by the hour his feet were set on land, the black trickle had already swept the sky in its starless night, moon a lone observer of the affairs of men, casually tickled by fleeing clouds. seoul is never quiet – not by day, and much less at night, when people’s behaviours were touched and molded by whichever lump on their throat they swallowed, legal or not; then, within the darkest hours of the night, people behaved with the proper manners as though they were in an amusement park.
that is, however, the seoul yixing saw behind the glass of an expensive car’s window, lids heavy, wondering whether it would be more appropriate to say that he was half asleep or half awake.
the seoul he lives, which is somewhat fortunate because he had never been the man for amusement parks, can be described in a couple blocks: the dorm, shared by his fellow members, which he has been mostly absent of the past weeks; the jajangmyeon place around the corner that stays open around the clock; and the company’s studios. he passes the first, makes plans to visit the second, but finds himself by the door of the third instead. in his mind there was an expectation: to arrive, watch the videos of the choreographies he was supposed to be rehearsing with the other boys, then tire himself in his dancing until he could not dance anymore – which, figuring by his fatigue, would not take long to meet, but he would not forgive himself if he had not tried anything as soon as possible.
it is, however, a feeling bordering excitement when he finds that he would not be alone, despite the late hour. he smiles, shoulders less tense, as he sees his friend, whose company he has not had in a few weeks. “just came back, actually, forty minutes ago i think?” he sets a bag in the corner of the room, barely weighting a thing with only the more fashionable clothes he wore at the airport. “i slept on the plane, though, so i’m not tired” it is not exactly truth, see, he did sleep on the plane, and he was a bit tired, but their tired is not the tired of you and i, dear reader, no – he will only admit he is tired if his eyes cannot stay open anymore, and he supposes it is the same for jongin, too. “what have you been doing all night? anything i should know also?” he asks, body already on the floor, stretching; he does not plan on leaving so soon.
the setting: their practice room, darkened with only the spotlights coloring the room with silhouettes. the setting: the floorboards crammed with more negative space than what he can count. the setting: weary sinews, with sleep hazing the system but it’s also juxtaposed with years of training to resist the need. against the backdrop would be hours and hours of more practices, and he’s learned to embrace them, pushing aside the necessities that his body has been demanding. it is, after all, an industry of cruel intents, where money reigns. bodily basic requirements do not count unless they’re vital.
and this is exactly what happens: how yixing actually comes to the practice room instead of straight home after a flight back. not to mention that he perhaps had a schedule prior to coming back to seoul, for they, most of the time, always have schedules to attend. he assumes yixing is as tired as he is, but none of them actually rests up considering there is still time for them to actually practice — and squandering hours without doing exactly that feels wrong. feels like he’s guilty for slacking.
at the question, he nods. “i think we can practice the song together, hyung,” he speaks, getting up from the floor. “i’ve been rehearsing mama, again. we can do it together, or we can move on to another song. which one do you need rehearsing the most, hyung?” he asks, and he knows that if needed be, yixing would definitely ask for his assistance for the practice. exo’rdium, after all, is about to resume, and they cannot remain stagnant with their setlist, adding variations that indubitably beckon for more hours spent inside these four walls.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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