#yohan.doc

[galaqsies]

vignettes

@grimoircs

old habits die hard. especially for seo yohan. it had already been hard to give her up the first time, hundreds of unfinished songs nestled in the depths of his computer concrete proof of that. and even as time passed, the ache, the wanting always lingered, never leaving completely. he never did know how to let things go. it took a while to get him where he had been before that fated radio appearance, a huge mistake on the company’s part, and now ... 

well, now he’s back at square one. 

history repeating itself by way of text messages sent her way sporadically, ‘accidental’ run-ins around the company and a small brush of fingers, attempts to sneak a meeting between them in the middle of the night. but circumstances are different these days. less free time, much less coinciding, and more difficulties in running around uncaught by cameras. and so as a result, they’ve seen each other maybe three brief times since the first night. each time seemingly shorter than the last.

now, yohan’s near bursting. a distracted mess, useless at their dance practice for what he’d personally consider their most tiring choreography yet. making mistakes left and right until his members have mercy on (or, rather, get annoyed at) him and call it quits for the day. leaving him to lie on the floor both exhausted and frustrated, one knee bent up and an arm resting on his warm, sweaty forehead. he could fall asleep here, he thinks, eyes closing for a moment like he might try to. he breathes deep, trying to slow it and his heart down, when he hears the door click open, slow. 

“oh good, you’re back. could you hand me my--” he starts, assuming it’s one of his members, pausing only when he slides his arm off his eyes and peers over at the door. “oh,” he says, startled, immediately aware of how unkempt he must look, how red his cheeks must be, how damp with sweat the bangs on his forehead are. “hey,” he continues, sitting up and grinning now because no one else from prism followed behind her. “you need the room, or...?” he asks, trailing off hopeful. 

[galaqsies]

all night.

the darkness before the sunrise seems especially dark @grimoircs / han & jowi at a hotel in jeju

a thirty-minute (second-to-ending) setlist tells almost nothing of the time put into getting there. about the relentless practice, the hours upon hours spent into making the songs, the wasted time in the clouds, traveling from one country to the next to the next and then back home, only to fly once more to an island that simultaneously feels more like home but also not exactly. and still, yohan always looks forward to those thirty-minutes. or even to those four minutes during promotions. or to those exhausting, yet exhilarating, two and a half hours straight in various arenas around the world. every time he steps on stage, he’s reminded of why. 

why he’s sacrificed a million things for just this one. 

but then, comes her name in the setlist. not as cherry bomb!, but aj. just aj, solo. then, comes the hotel. then, comes the overwhelming knowledge that she’s just one floor below him. knowledge he can’t ignore, no matter how hard he tries to with a bottle of wine and his laptop open in front of him with a potential solo song he still can’t get quite right. frustration bubbles and bubbles. he hates every drum track he lays down, every hi-hat, everything. the wine bottle is empty now. he knows what’s going to happen next. his headphones come off and a grey beanie comes on, tugged on low enough to hide the ashy blonde beneath. he looks in the mirror right before the door, considers for a second swapping his white low cut tee to something more presentable, but what’s the point? there is none, so, he leaves. 

a less-than-a-minute elevator ride down tells nothing of the hours he just spent trying to resist. and still, in some twisted, maybe masochistic way, yohan looks forward to this. wants this. needs this. knocks softly on her door with a rhythm too familiar. pitches his voice quiet, but loud enough for her to hear him speak her name slow, melodically, “ahn jowi, let me in.” and when she does, he grins, lips curving slowly. every time he steps into her room, he wonders why he sacrificed this. 

but, she doesn’t have to know that. 

“wine,” he starts, tugging his beanie off and tossing it onto the dresser, “i cleared all mine out already, you got any you want to share, gashinaya?”