they say inspiration comes at night.
without the frontal cortex of your brain to continuously focus on information from your surroundings, other parts of the brain (the ones that still have this tiny bit of vital energy left in them that your daily activities haven't been able to snatch entirely from your body) are free to run normally, by the time your organism is trained to fall asleep at.
exhaustion can spur creativity because, really, you just don't give a fuck.
instead of worrying about studying for midterms, organizing playlists for frat parties and/or composing for this semester's big musical (thanks to jongdae's lovely idea for a conjoined music and drama major senior project, royally fucking up everyone involved), chanyeol feels as if his brain is going into a frenzy, wreaking metaphorical havoc for everything not responsibility involved as he sits by his window, guitar on his lap and notes in his hold.
his handwriting is a complete, utter mess as the pen glides across paper, messily writing down every thought that dares to slip past his mind, crossing out the words he misspells and the feelings he misinterprets. it's become routine, really, staring up into the sky where the moon casts a glow on the right side of his face, making him look like some amateur tumblr model.
chanyeol strums his guitar once, twice, thrice, to the sound of his own voice as he recites the words written. scrawls down the notes. repeats the process till he's got a full line of them and plays it all over again–doesn't like the way they sound and proceeds to promptly rip off the page and toss it in the already overflowing trash can by his bed.
routine at its absolute worst, but it's still process. getting ideas he can't quite put on paper is a common occurrence, thanks to his circadian rhythm.
twenty-seven minutes later he's already given up, deeming his brain isn't giving him the break he needs tonight–he keeps getting distracted with the chattering in the hallway and the smell of tomato sauce coming from his neighbor's window, invading his nostrils as much as he insists on ignoring it by attempting to breathe through his mouth.
the lack of dopamine has him yawning, but despite his frontal lobe's continuous pleas for him to succumb into much needed slumber after running around campus for twelve hours he insists on staying awake, giving himself another chance. finding another source of motivation, inspiration, and all that artistic mumbo jumbo not even he himself, an artist, can comprehend.
scrolls through his spotify playlist–or rather, his first account's playlist, since making one after the other in order to keep the free trial of the app's premium service is one of his bad habits because, really, if he had 10 dollars to spare every month in order to listen to music without skipping and ad-free (and oh, how he's able to automatically think about those benefits in the advertisement lady's very voice) he would rather buy food that isn't chicken flavored instant noodles for both the meals he has during his day.
he's in a syd matters mood tonight–calm and light instrumentals, smooth vocals to match–but when he's about to play obstacles something else graces his eardrums, right before he's about to slide on his headphones that had been resting around his neck. there's music coming from somewhere that isn't his speakers, just as extreme in quality and lovely in melody.
so chanyeol does the logical thing in a moment like this–leans forward and out the window, guitar long forgotten on the floor as he grips onto its frame so he doesn't topple forward and meet his demise two floors below. attentively listens to the voice, the lyrics of dissolve me by alt-j rolling off of their tongue so low and smooth it has the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.
despite his poor hearing as a result of listening to music in its highest volume for years, he notices it comes from next door–it's about as close as the smell of freshly cooked pasta and fuck, aside from knowing how to cook his neighbor sings so well, too. if they're equally as gorgeous as the sounds that leave their mouth chanyeol's life is positively ruined.
chanyeol suddenly really, really wants to know what they look like, what's their aspiration in life, can you perhaps sing one of my songs for me and maybe how have i never heard your beautiful voice before in my four painful years of uni?
damned be his past, timid self for not bothering to get to know his neighbors. damned be kim jongin, who aside from being an annoying roommate-slash-best friend was, too, an introverted fuck. still is.
he settles for teetering on the edge of his window, humming along to the song that is still on his top ten favorites and positively sounds much better when this particular person sings it, no disrespect to joe newman whatsoever.
wonders if he's ever accidentally bumped into his neighbor before, wonders if their red strings of fate have ever laced together somehow at anywhere their college lives have taken them because please, it must've happened and if not, it has to. chanyeol needs it to.
and so he writes.
creativity does come at nighttime, after all.
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eeehh tis just a silly lil thing to update while im writing bigger n more important stuff and not studying for my national exams (enem yall)) lmao
tell me what u think.this is gonna b e gay as hell (like m
YOU ARE READING
tenor
Fanfictiondiscontinued bc im a bitch! four times chanyeol's next door neighbor left his window open whilst singing and the one time he chose a duet