Shihanday drabble challenge, Week 1
Inspired by another author in another fandom, I got this crazy idea decided to challenge myself by writing a drabble a day inspired by shihanaday entries. The timing is off (not the fault of shihanaday of course) because of the transition time between writing, editing and posting. Oh, this weeks batch are untitled because I got lazy. They should be properly outfitted for next week. :Db
Title: Week One (of the month long shihanaday drabble a day challenge)
Pairing: Shihan
Rating: PG/R
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Genre: So far, a hostile takeover of fluff (except for one) D:
A/N: It starts off from June 10th - 146 Uhh...not that it really needs mentioning, but clicking on the links provided will probably give a better understanding of whats going on.
146
He was disgusting.
Every time the makeup artist asked him to press his lips together so that she could dab a bit of color on his cupid’s bow, long strands of translucent snot would start dripping down his nose.
He would always apologize profusely and - by force of habit living with a bunch of guys and not just reckless abandonment of manners - use the end of his sleeve to wipe up the sloppy mess his nose made.
The makeup artist would hide a giggle behind her hand and offer him a tissue to use instead. He would thank her as he accepted it, sneezing into the papery thinness of the tissue and not into his hands.
Half an hour later, the same makeup artist would sigh (if only to herself and never out loud) for now his nose was dry from all the endless wiping. It wasn’t his fault really, but if he didn’t vigorously wipe it up, the previously clear mucus that was now slightly green and stringy would continue to ski out of his nose and puddle down his chin.
Plus, as she gingerly patted lotion on the tips of his nose (which really wasn’t a part of her job, but she couldn’t help herself - he was her favorite after all), she was within clear and undeniable eyesight of the meteor-sized boogers lodged in between his nose hairs.
When she tried putting a bit more makeup below his nose, long strings of snot attached themselves to her makeup sponge.
She couldn’t help her slight shudder of repulsion.
When Hankyung apologized again, his voice nasally and the sound of a cough chasing the tail end of his words, she slapped a facemask on him and called it a day.
The stylist took one look at him, his eyes bleary and bloodshot with half his face covered up, and put glasses on him. Understandably, as overworked as they all were, they couldn’t help if their bodies caved in under all that exhaustion, but the very least she could do for them was keep their pretty boy image intact. She fluffed his hair and directed him to sit down on the gray colored seats with strict instructions to not move.
Hankyung knew he should be resting, but he had to make a quick call to his manager to confirm today’s schedule.
While he was put on hold, he heard the distinct shutter of a camera phone going off.
As he turned his head, there was Siwon, twisting his upper body towards Hankyung and frowning in displeasure as the picture he took proved to be unsatisfactory. He fiddled with his camera phone to get a better picture the next time around.
“Siwon,” Hankyung sighed, too sick to mask his minor irritation. He turned towards him, lowering the cell phone with one hand, and pulling down his facemask with the other.
“Must you always take pictures of me? Especially when I’m like this?” he said, hating the fact that he had to sniffle at that exact moment, making his words sound pathetic and not long suffering as he was originally going for.
“But hyung,” Siwon answered, his eyes wide and innocently confused, “If I don’t have pictures of your imperfections, how else will I know that you’re real and not a figment of my imagination?”
In a strangely perverse way, it was almost sweet, Hankyung thought.
Just as he leaned towards Siwon, intent on apologizing for his annoyed tone just a second ago, a sneeze crept up on him, and he ended up expelling it all over Siwon’s face.
***
147
Hangeng didn’t know how Leeteuk did it.
Here in China, his brood was only six deep and he was already losing his mind. He couldn’t even fathom how Leeteuk did it with twelve.
Thank god for Siwon at least. Hangeng was sure that’s how Leeteuk felt about Kangin. Siwon was always there right besides him sharing the burden of co-hosting, taking part in stupid stunts and displays that the interviewers wanted to see so that Hangeng wasn’t the only one bidding a fond adieu to his dignity, and helping him keep an eye out on the kids.
He also took matters into his own hands if Hangeng became too exhausted to deal with Henry’s complaints about Ryeowook’s fascination with the elasticity of his cheeks. Or if Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun got too absorbed in video games to pay attention to Donghae, who believed that getting his face on a stamp was proof enough that he'd never get kicked out the country no matter how many stunts he tried. And Siwon had intercepted many, many stunts.
They now even had a system they used before heading out.
After making sure that everyone was safely in the van, they’d give each other a quick once-over to make sure they had everything.
“Cell phone?”
