partiture.
These stories come alive in the depth of the midnight syllabus, when darkness has risen high up the skies, brimmed on the bottom with the weight of cityscapes. He traces them according to the contours shaped out of skyscrapers, lower buildings; fingers dancing in the air as though drawing. In here, the thick blackness that dreams of clocked silhouettes, ending when the horizon glows with dawn. In here, the neon lights that surge into unveiled sight, ending when the urban tales end in the morning. He cannot pretend that he doesn’t love the evenings, the nights, regardless of the memories that they stomach — the rising plumes, the sinking ashes. He thinks of a boy whose smile is looped around too many of his thoughts, submerging himself in the nostalgia that ripples to suffocate. He’s absorbed into the vortex of lifeless limbs of the mind, letting his thoughts carried by the stream.
Between his fingers: a wrapped carcinogen, the scent of tobacco colouring the air alongside the emptied exhales. Burning ember, sighing moment. He waits, waiting for a friend that comes late — perhaps there’s a job, perhaps there’s a hindrance. Doesn’t matter — more time for himself means more toxin, but then again, he’s a masochist. The rivulets of poisonous thoughts swirl into the peripheries of his mind again, and he drowns himself willingly until he’s gasping for air. Inhales, exhales. Inhales, exhales. Stops for a second when he notices someone else’s presence on the rooftop. He turns his head, tilting it sideways to acknowledge Aaron’s presence. “You’re late,” he simply states, but there’s no urgency in his tone — just a sense of static, inert. “I thought you were the one who decided on our meeting time. This was your idea, after all. Where have you been?”
          &. @singleroute
the city lights are but a blur as aaron speeds through busy streets -- much like most of his life. downfall as quick as his rise, the stages felt sprinted through, without much thought put into vital decisions. aaron snorts. how the mighty fall, trapped in a cycle of either running away or hiding. there will come a time when aaron will break the chain, maybe begin running towards something, some... unidentified goal. for now, life is a gentle breeze, quick and impotent.
aaron arrives as he always does, with impeccable precision and style -- stagnant tires graze over asphalt in a swift drift that leaves the car perfectly parallel to the sidewalk. aaron takes a second to bask in his own skill, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips in unadulterated smugness. the street’s empty, with no one to witness the stunt -- no matter how arrogant, aaron doesn’t have shit for brains. stepping out of the immaculately clean car with a card of his fingers through his hair, aaron glances around to confirm the lack of spectators in the vicinity.
aaron steps inside the building, loosening the tie around his neck, opening the suit. it’d been a busy delivery day, and in the end he’s dressed to the nines and exhausted to the core. the ride up to the roof is tauntingly slow and aaron finds himself glaring at the floor display on the elevator.Â
aaron immediately senses the scent of a shared vice and a smile finds its way onto his lips at the sight of a trustworthy face. “i am, sorry. believe it or not, i was stuck in a traffic jam for a couple minutes. had to take a long detour to avoid that and unwanted attention.” stepping closer to taemin, he extends his hand. “you mind giving me one? i’m all out.”
