OFF OF THE DEEP END | CHANGLIX ✔️

10. phone calls with bestie

seven // taylor swift

A ballerina spun laps around the studio. The mirrored walls showed every side of him as he leaped through the air, every move fluid and graceful. Twirling circles over the birch wood floor, his vibrant pink skirt circled him, imitating Saturn's rings.

He leaped into the air, his body following one delicate slippered foot as he seemed to soar through the air.

But before he could touch down to feel the fateful surface of the Earth once more, a whirlpool appeared on the floorboards his foot was inches away from, the walls of the studio becoming disoriented. The studio seemed to ripple as if it was a serene pond some clueless child had chucked a stone into.

The ballerina's face flashed, clear as day and full of panic as the whirlpool pulled him under, and into its depths.

Changbin woke up, panting.

Behind the blacks of his eyes, the elegant ballerina still spun mesmerizing circles. He blinked, determined to scatter the wisps of dreams out of his irises, desperate to gain hold of his conscious and return to reality.

The annoyingly bright numbers emblazoned on the surface of his clock managed to singlehandedly illuminate his entire room. Changbin debated smashing the irritating piece of metal, for he had spent far too many hours pouring over instructions written in tiny print and painstakingly constructing the clock by hand for it to hurt his poor eyes in such a way. If he needed a light to wake up to, he would buy a lamp.

The urge to sift through his closet that he knew held a hammer became excruciating tempting as the clock announced that Changbin had woken up five minutes before his alarm. All it would take is one swing, and the clock would shatter into a million tiny pieces that would never exasperate him again. But alas, the amount of cleaning removing the microscopic shards of metal would take dulled the desire. Slightly.

Opening up his phone to resume his daily routine of checking his messages, the radiant glow of the phone burned into his corneas once more. Cursing the stupid century he'd been born in and wishing he'd been born in a different decade, Changbin stumbled downstairs, rubbing his eyes. He poured milk into a bowl, adding whatever random sugary cereal he'd picked up from the store weeks ago, discarding the threat of diabetes.

The familiar tone of his customized ringtone echoed around the empty kitchen, a recording of Jisung screaming as he was swarmed by a flock of angry geese. It had been the greatest moment of Changbin's entire life when he managed to capture the fall on camera. He used the audio for Jisung's ringtone simply because the video would replay in his mind and reduce the urge to strangle the younger man.

Changbin picked up the call, chortling softly at the memory of Jisung's 'greatest moment' (or more accurately, Jisung's worst moment in his own opinion).

"Changbin!" Jisung shouted, voice crackling slightly through the speakers, "I got us tickets right next to the stage!"

"Congrats! Just don't try to fate due to your proximity to him, alright?"

"Psshhh, I would never. Don't dress too hot, alright?"

"What?"

"I can't let my hot best friend steal the love of my life away from me by being unfairly hot."

"Why would I dress hot for his concert? Isn't he all soft and cute?"

"I'm going to be showing as much skin as possible."