“Left pocket. Check.”
“Keys?”
“Right jean pocket. Check.”
“Wallet?”
“Crap, forgot it. Where did I put it?”
“It’s on the table, let me get it for you.”
Sometimes, it was just easier to pat each other down rather than use words if they were really in a tremendous rush.
Square shape in back pocket?
Wallet.
Lumpy shape in right pocket?
Keys.
Slim shape in left pocket?
Cellphone.
Okay, we got everything. Let’s go.
Heading offstage after a performance, Siwon felt a warm hand palming against his left butt cheek.
“Ah, I didn’t forget my wallet today. Thanks, Geng,” Siwon answered, turning to look over his shoulder.
”Who said anything about looking for your wallet?” Hangeng asked, eyebrows raised, and his voice filled with dark promises behind locked doors.
***
148
The castle was burning to the ground.
Exhaustion seeped through his bones like a familiar ache as Shiyuan climbed the last set of gritty stairs, and joined Hangeng on the battlements, their current location the last stable structure that remained of the once grand and magnificent citadel they both called home.
Hangeng did not offer a word of greeting at Shiyuan’s entrance, nor did Shiyuan provide one. In silence, they watched the craft they paid for with their lives, so miniscule against the brush of waves that moved passed it, sail away with what remained of the royal family.
“Don’t look back,” Hangeng had whispered into the ears of his youngest liege, embracing him once before setting him on board as the few remaining soldiers under his command pushed the boat off the shore and into the sea.
Their nation had been one of the strongest, one of the most powerful, and one of the most envied. All it took was one catalytic question about the fidelity of the royal family. From there, it grew to encompass the legitimacy of the heir, and soon, storm clouds blew in with the embossed name of war written across the skies. All that remained of their once peaceful and flourishing nation was one lone structure and two captains of an army that they said the heavens themselves could not touch.
“Keep them safe,” Captain Cui had instructed to the remaining handful of militia left, before pushing them through the dank and dusty slave corridors that would lead them away from the castle walls.
Shiyuan clenched his jaw, and at Hangeng’s firm nod, tightened his grip on his weapon, toes shifting in his shoes as he braced himself to meet the oncoming enemy.
In a way, the irony was almost poetic. Here were the people they had sworn to protect, had shed copious amounts of blood to guard, and greeted every morning as they did morning patrols through the town, rushing towards them with crudely put together weapons of once peaceful tools of farming and masonry. They screamed ideas about the blood price of revolution, destroying the very core beliefs of peace and equality their founder had instilled at the birth of their country, as they came pounding down on the castle walls.
“Was it all worth it?” Shiyuan asked, blood dripping in thick rivers from a gaping hole where his once whole and healthy arm used to be.
“Yes,” Hangeng answered, his voice, an unmoving force of finality. He clenched his jaw, and turned away from the picture his severed legs made as they lay several feet away.
It was the price he paid, momentarily distracted as he shouted a warning to Shiyuan. It would be the warning that saved Shiyuan, but also the one that would leave Hangeng on his knees, screaming his pain as someone plunged a knife, hilt first into the vulnerable planes of his back.
Shiyuan forced himself to take the last couple of steps to the notched parapet where Hangeng had managed to drag his body, straining to complete his last duty even as his trembled and collapsed under his weight.
“Why did you stay?” Hangeng asked looking at Shiyuan, burning his image deep within himself before the darkness that burned through his vision stole this away from him.
“What is my life to live if you are not in it?” Shiyuan whispered, his touch as soft as sun-warmed petals against Hangeng’s blood streaked face. He never displayed the excruciating pain he felt whenever he moved, as the axe-head buried deeply in his side pressed against his internal organs whenever he stirred. His voice was gentle as the soft April rain as he murmured, “Until the next lifetime, beloved,” against Hange’s sweaty brow.
“Until the next lifetime,” Hangeng breathed back. And though Hangeng’s lips were dry and cracked against Siwon’s own, their final kiss was just as sweet as the first they shared on the practice field, both of them soaked in the golden amber of the setting sun, so many years ago.
***
149
“Did your head, like your arms, grow too big to fit in normal things? That hat makes you look like a back alley David Bowie.”
“Yeah? At least people know I’m a man when they see me.”
From then on, the challenge was set. For the entire day, Siwon wore the hat, snagged aviator sunglasses from Heechul, and even managed to borrow a black jacket from wardrobe.
In retribution, Hankyung tugged around a LV bag and delicately hung the handles of it around his trim elbows.
