broke her heart. No, it was her, the determined ballerina student with brown doe eyes that captivates foolish boys she will never come to appreciate. She was the one who never turned up to his big break, when he won a prize for his research piece on Tolstoy. She was the one who could never define ‘them’ and Myungsoo was the one who turned up at her doorstep.
It is her, just as much as it is in all his books, from Susan to Sasha and now Suzy.
Suji releases a small breath of amusement; Myungsoo and his fictions to cure their truth.
~ 1.680 w, pg-13, (suzy/myungsoo)
He sees Suzy two weeks later in a Literature about Tolstoy words vomit and doesn’t remember her then
■ overdue fic/gift for uljima with this prompt!
■ I'm sorry this is so horrible! I had it all planned out then I just crashed and burn :/ Maybe it's because I haven't written any fics in a long time now...
■ would love it if you guys could leave me more ideas in the drop box
i.
In school, Suzy’s popular. So is L.
She’s too busy being the good girl, turning down jocks and he’s too busy being the bad boy, picking up different girls every Saturday night.
They never cross paths and L likes to think it’s his luck; Suzy would have never given him a second glance then and if he’s being honest with himself, she wouldn’t be much more than a straight lace, high pony tailed, church going gal.
The first word comes at graduation; all he says to her is ‘goodbye’.
That should have been the first sign.
ii.
Locations change, territory doesn’t.
It’s set in first year of university and he’s in journalism and she, in something about art. Chances are they’ll never of each other but they do, in a little dim room across the street known as the cinema.
L couldn’t really see her face at first but he hears her asks in this tiny little voice, “Did you go to Gwangju high school by any chance?”
“Yeah,” he replies, leaving an awkward pause between them as she takes a seat next to him. “Yeah, I did, graduated just last year actually.”
The trailer starts playing and there are flashes off red and purple and green coming from the big screen, lighting her smile in ways he thought was only possible in paintings.
“I remember you.”
He doesn’t remember her by that point and offers popcorn to soften the blow, “Sorry, I don’t,” Her smile does a flip into a frown so L does what he’s best at, “But I will from now on.”
“You’re sweet,” she says and her voice is sweeter than his words, fits three popcorns between her lip gloss covered lips and smiles like the angel. “But you know, chances are we won’t see each other ever again.”
Someone will ask L later on how they met - his friends, her friends and he won’t be able to say which movie or what day or what month or if he asked for her number. He sees Suzy two weeks later in a Literature about Tolstoy words vomit and doesn’t remember her then either but she does, always.
iii.
He wakes up one day, hung over and half naked, moaning for some Panadol to no one in particular when: “Wake up, lazy ass, cute chick at the door asking for you.”
“How cute?” L groans groggily and uses up all the energy left in his aching body to push off the alcohol stained mattress.
“Cuter than you, jackass, I’ll give you that.” Hoya yells hoarsely, then disappears into a series of unfunny jokes supposedly useful to seduce girls, the drunk ones he’d think.
His fingers trail blindly on the side of the night stand, feeling the coolness of his lighter that he usually mistakes for his belt buckle. It’s only when he gives up and hang his head low that L
catches a glimpse of his denim jeans on the ground along with his leather jacket on top of the pile of discarded clothing from when who knows.
“I’m coming!” L attempts to shout but ends up murmuring into his, hopefully, alcohol stained pillow before rolling over with another groan, clumsily slipping into his pants on the way over to the door.
And there she was, in her usual pair of white flats, along with her matching pass the knee length white skirt. Bae Suzy, her name comes into his mind in Time New Roman font like the one from the copy of Anna Karina she had tucked under her arm. There are things he would never notice about her when she’s sitting up, those little details only occurs to him in a body shot. Suzy’s tall - taller than most girls, probably one of the tallest he’s ever seen. Nail biting - hers are not the normal girly pretty ones that are covered pastel shades. Her posture is one only a ballet dancer, graceful and elegant, beautifully crippled with pain from head to toes.
L clears his throat, “Suzy…”
Her mouth cracks into a perfectly aligned smile and waves, shy gaze that shocks Hoya into stone.
L snickers at his roommate, hand firmly on his chest as he gently pushes him out of Suzy’s way.
“What can I do for you?”
She’s wordless, the silence between them stretches into a road, leading to something L would never dare say.
But Suzy does, “I - I just - really had to see you again.”
iv.
