xm-hyo

[xm-hyo]

LESS THAN 3 HOURS OF SLEEP I FEEL GREAT LETS GO DO SOMETHING LETS GO KILL A DUDE

#.basically this

[xm-hyo]

He doesn't realize he's still staring until the guy is staring back.

Actually, no, he doesn't even realize it then. It's not until the guy is actually talking to (snapping at) Jaehyo that he's jarred back to reality from the depths of his own head, twitching in his seat because somehow he failed to notice when the guy moved to the couch on the other side of the book covered table.

"Um," Jaehyo replies intelligently, eyes dropping back to the card spread like it might also have a script for this conversation. How awkward is it to tell someone that you just accidentally read their life story, even just superficially. At best, the guy might think Jaehyo was some kind of con artist, like so many fakey fortune tellers trying to make fast gold off of gullible tourists back home. At worst, he'd rightly suspect Jaehyo of being a mutant, and even though it's significantly less likely, Jaehyo has enough memories of bruises in the shape of casino security fists to know what getting caught might entail.

But he needs to come up with some kind of proper answer (that, or leave, but the bus back isn't due for another two hours), so... "Do you come here often?"

Nooope, that is not what he meant to say at all.

"I don't sleep much, so," he blurts quickly, attempting to recover from what sounds like a cliched come on. "I come here 'cause it's quiet and. Yeah. Cards." He didn't come here with the intention of talking and apparently his brain is holding him to that. In the lull, he flicks the edge of the card in his hand, setting it spinning fast between his thumb and index finger. The dimensions of his tarot deck are all wrong for flourish, but the spinning is such a nervous habit that he ends up doing it with everything.

"Ahn Jaehyo," he tries again after a moment. "I'm, uh. A student at the in-- I'm a college student." Jaehyo gives an awkward bow that's more like a bob of his head -- the guy is almost certainly older than he is. "Do you... do you want me to read your fortune?"

He did sort of come here to practice, after all.

Keep It Quiet // Woobin & Jaehyo

#.para #.keep it quiet #xm woobin

[xm-hyo]

u cant just give me attention then randomly stop wtf

#.basically this

[xm-hyo]

{` He gives an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh} You know you're too nice for your own good, right? {` Arms still locked, he leads her down towards his room at the end of the hallway; luckily, Kwonnie isn't around, so he doesn't have to worry about Minyoung's being too nice for her own good} - {` He unlocks the door and lets her enter first; thankfully, his room is fairly tidy right now, except for the pile of clean laundry in the middle of his bed that's been sitting there for a few days now; he gives an alarmed peep before dodging past her to quickly bury his boxers at the bottom of the pile; note to self: fold laundry later} The bathroom's over here! {` He flaps his arms in a distracting manner towards the other door} Tape, toothpaste and a hot compress, right?

You Are So Cute

(/gives him a sarcastic smile and pinches his arm) There are no intentions and you better not harass him about this. He is jsut a good friend and nothing else. There is nothing going on. (/grabs his arm and tugs it down) Stop touching it, it was just get bigger and red and I am sure you don’t want that to happen. (/nods along and chuckles at his words) I am sure that your friend won’t say anything to me and you know if he says hello I am going to say hello back. It would be rude if I didn’t. (/smiles and steps out of the elevator) Okay lead the way, so we can get this show on the road and get your picture on that fancafe of yours.

#.script #.you are so cute #xm minyoung

[xm-hyo]

9/∞ times where Ahn Jaehyo makes me cry

#.fucking handsome boy

[xm-hyo]

we're up all night to the sun

"Oh my god why are you calling me?"

He wants to point out that it's two in the morning, except that excuse doesn't hold water because Jaehyo is pretty much always awake until at least four, so he settles for hissing at his phone.

"Who put gochujang in your pore mask, jeez."

Jaehyo's mouth twists in to the most distasteful of frowns. It's bad enough that the voice on the other end already sounds like a slightly deeper version of his own, but visualizing the face that it belongs to is enough to make the beginnings of stress acne blossom along his perfect jawline, which does nothing for the complex he already harbors over said face.

