*HIATUS; disordinance

{ sms: no } well……it’s more of an actual stage thing….. — erased !

{ sms: no } that’s none of your business u___u

{ sms: no } well yeah thanks captain obvious but it’s not just something i can do overnight!!

{ sms: no } just seems fitting as something you’d do

{ sms: no } i’m just fine here in the real world thanks my imagination is a dangerous place

{ sms: no } eager to not get benched? yeah, of course i was

{ sms: no } from our street performances and group routines you fucking asshole 

{ sms: no } please. your mind must be too full of thoughts of yourself that you’re starting to lose track of the line between reality and fantasy!!

(x)

“let’s not waste time then,” cho speaks, commanding the attentions of all six members. “warm-up time, everyone. you know what to do.”

now relaxed and relieved, ivy closes the circle the group is forming, energy coursing through her veins. each practice starts with a freestyle of each member, and it’s one of her favorite parts of practice. the music starts up, and ivy takes the center of the circle as soon as the bass drops, limbs moving at the command of the music, the stop and go style of animation perfected until she, herself, believes she is an android. this is what she lives for.

                  he has endless options of more provocative words, statements and claims to egg her on, to aggravate and toy with but they fall short of fruition when the door opens. Jongin knows better than to misbehave in front of papa Cho and mama Sol. in other words, he knows when to stop and not risk his own life for the sake of amusement. she whines and clings to Cho, a gesture he rolls his eyes at.

                  without greeting them or a nod of acknowledgment, clearly the most welcoming member of sickstep, Jongin slides to the floor, stretches out long limbs and tries not to compain when Gon falls into place next to him, the older’s arm draped over his shoulders, asking what he’s been doing. Gon didn’t speak often because he had the answers, a fact Jongin didn’t ignore as he sneered and pushed the fellow member off.

                   it didn’t bother Gon who knew Jongin well enough. when Jongin was nice, that’s when Gon worried. he laughs and Jongin is glad the music eventually drowns it out. he didn’t care for the explanation. he held a strong dislike for excuses, reasons, bullshit that prevented progress or provided incentive but his patience is better when it comes to sickstep. what he had for family after Luhan, Yixing, and TK. falling into step with them, into rhythm, is eternally more pleasant than his own behavior.

(x)

she turns to gather her things. jongin may be staying here longer, but yewon doesn’t think that she can with him questioning at her so oddly. this could go a lot smoother if she could find her keys to her apartment. they were probably buried at the bottom of her schoolbag. she would have to dump the whole thing out. dang it.

              “are you leaving?” watching her gather item after item, he stood from his lax position against the door, strolled across the practice room to her. “i was serious, you know. continue in front of me.” he can’t tell if she knows his reputation. it often precedes him but with it comes knowledge of his dancing. he’s capable, has presence, but most of all, is harsh when it comes to criticism if necessary. “if you can’t dance in front of me, how could you possibly stand on stage?” 

              “it’s dangerous to dance alone,” Jongin answers her simply, truthfully. “it’s not productive either. not every time.” there’s only so much one person can do.” he has no nice way of offering to help her. pleasantries are the last thing that fall from florid lips. but it’s the truth to him. there’s no objective criticism, no helpful tips or advice that come from monitoring one’s self. 

( —if there’s a book written on how to deal with kim jongin, lee minwoo would have been the one to have written in. theirs is a friendship that is older than his youngest brother, tried, tested, true, and minwoo would be an idiot to think that taking the effort to hide under the bed or in the closet would deter jongin from thinking he’s actually left for practice an hour ago. instead, he’s sitting at his desk, greeting jongin with a nonchalant gaze, hints of a smile pulling on neutral lips) if i got angry every time you pulled that shit, we wouldn’t be friends. which reminds me—why are we friends? ( —there’s no ill intent behind his words, instead there lies monotone, their usual bickering that does nothing but strengthen their bond. he gives a trivial spin of his chair, picks his sports bag up in the process as he slips past jongin and through the door) i hope she was at least a good lay. and please don’t pretend you’re sorry. it’s unbearable and so unlike you it makes me want to vomit. (/he allows a crooked smile to spread on his lips and laughter to tumble past them as he hurries down the stairs, footsteps nimble and quiet)

(/he heaves a long, tired sigh, chest rising and falling, head rolling back to hit the couch cushion as if his soul is leaving his body, and it almost feels like half of it has, because yixing’s always been part of him) There’s absolutely nothing lovable about you, Kim Jongin. Why do I keep you around? (/the question is rhetorical, because despite his drab tone with just a hint of animosity, luhan knows exactly why he keeps jongin around. despite his crass words and deranged sense of humor, he and yixing are the closest things he has to family. they look out for each other in their own fucked up ways, and somewhere deep down, luhan knows jongin needs them, needs him) — (/he straigthens up, pushes himself off the couch and off the ground, staggers as if he’s drunk and dizzy before stretching his limbs high over his body, letting out a tired groan as if he hasn’t moved for a thousand years) I don’t feel like going out and fucking bitches tonight. (/he lets out a low, quiet laugh, more of a snort than anything, but it’s genuine, effortless. because despite the doom and gloom he thinks he should be feeling, there’s also a linger feeling of hope, and, begrudgingly, part of it is because of jongin’s roundabout way of saying he believed in them) — (/he brushes back loose strands of raven hair that have fallen into his eyes, lets gravity do his job and drag him downward to plant his body weight across jongin’s uselessly long legs. he whines, like a child, deliberately, in an effort to annoy the younger, wiggling his body so its uncomfortable for the other male as possible) I just want to eat carbs and watch Sex and the City. (/he’s joking, mostly, but it’s a start, a sign that things really aren’t so bad)

{ ` lust isn’t rocket science: he looks good. she wants him. she fakes that she doesn’t via mock-scrutinizing him with a judgey little stare instead of responding to the hand she allows on her thigh. despite looking like she wants to be sighing instead of anything else, she swings one leg over both of his so she’s straddling him, anyway; hovering over his lap } you and your kinky lace obsession { ` she rolls her eyes at him to completely contrast her complete 360—she rests a hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, smirking knowingly as if she can feel the heartbeat underneath the cloth and sturdy muscle—movements almost automatic, intentions fitting like puzzle pieces. he’s a want and a habit and this is mindless and she loves it. and it’s not a secret, so she leans forward, whispers into his ear, bottom lip just barely touching his skin and voice suddenly low and seductive and challenging } i love it { ` her version of thanks for the tights, they’re really nice, but i insolently doubt as i always do and as you almost always prove me wrong that you can hear your name from me today—then she claims his lips in an Ephemeral Moment of Blinding Rapture, kissing him deeply and slowly and lewdly and sweetly as if no one else has ever had the right to }