Post by Li Cheung on Nov 12, 2015 2:10:51 GMT 1
我再唱给你听
Cheung walks onto the park with a soccer ball under his arm, finding the tarmac soccer courts by the end of the fields and throwing down his ball. He pushed his blonde locks back, feeling a slight bit of regret for dying his hair every time he ran his hands through it, and kicked the ball around a bit, only jogging around.
He threw his jacket to the side after about ten minutes, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his silver watch and running around with the ball. He scored a couple of goals and pretended to celebrate each time, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his toned stomach and screaming loudly whilst down on his knees. He didn't care that people could be watching. He had chosen here, not any of the various places on the Berkeley campus, to play soccer.
After scoring a goal in the blue net, he laid down on the flat tarmac, his eyes directed to the blue skies above him. It was finally summer, the season everyone had been waiting for since the new year began. Now it was here, he didn't know what he would do. The six weeks Berkeley gave their students off Cheung would be spending at home in China, and it made him slightly sad to think that he would miss that majority of the real American summer. Everything was finally coming together, just as home came to tear it apart.
He rolled over, his shirt pulling up so that his bare stomach laid against the cold ground and sent a shiver down his spine, and looked at the ball in the net. A sigh escaped his lips, just as he heard a crunch in his pocket. What was that? His hand went down to his jeans and he fumbled for a second before taking out a half crushed marker pen. Oh. Well, it may as well be put to one last good use, right? Cheung pushed himself up off of the ground and walked towards the goalpost.
What he chose to write on the fat metal bar wasn't unusual at all, apart from the fact that it was in Mandarin. Of course, the language that naturally flowed from Cheung's mouth. His handwriting ran smoothly, forming each flick until 李章 was written in perfect black pen. He placed the trashed pen in the corner of the goalpost and picked up his soccer ball, leaving the scene before anyone could lecture him about what he'd just done.
Cheung walks onto the park with a soccer ball under his arm, finding the tarmac soccer courts by the end of the fields and throwing down his ball. He pushed his blonde locks back, feeling a slight bit of regret for dying his hair every time he ran his hands through it, and kicked the ball around a bit, only jogging around.
He threw his jacket to the side after about ten minutes, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his silver watch and running around with the ball. He scored a couple of goals and pretended to celebrate each time, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his toned stomach and screaming loudly whilst down on his knees. He didn't care that people could be watching. He had chosen here, not any of the various places on the Berkeley campus, to play soccer.
After scoring a goal in the blue net, he laid down on the flat tarmac, his eyes directed to the blue skies above him. It was finally summer, the season everyone had been waiting for since the new year began. Now it was here, he didn't know what he would do. The six weeks Berkeley gave their students off Cheung would be spending at home in China, and it made him slightly sad to think that he would miss that majority of the real American summer. Everything was finally coming together, just as home came to tear it apart.
He rolled over, his shirt pulling up so that his bare stomach laid against the cold ground and sent a shiver down his spine, and looked at the ball in the net. A sigh escaped his lips, just as he heard a crunch in his pocket. What was that? His hand went down to his jeans and he fumbled for a second before taking out a half crushed marker pen. Oh. Well, it may as well be put to one last good use, right? Cheung pushed himself up off of the ground and walked towards the goalpost.
What he chose to write on the fat metal bar wasn't unusual at all, apart from the fact that it was in Mandarin. Of course, the language that naturally flowed from Cheung's mouth. His handwriting ran smoothly, forming each flick until 李章 was written in perfect black pen. He placed the trashed pen in the corner of the goalpost and picked up his soccer ball, leaving the scene before anyone could lecture him about what he'd just done.