"What do you want, Changin?" He reaches for the pack of cigarettes at the edge of his desk, before thinking better of it and picking up his tarot deck instead. Without shuffling, he turns the top card over: the Moon, upright. Of course.

"Oh, so you do have me in your phone." In the background, Jaehyo can hear a familiar clamor -- players, both winning and losing, excited and frustrated, heavy bass from a lounge probably just reaching full swing, and all kinds of fake coins signaling electronic payouts -- muffled, but not moving. Changin stepped away specifically to make this call, into the lobby or something. "If you didn't wanna talk to me then why'd you answer? And how come you never call me 'hyung'?"

"Uh, because only I met you in person for the first time, like, a year ago?"

"Year and a half, and that doesn't change the fact we're brothers."

"Half brothers."

"Still counts." Before Jaehyo can argue it further, Changin says, "Hey, your latest selca's pretty cute."

It's so thinly veiled that it might as well have been prefaced with "I'm attempting to change the subject by appealing to your vanity now," and yet Jaehyo finds himself preening despite himself.

"Of course it is," he hums, switching the phone to his other hand so he can finger-comb his hair. "...Wait, you're part of my fancafe?"

"Yeah, why not? How else am I supposed to know what my dongsaeng is up to since you never call or visit me when you're in Heukyang."

Jaehyo chooses to blatantly ignore the obvious offense in his voice. "I saw you last time I was there."

"Um, yeah, because I picked you up from jail."

"IT WASN'T JAIL," he screeches, immediately sucking air between his teeth and casting a furtive glance at the wall between his and Kwonnie's room.

The eye roll is practically audible. "Holding room, god. You know that's basically the same thing as casino jail, right? I hope you've been working on your pai gow, by the way."

"What do you want, Changin?" Jaehyo repeats, about five seconds away from throwing his phone in the garbage.

Changin sighs. "Dad wants to know if you need more money."

Jaehyo blinks, incredulous. "Wh-- so he asked you to call me?"

"Yeah, well." These's a pause, probably in tandem with Changin shrugging helplessly. "You know how he is."

"Uh, actually I really don't." It comes out sounding way more bitter than he meant it to be, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Another sigh. "Hyo, don't be difficult. Do you need money or not?"

"Ughhhh... yes." Not so much need, but having a little extra padding in his checking account never hurt. He's been spending more ever since Chaerin reappeared and he started making semi-regular excursions to Sori with Yukwon -- the extra lunches and weed and drunk cab fares all start to add up after a while.

"Alright, I'll let him know. And hey, call me next time your here."

Jaehyo makes an unflattering gurgling sound in the back of his throat.

"I'm serious, Hyo. I'll treat you. You can even bring a friend if you want, but we need to hang out."

For someone who makes a living off of manipulating odds at craps tables, Jaehyo thinks Changin is painfully obvious with his intentions -- or maybe it's just with him, who knows. The point is, there's something both pathetic and a little patronizing in how he tries so hard to be a good hyung, as if their dad's lack of physical presence in Jaehyo's life is somehow his fault. Jaehyo doesn't like it -- he doesn't like a lot of things about Changin -- but that doesn't mean he's immune to it either.

"Nnnnnnghhh I'll think about it," he grumbles with as much non-commitment as he can manage, picking at the fringe around the knee of his artfully distressed denim. He's essentially just penned a date, time, and huge stars onto the calendar in permanent marker, stupid sense of familial obligation.

"Great. I'll have the guest room ready for you. You still remember how to get to my condo from the station, right?"

"It's the fucking Seven Seasons plaza, Chang. I know where it is."

"Clearly your lack of beauty sleep isn't doing anything for your mood." There's a grin in his voice at the not-quite-nickname, but he seems to finally take the hint. "Night, Hyo."

"Mrrgh. Night."

Jaehyo hits end call and tosses his phone onto his bed. Then, as an afterthought, he reaches over and switches it to silent. Just in case.

