Klavier
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“I found you,” the man says.
It takes a moment for Soonyoung to place the hoarse voice. When he does, he almost goes to his knees right there in the snow. “Myungho,” he says, then, “Minghao,” with the correct staccato pronunciation of the Water Tribe.
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Seungcheol stays in the mess hall long after everyone else has left. He sits by the window and holds his holoreader in both hands, watching its dead face glitter with the silver lights of passing stars.
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“I am the only one who could hope to fight back.” Soonyoung stopped at the window. He looked over the golden fields, the eggshell sky, the beauty and frailty of this place. His eyes shone. “What should I do?”
Or, Minghao believed his destiny was to be a leader, a trailblazer. Until he met Kwon Soonyoung.
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Chan knows how to reach down into the deep dark echelons of Seungkwan and press every single one of his buttons. Chan exploits this knowledge relentlessly and shamelessly. Seungkwan…
Tolerates it. Yeah. Totally.
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Jeonghan looks intently at the paperwork, half-finished. Patient: Choi Seungcheol. 178cm. Right-handed. Mentally he adds what he’s learned in the past eight months: Hard-working. Prone to martyrdom and dramatics. The strongest batter on the team since Jung Taekwoon. A weak swimmer, apparently.
Series
- Part 2 of spring poetics