#swag

This likely won't make Minjae feel better, but that wasn't the intent either. She skirts around the back of the couch, leans on her hip to perch on the armrest. Affable as ever despite the looming posture.

"I'll stick around, if you're staying. I'm not busy." She could be, but that doesn't really bear mentioning. Pages worth of sewing patterns strewn about the coffee table back in her room, folders cracked open and left exposed. Nothing she particularly wants to think about now, nowhere to want back to. "There's just—"

She gestures a wave of her towards the corkboard, dismissive. Papers pinned on top of each other, grocery lists and grievances. It's all a little Lutheran for her tastes, surely violates the communal sanctity of the building to lay it all out in the open. Some people are just temperamentally unfit for cohabitation.

"I don't know how anyone's supposed to keep up with that. I've been good though," All unbound confidence, just the slightest wry twist of her smile to suggest some awareness of the irony in this statement. And yet. "Not leaving my study dates stranded among the lost and found out in the commons, for example. You'd think people would pick up after themselves." Uncharitably imagining him sorted with the litter and abandoned chargers, though he's done very little to earn it from her. Whatever he might have done to warrant being taken out of circulation with Seolran is another matter. Not to say she isn't keen on finding out.

it's a quiet comment, made in passing, and spoken so lightly that not even a bug on the wall could really hear him, almost ashamed to admit it.

minjae plays with the fabric of his jeans, fingers pulling at the neat hem until a string raises in the air, just slightly. his mouth opens, lips parting for a moment with the intent behind it being asking 'are you ever really busy?' — only as a matter of teasing, really, without a hint of venom, though an onlooker might have thought otherwise— albeit nothing really comes out except an exhale, knowing that he's currently at the mercy of shiyu's willingness to entertain him; and by extension, at the mercy of his own ability of entertaining her in return.

"it's better than what we have back at nuri. or, err. what we don't have. thing's fallen off, like a month ago, and no one really put it back up. but i also think that some papers were at least half a decade old. i don't think i've ever seen anyone use it." including minjae himself, including him both in the lineup of people who never bothered picking up a screw and a screwdriver, or people who actually used it for its intended purposes. "yours is, like, avant-garde, or something like that. it's giving journaling-core that is all over my fyp. don't ask."

gaze turns back to the tree, pointing up at some of the higher branches and the ball wedged juuuust right between them. "unfortunately, we're not recreating your poster today. i got my ball stuck up there. my lucky ball. this is, like, totally catastrophic." she pauses, smile creeping onto her features at the unintended pun. "catastrophic. cat. kitten— you get it." she flicks her wrist in dismissal.

though, that smile eagerly turns into a sheepish laugh, gaze following the imaginary trail of her finger's movement, squinting when the sunlight peeks through thick leaves. it's really high up there, he notes to himself, stealing a quick glance at her arms. "how'd that happen anyway?"

although he doesn't really wait for an explanation, the duffel bag already sliding off his shoulder with a thud! —"it's just clothes, don't worry!" provided as an explanation, almost dismissive of her unvoiced, albeit possible concern as well as the content inside. "if your climbing is as good as your puns, you're never getting your ball back. so let me—"

Song : Sexy Love

Artist : T-ara

"I do like it." She admits, without so much as cursory resistance to the accusation— like there'd be any point denying it. "If you could see your face just now, you'd get it."

Wide eyed in a way she rarely gets to see him, all the stock of him rigid. Perhaps it's some holdover from having fewer kids her own age about in the time when teasing was a little more socially acceptable, but that's not a line of thought she intends to follow any further. Shiyu slides into the seat beside him, familiar to a fault.

"So, what are you doing?" It occurs to her to ask, mirroring his crossed arm posture, eyes narrowed in a performative squint. As if she'd mind. "Came over on your own?"

his step is slow, eyes fixed on the board, even as he finds a seat of his own, noting that the couch is much nicer than what they have. when he finally looks at her, he gives her a sort of twitching smile that betrays his inner workings; cogs of his inner thought, whether to lie or be honest, spinning fast in the moment. not like she won't read through him, anyway.