#.solo #.we're up all night to the sun #(there's no point to this) #(i just like writing dialogue)

[xm-hyo]

Royals || Lorde

#.audio #xm ukwon

[xm-hyo]

If he weren't high -- and Jaehyo is definitely starting to feel it now, the familiar pins and needles sensation not quite tickling his lungs with every breath -- he'd definitely be freaking out a little over the way his hand starts moving of its own accord, and a lot over the way his body follows, standing up without him actually meaning to. Realistically, he probably will freak out later, when he has enough presence of mind to realize just how completely fucking creepy Yukwon's power is.

Right now, though, he just says "oh," and then he's sitting down again, although he does glance around briefly in confusion because where did his pillow g-- oh.

He pulls it towards him with his foot, perching himself back on top of it with his long legs crossed as he considers how to show Yukwon what he does. He's a little tempted to just explain with words, because it's not all that complicated (that, and his stupid manipulation only works part of the time anyway). But his right hand is already methodically cutting and re-cutting the deck, while his left hand spins a card between his thumb and middle finger when it's not handling the joint -- both habits that have everything and nothing to do with his mutation.

It takes his brain a few, long drags to get to anything beyond "pick a card," but finally he just shrugs and bends the deck back, sending the cards spraying from his hand. Instead of landing haphazardly all over the floor, they freeze mid-air, like someone hit the pause button and oh shit, that actually worked, annnnnd he may have just said that out loud.

"I can also do--" Okay, now he's totally high, and the term "cartomancy" is somewhere up in the stratosphere. "I can read your fortune, if you want. Or, like. Answer a question about, uh. Stuff."

He lets the cards drop, left hand still spinning the one it held on to.

affleck was the bomb in "phantoms"

a breathy laugh tags onto his exhale and yukwon grins. “how’d you know?” he teases, because inju people are obvious, they know that, and it’s got nothing to do with the accent.

he opens his eyes lazily, studying jaehyos form. he’s sitting on a pillow and that’s such a prissy thing to do, yukwon thinks. there’s nothing wrong with the floor. it’s natural and pants can be washed.

well, these pants can be washed.

even high, jaehyo feels like a broken energizer bunny. yukwon doesn’t really get it.

then again, he doesn’t really get a lot about other people.

instead of answer, he just focuses a little, and then jaehyo’s rolling his wrist and smiling and getting to his feet. he’s so relaxed as a puppet, and yukwon files him away as an easy target before letting him sit back down- not on the cushion, because he’s an asshole.

"what about you?"

#.para #.affleck was the bomb #xm ukwon

[xm-hyo]

{` He doesn't deny the accusation, simply offering her an innocent look that's totally marred by the sly arch of his brow} It's important to know what or who my precious noona is getting herself involved with. How else am I supposed to know what Kiwoo-seongsaenim's intentions are towards you, hmmm? {` He pushes the button for his floor, frowning hard at his reflection in the chrome doors; without thinking about it, his hand comes up to start poking at the zit again} I don't have-- ow. {` Jaehyo flinches, expression turning distressed again, even as he continues the conversation distractedly} I don't any classes with him. No roommate either, thank god, although I guess I should probably warn you about Kwonnie. If we run into a blonde, druggie-looking guy with a cat face, don't talk to him. In fact, just pretend like you don't see him at all, unless you want him trying to get in your pants. {` The elevator pings open, revealing the hallway leading to the singles dorms}

You Are So Cute

(/blushes at the mention of Kiwoo’s name. running her hand through her hair she looks over at Jaehyo with a sarcastic smile) Yah! He is just a good friend. When I lost my memory he was there to help me out. I owe him a lot there is nothing going on. I was just going to drop him off some chocolate. (/runs a hand down her floral dress to smooth it out as she steps into the elevator) Well I’m sorry I have never been on this side of the Institute. (/looks over at Jaehyo) Seriously you are one nosy person. Don’t go spreading this rumor in your fancafe or in Mr. Lee’s class room. (/rubs her cheek to make sure that the pink tint on her cheeks goes away. eyes widen as she thinks about something) Yah, do you have a roommate? I don’t want him or her to get the wrong idea.

