retrieved from {here}

Jinri had a little too much to drink that night, not that she knows how to drink anything but ‘too much’, and anyone that knows Drunk Jinri knows about her bad habit of trying to take all of her clothes off. “Yeah! I am the Queen of the goddamn MOON! And I need to run HOME! Long live ME!” She was a yelling nuisance, stumbling towards the door of the bar as her hands fumbled with the complicated straps and buttons of her dress. The outfit choice was Sober Jinri’s defense against Drunk Jinri’s unstoppable urge to get naked, and it seemed to be working.

She was an embarrassment to herself, and boy was she going to regret this in the morning.  She always did.

“HA! go get ‘em, girl!”

taehyung is all knee-slapping laughs and shouts of encouragement until he sees jinri going for the straps of her dress. the first time he had gotten drunk with her and she started yanking at her clothes, he had figured it was just a case of wrong place, wrong time. the second time, he brushed it off because he had taken his own shirt off. he likes many things; heat is not one of them, and he’s not one to tell a woman she can’t do what a man can. the third time lands him in the moment, with jinri stumbling her way to the exit of a bar, looking dangerously close to stripping her way out. 

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　　　　　　　　Pure power, Huh? The younger male couldn’t help but allow a small smile to spread upon soft pink tiers at those words. A couple of seconds ago he swore Taehyung was in a mid-doze with the way his eyes had fluttered shut only to open and he had looked around their surroundings, Still out in the cold, cool spring air hitting against tanned skin, Sitting on the wooden bench that was making their arses become numb from being here for too long, Stomachs full from having already eaten from the late night market stalls. Yoongi had suggested that he takes the brunet home and they go separate ways for the night but no, the older of the two had different plans, That apparently sleep was for the weak ( which meant yoongi was a weakling ) because he was of power and didn’t need any, What a liar.

　　　　　　　　Shaking his head from utter amusement, The male outstretches his legs and Yoongi outstretches his arms above his head with a small noise that came forth afterwards. ❝Alright Mr. No needs sleep cause he’s not weak. What do you want to do?❞ He asks, Sitting up straight now, His arms resting in his lap as he turns his head to look at him, with curiosity, if they weren’t going to go home, then what was it they were going to do?

taehyung takes a look at his wrist, watch missing from the equation but still squinting as if he can read the time from his skin alone. “it’s only a freckle past dead-o-clock, so we should definitely get some beers.” he taps his wrist like he’s checking the time’s accuracy. if he had a watch, he figures it would be dead anyway. 

                                   ❛ h e a d  i n  t h e  c l o u d s ❜

                         920101; gyeonggi born, seoul living

                                    sharp as butter, smooth as knives

                                                i like to drink air and breathe water

                                                                                                             abt . hstry . plts . dsclmr

“Kiss your bills goodbye, my friend. Especially if you intend on hanging out with me more after this.” He shrugs his shoulders and traipses along with a smug but amused smile on his lips. Blair was always fast with friends, sometimes a little too fast, and here was no exception as he caught up to the other and slipped his arm into his. “Welcome. And I don’t know where you got that nickname from but I’m not about to stop you from using it. I am New York royalty.”

The hotel is one that Blair recognizes, from the few years he’d traveled to Korea with his family before he moved there himself. But now it seems entirely different as he follows a stranger-now-friend through the lobby. It’s a little bit of culture shock for him to see a bellhop that would normally lug his bags around high-five his companion like an old friend. The hotel seems more alive and less clinically neat this time around. “Do you live here or work here or..? You seem to know the place well. It is a bummer cause it sounds fancy and I like fancy. But I’ll settle for a steak or salad.”

glancing down at their linked arms, his lips twitch into a haughty sort of smile, then he looks forward as they wait for the elevator. he uses his free hand to nudge a few stray hairs out of his eyes, lips pursed in thought. “hmm, no and no.” he answers simply, dragging the other into the elevator with him when the doors slide open. he presses the button for the 24th floor and leans back against the handrail, eyes closing. 

“it’s kind of fancy, i guess. if you just like fancy, you must have a boring life. fancy is pretty predictable.” he peeks one eye open, giving the other an amused glance. “salad? huh, you’re one of those.” a chuckle makes its way past his lips, deep inhale through his nose following shortly. “name’s taehyung, by the way. what year were you born?”

Nostrils flaring, Blair leans in enough so that their noses do touch, never one to be the first to back off. He crosses his arms when the other pulls away and hesitates before following, his brows lifted in interest. “I’ll believe it’s yours if you pay for my lunch. Since you seem lonely and all… I guess I could do you a favor and eat with you.”

