(no subject)
thirty-minute writing exercises
your song, lay/lu han.
synopsis: yixing is a composer, lu han is the pianist who lives next door. G, 400W.
His next door neighbour, Yixing learns quickly, is a pianist. The walls are paper-thin in Yixing's new apartment, and already he can vaguely map out the intersections of their rooms, where they meet at the seams, his kitchen lined up with his neighbour's living room, their bathrooms back to back. Even as he moved in, he'd heard the piano, a light jazzy piece that seemed to mock his laborious trips up and down the stairs, heaving overweight boxes. The piano always lulls him to sleep, and he expects Debussy or Brahms, at that time of night, but it's always Clara Schumann, sweet and delicate, like a finely-penned love letter to the moon.
Today, his neighbour is playing what Yixing recognises, after a moment, as the first part of Chopin's piano sonata no. 3, unexpectedly gentle, so that the slow crescendo behind the main melody is almost forgotten until it bursts, violently, to the forefront, seeming to surprise the player as much as the listener. He pushes open a window at noon, and leans out to feel the breeze, listening to the scherzo interspersed with noise of the city below in a kind of 4'33".
Yifan had helped him label each box as he packed, so that his ugly scrawl litters the floor: bathroom/laundry things, sheet music #3, kitchen utensils/non-perishable food (phone charger is in here). He'd started with his bedroom the first night, fitting clean sheets over his mattress and unpacking his blankets so that when inevitably he gave up for the night, having accomplished little, he could sleep without doing any more work. Several days later, the bedroom was still the only thing he'd finished, and he couldn't find the rice anywhere.
He doesn't notice when the piano stops, absorbed in thought, until the window next to his is thrown open, and someone leans out. Yixing catches a glimpse of blond hair, a slightly snub nose, and two hands, pulling at either end of a White Rabbit, so that the wrapper twirls open efficiently, barely crinkling. The candy is halfway to his mouth when he sees Yixing, and for a moment his mouth stays open while he stares back at him. Then he smiles and says, "hello," before ducking away to put the White Rabbit in his mouth, as if Yixing hadn't just seen the entire inside of it.
"Hi," Yixing says, feeling stupid.
fade, (exo) generic.
synopsis: by the time they learn their powers are finite, it's too late. G, 400W.
In retrospect, Lu Han's headaches should have been the first clue.
Whenever he got them, each of them would do something: Jongdae would dim the lights, Kyungsoo would make the ground absorb the sound of their steps as he slept, Sehun would send small, gentle breezes puffing through his room, oddly tentative as he fed them through the crack under the door. Yixing would make tea: he'd tried using his powers on Lu Han, but the headaches weren't the same as a cut or a burn, even those caused by trying to touch Chanyeol when he was in a temper.
He had them all the time, but the timing of them was unpredictable, so it didn't faze them when a week passed without Lu Han complaining, still chasing bowls across the dinner table to steal the best cuts of meat, squabbling with Zitao, who would stop the bowls when they passed by him to steal the biggest, juiciest piece for himself. It was only when Minseok, threatening to sit down on Lu Han's bed and throwing himself teasingly over it, had actually dropped down onto it, that they'd started to realise something was wrong. Even then, Lu Han's mouth had fallen open, comically, as Minseok leapt up again, saying, "I didn't mean to," and he'd set his blanket, then his sheets on Minseok, wrapping him up so that he fell, mummified, as the pillow began to beat him ruthlessly. By the time they'd emerged, Lu Han flushed with rage and tele-frogmarching a tousle-haired and breathless Minseok to the laundry room with his bed covers, they'd almost forgotten about it.
It was only when Yifan stuck his head out and asked, "How did that happen?" that Lu Han remembered.
Living things were the last thing Lu Han had tried his powers on. He'd started with chopsticks, then his belongings, and culminated in sending a still-sleeping Yifan tumbling out of bed to see if Yifan would, under life-threatening situations, react by using his own powers. Yifan had gotten a bloody nose, instead, and told Lu Han off thickly with Yixing bent over him, fingers gentle on his face.
