in the jingle jangle mornin'
pg, ~struggling artists~ au, xingsoo, 630 words
((sometimes u gotta be bold a homie in need and u gotta do smth bout it. ♡ yosehun)) title from bob dylan's tambourine man
not to be cliche with bad timings, but it's literally three in the morning. yixing is strumming his guitar at three in the morning, barely a foot away from kyungsoo's head. 'hello,' kyungsoo croaks. 'what now.' yixing pauses momentarily, then presses the pick to kyungsoo's mouth. it's cold. kyungsoo shakes his head away from it and turns over. sleeping on the floor is not only a goddamned pain on his pelvis if he's on his side, it hurts his collarbones if he's on his stomach. and yixing starts up again. 'yixing,' kyungsoo entreats, into the pillow. he tastes his own breath and drags himself up into a sitting position, eyes stubbornly glued shut. yixing pauses, tries a note, then repeats the score. for a little while, everything's still except for yixing's guitar and the slight rustling of their papers on the desk as the wind ripples in through the tiny balcony. kyungsoo rouses himself slowly, music dragging him into consciousness as he pays close attention. 'stop,' he rasps, when yixing goes from G to A. 'not that. not with what you had going there. try E.' he can see yixing frown, shoulders hunching further in thought, then relaxing as he does what kyungsoo says. they both tilt their heads, share a glance. 'thanks,' yixing says, smiling, and kyungsoo shivers. 'you woke me up in the middle of the night, man. you better be.' he turns and grabs the blanket he'd kicked off in his sleep, and pulls it over his head. but he's still sitting up, facing yixing. 'go on.' 'okay.' kyungsoo leans back against the wall, wrapped in the old blue blanket (so old it's faded to grey), eyes closed as he listens. slowly, his breathing evens, and yixing watches him carefully, lowers the notes and changes the song; just a plain lullaby. the corners of kyungsoo's mouth turn up in half-sleep, and his head drops forward onto his chest. - it's a full sixty minutes by the time yixing's own eyelids are aching to meet each other and close off the rest of the world, and the skies are lightening from purple satin to lilac lace, clouds swimming and blocking out stars. yixing sets aside the guitar, ambles out to the balcony. four in the morning is a pretty time to be awake. the streetlights are still on, and the wind makes out to be still first, then rushes forward, restless, then stills again. the streetlights glow pearly yellow against the sky and the concrete buildings, casting golden circles over the streets and the occasional hushed, passing car. behind yixing, kyungsoo gives a snore, then mumbles and shifts around. yixing doesn't have to turn to see kyungsoo frowning in his sleep, fighting to get back to the floor without strangling himself with the blanket. then silence again, and he sighs. they have to be up by full dawn, catch a bus to chanyeol's and borrow his studio for a bit. they've got a new demo to record that they've been practising for a week and maybe-- maybe this time. this time will work. yixing turns, finally. kyungsoo's lying down now, but still struggling a little with himself. yixing bends over him, pulls out the blanket from under kyungsoo's arm and from between his legs, and tucks him in properly. then he settles down next to kyungsoo, thinking and thinking. he'd been tired before but he isn't now, so he contents himself with lying on his side, pillow tucked between his cheek and his arm, staring at kyungsoo's profile. his hair falling over his brow, brow curving into his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, the slide of his jaw to his chin, chin meeting lips meeting nose. his neck. and slowly, slowly, his mind begins to float back towards sleep.