Loud And Clear (1/1)

Seunghyun's laughter filters through the speakers of Jiyong's phone. “Right again. You’re not cheating, are you? That’s three in a row.” Jiyong laughs, chest rumbling against the pillow beneath him.  "Why do you sound so surprised? You’re not the only one who reads, Seunghyun.” he says, eyes quickly darting to his left. Seunghyun hums, unimpressed. “This next one should be easy.” “Alright,” Jiyong replies, settling his head more comfortably over his folded arms. “I’m listening.” Seunghyun clears his throat.  “Your little voice over the wires came leaping, and I felt suddenly dizzy with the jostling and shouting of merry flowers. Wee skipping high-heeled flames…” Jiyong feels the blunt tip of a pen poke his left shoulder. He turns, sees a smile gracing half of Hana’s face. It’s one of those smiles that his sister has that makes her look so much like their mother-- quiet, and all-knowing, and beautiful.  A few strands of Hana's long brown hair sweep over Jiyong’s arm when she ducks her head. She shifts the elbow bracing herself over the bed, and starts to scribble on the notebook next to Jiyong’s phone. you’re blushing Hana purses her lips, trying to tamp a smile down. again. Jiyong tugs on the lock of hair he's been playing with in his hands. Hana doesn't even flinch. She meets Jiyong’s glare with an amused look, uses a finger to push at the bridge of Jiyong’s glasses.   Jiyong could retaliate. Or, he could content himself with listening to Seunghyun reciting the closing lines from one of his most well-loved poems. He goes with the option that doesn’t require any noise or more hair-pulling on his and Hana’s end of the line. “...how I was crazy, how I cried when I heard, over time and tide and death, leaping sweetly, your voice." Cummings. Jiyong rolls his eyes. Duh. I knew that. “If you don’t get this one, I will be seriously disappointed.”  Jiyong laughs at Seunghyun’s missed attempt at sounding stern. He can almost picture the smile trying to fight its way over his face, crinkling his eyes and pulling at the creases of his cheeks. “I was tempted to say E.E. Cummings as soon as you said the first line.” he says, amusement dripping from his voice. “But I figured it would have been rude for me to cut you off.” Seunghyun laughs, soft, like the faint sound of paper he’s probably crinkling between his fingers. “Okay, let’s see if I can stump you…” Jiyong’s grin widens. "Bring it."  “Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldn’t have said 'Sky'.”  Seunghyun pauses for a beat, clearing his throat before he continues. “That is why I am the golden eternity,” he continues. “There are not two of us here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-Which- Everything-Is.” Ginsberg? Close. Kerouac.             The Scriptureof the GoldenEternity. Jiyong swallows a snort.         Stop showing off.        I only need the author. Jiyong hears a faint tapping on the other end of the line, imagines Seunghyun drumming his ink-smudged fingernails over the spine of a book.  “Do you want a hint?” Jiyong twirls his pen between his fingers, humming while he pretends to mull things over. “I’m sure it’s a Beat poet. Just can’t figure out which one.”  Hana hides a silent laugh behind her hand.     is this what you    call flirting?            shut up. “You share the same initials.”  Jiyong’s focus shifts back to his phone, a welcome distraction from Hana drawing little purple hearts around the word “flirting”. “Ah. Kerouac, then. I’m positive.” he says, smug. “Correct, but I’m only giving you half a point for that one.”  Jiyong scoffs but the smile on his face remains. “If you’ll recall, I didn’t actually ask for a hint. You just gave me one.” Hana bumps her shoulder against Jiyong’s, the smile on her growing wider. good one  Seunghyun doesn’t laugh but Jiyong hears the beginnings of one coloring his voice, anyway. “Fine. Ready for the next one?” “Yes,” Jiyong says. “I’m all ears.” “That's why I don't raise my voice, old Walt Whitman…” Hana taps Jiyong on the shoulder, lip caught between her teeth, brows furrowed in curiosity.      do you know    this one? “...against the little boy who writes the name of a girl on his pillow. Nor against the boy who dresses as a bride in the darkness of the wardrobe…”        uh... no?            told you. I’m hopeless      w/o you, noona Jiyong punctuates his sentence with an exaggerated pout. Hana shakes her head, exasperated but her eyes are still rimmed with fondness “...nor against the solitary men in casinos who drink prostitution's water with revulsion. Nor against the men with that green look in their eyes who love other men and burn their lips in silence.”    