#kiceun

     ❛  hyuuuung, c’mon! you know i’m never late to school so don’t tease me – that one time was.. well, a one time.  ❜      substantially not masculine of the youngster to avow that he does not comprehend in anything automobiles related albeit it simply did not catch his interest so far – between various agitations to bother, to anguish his mind on a daily basis – ilseong finds no particular inquisitiveness in such things, even at the price of plausibly bruising dongyoon’s pride just slightly. he means no harm, not this time at least.      ❛  i just… don’t really know anything about these kind of things – how do they work? do i need to get a license? if so i don’t have enough money for that, i’ll focus on school or something like that…  ❜ 

The park was packed  ,  students  ,  couples  ---  everyone was there.  It was such a nice scene that Aera couldn’t help but smile a bit sadly.  It’s going to be ANOTHER Christmas that she would have to celebrate away from her son.  At least she has Jayden now to spend it with.  But still...  Hazel hues scanned the area  ,  before zeroing in a KID  seating on the bench.  Without any hesitation the MODEL quickly sauntered over and offered her can of hot choco to the younger.

@kiceun

Having lived for several decades, research on several teaching methods have emerged. This century involves giving the students more work, because of the advance in technology, thus expecting them to work harder with this so-called advantage. However, no matter what era, what time, what country, what level he teaches, Jaehwan knows students are all the same. They don’t like being given too much homework, especially when it’s for a class that their parents or they themselves deem as useless. Sadly, his music class is one of these lessons.

Besides a natural gift for it, music also takes a lot of passion, interest, and dedication before achieving mastery. These qualities are things not many people have. After all, not many people are lucky to have these traits. This is why Jaehwan has decided to make his students see his class as a form of healing instead. After all, music is supposed to comfort the soul and is a medium of expression. He teaches basics, theories, history, and things that he deems are what every high school student should know about music. He allows them to sleep in his class while he does his research for the counter-curse, under the guise of “self-practice sessions." He is also available for consultation and coaching from the kids who do have an interest in pursuing a career in music or at least studying it more seriously. But for those who don’t have it and are just in his class because it’s part of the school’s curriculum, he tries going as easy on them as possible. He loathes to grade his students, but the laws of the school demand that he does. Even then, he wants to make this an experience that both he and his students will enjoy.

“I know it’s a bit early, but I am announcing that your final exam will be a public performance, or what the older kids in campus have taken to calling as our version of Korea’s Got Talent.” Jaehwan announces to one of his high school classes. “You may sing, play an instrument, compose a song, do a mashup of two songs... anything music-related.”

most people went to the library to study. he only went to rob them of their wifi. it was better than what he had at home. A LOT better. “is this seat taken?” he pesters a boy in the chair adjacent to him. there were no other vacant tables left.

      ❛ oh, would you stop already with the cheap philosophical crap? ❜    genuine facade of contempt displayed onto youngish (and slightly jaded) features albeit unintentionally. it is not how he means to enunciate his deprecation to such words however somewhat manifestly he holds the mere ability to display only such sentiments to the surface (of his body language or the tone of his voice, aside expressions) because if he is not stoic and imperturbable then he is forbidding and despondent… but never seen keen or genuinely compassionate, smiling –god forbid him showing such weakness. the tones of abominable disparagement laced in his voice are not in fact entirely wholehearted albeit it is somewhat evident that in the deep furrow of his eyebrows and the contemption of his awried lips that a grandiose part of these emotions are solid, heavily set in his both mind and heart. in the sea of confounded abashment black eyes do not lift to offer a proper glance of exasperation – only that his gaunt fingers fidget with the edges of the papers laid in frot of him in order of setting his burdened mind off these words. she is right albeit as he were to speak frankly, the boy would rather not give it a further thought than he already has – or any thought, at all.    ❛ when you’re being like that, i might as well just want to die, ugh. ❜

       A scoff could nearly pass from red matted lips, a manifestation of the distaste in the way he had retorted to her – and heck, disrespect is rather a grave sin to a woman who had held her pride as high as the heels that had made her stood tall. His youth, although vigor-lacking, is evident in his pale skin, in his thin, oh so thin frame and in a boldness like any of men his age. A young man’s bravado more often confused with bravery – brashness held like weapons, ready to strike at anyone who dares near them. But bravado masks the insecurity of dispossessed youth. That, Lorraine knew of, and so the reaction did not surprise her, not one bit. But it doesn’t hinder a glare from her, an instantaneous reflex for the verbal display of contempt. He may have not seen it, or he doesn’t bother looking. It takes a few seconds of piercing orbs to slice through the young boy before she tears her gaze, fingers swiftly picking up the paper he’s been fiddling, seemingly scrutinizing details written. A brow raises at his next statement, amusement seeping in at the dark desire that may have slipped in a rather jesting manner, but both knows it isn’t. Lorraine loves to revel in his misery. “I’m always like this.” Paper descends on her lap, revealing her face once more. “You young people always seek for death like it’s something reversible. Such careless thought.” It’s nowhere near a reprimand but an instigating one.