"Do not disturb sleeping dragons. Got it, duizhang," Lu Han said, and saluted, giving Yifan his most winning smile, which Yixing told him later, not unkindly, only made him look impish. It explained why Yifan had only scowled in response.
lolita, krystal-centric.
synopsis: krystal leaves home with an older boy she thinks she likes but becomes thoroughly disenchanted and ends up in the middle of nowhere with a person she doesn't really care about. cameos: minho (sorry, minho), jongin (sorry, jongin). PG-13, 330W.
Krystal stands at the edge of the pool, watching the water lap against the ten feet mark with her hands on her hips. She's wearing her new bikini, white with a halter neck, to match the retro sunglasses Minho had bought for her in Pacific Beach when he'd seen her looking at them. She'd written in her diary about it, drawing hearts over the cursive "I"s in "stupid idiot." They were thousands of miles away from California now, from her mother, her father, Jessica. The thought makes her toes curl against the wet, rounded edge, and she takes a deep breath, holds her nose, and jumps in.
It takes an eternity for her to bob back up to the surface, her legs slipping out of the cannonball at last, the water lapping at her throat when she surfaces. The lifeguard, extremely tan and extremely bored, doesn't spare her a second glance as she pushes her hair back over her shoulder, the water ruining the careful ringlets she'd made in the morning, standing over the sink with a curling iron.
She tries a few strokes, freestyle, before she floats onto her back, the water cupping her body like a chalice, and thinks about being dead.
After a few more minutes, she climbs out, sitting in the lawn chair she'd claimed with her towel and reaching for her handbag. It has four things in it: her sunglasses, the motel keycard, a compact mirror, and a tube of Jessica's favourite lipstick she'd stolen the night before she left. She takes out the lipstick first, then opens up the compact to apply it, sticking her finger in her mouth to get rid of the excess, and wipes it off on her towel. The lifeguard looks over, then away again when she's finished. Calmly, she decides to hate him, and to buy a Coca-Cola. She puts on the sunglasses and heads back upstairs to look in the pocket of Minho's jeans for change.
your song, lay/lu han.
synopsis: yixing is a composer, lu han is the pianist who lives next door. G, 400W.
His next door neighbour, Yixing learns quickly, is a pianist. The walls are paper-thin in Yixing's new apartment, and already he can vaguely map out the intersections of their rooms, where they meet at the seams, his kitchen lined up with his neighbour's living room, their bathrooms back to back. Even as he moved in, he'd heard the piano, a light jazzy piece that seemed to mock his laborious trips up and down the stairs, heaving overweight boxes. The piano always lulls him to sleep, and he expects Debussy or Brahms, at that time of night, but it's always Clara Schumann, sweet and delicate, like a finely-penned love letter to the moon.
Today, his neighbour is playing what Yixing recognises, after a moment, as the first part of Chopin's piano sonata no. 3, unexpectedly gentle, so that the slow crescendo behind the main melody is almost forgotten until it bursts, violently, to the forefront, seeming to surprise the player as much as the listener. He pushes open a window at noon, and leans out to feel the breeze, listening to the scherzo interspersed with noise of the city below in a kind of 4'33".
Yifan had helped him label each box as he packed, so that his ugly scrawl litters the floor: bathroom/laundry things, sheet music #3, kitchen utensils/non-perishable food (phone charger is in here). He'd started with his bedroom the first night, fitting clean sheets over his mattress and unpacking his blankets so that when inevitably he gave up for the night, having accomplished little, he could sleep without doing any more work. Several days later, the bedroom was still the only thing he'd finished, and he couldn't find the rice anywhere.
He doesn't notice when the piano stops, absorbed in thought, until the window next to his is thrown open, and someone leans out. Yixing catches a glimpse of blond hair, a slightly snub nose, and two hands, pulling at either end of a White Rabbit, so that the wrapper twirls open efficiently, barely crinkling. The candy is halfway to his mouth when he sees Yixing, and for a moment his mouth stays open while he stares back at him. Then he smiles and says, "hello," before ducking away to put the White Rabbit in his mouth, as if Yixing hadn't just seen the entire inside of it.
