5/100 done on 21.10.08
I was really frustrated. And when I'm frustrated I write really short things. So this was what came from this particular bout of frustration.
Yesung liked going to the park. He was a musician, and he always explored places for inspiration for his music pieces. Of late, the park was what inspired him so much, with its peaceful surroundings, scenery that was easy on the eyes and the sound of the breeze gently ruffling the leaves on the branches. He liked nothing better than to sit on a particular bench, lean back and close his eyes so that he could just listen and let the sounds wash over him.
The particular bench that he fancied sitting on was right under the shade of an enormous old blossom tree, and despite how clichédly romantic the setting was, Yesung found it rather nice, and frequented that bench when nobody else sat on it. If somebody asked if they could share the bench, he found that he could not be inspired with the presence of another person next to him. He'd come to get so used to sitting there that if it were occupied, he would usually leave the park altogether. Those who saw him would think that he was part of a typical drama--a lonesome figure like him with a notebook and pen in hand and pushing up his smart-looking glasses from time to time while the wind blew and scattered fallen blossoms softly upon him definitely looked like the main character of a romance story, but he didn't care what they thought--he was always in his own little world, oblivious to the people around him.
Yesung was at the park as usual, musing and straining to be inspired, when a figure approached. "Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit here?"
He looked up, surprised, a little disappointed because he wanted so badly to write music that day--it was a lovely late afternoon for composing, with the sun dipping low over the horizon and the sky inked different shades of beautiful pink and glowing orange-red, but Yesung was not a cruel person.
"No, I don't mind," he smiled, and the man returned it, settling down on the other end of the bench with a soft sigh. His side profile showed that he was young, Yesung noticed in a short glance, and had blond hair that sparkled somehow as the fading sunrays caught it in its soft glare. Yesung sighed softly--he knew he would not be able to get inspiration now, since this young person was 'invading' his personal space, but he blinked when the stranger pulled out a small worn book of his own, leafing through the pages carefully. Yesung could see sketches of many different views and objects.
"You draw?" he asked without thinking, only realizing the stupidity of his remark immediately afterwards when the blonde looked up and blinked at him with intense dark eyes. "I--I'm sorry, I just happened to see..."
"It's all right," the blonde said, smiling slightly and looking down at his notebook. "Yeah, love sketching, I do it a lot. I like drawing the scenery here, it's so beautiful."
He seemed to want to say something else, but paused, biting his lip. Then he sighed and looked at Yesung, straight in the eye, and said, "I hope you won't get mad at me, but...I've been watching you."
Yesung blinked. "...what."
The blonde nodded slowly. "I come to this park every day, and I sit at different places to draw. When you started coming to this park and sat here every day, I...found you very interesting."
"Wait. You found me interesting?" Yesung repeated disbelievingly. It sounded incredible even to his own ears.
The blonde nodded and flipped the pages of his sketchbook before handing it to Yesung. "Look. I drew you a number of times."
Yesung took the sketchbook from him and stared down at a very well-drawn picture of himself, sitting under the blossom tree with a thoughtful, slightly dreamy expression on his face. He turned the page and saw another, almost the same as the first, except that this time the drawn version of him was in the act of writing something in his notebook. Yesung turned that page as well and saw yet another almost similar drawing as the previous one, but this time the Yesung in the drawing was shielding his eyes from the sun. Yesung was awed by how every single fine detail was still added, including the crinkles around his eyes when he squinted through his glasses against the glare of the sun.
"My name is Cho Kyuhyun," said the blonde a little awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure he should interrupt.
"I'm...Kim Yesung," Yesung said, slightly dazed, looking up. "It's nice to meet you."
Kyuhyun smiled brightly, a beautiful, dazzling grin that caught Yesung completely off-guard. "You see how interesting you look, in the drawings? You're a work of art, sitting here on your own writing music."
"You know I was writing music?" Yesung asked, blinking.
Kyuhyun nodded, and there and then Yesung knew he'd found a friend.
When he got home much later, he did not mind that for that day he wasn't able to close his eyes and listen to his surroundings for inspiration, because he'd found someone who understood him, someone who didn't think he was weird, always sitting at the same park bench with a notebook and pencil in hand, waiting. He also did not mind when, after he got home and replayed the conversation he had with Kyuhyun over and over in his head, he sat down at the piano and began playing spontaneously a beautiful piece of music that, within its melody and flow, told a wordless story of a man with hair that gleamed like silvery gold and eyes you could drown in.
A/N: Hope you weren't confused with its [lack of] plot. >.<;;
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