“You know what else we should do?”
“Stop traffic so we can get a police officer and smuggle in an Native American chief to do the YMCA?”
“Go shopping. But I am intrigued by your other idea as well.”
“You wouldn’t last a few minutes, let alone a few hours.”
“Why don’t you put those guns to use since I already bought my tickets to the show.”
“What show?”
“The gun show you’ve been flagrantly advertising for, of course.”
“Oh? When did those go on sale? And from when have you been able to pronounce ‘flagrantly’ properly?”
“Advance ticket sales…and since your arms grew bigger than your head.”
A couple of hours later found them back home, lounging around in sweats and watching TV.
“Were you two trying to outgay each other or something?” Heechul scoffed from his seat in front of the computer, skimming through the pictures that suddenly appeared online.
“What do you think, Mr. Bowie?”
“I think we need a military man and a cowboy and we’d be set, little woman.”
***
150
It was an ongoing joke.
Some might even say it was long too, but that was usually followed up by uproarious laughter and opened the doors for other topics.
It had started out as a small, offhanded comment one of them had made when someone had wet their lips and opened it in a “O”. Some people laughed, some people spit out the liquids previously encased in their mouths, but soon, everyone, everyone, was asking, “Cock goes where?” whenever anyone opened their mouth.
Now if only Ryeowook didn’t always immediately flush up after he said it, Siwon would hands down agree that his comedic timing was nothing short of genius.
They’ve used this line just about everywhere, but the last thing Siwon expected was Hankyung (of all people!) pulling it out on him after leaning in close under the guise of confusion and sticking a mic right below his jaw as he patiently waited for a answer.
Siwon could only stutter out his response while everyone else within earshot laughed their heads off.
***
151
It was done in a sudden fit of insanity.
Or at the very least, that was the conclusion that Hangeng, whose hands were sweating inside these very stupid, very bright red woolen mittens (bright copper kettles, his ass) had reached.
It was entirely too hot to be doing this, he complained silently to himself, tugging on the corner of his over-starched shirt collar as he attempted to smile. A feat hard to do considering the rain of sweat he felt trickling down his neck - the combined effect from the glare of the overhead lights and the push of people around him. And not to mention, the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of the girl behind him trying to merge her breasts into his back.
Maybe it had been a while, but last Hangeng recalled, weren’t breasts suppose to be soft and billowy? When did the national decree declare that all breasts attempting to merge with other people’s body parts were to be filled with sharp silicon covered rocks?
He could feel a long trickle of sweat leaking down his face but he couldn’t use his big woolen mittens to wipe it away. First, because they were on special loan from the fashion club just for the shutter clicking enthusiasts of the photographers club and, second, because he got severely scolded the first time he did it.
The theme was “Winter Time Fun” but Hangeng failed to see what was so wintery about a photo shoot taking place in the middle of summer (“the white background will make it look like winter Geng! Honest!”). Nor did he see the fun in sweating his white undershirt transparent as girls tried to torpedo their bosoms into his back.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a long white scarf of suitable length from which he could hang himself, should the photo shoot pass the one-hour marker. But then again, wool was a stretchy material, so Hangeng might have had to rethink his exit strategy on that, and plus, lunch was suppose to next period, so he’d have to postpone death for another day.
In sudden sharp relief, the oblong shapes of undulating pressure that had been trying to mate with his back had disappeared and the long dangly scarf had come closer to his vantage point. Hangeng sighed in almost relief. This made things a bit more convenient if he so chose to kill himself before getting lunch.
As he turned his head (after squeezing out another displeased but hey-I’m-still-smiling-aren’t-I smile at the camera), he saw the guy that had came attached with the scarf.
“Hey. I’m Siwon,” the guy said, introducing himself as he noticed Hangeng’s attention focusing on him.
Man, and Hangeng thought he had it tough. He was only wearing one winter monstrosity in this heat, but this guy was stuck with a matching set of mittens AND a scarf!
Hey. Maybe if the guy wasn’t looking, he could use his scarf to wipe up his sweat. After all, the fashion club had only thrown a fit over the mittens. They never said anything about scarves.
***
152
There were just so many of them.
They rushed the stage in their cute little yellow outfits with red ribbons bouncing in their hair, laughing and smiling and babbling in a language only those of their own kind could understand.
Siwon rather felt like Godzilla, except the tiny humans didn’t run screaming in fear from him, but instead wanted to be picked up, hold his hand, or stick their fingers in his dimples, clapping their hands if they were able to do all three.