it’s Lorca’s ode to Walt Whitman   read the whole piece when you can Jiyong nibbles on the cap of his pen, decides this one isn’t worth cheating over. “Okay,” he says over a sigh. “I don’t know this one. You win this round, Seunghyun Choi.” “You’re still beating me 5 to 1. And it was Federico Garcia Lorca. As someone who appreciates Neruda, I insist you love him.” Jiyong stops gnawing on his pen so he can add another tick mark on the top corner of Hana’s writing journal-turned-handwritten-chat page. “I’ll add him to my reading list,” he says, “I have a more than a hundred hours to kill on a plane. I’m sure I’ll find the time to read more of his work.” “Good. I wanna know what you think.” “I’ll drop you an ask,” Jiyong says, resting his cheek on his palm. “Or fanmail. I’ll probably have a lot to say, I can already tell.” “I look forward to it.”  There’s a lull from the other end of the line. Jiyong scoots over to where his phone is, checking if the call got dropped, then he hears a soft cough followed by Seunghyun’s voice. “Um, so… this next one might be sort of a challenge.” Jiyong smiles, lays his head right next to his phone, the tip of his nose grazing the pages of Hana’s notebook. “Is this going to be some obscure nihilistic Asian poet or something?” Seunghyun barks out a laugh, abrupt and loud like it was punched out of him. “No. Though you get bonus points for accidentally guessing the author’s origins.” Jiyong goes a little crossed-eyed when Hana lifts the page of her notebook, forcing him to read the words he neglected to look at. nihilistic Asian poet? He takes his pen, quickly scribbles a reply while telling Seunghyun, “So they’re Asian, then? That narrows it down.”             he likes Asian culture Hana eyes Jiyong with a questioning look, prompting him to add:             I stalked his Tumblr Jiyong widens his eyes, motions zipping his lips when Hana’s shoulders start to shake in quiet laughter.                        “Seunghyun? I’m ready when you are,” he says, boosting himself off the mattress, sheets crumpling when he shifts his weight and sits on his crossed legs.  Jiyong hears a slow intake of breath. He waits for a beat then the familiar timbre of Seunghyun’s voice starts to fill his ears. “Sir, you have grappled onto me with silver hooks, lured me in with worm bait and love, a bucket full of pearls and bloody chum.” Jiyong could chalk it up to his fuzzy, sleep-deprived brain doing funny things, but for some reason Seunghyun’s voice seems lower, syllables drawn-out, pace slowed down as if he’s rolling each word on his tongue like a sticky piece of candy. He hastily adds a sixth tick mark on his tally and continues to listen. “...In the morning I woke up startled, dreaming of thunderstorms, dreaming of boats, of a million of you swimming in schools around me. My body a shark; my heart without gills…” He discreetly grabs one of the pillows on the bed, placing it on his lap. Jiyong manages to stop his leg from jiggling, lets go of his hold on Hana’s hair to bite at his fingers. “... your hands cold silver against my spine, my scales scraped off, your sleep a blade against my skin. My body, suddenly so new and empty, with everything inside of me wrapped up in paper and rinsed of its blood.” It’s suddenly too stifling in the room despite the window cracked wide open, inviting the calming California breeze in. Jiyong comes to himself when Hana nudges his shoulder and taps her pen on the notebook in front of them.     Shinji Moon    The Siren in Love    with the Fisherman     I have to say, I’m impressed.    I love her work. And I have full     respect for anyone who does    too. Jiyong pans his sight to Hana after reading the last line of what she had penned down. He ducks his head, not trusting his face anymore when it’s giving everything away.    You should hold on to this one, Jiyong. “Jiyong?” “Oh, sorry.” Jiyong laughs, unsteady like how his stomach feels. “I just…”  Jiyong glances at Hana, turns his body away from her like it would help shield her from hearing what he’s about to say. He takes a breath, wetting his dry lips.  “I, um. I just really like the sound of your voice.” He laughs again, feels how warm his cheeks are against the the back of his hand. “Kinda forgot where I was for a second.”     a second?    