A girl likes a boy, the boy doesn’t like her. The girl spends her time dropping by with morning coffee and wastes her free time walking the boy to class with chitter chatter that he half-heartedly reply to.
L tells this story often enough to his friends. It’s a novel idea, they all admit so one Saturday morning, while smoking some fancy electronic cigarette, L sits and stare at the blinking cursor on his word document.
He gives up eventually. The ending’s too predictable anyway.
v.
L sees it on the notice board, pastel pink with italic gold fonts, artistically yet intentionally plastered over much more boring ones to stand out more. He sees it, he ignores it but it is her creation, therefore it is bound to find its way to him - shoved under his door, contrasting against the whites of his and Hoya’s letters.
“You are invited to class two thousand and thirteen ballet’s recital; students partaking in this wonderful event include Bae Suzy and blah blah blah.”
Suzy comes over that night, uninvited, naturally. He wonders if she sees it in the trashcan when the door hits her on the way out.
vi.
She catches a girl leaving his room at three in the morning, it really shouldn’t be in discussion when they’re far from sentiment and close to platonic but Suzy proposes a question that goes something like this:
“What are we, exactly?”
And it sounds like the death bell, the end of an era and the beginning of the end.
Do friends kiss? L thought, hands running up and down her creamy thighs and lips pressed on her neck. Do friends lie in bed together? Use one’s arm as the pillow and the pillow as a means to wake the other up.
What is Bae Suzy to Kim L? Just another girl doing weekly night shifts in his bed room or the exception of that holy rule?
Soon enough, the thoughts jumble up into something much more complicated than Shakespeare. L pushes her off and pushes himself away from the closest thing to security, emotions and dare he says it, love?
vii.
L never turned up to her performance. His excuse? Lost the invitation in the trash.
She did splendidly, so he heard. Graceful as the white swan and prettiest out of them all - perfect, the judges said. It goes around the campus that she’s newest star of the department, she’s going to make it - big and global. Cities like New York and Paris pops into his mind when he thinks about it. Suzy would fit in well, she’s got such artistic temperament, that would be her bunch.
He gets high with Hoya and writes three pages of nonsense about a girl who shined so bright, no man is really worthy - a goddess trapped in this cruel world.
viii.
Man
Hey L, you seen this?
L observes the piece of pamphlet handed to him, flips it back and forth with disinterest.
L (CONT’D)
Yeah but what about it? Just some fancy dancey thing from last month.
Man frowns in confusion when taking the pamphlet back from L, tug it back in his pocket.
Man (CONT’D)
Bae Suzy was in it. Have you talked to her lately?
L (CONT’D)
If you mean written to her, then no. We decided to not keep in contact after she moved to Tokyo for that world ballet program.
Man (CONT’D)
True, why bother to keep in touch with a fuck-buddy, yeah?
L scoffs and throws his half burnt cig on the ground, crushing it under the heel of his shoes. Proceeds to punch man on the face then lights a new cig, smiles.
ix.
L dreams come true as much as Suzy’s did.
He sleeps with more girl than any man could wish more. His books are on New York Time’s best seller list. He managed to quit smoking and have the rare ability to write and type all novel ideas when intoxicated.
But when he sleeps, his dream is Suzy - a thing found and lost so quickly, he never comprehended the happiness she brought and the sadness she left.
x.
There’s no moral to the story, L would really like there to be one but there isn’t. His purpose of writing this series of paragraphs is to express his true emotions about a girl, fictional name of Bae Suzy and real name, never to be revealed.
This story does not give anyone a conclusion, it does not get to the point of anything It’s never going to impress the female audience due to the lack of cliché cheesiness typically displayed by the man to the woman or what normally would be called a ‘grand gesture’ but this compilation you are holding is one from me.
With utmost sincerity, Kim Myungsoo.
-
If you’re reading this, you know who you are, he writes, an answer to all the questions she would never dare to ask. Suji curls up against the back of her chair and flips the book shut.
Because it was never him that broke her heart. No, it was her, the determined ballerina student with brown doe eyes that captivates foolish boys she will never come to appreciate. She was the one who never turned up to his big break, when he won a prize for his research piece on Tolstoy. She was the one who could never define ‘them’ and Myungsoo was the one who turned up at her doorstep.
It is her, just as much as it is in all his books, from Susan to Sasha and now Suzy.
Suji releases a small breath of amusement; Myungsoo and his fictions to cure their truth.