when i get back

"Oooh, that’s a really good choice! The lemon ones are my favorite," he grins, easily excited since he literally had one everyday. Almost. They definitely were not good for him, so he tried to limit himself to one every other day but whenever he felt like he needed a quick, sugary, tart pick-me-up, a danish was his go to snack to do it. “We have strawberry, blueberry, apple and lemon, do you have any preference?”

Hongbin waited for the male to answer, already having grabbed a pastry bag and the tongs and he debates on getting one for himself since the cafe wasn’t too busy at the moment, and he had free food and drinks as long as he was on the clock. And it wasn’t as if his coworker could snitch on him or anything, considering he wasn’t there and the question from his customer has him glancing back over, his thoughts along the same line. “Uh … not usually. There’s usually someone else who works as a cashier, and there are people in the kitchen but … for some reason today, I’m alone.”

"I'll go ahead with a lemon one, if you don't mind giving one up." Changmin smiles faintly and drops his hand to the table with a dull thunk. The impact reverberates through his skin and sends him staring down at his palm with an idle tilt of his head; it's sore, strangely enough--a side-effect of holding hoses and climbing ropes to keep his body sharp--"Make that a lemon and a blueberry." He's hungry, he realizes as he takes sips of his slightly cooled coffee and registers the bitter taste on his tongue. It wouldn't do much harm to indulge a little.

namjoon offers a grin, eyes wide in surprise at the appearance of more alcohol to replace that which the younger had consumed, stolen; “that’s a nice trick,” he joked, dimples deepening. “it’d be nice if i had some friends nice enough to throw shit at me when i asked for it,” because hell, he was no stranger to the fact that his bandmates were just that, as much as he’d tried to change it— people he made music with. it fucking sucked, too, but he got over it. he had guk to deal with it, and it wasn’t like he was necessarily lacking for companionship, especially considering the odds that he could run into someone he knew even here, at the farthest reaches of his social circle.

"when am i ever someplace of my own accord?" and it’s true, because really, namjoon tries to avoid chaos, preferring the safety and logic of home, of controlled insobriety, of jeongguk’s arms after a long day.

this is not his home environment, and it is this that sets him apart from changmin, even if he hasn’t realized or acknowledged it.

he casts a long, wide look at the crowd around them— pulsing with the music, skin and rubber alike scraping across the dirt floors, and he faintly recalls an incident earlier involving one of the lights falling. no one had gotten hurt, or anything, but still— there’s an uncertainty in the air, and while some might brush it away, or even thrive on it— he doesn’t. if he was sober, and not tied to his hyungs lost in the swath of bodies, he would have left a long time ago.

maybe changmin would be a saving grace to this night.

"i don’t normally go to these kinds of things," he admits, but it’s not like he didn’t expect that to be obvious. it’s been a long time since he legitimately enjoyed these things— that was back in seoul, before he was eighteen, before real life bared it’s ugly fangs and ripped that joy away from him.

he wonders, faintly, if that would ever come back to him.

it’s been four years, probably not.

he itches for another drink— but he wouldn’t dare take changmin’s bottle again, instead eyeing the lingering remains in the bottle still in his hand, eyebrows furrowed. “…i thought there was more,” he frowns, perplexed. “and i don’t want to go back to the bar.”

"takes nearly being burnt to a crisp together, unfortunately." perhaps an exaggeration, or maybe a half-hearted joke, changmin uttered the words and cast an amused look back to the men carousing amongst themselves over a cooler full of soju bottles. ridiculous. though the clearest sense of camaraderie could be witnessed in their most unguarded states; where each person smiled and clapped the next person's shoulder with each laugh that slipped into the heady air, "one day for you."

he wouldn't know the answer that. truth be told, there was little that he knew of the other male aside from his name, his profession and a vague idea of how they were connected with the people that they knew. too brightly, recollections of firey defenses and fingers curled into the collar of his shirt came to mind and changmin found himself stifling amusement; what difference a change in environment and company made in certain men, "why would you let yourself be dragged here? this is hardly the place to end up when you don't want to be here."

it was a waste, in fact.

a small chain tied to the ankle of an unfortunate soul in a crowd of people; one that wanted nothing more than to spend his night in all the ways that would leave him going home bloody and bruised. shim changmin was spoiling for a fight, but the better part of him--one that sounded mysteriously like that of his girlfriend--left him offering the male a smile and clapping his shoulder. he'd give a try. maybe he'd enjoy it.