"i was meant to meet up with seolran," he decides on telling the truth, gaze falling down to the smartwatch on his wrist. tongue clicks against his cheek, and minjae sighs again. "about... thirty minutes ago. i hope she's okay. she doesn't really tend to go awol like that, but i'm trying not to worry." and that is about it for him coming across as a wet puppy hiding away from the rain, because when he finally meets her eyes, the glimmer that is in his gaze matches hers.

though, that being said, she might not mind doing this again on a less warm day.

she could probably be convinced.

his wheeze does surprise her though, and she glances at him in mild surprise, eyebrows raised. "you good?" she asks, playful and it actually amuses her greatly that he seems to be suffering as much as she is right now. of course, she's not used to any type of exercise at all aside from lugging tables across campus but. it's a little reassuring, she won't lie, that he's as affected as she is. it makes him feel more human to her.

instead of saying anything, she pats his arm in her amusement, a way of comforting him and reassuring him that his image in her mind wasn't too tarnished. or something like that.

he laughs it off, memory of middle and high school passing by his mind in fleeting images and fragmented scenarios, further cut short by the pressure against his arm. a pause in steps, widening of eyes, and then a gasp that's too grand for the motion it responds to. "ouch," he mouths, raising a hand to rub gently against skin where she hit him. then, a pout. "wow, you're strong. do you secretly light weights behind everyone's backs? you can admit it, i won't tell anyone — and, oh. have you considered signing up for the boxing club?"

“my presence wouldn’t have made a difference, not when you’re there to sweep everyone off their feet,” she says, her tone blasé.

just how many times has she deflected jang minjae’s words, letting them go in one ear and out the other? too many to count, she stopped after he left the art club yet he continue to pester her whenever she comes in for their scheduled meeting. sometimes agatha thinks that jang minaje isn’t real. that he isn’t a student dedicating his time to class or other extra curriculars. sometimes agatha thinks that he was plopped right in of front of her to truly test her limits.

“woah there grandpa, are you sure you don’t need to get a massage instead?” she lets out a chuckle at his stretching and resists the urge to roll her eyes as he settles into a pose in front of her. agatha makes a disgusted face at the mere thought of seeing even his ankle and shudders right in front of him. “please, like anyone would pay to see that. but no, this pose won’t do.”

she kicks his feet to get him to cross his legs by the ankle like someone proper, places his left hand to settle on his hip while the other rests on his forehead like a lady in distress.

“beautiful. hold this pose until i’m done, hm?”

agatha picks up the pencil again and starts her sketch. she’s not usually someone who participated in anything art related for the art club and just handle all their admin tasks but for jang minjae to piss off, she’ll gladly oblige as slowly as she possibly can. if he wanted her draw him like a french boy, he might as well play the part.

he continues leaning into this carelessness, fueled by the knowledge he gets under her skin and knowing that she plays into it, too. call it courtesy of having three younger sisters, or the fact he's simply like that: knowing which buttons to press for the perfect tune of the situation. a chameleon or a charmer, really depends on the perspective alone.

he surrenders to agatha then, watching and obeying her as she lightly pushes him around, as if his limbs were made out of stuffing and fabric. his breath catches in his throat as if any slight movement might shatter what they share in this moment — a fragile thing, like a house of cards barely holding together under the weight of it all; their situation dramatized to its maximum, like most things are, when it comes to minjae taking things seriously.

he scoffs. a minute passes, seemingly as long as a year.

he can't do it anymore.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ⋅✯⋅ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓 down with the swimming team’s booth but he’s heard a bit of this and that. Now judging from Minjae’s reaction, it might have been chaotic. “Honestly, this whole thing?” Phoenix gestures towards the tent. “I have to admit it’s quite something. I’ve never done this before but I’m a sucker for new experiences so here I am.” He almost chuckles in self-pity. 

Phoenix picks at the button of his denim jacket before shifting his gaze to his dear visitor once more. “Hmm. It’s cash only but for you, we can make anything happen.” He clicks his tongue and gives Minjae a quick wink before straightening up to throw his hands up in the air at the invitation. “Hell yeah!” 