But Hangeng was happy, and that was all Siwon could ask for.
Hm, maybe he could train them and form a massive pint-sized deadly ninja team instead.
Title: Week One (of the month long shihanaday drabble a day challenge)
Pairing: Shihan
Rating: PG/R
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Genre: So far, a hostile takeover of fluff (except for one) D:
A/N: It starts off from June 10th - 146 Uhh...not that it really needs mentioning, but clicking on the links provided will probably give a better understanding of whats going on.
146
He was disgusting.
Every time the makeup artist asked him to press his lips together so that she could dab a bit of color on his cupid’s bow, long strands of translucent snot would start dripping down his nose.
He would always apologize profusely and - by force of habit living with a bunch of guys and not just reckless abandonment of manners - use the end of his sleeve to wipe up the sloppy mess his nose made.
The makeup artist would hide a giggle behind her hand and offer him a tissue to use instead. He would thank her as he accepted it, sneezing into the papery thinness of the tissue and not into his hands.
Half an hour later, the same makeup artist would sigh (if only to herself and never out loud) for now his nose was dry from all the endless wiping. It wasn’t his fault really, but if he didn’t vigorously wipe it up, the previously clear mucus that was now slightly green and stringy would continue to ski out of his nose and puddle down his chin.
Plus, as she gingerly patted lotion on the tips of his nose (which really wasn’t a part of her job, but she couldn’t help herself - he was her favorite after all), she was within clear and undeniable eyesight of the meteor-sized boogers lodged in between his nose hairs.
When she tried putting a bit more makeup below his nose, long strings of snot attached themselves to her makeup sponge.
She couldn’t help her slight shudder of repulsion.
When Hankyung apologized again, his voice nasally and the sound of a cough chasing the tail end of his words, she slapped a facemask on him and called it a day.
The stylist took one look at him, his eyes bleary and bloodshot with half his face covered up, and put glasses on him. Understandably, as overworked as they all were, they couldn’t help if their bodies caved in under all that exhaustion, but the very least she could do for them was keep their pretty boy image intact. She fluffed his hair and directed him to sit down on the gray colored seats with strict instructions to not move.
Hankyung knew he should be resting, but he had to make a quick call to his manager to confirm today’s schedule.
While he was put on hold, he heard the distinct shutter of a camera phone going off.
As he turned his head, there was Siwon, twisting his upper body towards Hankyung and frowning in displeasure as the picture he took proved to be unsatisfactory. He fiddled with his camera phone to get a better picture the next time around.
“Siwon,” Hankyung sighed, too sick to mask his minor irritation. He turned towards him, lowering the cell phone with one hand, and pulling down his facemask with the other.
“Must you always take pictures of me? Especially when I’m like this?” he said, hating the fact that he had to sniffle at that exact moment, making his words sound pathetic and not long suffering as he was originally going for.
“But hyung,” Siwon answered, his eyes wide and innocently confused, “If I don’t have pictures of your imperfections, how else will I know that you’re real and not a figment of my imagination?”
In a strangely perverse way, it was almost sweet, Hankyung thought.
Just as he leaned towards Siwon, intent on apologizing for his annoyed tone just a second ago, a sneeze crept up on him, and he ended up expelling it all over Siwon’s face.
***
147
Hangeng didn’t know how Leeteuk did it.
Here in China, his brood was only six deep and he was already losing his mind. He couldn’t even fathom how Leeteuk did it with twelve.
Thank god for Siwon at least. Hangeng was sure that’s how Leeteuk felt about Kangin. Siwon was always there right besides him sharing the burden of co-hosting, taking part in stupid stunts and displays that the interviewers wanted to see so that Hangeng wasn’t the only one bidding a fond adieu to his dignity, and helping him keep an eye out on the kids.
He also took matters into his own hands if Hangeng became too exhausted to deal with Henry’s complaints about Ryeowook’s fascination with the elasticity of his cheeks. Or if Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun got too absorbed in video games to pay attention to Donghae, who believed that getting his face on a stamp was proof enough that he'd never get kicked out the country no matter how many stunts he tried. And Siwon had intercepted many, many stunts.
They now even had a system they used before heading out.
After making sure that everyone was safely in the van, they’d give each other a quick once-over to make sure they had everything.
“Cell phone?”
“Left pocket. Check.”
“Keys?”
“Right jean pocket. Check.”
“Wallet?”
“Crap, forgot it. Where did I put it?”
