Work Text:
[Dead Poets Society]
Like the sun will set,
And the moon hung high.
When I closed my eyes,
I counted,
And you are already there.
Vernon woke. The light shone into his room was still shiver, taking in the shape of a rectangle, imprinted on the wooden floor.
He draws his eyes lazily to the shape. He breath in. Expecting something. Someone. He breath out.
Moments later, the smallest creak stretches in the air, and just for a split second, the rectangle disappeared, then reappeared again.
“Hey” Vernon’s low voice broke the cold stillness of the night.
“Sorry…” A softer voice responds, followed by a small thud, the other person sat down on his bed. “Did I wake you up?” , now he’s removing his shoes.
“No... it’s fine.” Vernon’s words just barely escaped his mouth. He rolled to his side and tucked himself further into the warmness of his blanket.
“Night.” Was his last words.
__________________________________
“Rip! Rip it! Tear it apart!” – Mr. Keating’s voice filled the room, along side with other laughter and tearing sounds. His arms swung up stimutaniously with the view of papers flew high into the air, like he’s directing a rebelious orchestra.
He picked up a small racket and strolled through the class.
Vernon wore a big grin on his face, heart bumping with a shot of adrenaline from excitement, as he threw a handfull of crumbled papers into the racket. He glazes back at Minghao, who was gripping the edge of pages and with just a moment, he tore them all in part. Their eyes locked in the midst of amusing chaos when Minghao looked up. His grin stretched out bigger, his face tinted with a soft red color. A warm feeling swells up inside Vernon as he watches his friend throw the tore paper up in the air. The movement felt victorious. And Vernon can somehow hears trumpet muffled in the back of his mind.
[Past life] (the deleted scence)
They sat next to each other. One still like a pot of kettle coming up to the boiling point. One still like the surface of a lake.
A ruffle sound stretches the air between them. Vernon has brought his hand down near Minghao’s lap. The fabric of the older man’s shirt seperated their contact by just inches.
Vernon blinked. A shaky breath was on the bridge of his mouth, daring to break out. His chest swells up, then steadily, goes back down.
His fingers was now nipping at the ven of Minghao’s shirt. He gently tugged at it. The soft fabric against his skin.
In his head, he wish it to be something else.