"it's so unfair," he whines, turning his gaze toward the surrounding booths. he scans the crowd: people laughing and mingling, barely noticing that one volunteer slips away, and probably forgetting this whole thing by the next week, before shifting his focus back to phoenix. "i mean, isn't this basically exploitation? our clubs should be getting funding either way. it's part of… student life. anyway, the walk's short."

with a sigh, sohee tips her head back, eyes flicking to him as he sinks down beside her, tone softening just slightly in response to the shift in his. she hesitates for a second when he asks, then finally lifts her foot a bit closer toward him in silent permission. “you can look, just don’t touch anything that looks like it might fall off.”

watching him from the corner of the eye, she attempts to remain serious as he goes all quiet and focused, a little too intense for someone poking at a potential sprain. “you look like you’re about to perform surgery,” she mumbles in a bantering tone. “are you gonna cut it off if it’s broken?” there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh at her own bad joke.

a joke, of course, as he gently lifts her foot onto his thigh. "it's gonna fall off any second, sohee. oh my god. i need a surgery saw, like, right now," he mutters, rotating her ankle slightly with careful fingers. "does this hurt? you definitely rolled it but nothing seems broken. you've got some swelling here, classic ankle sprain." he glances up at her. "that's what you get for walking in heels on shitty grass." there's no malice to it, just slight teasing. "i'm gonna be your leg for the rest of the day, okay? but when you come home — cold compress. do you have… an ice pack? not directly on skin, though, wrap it in a towel. i don't want you to get a frost bite on top of everything."

and then minjae focuses on the heels again.

he's never really understood fashion — or anything leaning towards artistic expression. to him, comfortable shoes, sports shorts and a plain t-shirt from uniqlo have always been the peak of expression. throw on a baseball cap if he's feeling like accessorizing, purposefully mismatched socks if he's feeling quirky and lazy about doing laundry.

the straps, ribbons and satin escape him.

so reiko lets herself be kissed.

no second guessing, no sharp edges to catch on. just the soft give of her lips meeting his, caught somewhere between instinct and impulse. the railing is at her spine, cool against the stretch of skin where the top has ridden up, but it's a dull, distant thing compared to the warmth from the press of his chest against hers. his taste is sweet and clumsy, all heat and hungry with the sting of almosts that remained idle for too long.

fingers move without thought. they skim the line of his arms, rise slowly over the slope of his shoulders, until they've threaded into his hair. reiko draws him close with a kind of familiarity that shouldn't exist, tilting her head to meet him in the middle. she kisses him like she's trying to forget: the wasted time, the half-swallowed apologies, the splintered thought that maybe she'd been more trouble than worth tonight. her lips part in answer, not quite surrender as much as permission. somewhere in the middle of it, minjae anchors her in the way he always, somehow, does.

her breath catches when she pulls away, not by hesitation but to draw in air that suddenly feels too thin. laughter folds at the edge of her exhale, small and startled. she rests her forehead against his cheek, eyes narrowed just slightly, before it slips out dry and familiar, "you're ridiculous, jang minjae." there's the faintest curve to her lips, a flicker of fondness she rarely lets stay. and for once, she doesn't bother chasing it off.

then, she leans in again, slower this time, and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. it lands warmer than intention, blurred around the seams of what she'd never admit out loud. "come on," she murmurs, barely pulling back, words warm against his jaw. "i need another drink if i'm going to keep pretending i'm not mad at you."

it's as if she has been crafted from the quiet longing in his bones that has lain dormant before her for far too long, hiding in the broad daylight, where sane mind is too scared to dare linger or tread, just as he was shaped to slip into the curve of her body. she is the forbidden fruit of his desire, a desire that has boiled within him unaddressed, demanding and demanding and demanding — a relentless pounding against simple glass wall, too fragile to withstand the force it's subjected to. and all that it has taken is something as tender as a kiss for it all to crumble.

he doesn't say anything. his lips are wet and hot and unoccupied, and his tongue licks over his lower lip when there is a distinct lack of her on them, as if to revel in her taste that remains as the aftermath; the liquor, the lip gloss, all undeniably reiko. and all, undeniably, what he wants more of; this greed he has tapped into is almost sickening and jang minjae doesn't want to shy away from it, at least not tonight.