"Hi," Yixing says, feeling stupid.
fade, (exo) generic.
synopsis: by the time they learn their powers are finite, it's too late. G, 400W.
In retrospect, Lu Han's headaches should have been the first clue.
Whenever he got them, each of them would do something: Jongdae would dim the lights, Kyungsoo would make the ground absorb the sound of their steps as he slept, Sehun would send small, gentle breezes puffing through his room, oddly tentative as he fed them through the crack under the door. Yixing would make tea: he'd tried using his powers on Lu Han, but the headaches weren't the same as a cut or a burn, even those caused by trying to touch Chanyeol when he was in a temper.
He had them all the time, but the timing of them was unpredictable, so it didn't faze them when a week passed without Lu Han complaining, still chasing bowls across the dinner table to steal the best cuts of meat, squabbling with Zitao, who would stop the bowls when they passed by him to steal the biggest, juiciest piece for himself. It was only when Minseok, threatening to sit down on Lu Han's bed and throwing himself teasingly over it, had actually dropped down onto it, that they'd started to realise something was wrong. Even then, Lu Han's mouth had fallen open, comically, as Minseok leapt up again, saying, "I didn't mean to," and he'd set his blanket, then his sheets on Minseok, wrapping him up so that he fell, mummified, as the pillow began to beat him ruthlessly. By the time they'd emerged, Lu Han flushed with rage and tele-frogmarching a tousle-haired and breathless Minseok to the laundry room with his bed covers, they'd almost forgotten about it.
It was only when Yifan stuck his head out and asked, "How did that happen?" that Lu Han remembered.
Living things were the last thing Lu Han had tried his powers on. He'd started with chopsticks, then his belongings, and culminated in sending a still-sleeping Yifan tumbling out of bed to see if Yifan would, under life-threatening situations, react by using his own powers. Yifan had gotten a bloody nose, instead, and told Lu Han off thickly with Yixing bent over him, fingers gentle on his face.
"Do not disturb sleeping dragons. Got it, duizhang," Lu Han said, and saluted, giving Yifan his most winning smile, which Yixing told him later, not unkindly, only made him look impish. It explained why Yifan had only scowled in response.
lolita, krystal-centric.
synopsis: krystal leaves home with an older boy she thinks she likes but becomes thoroughly disenchanted and ends up in the middle of nowhere with a person she doesn't really care about. cameos: minho (sorry, minho), jongin (sorry, jongin). PG-13, 330W.
Krystal stands at the edge of the pool, watching the water lap against the ten feet mark with her hands on her hips. She's wearing her new bikini, white with a halter neck, to match the retro sunglasses Minho had bought for her in Pacific Beach when he'd seen her looking at them. She'd written in her diary about it, drawing hearts over the cursive "I"s in "stupid idiot." They were thousands of miles away from California now, from her mother, her father, Jessica. The thought makes her toes curl against the wet, rounded edge, and she takes a deep breath, holds her nose, and jumps in.
It takes an eternity for her to bob back up to the surface, her legs slipping out of the cannonball at last, the water lapping at her throat when she surfaces. The lifeguard, extremely tan and extremely bored, doesn't spare her a second glance as she pushes her hair back over her shoulder, the water ruining the careful ringlets she'd made in the morning, standing over the sink with a curling iron.
She tries a few strokes, freestyle, before she floats onto her back, the water cupping her body like a chalice, and thinks about being dead.
After a few more minutes, she climbs out, sitting in the lawn chair she'd claimed with her towel and reaching for her handbag. It has four things in it: her sunglasses, the motel keycard, a compact mirror, and a tube of Jessica's favourite lipstick she'd stolen the night before she left. She takes out the lipstick first, then opens up the compact to apply it, sticking her finger in her mouth to get rid of the excess, and wipes it off on her towel. The lifeguard looks over, then away again when she's finished. Calmly, she decides to hate him, and to buy a Coca-Cola. She puts on the sunglasses and heads back upstairs to look in the pocket of Minho's jeans for change.