     a perishable and heedless boy fell into a slumber; one of these brief albeit vehement ones when the individual rises from it there’s a duress to scrutinize which year is it and what planet they’re present at. that is exactly how he had inadvertently fallen asleep with his head leaning against the comfort of the high seat of the booth and body so vulnerably facile it is almost endearing, if it wasn’t for the despondent fact that this unforseen act is a cause of two sleepless nights in a row. he has been walking around as if a part of him is still asleep and the other is deceased – not quite here not quite there either, just about nowhere, at least mentally and consciously. once he has preceded such a convenient position the slumber arrives on its own in a matter of seconds, nonetheless of the excessive amount of black coffee he has consumed prior to that occurence. absolutely demeaning to fall alseep in the twilight time of the evening, even if there are scarcely more than five or six souls occupying the venue. what is feasibly even more vexatious is that the perfunctory doze he’s just had was better than sleep he acquires most nights. bruised flaccid fingers reach for jaded reddish eyes in an anguished endeavor to rub the drowsiness off, but in vain. it perhaps takes him a prolonged moment to register exactly what had happened to him an what the situation between him and haebitna holds albeit once he does —– pang, morfirication hits the midst of his chest. ache, ignominy, and rancor. voice remainds groggy and sedate while there is a indisputable taste of slumber on the tip of his tongue … he wishes to escape, to bury himself deep down the ground or onto his poor excuse of a bed. if only.

     ❛ i– …. uh, so–orry…. i’m sorry, huh. ❜

         It’s a face she’d seen for a few times, frequently even, and she isn’t someone who dwells too much on people coming in and out of the diner. They usually come and go albeit few would revisit, however hardly any would really stuck into her mind. They young boy wasn’t even included, yet the moment she stopped by at a booth, a weak yet indolent pattern of soft wheezes, of a sound similar to that of her brother’s which he blames exhaustion as its trigger, caused her to look and recognize familiarity in his face. An empty tray is trapped on her hands as she quietly nears him, eyes gazing at that piece of serenity the young boy has on his face, and truth be told, Haebitna does not have the heart to rob him off of such peaceful sleep. He seemed… comfortable, despite the booth being not really a conducive place to sleep in.

        An excellent pick of location, she must admit, for it hides him away from the eyes of people, eyes of customers coming in for a meal, and eyes of the owner who would probably not appreciate a sleeping figure inside his small shop (even with the slow hours of business, which is what makes most of the day). The resonance of his snuffles isn’t too loud, yet not too soft to be left unheard by someone nearby. It ultimately brought a smile on her face, somehow. The thought of doing a good deed by not interrupting the boy’s slumber comes instantly and she is getting ready to walk away when the small gasps abruptly fades and is then replaced by the soft sound of cloth and skin rubbing onto the cold surface of the table, of slightly inaudible moan. Stillness is broken by a waking cognizance although not fully. The sluggish flow of words are slur on her ears yet Haebitna fully grasped what he meant, not of his words but the way his eyes still hang heavily and of a voice submerging in lethargy.

         “No, you don’t need to say sorry. Are you okay?”

         Sometimes there are obvious answers to which she always questions – a part of her curiosity that always obligated verbal validation. The deep purplish marks do not escape her eyes, an outgrowth to the assessment skills she was made to learn in her two years in the medical field, or maybe of just plain curiosity. It doesn’t seem to be just a slip of drowsiness that visits a person in a particular time of the day, or that lethargy kicks in early for him, but rather it seems as though it is something that his body ached for. Concern intuitively jumps in. Was he just dozing off? Does he need to get to a hospital and be checked?

“You’re a creep, you know that right?” Rosalynn snapped, her arms crossed and eyes glaring defiantly back at the man. She was easily half his size - if not even smaller - even in her platform heels. Though she tried not to show it, she was terrified. There was no way that she could physically fight back if he really attacked her but, considering that it wouldn’t be the first time, she figured that shit just happened to shit people. “If you’re not a paying client, then go to hell; I don’t fuck for amusement,” she rolled her eyes, turning to head back into the club, but was immediately stopped by his hand gripping her wrist.

“What do you th–”

                                      ❛Do you remember the chords from last time? ❜ Soft words slip past the author's lips ; just loud enough for the two to share. Thin fingers begin to pluck at the strings, smiling faintly to himself as the notes string together to form a small song. An original he hasn't exactly kept up on ; rather letting the rest slip through than to form it completely. Still he couldn't help the small quirk ; needing something to do with his hands rather than sit still. ❛ If you don't we can go over them again.. I just hope these lessons are helping in a ways. ❜ There had only been 2 to date - - a favor of sorts to his friend that wanted to learn. He had learned the guitar by chance, seeming to be a natural when it came to the instrument. Long fingers easily fell into a pattern, soon fading into a short chord they had learned the previous time. Soft then faster, before halting all together.