“It’s on the table, let me get it for you.”
Sometimes, it was just easier to pat each other down rather than use words if they were really in a tremendous rush.
Square shape in back pocket?
Wallet.
Lumpy shape in right pocket?
Keys.
Slim shape in left pocket?
Cellphone.
Okay, we got everything. Let’s go.
Heading offstage after a performance, Siwon felt a warm hand palming against his left butt cheek.
“Ah, I didn’t forget my wallet today. Thanks, Geng,” Siwon answered, turning to look over his shoulder.
”Who said anything about looking for your wallet?” Hangeng asked, eyebrows raised, and his voice filled with dark promises behind locked doors.
***
148
The castle was burning to the ground.
Exhaustion seeped through his bones like a familiar ache as Shiyuan climbed the last set of gritty stairs, and joined Hangeng on the battlements, their current location the last stable structure that remained of the once grand and magnificent citadel they both called home.
Hangeng did not offer a word of greeting at Shiyuan’s entrance, nor did Shiyuan provide one. In silence, they watched the craft they paid for with their lives, so miniscule against the brush of waves that moved passed it, sail away with what remained of the royal family.
“Don’t look back,” Hangeng had whispered into the ears of his youngest liege, embracing him once before setting him on board as the few remaining soldiers under his command pushed the boat off the shore and into the sea.
Their nation had been one of the strongest, one of the most powerful, and one of the most envied. All it took was one catalytic question about the fidelity of the royal family. From there, it grew to encompass the legitimacy of the heir, and soon, storm clouds blew in with the embossed name of war written across the skies. All that remained of their once peaceful and flourishing nation was one lone structure and two captains of an army that they said the heavens themselves could not touch.
“Keep them safe,” Captain Cui had instructed to the remaining handful of militia left, before pushing them through the dank and dusty slave corridors that would lead them away from the castle walls.
Shiyuan clenched his jaw, and at Hangeng’s firm nod, tightened his grip on his weapon, toes shifting in his shoes as he braced himself to meet the oncoming enemy.
In a way, the irony was almost poetic. Here were the people they had sworn to protect, had shed copious amounts of blood to guard, and greeted every morning as they did morning patrols through the town, rushing towards them with crudely put together weapons of once peaceful tools of farming and masonry. They screamed ideas about the blood price of revolution, destroying the very core beliefs of peace and equality their founder had instilled at the birth of their country, as they came pounding down on the castle walls.
“Was it all worth it?” Shiyuan asked, blood dripping in thick rivers from a gaping hole where his once whole and healthy arm used to be.
“Yes,” Hangeng answered, his voice, an unmoving force of finality. He clenched his jaw, and turned away from the picture his severed legs made as they lay several feet away.
It was the price he paid, momentarily distracted as he shouted a warning to Shiyuan. It would be the warning that saved Shiyuan, but also the one that would leave Hangeng on his knees, screaming his pain as someone plunged a knife, hilt first into the vulnerable planes of his back.
Shiyuan forced himself to take the last couple of steps to the notched parapet where Hangeng had managed to drag his body, straining to complete his last duty even as his trembled and collapsed under his weight.
“Why did you stay?” Hangeng asked looking at Shiyuan, burning his image deep within himself before the darkness that burned through his vision stole this away from him.
“What is my life to live if you are not in it?” Shiyuan whispered, his touch as soft as sun-warmed petals against Hangeng’s blood streaked face. He never displayed the excruciating pain he felt whenever he moved, as the axe-head buried deeply in his side pressed against his internal organs whenever he stirred. His voice was gentle as the soft April rain as he murmured, “Until the next lifetime, beloved,” against Hange’s sweaty brow.
“Until the next lifetime,” Hangeng breathed back. And though Hangeng’s lips were dry and cracked against Siwon’s own, their final kiss was just as sweet as the first they shared on the practice field, both of them soaked in the golden amber of the setting sun, so many years ago.
***
149
“Did your head, like your arms, grow too big to fit in normal things? That hat makes you look like a back alley David Bowie.”
“Yeah? At least people know I’m a man when they see me.”
From then on, the challenge was set. For the entire day, Siwon wore the hat, snagged aviator sunglasses from Heechul, and even managed to borrow a black jacket from wardrobe.
In retribution, Hankyung tugged around a LV bag and delicately hung the handles of it around his trim elbows.
“You know what else we should do?”
“Stop traffic so we can get a police officer and smuggle in an Native American chief to do the YMCA?”
“Go shopping. But I am intrigued by your other idea as well.”