#.script #.you are so cute #xm minyoung

[xm-hyo]

"ShhhhHHHHHHH," he presses his finger against Minki's lips. "Keep your voice down before they notice us." He throws a terse glance over his shoulder, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Just like he suspected, some of the girls are already looking in their direction and a few are taking pictures on their phones, which Jaehyo understands is a completely natural and correct reaction for seeing could-be-model guys such as themselves, but still. "A mob of determined fangirls is one of the most unstoppable forces of nature in the universe."

He turns back to Minki, pushing his Chanels back into place with complete disregard for A) how ridiculous he looks wearing shades indoors, and B) how difficult it is to see with them on. "And no, I didn't shoplift, and no, you don't shoplift either, god." Just once, Jaehyo would like to have a day in Heukyang that doesn't end with him running from some kind of security. It's bad enough he can't even set foot in a casino anymore without recognizing someone who's tried to rearrange his god-given facial structure. He refuses to lose the haven of retail therapy too.

"Ugh, just-- never mind," he huffs, putting the green shirt back on the rack. He and Minki agree on a lot of things, like the importance of skin care and why certain asses are absolutely not suited for skinny jeans, but Jaehyo can't realistically expect someone who drinks bleach like most people drink vitamin water to be properly apprehensive of the damage females are capable of, especially in large numbers. He shakes his head dismissively, but adds, "If it comes down to it, it's your job as hyung to protect both of us."

He turns his attention warily back to the task at hand, eyeing a shelf of neatly folded graphic tees for something more suited to Minki's style -- red shirt with black skull and crossbones, or black shirt with red skull and crossbones?

"Shouldn't you be looking for something with short sleeves?" he points out, grabbing both colors. "Since, you know, you were so concerned about melting earlier."

Suddenly, Jaehyo pauses, mentally backtracking in the conversation a little as he looks at the jacket Minki was referring to, and then at Minki himself -- or rather, his outfit. "...Do you ever wear anything that's not black?"

a fendi bag and a bad attitude

#.para #.a fendi bag #xm leeminki

[xm-hyo]

© blockbhyo

#.fucking handsome boy #(reblogs every picture of long hair hyo in a beater)

[xm-hyo]

{` The flush on her cheeks sets off a dozen scrutinizing alarms in his head} Mr. Lee? {` He purses his lips as he quickly does the math — there are several Mr. Lees on the institute roster, but not that many where Minyoung would have a reason to bring them their favorite chocolate; Jaehyo discards them until one particular face flashes across his mind} Wait, you mean Kiwoo-seongsaenim? {` He arches his eyebrows as they stop in front of the elevator} Sooooo, how long have you and you “good friend” known each other? Are you and your “good friend” doing anything later today? You know, like seeing a movie, or maybe going to visit Sori Tower? {` He nudges her gently before stepping through the opening doors} Don't try and change the subject, noona. You know how big the institute is.

You Are So Cute

(/smiles softly as he takes her hand and then hooks their arms together) Okay then let’s head over. (/blushing at his question she moves her hair behind her ear) The shop is doing great as always. I just happen to have made some chocolates that Mr. Lee likes and I just thought I could drop by and drop them off. (/smacks her lips together and chuckles in embarrassment) He is a good friend of mine and has dropped by often just to talk to me, so I try and do the same. (/looks around the hallways they are walking) Wow, I have never been on this side of the Institute. Has it always been this big?