try a minute. Jiyong keeps his head bowed, gently shoves at Hana when she sits on the bed and presses their shoulders together. He colors in the insides of Hana’s hearts with his red pen while he waits for Seunghyun to respond. “I’m pretty sure I’ve spaced out on you multiple times for the same reason.”  Seunghyun’s voice is quiet but the smile he’s probably sporting on his face rings clear. Jiyong chuckles lightly. “Well, you’re way less obvious than I am.” “Guess I’ll have to work on that. So... the poem?” Right. The poem. Jiyong stops staring at the loose string of thread on the pillow on his lap and pans his sight to the open page of Hana’s notebook.     do you want me to    leave now? He grabs Hana’s wrist, furiously shaking his head. Jiyong doesn’t even want to think about what sort of things would spill out of his mouth when left to fend for himself. “Yeah. The poem. Um...”  Jiyong’s eyes sweep back over to the scribble-laden sheet of Hana’s notebook, the answer jotted down in his sister’s neat, looping writing, plain as day to see.  “It’s on the tip of my tongue,” Jiyong says, only half thinking of the poem while he’s drawing loose circles over the top corner of the notebook. “I’ll, uh. I’ll tell you in time when I figure it out.” “Would you like a hint? Or do you want to stop playing?” Jiyong stills his pen over the page, crimson ink blooming over the crisp, white paper like a rosebud opening in Spring. He notices Hana looking at him, her mouth parting when she tilts her head like she just solved a particularly tricky crossword puzzle. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need a hint,” he says, picking up his phone and hovering it close to his mouth. “And no. I don’t want to stop playing.” Hana pokes Jiyong with her pen, uses it to point at the clock hanging on the wall in front of them. “But I need to go soon. It’s nearly lunchtime here,” Jiyong says, trying not to frown. “I have time for one more round, though.” “Okay, cool.” For a beat and the next two, all Jiyong hears is Seunghyun’s even breathing. Then, he starts to speak. “Perhaps not to be is to be without your being…” Jiyong gives up on his life and very nearly throws his phone against the wall. He lies down on his back, smothering a pillow over his face and wonders if it’s actually, physically, possible for a person to melt and combust into water vapor. “...without your going that cuts noon light like a blue flower. Without your passing later through fog and stones. Without the torch you lift in your hand that others may not see as golden...”  Jiyong also wonders if Seunghyun would hear him if he started screaming into his pillow. “...that perhaps no one believed blossomed the glowing origin of the rose. Without, in the end, your being, your coming suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life, blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze…” Jiyong feels Hana shaking him but pays her no heed until she wrenches the pillow off him, glasses askew on his face when she sticks her notebook right under his nose. “...and it follows that I am, because you are: it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we: and, because of love, you will, I will...we will, come to be.”  Right before Seunghyun finishes dictating the words from a poem he’s committed to memory since the 8th grade, Jiyong reads the hasty scrawl Hana had written on her notebook:    if Danny read me Neruda, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself either Jiyong refixes his glasses, looking up at his sister. Hana’s smile, upside-down from his point of view, cuts wide enough that her brown eyes disappear from her face. She pinches his nose, a gesture of fondness she never managed to get rid of even with the numerous times Jiyong has voiced out his complaints. He slaps her hand away, a touch too hard, and Hana ends up yelping Jiyong’s name before clapping a hand over her mouth. The damage is done, however, when Jiyong hears Seunghyun’s voice tentatively cutting in. “Um… I’m going to assume I have more than one audience member.”  