Thank you to tamagie @ aimless ❤ poster shop for the beautiful beautiful poster!

Warm light slipped in from between the blinds, gently warming Chanyeol's face. He woke slowly, taking in the relaxing air around him. His room was still a mess from the night before. Balls of crumpled paper littered the floor and there were even stray, half-written sheets of music spread out on his bed. He didn't bother putting his guitar back in its case and it laid on the floor along with several pencils with broken tips and a small wastebin tipped over onto its side holding even more crumpled balls of paper. He even left his desk lamp and keyboard on overnight.

The day before, Chanyeol had been playing out in the streets of an old downtown area in front of a hot dog restaurant like he had every Friday for the past three months. After his first song, he heard clapping from across the street. In front of the old bank was a stone bench where a young woman sat alone. Even though people came and went throughout the day, Chanyeol couldn't help but recognize her. She was his most faithful listener.

Every time he performed, the street always divided them. But today would be different, Chanyeol decided.

"Why don't you come on over here," he called. She gave him a soft smile and crossed the one way street, wary of the cars passing by. She did so with no rush. No worry. Taking her time as if time moved only for her.

And that was the first time they ever exchanged words.

Apparently, the first time he played in that area, she was there with her friend. Her friend's dad got into a minor car accident on his way to pick them up and the two decided to wait for her mom on the bench outside the bank.

Apparently, she particularly enjoyed his style of music. Just him and his guitar. Nothing fancy.

Apparently, she was entranced the first time she heard his voice, low and passionate, only wanting to bring joy to those listening. Fun and lively. Soft and soothing. She begged her friend to stop there for a moment.

Apparently, she loved the way he closed his eyes while he sang. Not a care in the world, lost in the music and never to return.

Apparently, she couldn't help but stare on a fateful day when he flashed a smile brighter than the glares from the sun to two girls sitting on a bench across the street.

And apparently, Chanyeol fell for her hard.

Chanyeol couldn't help it. From the day he first saw her, something about her called to him like a melody floating through his mind, aching to be written down.

So that's what he did.

Or at least, that's what he tried to do.

He wanted to write a song that would do her justice. That would describe her perfectly. The only problem was, Chanyeol didn't actually know a thing about her. He was so entranced with her words that he forgot to ask for her name. Nothing he wrote last night was good enough. They all sounded like generic, trashy love songs you hear on the radio station that plays the latest hits.

Chanyeol lifted himself out of bed and sat on the floor with his legs crossed. He grabbed his notebook and sharpened a pencil. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he was trying too hard.

Scratching his head, he let out a groan.

Yeah, that's it. 

Chanyeol began to scribble furiously into his notebook. He was going about this all wrong. He was trying to write a song about someone he didn't really know. He was trying to write a love song based on tacky descriptions about her hair flowing in the wind. Not based on how she made him feel and what about her really impacted him in the first place.

The moment of the day before passed through his mind. What did he want from her? Usually love songs demanded something. Attention. Kisses. Hugs. .

But that wasn't Chanyeol's style at all.

He wasn't a demanding person, but he did want something from her. Why else would she be having such an effect on him?

All he wanted was for her to be close to him.

He snatched his guitar by the neck and gently set it on his lap. He set his notebook on the floor in front of him and stuck the pencil between his lips. Slowly, his fingers began to move on their own, playing patterns of chords, plucking at the strings. When he found what he was satisfied with, he began to jot down the chord changes on his notebook.

Across the top, he scribbled one word.

Bloom.