“Aw, jeez. I guess lunch is on me, then.” He pretends to be disappointed, sadly patting the wallet in his coat pocket like he’s saying goodbye to an old friend. His expression gives way to a wry smile, and he shoves his hands into his pockets as he turns his head to glance at the other. “Lonely and alone are very different things. But thank you for doing me such a kind favor, Prince.” 

It’s no secret that Taehyung knows little to nothing about saju. In his head, he had come up with grandiose images of an old man wearing a hanbok, reading cards that would tell him exact details of his future. And he had planned to slam his hand on the table and laugh, to tell lies to throw off the answers, to poke a little fun at what he views as one of the most successful ongoing schemes in the world. 

So when a young, pretty woman sits him down, no outrageous hanbok and no absurdly dramatic hand gestures, he stands up and grabs her wrist, dragging her to the bathroom. 

“What are we doing here?”

Taehyung slams the door shut and points a finger up in the air, signaling that he needs a moment. He takes this time to splash some water onto his face, rubbing his hands over his eyes a little more than necessary.

@boksoon-ah​

Taehyung is ashamed to admit it takes more muscle than he thought to effectively lug a 100l garbage bag full of dead flowers--not that he had thought much about it in the first place, but at least his arms feel frozen enough to keep the bag hoisted in his grip. The frigid wind is biting at his cheeks, and he ducks his chin into the long collar of his coat, seeking solace in the warmth of his own breath like it might counteract the chill climbing through his body.

He sighs in relief at the sight of his destination. Flower shops always look pretty on the inside and out, he thinks to himself. Much more pretty than humans could ever be. 

With a grunt, he swings the garbage bag around behind him, fists gripping the tied top so he can carry it over his shoulder. “Put your back into it, Taehyung-ah,” he mutters to himself. “Come on, don’t be a baby.” He stumbles as the bag hits his back and sends him forward a few steps, and he clears his throat before walking on like nothing happened. If anyone saw his blunder, he would definitely deny it. 

Stepping into the shop--stopping only briefly when the bag gets stuck in the doorway--, he heaves a few victorious breaths before letting the bag drop to the ground, hands finding his hips like he’s the king of the throne. 

If there’s anything that’ll catch Blair’s eye, it’s money. So the moment he catches sight of the Rolex, his attitude makes a 360, a soft grin replacing his usual resting bitch face. “I honestly can’t. But I can’t imagine a cafeteria either… ew. I always went home to have my maid make lunch. If I ate at all.”  “Oh, yeah?” He raises a brow, leaning in challengingly. “And I suppose you’ll tell me that watch is all yours too, huh? Something’s not adding up here. Did you steal it? Save some old man’s life?”

Taehyung’s boxy grin only widens at the other’s comment about cafeterias. Nothing short of amused, he places a hand on his hip and uses his other hand for a grandiose gesture. “Oh, of course! What else are maids good for?” He brings his hand in, fingers pressing against his forehead in mock distress. “The horror... School lunches.” 

“No.” Blair gives the stranger a nice and judgmental once-over, nose wrinkling at the sight of the dirty clothing. “It was definitely a long shot. Everyone at my prep school wore designer. But you’re right about your face. I used to know someone with the same nose. Did you go to Dr. Namyu?” He tilts his head to the side and scrunches up his face. He’s determined to find a connection here, whether there already is one or if he has to make one himself.

“A long shot?” Taehyung eyes the other with the same scrutinizing look before breaking out into an amused smile. His brow quirks upwards, arms stretching out so his sleeve inches up to reveal his Rolex Datejust 41, taking extra care to make sure it’s plenty visible. “Definitely a long shot. My high school didn’t even have a cafeteria. Can you imagine?” 

he’s sick of hiding everything without a reason.

he picks up the pieces of himself like a child collecting fallen leaves, wants to gather them into a pile and jump in head first, wants to bury himself under a shield of everything he is.

but he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

tears are streaming down his face, and he can’t recall when he started crying in the first place. he crumbles into the wall next to him, abandoned alleyway giving him at least a bit of peace, a little hiding spot from the big city he always dreamed of but never found a place in. cheek pressed against the wall, hands gripped as if he can mold a flat surface into something whole and unending… the wall, his pieces, the sticky summer air that makes his hair cling to his face like love clinging to a spring that already passed.

it all hurts.

he laughs. his chest caves, lungs reaching for so much air that he just can’t get enough, laughs so hard that he think he might be sick. he laughs hard enough to forget why he’s laughing in the first place—or maybe he never even knew. he laughs so hard that he can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying anymore—or maybe it’s a mix of both.

or maybe—