Jiyong’s grip on his phone tightens, but he doesn’t breathe a word. Seunghyun coughs, breaking the silence on both ends of the line. “Hello, Hana.” Hana raises an eyebrow, holding a hand out for Jiyong to hand him his phone. Jiyong bites his lip and obliges before rolling over on his stomach and sandwiching a pillow between the bed and his chest. “Hello Seunghyun. Nice to finally meet you,” she says, hitting the speaker button off and pressing the phone next to her ear. Jiyong gauges his sister’s’ reaction, chewing on the edge of his pillow while he listens to one end of their conversation and observes Hana’s face. “Yes, I’ve been here the entire time.” “No, no. I think it’s sweet. I’m sorry for being a third wheel. It’s just that my brother asked for some help and I’ve never been able to say no whenever he used his pouty face on me.” Hana hazards Jiyong a glance. “He’s doing it right now, actually.” Jiyong shooting daggers at her barely puts a dent on the smug look on Hana’s face. “I’m curious… How did you know it was me? I’d ask Jiyong but I think he’s lost the ability to talk.”  Hana ducks away just in time so the pillow Jiyong chucks at her misses her head. “That’s clever of you, actually. And you have great taste in poets.”  Hana takes her pen, grabs her notebook, and underlines the phrase hold on to this one three times. Jiyong buries his face into the mattress and drowns out Hana babbling about poetry and writing, tries to dig himself out of embarrassment and think of a way to apologize to Seunghyun for being a pathetic little sneak.  It’s not that Jiyong thinks he’s dumb. But when Seunghyun is in the picture, his brain regresses to that of a five-year-old’s and he has trouble stringing together even the simplest of sentences. Jiyong tells Seunghyun this much after Hana traipses out of the room, leaving Jiyong’s phone in her wake and telling him he has about ten minutes before one of the sixteen people in the house realizes there’s a head missing at the lunch table. Jiyong sighs into his phone, goes for honestly because he’s done enough lying today.  “You’re kind of really intimidating, you know that?” “Um, I am?” “Yeah. You’re...” he laughs, failing to trample down his nerves. “You’re way out of my league.” Jiyong’s eyebrows knot together, lip caught between his teeth when Seunghyun tells him it’s the other way around.  “And why would you think that? he asks. Jiyong pulls his phone away from his ear when he gets his answer, gives himself a moment to take a deep breath, and tell himself to calm down and wipe the ridiculous smile off his face. “I’m still sorry for duping you, though,” he says when he gathers his wits. “I’m just such an idiot for coming up with a game I knew I was bound to lose from the start.”  Seunghyun tells him that he isn’t an idiot. And that the little game Jiyong came up with (which was just an excuse to call up Seunghyun) was actually pretty fun while it lasted. Seunghyun talks about how he had a hard time picking out the right words to say; Jiyong smiles because they were perfect, tells Seunghyun he heard them all loud and clear.  Jiyong doodles a wreath of flowers on a blank page of Hana’s notebook when their conversation slows to a halt. He hears the hesitance in Seunghyun’s words when he tells Jiyong about a poem he meant to share. Jiyong has a good feeling he doesn’t need Hana to figure out who penned this particular piece. He listens, rapt, as he tunes out the sounds of the house battering his ears and focuses his full attention on Seunghyun’s voice, only on Seunghyun’s voice.   if i could conjure him with a word,it would be light,for that is what he is made of.when he smiles,his lips become clouds around sunbeam teeth,the warmth in his voice feedingpaper lantern eyes.his laughter: liquid starlightand quicksilver,goes into me like smoke,filling me up.i breathe him inand i am the moth in love with the flame,made helpless by the weight of my own longing.    A/N: poets and their works used are as follows:  1. cummings (your little voice)2. kerouac (the scripture of the golden eternity)3. lorca (ode to walt whitman)4. shinji moon (the siren in love with the fisherman)5. neruda (perhaps not to be is to be without your being) The last one is an original piece by my lovely, amazing, totally brills co-author, Sam. This fic officially marks the start of Act 2 and the boys' Tumblrs are "live" again. Stay tuned for the next updates (I suggest checking out the TMBTP hashtag on Twitter from time to time). Sorry for the week-long break, but I hope this was worth the wait x El a/n 2: the next act is pretty tumblr heavy, but all important interactions will be posted here and on LJ as well so no one misses out. Jiyong is going to be traveling for 3 months, however we won't be updating in real time because that's insane ;p so we'll be breezing through his trip abroad and updates'll happen pretty frequently. and if you ever have any questions, please please ask us, we're always happy to help if we can <3 S