Chapter Text
Living in America without speaking English was hard. Especially when you were studying music in New York and were living with two guys speaking perfect English. Jisung life was a dilemma. In order not to completely fail his classes, he seriously needed to learn how to speak English. He’s wondering how his professors let him pass the first semester. Maybe by some miracle. It wasn’t like he didn’t try learning the language, even asking Chan and Felix for help.
“C’mon bro, it’s not that hard” Felix laughed at him, when Jisung messed up something once again “you just have to focus.”
But they know how to speak English, they have known since they were kids. So their way of explaining stuff was impossible to understand and Jisung gave up. That’s why he wasn’t even able to find a part-time job, living off his parents’ money. He knew it was bad but find him a place where he didn’t need to speak English to get a job. That was one of the reasons he spent most of his free time in the studio with Chan and Changbin. Or even without them. Spending countless hours on producing songs, sometimes even rapping. Leaving at horrendous hours like 2 or 3 am most of the time. Because being alone didn’t require him to speak English, which was a blessing, since all of his friends spoke it at least in a communicative way. All he could say was good morning, goodbye and thank you. Plus some random words that made little sense all together. He was doomed. All of those issues led him to this god awful situation.
“Watch where you’re going idiot.” someone yelled at him
It was 2 am. He was just heading home and accidentally bumped into somebody while showing his laptop into the bag. As always, the only thing he understood was an idiot.
“Get fucked, sucker.” he muttered under his breath in Korean and left before the person had a chance to respond
Like how that person could get mad at him. It’s 2 am. Nobody should give a fuck. But apparently this person does. As he was walking towards the metro station, he was extremely careful not to bump into another person again. Technically, he could’ve walked. It was only 20 minutes. But by train it was 12 minutes, and it’s late, he’s tired. Especially after that endeavor with a stranger. He’s not sure if he’d be able to stomach another person screaming at him. He finally managed to get into the station and somehow bought the ticket. Obviously the panel was in English because why not? It’s not like they are in a country with so much diversity. He couldn’t be the only one that doesn’t speak English. The ignorance was ridiculous in his opinion. But he did it. It was easier to understand the writing rather than the person speaking. Because the letters didn’t hurry him up and weren’t expecting the response right away. Fortunately, the rest of the journey was as uneventful as it could get. Once he got home, he tried to open the door, making no noise so as not to wake his roommates up. Today they had morning classes, and he had afternoon ones. So they were waking up in just a few hours.
“What am I doing with my life” he whispered to himself and went into his room
Jisung threw himself onto the bed and started staring into the ceiling like it had all the answers he needed. But obviously it didn’t, and neither had Jisung. Laying in bed aimlessly was always making him frustrated, so he fished out his songbook from the bag and started shuffling through the pages, looking for the song he was working on. It wasn’t the one he was composing with Chan and Changbin. This one was his solo project. Looking at the last lines, he wrote Jisung sighed deeply, already regretting opening the notebook. He knew he wasn’t able to write anything new.
When I turn off all the lights, when I set the alarm
When I’m tired, worries come to my mind
When I look back on my day,
What should I do tomorrow? What? The alarm rings.
What he can write, he has no idea. He had some sort of writing block, unable to find inspiration anywhere. It was killing him inside, because for him writing is a means of escape. If he can’t write, he can’t escape and has to face everything he fears. And that’s something he’d rather avoid. So all he could do was staring at that fucking celling. He took his vape from the bag and hit it. If that’s how he’s about to spend the next couple of hours like this, let’s at least make it bearable. He could also move his ass and start up his pc to play games all night. But he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t feel like doing anything if you ask him. It was slowly starting to annoy him. For all that he didn’t complain, it was pointless. Life was pointless.