#.script #.you are so cute #xm minyoung

[xm-hyo]

{` If Jaehyo were an idol he'd want Minyoung as his manager and coordi and PD-nim because she's just so great; she understands Jaehyo's lifestyle and priorities so thoroughly that it makes him wonder why everyone else seems to have so much trouble grasping the concept, because seriously, it's not that difficult; he gazes up at her through watery eyes with the reverence of an angel} I have all that stuff back in my dorm room. {` He stands with her, grasping her hand and then shifting it so that her arm is hooked securely with his, because Jaehyo is a gentleman and this is how gentlemen escort lovely noonas; it has absolutely nothing to do with him being clingy and requiring moral support, what the hell are you snickering at, blonde guy from astronomy class, don't think I didn't fucking notice that...} - {` But knowing he's in competent hands works wonders on Jaehyo's nerves, and he calms down significantly as they walk} How's everything with the shop? Shouldn't you be too busy to be visiting this often?

You Are So Cute

(/Smiling at Jaehyo’s cuteness Minyoung rubs his back before looking through her bag) I am sure we can take care of it right now and it will help make it go away as soon as possible. (/digs her hand in and finally finds the cleanser she always carries with her in case of pimple emergencies, particularly when she is about to meet with Kiwoo. Nope he is not allowed to see her with a blemish…well not yet anyway) Come on, I have dealt with pimples. I’m sure you have tape, a warm compress, and toothpaste right? (/stands up and wiggles her fingers in front of her dongsaeng) Come on let me help you, so you can post a picture of your adorable face in your fancafe by tonight. Your fans are waiting. (/smiles softly waiting for him to reach for her hand)

#.script #.you are so cute #xm minyoung

[xm-hyo]

#.fucking handsome boy #.cat face next door #(excuse you both)

[xm-hyo]

now do it faster.

#.heart of the cards #(this is more or less what jaehyo was doing in that solo) #(even if you didn't read it pls watch this because it's bomb as hell)

[xm-hyo]

This can't be happening... {` He whispers to himself; he noticed it while attempting to take a selca in class to post to his fancafe, letting out such a vehement hiss that it made the girl sitting next to him jump; now Jaehyo sits with his shoulders hunched and his head down on a bench outside his classroom; in one hand he clutches a compact mirror, while the other hand gingerly touches his own face, until the sound of an unexpected but familiar voice pulls him from his daze} Noona? {` He looks up, only to be met with Minyoung's concerned gaze} Noona... {` His voice cracks into a whisper} I have a zit. {` He points at the side of his nose where the beginnings of an angry red bump are clearly visible} I fell asleep last night without putting my acorn jelly mask on and now I have a zit and it's the really deep kind that hurts when you touch it so I can't cover it up with BB cream oh my god I'm hideous now noona don't look at me--

You Are So Cute

(/Minyoung walked quickly down the halls of the Institute with a smile on her face. She was here to see Kiwoo since she had just made his favorite chocolate the night before. Just as she is about to reach the door to his class room she sees a familiar face) Dongsaeng! (/Jaehyo was the single most adorable guy she had ever met. Quickly running over to him, Minyoung’s smile falters. With wide eyes she sits down beside Jaehyo) What’s wrong? (/setting her hand on his shoulder she tries to get a good look at his face, just what had happened to him)

#.script #.you are so cute #xm minyoung

[xm-hyo]

if a tree falls in a forest

You pace circles around your dorm room, cigarette smoke trailing behind and settling in a haze. Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the deck at the center of your desk like a spotlight.

Close your eyes. Breathe. The floor is clear of stray cards and empty energy drink cans, your bed is made with fresh sheets, all your clothes are either folded or hanging neatly in your closet. Everything is in its place. You don't have class today.

You open your eyes and move to the desk, grinding out your cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill before sitting down, scooting the chair forward so that your elbows rest flush to the edge of the desk. You run your tongue over your lips -- they feel dry, but not cracked, just like this part of your power. It's been a while since you've done this and you're out of practice, but it's like riding a bike, even more so than actually riding a bike because you weren't born with bike-riding ability in your DNA.

A few running cuts, then shuffle again. Four times each. That's your standard, your warm up, even though you can do this part in your sleep.

You set the deck back down, hands resting on either side. Pick a card, any card. King of hearts. The suicide king. You snap your fingers, turn the top card over. There it is. Too easy.

