#yfxiseul

[yfxnami-blog]

— unwind.

The only other time Nami had been sent to a guidance counselor’s office was when they had been making Mother’s Day cards in the fifth grade and she had written her mother a formal letter thanking her for giving birth to her. She probably could have been hired by a business to do formal correspondence for them, but the school had taken Nami’s straightforward letter to be alarming. Once her father showed up, explaining their family situation, Nami had been sent to the library for the rest of the day, away from the other kids who were cheerfully making cards for their mothers. It was safe to say she was a bit worried when she had received a formal notice, marking an appointment for her to see a guidance counselor. Was it because she barely left her dorm room or the library in her free time? She diligently made it to track meets and debate club meetings, figuring it was enough of a social life for her. Maybe it was about another student, she thought, her mind trailing down several different paths as she made her way to the designated office. She was eager to get this over with, not that she had anywhere else to be. She knocked on the door once, faintly. And then again, a bit louder before receiving vocal confirmation to come in. She tentatively pushed open the door, her presence small as she stepped into what had to be a makeshift greenhouse.

[yfxbobby-blog]

—heart on sleeve

@yfxiseul / april 2016.

His shoes have worn trenches in front of her door.

Approaching, retreating, turning. Once, he raises a closed fist and holds it still, then turns with a frustrated noise and resumes his pendulum motion. His presence is unscheduled. Whether she'd recognize his face is disputable, he’s just one kid—one in five hundred, money in their credit cards and skeletons in their closets. This morning he read a headline on Facebook about the Syrian refugee crisis and honestly, his bullshit feels so trivial, so beneath notice. (How’s that teenage angst, Bobby? Where’s the body count?) But he’s run into Taehyun half a dozen frigid times today, one more and he’ll explode.

The door abruptly opens. He jumps, wide-eyed, caught in the headlights of her collected expression.

"Um, Mrs. Kham."

[pyrrhickid]

〈 · SQUABBLES & QUARRELS · 〉

@yfxiseul

Practice had ended at least an hour ago, though this particular forward continued sinking his cleats into the turf to practice his angles. The goal had soccer balls scattered around and inside of the net, the player had only four more lined up ahead of him. 

His heavy breath formed like fog, then disappearing just the same. Over and over again, with each pristine move, Daehwan took a few seconds to assess. He would then begin a short stride to prepare for a strike.

That is, before he heard a very particular and far too recognizable holler from the other side of the field. So, he watched the ball fly just over the goal.

“ Goddamnit. ”