“You wouldn’t last a few minutes, let alone a few hours.”
“Why don’t you put those guns to use since I already bought my tickets to the show.”
“What show?”
“The gun show you’ve been flagrantly advertising for, of course.”
“Oh? When did those go on sale? And from when have you been able to pronounce ‘flagrantly’ properly?”
“Advance ticket sales…and since your arms grew bigger than your head.”
A couple of hours later found them back home, lounging around in sweats and watching TV.
“Were you two trying to outgay each other or something?” Heechul scoffed from his seat in front of the computer, skimming through the pictures that suddenly appeared online.
“What do you think, Mr. Bowie?”
“I think we need a military man and a cowboy and we’d be set, little woman.”
***
150
It was an ongoing joke.
Some might even say it was long too, but that was usually followed up by uproarious laughter and opened the doors for other topics.
It had started out as a small, offhanded comment one of them had made when someone had wet their lips and opened it in a “O”. Some people laughed, some people spit out the liquids previously encased in their mouths, but soon, everyone, everyone, was asking, “Cock goes where?” whenever anyone opened their mouth.
Now if only Ryeowook didn’t always immediately flush up after he said it, Siwon would hands down agree that his comedic timing was nothing short of genius.
They’ve used this line just about everywhere, but the last thing Siwon expected was Hankyung (of all people!) pulling it out on him after leaning in close under the guise of confusion and sticking a mic right below his jaw as he patiently waited for a answer.
Siwon could only stutter out his response while everyone else within earshot laughed their heads off.
***
151
It was done in a sudden fit of insanity.
Or at the very least, that was the conclusion that Hangeng, whose hands were sweating inside these very stupid, very bright red woolen mittens (bright copper kettles, his ass) had reached.
It was entirely too hot to be doing this, he complained silently to himself, tugging on the corner of his over-starched shirt collar as he attempted to smile. A feat hard to do considering the rain of sweat he felt trickling down his neck - the combined effect from the glare of the overhead lights and the push of people around him. And not to mention, the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of the girl behind him trying to merge her breasts into his back.
Maybe it had been a while, but last Hangeng recalled, weren’t breasts suppose to be soft and billowy? When did the national decree declare that all breasts attempting to merge with other people’s body parts were to be filled with sharp silicon covered rocks?
He could feel a long trickle of sweat leaking down his face but he couldn’t use his big woolen mittens to wipe it away. First, because they were on special loan from the fashion club just for the shutter clicking enthusiasts of the photographers club and, second, because he got severely scolded the first time he did it.
The theme was “Winter Time Fun” but Hangeng failed to see what was so wintery about a photo shoot taking place in the middle of summer (“the white background will make it look like winter Geng! Honest!”). Nor did he see the fun in sweating his white undershirt transparent as girls tried to torpedo their bosoms into his back.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of a long white scarf of suitable length from which he could hang himself, should the photo shoot pass the one-hour marker. But then again, wool was a stretchy material, so Hangeng might have had to rethink his exit strategy on that, and plus, lunch was suppose to next period, so he’d have to postpone death for another day.
In sudden sharp relief, the oblong shapes of undulating pressure that had been trying to mate with his back had disappeared and the long dangly scarf had come closer to his vantage point. Hangeng sighed in almost relief. This made things a bit more convenient if he so chose to kill himself before getting lunch.
As he turned his head (after squeezing out another displeased but hey-I’m-still-smiling-aren’t-I smile at the camera), he saw the guy that had came attached with the scarf.
“Hey. I’m Siwon,” the guy said, introducing himself as he noticed Hangeng’s attention focusing on him.
Man, and Hangeng thought he had it tough. He was only wearing one winter monstrosity in this heat, but this guy was stuck with a matching set of mittens AND a scarf!
Hey. Maybe if the guy wasn’t looking, he could use his scarf to wipe up his sweat. After all, the fashion club had only thrown a fit over the mittens. They never said anything about scarves.
***
152
There were just so many of them.
They rushed the stage in their cute little yellow outfits with red ribbons bouncing in their hair, laughing and smiling and babbling in a language only those of their own kind could understand.
Siwon rather felt like Godzilla, except the tiny humans didn’t run screaming in fear from him, but instead wanted to be picked up, hold his hand, or stick their fingers in his dimples, clapping their hands if they were able to do all three.
But Hangeng was happy, and that was all Siwon could ask for.
Hm, maybe he could train them and form a massive pint-sized deadly ninja team instead.