These are all the tricks you knew as a child and all the skill you found as an adult. This is the familiar weight of cards in your hands. There are fifty-two and you know exactly where each one is in the deck. You could visualize any one, any hand, and draw it right now, half cardistry and half mutation.

Shuffle the king back in. Cut four times, re-stack. Pick it up. Fan. Close. Again, full circle. Close. Split the deck, twenty-six cards each, turning the top half 90 degrees across -- all one hand, all one sequence. Shift the top half so that it becomes the bottom. Again. Cut into thirds. Move the bottom to the center and the center to the top. Now put it back. Don't stop, don't think. Your fingers know how to move, where to move. Breathe.

You shift the deck to your left hand, pushing a card from the center with your ring finger so that the corner sticks out at an angle. Tap tap tap. Aim. Fire. You jerk your left hand and the card goes shooting from the deck, only to be caught between the fingers on your right. You turn it over, running your thumb across the slick, plastic-coated surface, flipping it back and forth. The six of clubs flashes in the light, then vanishes, face up, face down, flip flip flip flip. You twist your hand and the card somersaults across the back of your knuckles. Catch it, bring it around, under your palm. Rotate your thumb and index finger, fast. The card spins like a pinwheel, suspended in the air halfway between your hand and the desk. You bring your hand down on on it, slapping it onto the wood. Sweep your palm like you're clearing dust. It goes flying back into the deck.

Now do it faster.

The cards weave between your fingers in perfect cadence -- cut, split, cross, rotate, roll, swing, shift, cascade, flip them high and watch them fall with the speed and weight of a shuriken back into the deck, never fumbling, never faltering, twice, three times, ten times in the space between each inhale and exhale. You slide your palm over the two of diamonds and it turns into the eight. Slide it back, now it's the queen of spades, faster than human eyes can follow. Icarus. Shapeshifter. Sucker Punch. Some of these sequences have names and some of them you're inventing on the fly, hands moving in tandem then counter-tandem in a lightning chain of displays until you bring them back together at the center.

You spread the deck, one neat line across the length of the desk. Fifty-two cards laid out, overlapped perfectly even to a half-millimeter. You pick up the edge of the last one on the right, using it to flip the one on top of it. The rest of them turn over in succession, still perfectly in line, falling face down like dominoes.

Breathe. You raise your hands, fingers spread like a puppeteer manipulating invisible strings. The cards twitch, then settle. You jerk your hands up, and the deck comes with them, dividing itself between your palms like watching a video in reverse. When the last card hits, you snap the two halves together, sandwiching and turning them so they rest in your left hand. With your right, you form a circle with your thumb and middle finger, holding it over the deck as you count silently in your head. One. Two. Three. Four. Flick the deck, hard. Now turn over the top cards. One. Two. Three. Four. Four aces of four suits.

Almost done.

You move the aces to the top of the desk to make space, then close your eyes. Breathe. Breathe again. Shuffle, riffle. Cut four times. Re-stack. You place your hands, one on top of the other, hovering just over the deck. Concentrate. Don't look, just feel. Feel them connect. Feel them separate. You know exactly where each one is. You know exactly where each one needs to go.

One last breath. Inhale. Exhale. Now.

You throw your hands out, arms straight, pushing with invisible force. The deck shoots forward with a sound like the pages of a book being riffled, overlaid four times. When it stops, you open your eyes. Underneath each ace is its matching suit, arranged king to two -- four perfect, sequential columns.

God, you're good.

The sense of accomplishment lasts for all of ten seconds before giving way to discouragement, and then an all too familiar frustration. You lean back in your chair, picking up a random card and turning it over between your fingers. With a snap, it turns into one of jokers you'd left inside the box on the shelf. Of course it's so easy right now, when no one is around to see it.

You sigh, throwing it hard onto the table, where it scatters the suit of hearts' column haphazardly into the others. This is completely pointless.

You leave the cards where they are, grabbing a jacket and heading out the door with your hands in your pockets, remembering why you hardly ever practice this part of your ability anymore.

It doesn't matter how good you are if you can never do it when it counts.

#.solo #.if a tree falls