"and you're beautiful," he quips, purposeful, chasing the feeling of her mouth against his again. "can you blame me?"

when she moves, he almost whines like a yard-bound dog begging his owner for a fragment of affection, then follows behind her towards the bar with the same energy. his hands are glued to her waist, as if breaking apart would mean that the morning comes, alongside every inevitable regret that will wash over them both.

sure, he’s an athlete, so she can respect the grind. the innate drive to win, to be the best, she understands. she’s seen the michael phelps documentaries, follows katie ledecky on instagram, and like anyone with a brain, she tuned in to the 2024 olympics just to watch ledecky obliterate the 1500 freestyle final. but that’s swimming. that’s its own beast. in dani’s world, it’s apples and oranges. you don’t compare son heungmin to an olympic backstroker, not even in a video game.

and maybe this is where dani really is built different, because even with a controller in her hands, she feels it—the same pinprick tightness that clamps down on her chest on the field. the urgency. the all-or-nothing.

she fucking hates rock-paper-scissors.

not because it’s silly — because it’s unfair. there’s no strategy, no way to earn the win. it’s pure, dumb luck. and it is absolutely, painstakingly important to her that she wins this round. and because earlier, she’d already lost a scrimmage to jinyoung. and god, the way he’d smiled after slipping past her in the final play had ruined her entire afternoon. smug bastard. damn him for being twenty something centimeters taller, for those legs that can always get to the ball a split-second faster.

in the corner of his eyes, he catches the rising numbers. it draws a smirk on his lips, though he tries to hide it; a downplay of his cruelty — all in good spirit, obviously.

"the loser must admit the winner with 'mister or miss greatest of all times and / or the most talented ever' for the next three days and nothing else. and owes a sundae today," he adds it with his smirk turning into a full fledged grin, teeth flashing even in the dimmed light of the gaming room, like he's come up with the most brilliant idea of his entire life. the prospect of it fills him with a giddy feeling, only because he knows how much it will simply be horrible for her pride, knowing how he would feel, same competitiveness running through his veins — though the prospect of him being the loser never actually crosses his mind as a possibility, blinded by all of this hubris. "ready? three, two, one —"

yep. that was definitely stuck up there, wasn't it?

imogen stood underneath the tree, hands on her hips, as she peered up at the volleyball currently lodged into the crook of one of the tallest branches. huh. how was she going to get that down? the thought of just going out and buying a new one had briefly crossed her mind (it was probably about time, honestly. the thing was beaten up from being her designated punching bag— ball?) but she never liked giving up on things.

she could probably knock it out of place if she had another ball, but she didn't have one... not right now, at least. she could've easily hopped on over to the gym and snagged a ball from the team's stash (captain privileges), but... what if it fell out while she was gone? what if someone else knocked it down? what if a squirrel mistook it for a giant nut and took it back to their den? (alright, that last one was ridiculous, but imogen didn't like to completely write off any possibilities). nope. she had to climb this tree herself: right here, right now. she just needed a little boost.

foot taps impatiently, eyes shifting throughout the quad, sizing up her potential 'volunteers.' meh... they're too short. she's wearing heels. they're... juggling? wait, huh? she's about to forget the volleyball entirely and go investigate that more when a tall figure appears in the corner of her eye.

minjae's not fully unaware of his surroundings, despite the zombie-like state of his brain. he, well, sees her waving — in response, does a little point at himself as if he were asking are you talking to me? — before taking out his earbud and walking over to her in a rush.

there's something serene about the water still for hayun. she sat on the edge of the pool deck, legs dangling into the water carefree. it coaxes her to recall memories of junior swimming courses, how she fell in love with the coolness and protection the water seemed to free her mind of. it had been years since she dove or did the forward breast stroke competitively, but hayn's interest is piqued as she remains calmly minding her own business.

there's almost a fear to approach getting back in but with the sweltering heat, hayun has felt she has no choice. pulling her swimming cap over her hair, she tucks it in neatly, making sure each stray hair is completely under wraps. within seconds, hayun is then securing her goggles on her face, fixating them so she can have the perfect vision while she swims. there's a long moment of silence despite her other fellow campus mates enjoying their pool activates all around her. it's almost intimidating and the thought even reminds her of her estranged brother whom she loves dearly but cannot bring to his senses. "i guess there's no better time than today." she whispers, mostly to herself, uncertain if anyone heard her. not that it mattered, hayun was happy and not the type to pick beef with people.

hayun being one of them. minjae's noticed her, quietly, always from a distance. not in a weird way — just... careful. he knows it's not really his place to push anyone, even if it's a topic they conserved about; his job is to keep an eye out, be there if someone suddenly and out of nowhere forgets how to float, though it's unlikely to happen, knowing her.

he ends up sitting on starting block #3, after watching her finish a lap, legs hanging just over the water like a makeshift stop sign — rude, but he doesn't really intend to be obnoxious by shouting across the pool while others are there too.