#t: reply

[don1y]

@ineffableboyfriends  yeah this is a whole mess and i'm disappointed

me too, I’m glad that HF is doing their job for once but giving fans that took pics at ISAC the same punishment they gave to sasaengs is just ridiculous and completely unfair. It makes me so mad.

[hyunbinsource]

do you know what happened yo hyunbin in his eye?

I think he has a sty(?) It looks like he mouthed ‘다래끼’ (sty) in this video when he saw fans were worried. 

[warsk]

After the games (and before the next--), he tries to recollect all events into a journal; his sole proxy to some form of framework. He does this to carve out space in his mind -- simply, to organize -- because he cannot seem to fit anything in anymore. Whenever he recalls a thing, it is anything and everything in the make of the games and all the else in between, of all that had occurred in the games. 

The journal, remains with him even here, open with only a few grotesque images and words scribed in every other page. It is so short and jumbled and jangled, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a game such as this one.

And so it goes. 

The train moves whether he grants it to or not. They’re all moving, whether their hearts have decided to fix into a crack somewhere in that arena and decide never to be moved once more. He doesn’t know where he stands, anymore. It all still feels much like a dream, (and he wishes it to be), but knows better than to buy the folly. 

And so the train moves on. They all move forward. 

And so it goes.

He closes the journal because he hears her steps before the knocks, (hears her heartbeat before his own). “Come in,” He slides off the bed, only to reseat himself onto the edge of it, legs dangling off in a reattempt to remember that gravity still remained. He places both his feet onto the ground, while his mind reminds: stand strong, stand strong -- stronger. He lifts his head to meet Sohee’s gaze as the door opens, and the steady mantra of his mind silences, for just the moment. It’s just enough.

And so it goes. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

@ergoprox

[fychani]

I'm so thankful for this blog and all your hard work 💛💛💛💛💛

awww, thank you for this kind message! :-) we’ll continue to work hard to make fychani more organized and easy for fans to go through! ^^ 

[fyb1a4]

do you have the setlist for b1a4's concert?

via @lloydinadobler and @my_b1a4:

멜랑꼴리 (melancholy)

in the air

oh my god

악몽 (nightmare)

you

너에게 한 번 더 반하는 순간 (the moment i fall for you again)

벅차 (too much) - cnu, jinyoung

hip hop stage - sandeul, baro, gongchan

꿈에 (in dreams)

lonely (없구나) (ballad ver.)

sweet girl

intro - time + 거짓말이야 (a lie)

medley - o.k, beautiful target, baby i'm sorry, 잘자요 굿나잇 (baby good night), 걸어 본다 (tried to walk), 이게 무슨 일이야 (what's happening), solo day, 물 한잔 (a glass of water)

몇 번을 (how many times)

내가 널 찾을게 (i'll find you)

함께 (together)

encore:

drunk on you

sparkling

good timing

[warsk]

There’s something off about the night. 

He’s a song late by the time he finds a place to sit with a glass in hand. Before he can even focus on the music, there’s all sorts of complaints his brain racks up: from the way the place smells too much like dust to the way this particular spot in the city holds way too little women and much too many men. He’s never liked the setting, but it’s not the scape that has brought him here -- instead, his eyes fix on the stage.

The band’s music has always found a way to nook around him, and as much as he’d never mention it verbally, Baekhyun’s voice fits into the spaces between him and gives him a different kind of comfort he hadn’t even asked for. 

Two drinks and another two songs later, there’s still something off about the night. Whatever it is, it fills him up, dulls him, then devours him. 

“Hey, mullet.” He watches the other walk over, already a filled glass laid across from him, waiting to be drank. “How come you don’t have any cute fangirls for me to blatantly hit on? To think that I thought I’d be able to use your bassist position in the band as a conversation starter... that’s the only benefit of a friend in a band, and you can’t even seem to do that much for me.” 

@invained 

[warsk]

There must be something his body is trying to communicate to him; that’s what the body always does. He wants to be finite-less, infinite-full and everything in the in between without the limitations of physics and anatomy. And yet he runs faster than his legs can carry him, the strain in his muscles a clear dialogue.

He doesn’t listen. 

(He was made for something bitter.)

The speed is never enough; fast, but never fast enough to possibly catch up to the light. He grows obsessed with the idea and all of a sudden it is a chase, perpetual and never-ending, with his limbs numb by the end of it. His body isn’t as fast as the ambition, and this is where it breaks.

The mind calls the body to drag itself home, yet each time, his feet pace elsewhere. He finds himself at Kyungsoo’s door after each run, half-beat and half-gone of everything that makes of him. And each time, Kyungsoo lets him in, seats him down and begins to talk. Kyungsoo always speaks in the language of the body, and he does it enough.

“Kyungsoo,” His eyes stray elsewhere; anywhere but the other’s eyes. “Thank you.” 

Kyungsoo comes over him, places a hand -- and it’s like his palms are speaking to him, conversing to the body: translating to the heart.

(You were made for something better.)

@florichor

[warsk]

It is only when he arrives at the window that he realizes time is a fabrication only to him; he notes the dents on the wooden frame, observes the aging of the willow tree, and peeks upon her face, where her smile is all the same except for the kiss of the wear of time.

The same clock from before daunts him, every click a reminder that they do not exist in the same scape; that time has estranged them back to strangers once more.

He nears the frame, fingers grappling with the edges with an attempt to remain in place. Every time she looks away, he peers upon her, again and again, with a kind of tenderness that could murder. He probes the way age sits upon her features, how it has not been kind to her hands, and how rough it has been to her skin. Caught up in the act, he soon notices her, staring right back, with him, an open book for her to read. 

He doesn’t mean to catch her eye but it is his heart that keeps him from disappearing away from her gaze. He only meets her glance, eyes asking for her to come to the window once more, as they had done the first time, when her heart was as young as her curiosity, begging to be answered, pleading to find something worth more than the four walls enclosing her in this place she called home. His hands pry the window open, just enough for his voice to pass through. 

Then carefully, he calls, “Jieun.” 

-- and gives up everything in just the spoken syllables of her name, the one thing that has stood against the test of time. 

(I know you wanted to wake up, but that doesn’t mean you miss the dreaming.)

@cespires