“Speaking of,” He gestured toward the topic of conversation that revolved around the Brotherhood, “I haven’t seen you since those days. Is Naeun still hanging around?” He frowned only the slightest as he turned in his stool to grab one of the pens from his own working space, fiddling around with the cap as he thought over those he once stood with rather proudly – where were they all ? He hated the fact that he often found himself lingering on the idea that maybe those he deemed his friends, his brothers and his sisters, could possibly be dead. The very concept caused his stomach to sink at that moment, and he was left to inhale rather sharply, expanding his chest and broadening his shoulders as he glanced back toward the other.

“An addition, huh?” He titled his head as his gaze followed the tug of the others shirt and he caught a glimpse of the wings sprawled against the others skins. It was honestly a surprise, and he raised his brows in response before glancing back, “Well you’ve definitely come to the right person then,” he shot a grin back, a classic Wonsik expression as he leaned back to grab the sketch book from the counter behind him, “So what kind of addition?” He glanced up once more, attention focusing upon the others metal arm for only a moment before dark eyes darted back to the sketch book, the very one he tapped the pen against.

“she’s still hanging around.” if she weren’t, he knew, changmin wouldn’t be around either—by whatever meaning that the male was intending to get across, it didn’t quite matter—and the thought turned his stomach to think; gave rise to his pulse and left a bitter taste in his mouth. all the same, he gave ravi a smile and tapped idle fingers against his thigh, “making messes and laughing about it.” it was a shared trait, and always would be it seemed. the thought left him amused, while curious eyes fixed on the male’s face as he moved to peer at the displayed art strewn across his skin, “who all have you been in contact with?”

changmin braced himself.

in much the same way that he imagined ravi had, he prepared himself for some measure of bad news because there’d been too many ends left untied when they’d left busan. people had vanished, others had simply lost contact or drifted away. none could be blamed, but the worry mounted too high too often and all he wanted was a drink to relieve the pressure on his temples. “hmm, i was actually coming in to see if i could get some help in that department. these,” he gestured to his shoulders, “were really a spur of the moment decision, so i can’t say i have much expertise in picking things with meaning without choices…”

He’d never been one to wander in the dark, never been one to allow the darkness to swallow him up and eat him (of course, most people didn’t actually fear that the darkness would eat them, but Taekwoon did). Still, somehow he found himself moving from each pool of light cast by the streetlights until he found himself not too far from the mouth of an alley. If it had been empty, he would have kept moving, if it hadn’t — he probably still would have, but it was the aggravated, aggressive thoughts that caught his attention, and it was something he’d never done before, but he wished that the group of teenagers would just back up and leave. 

There was something more than they were ready for, lurking there in the dark, and he inhaled sharply as he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning against the brick wall as he tried, oh, he tried, to get them to take a step back and move away.  There would be no blood shed here, not tonight, not if he could help it. And it was a power he’d never utilized before, never able to even slip a thought into a mind of one focused with anger, and yet this time — this time, something took, and the teenagers paused for a moment before stepping back slowly.

To say that he'd been looking forward to a fight--spoiling for one, maybe--would've been an understatement, but the fireman released the will to harm ( some people needed to be taught the hard way that there were people that couldn't be crossed ) in much the same way that dating the likes of Jung Soojung had always taught him he needed to. There was a benefit in dating a pacifist found in his self-control and not for the first time, Changmin released a heavy sigh and turned away as the teenagers departed.

( . . . )

so that’s why he’s surprised when he jostles into changmin, of all people— this is not a gathering he’d expect to see him at, but perhaps he isn’t as keen on listening to these things as namjoon might be. or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s starting to muddle even namjoon’s thoughts, making him complacent and quiet and more inclined to ignore the conversations around him in favor of finding more booze.

he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t know, with too much vodka in his system and a lot more than that to come, so he just steals whatever changmin had been drinking— soju— and downs it, ripping out a roar of laughter as he bumps his shoulder against the older male’s metal one. (namjoon’s shirt went missing at some undetermined point a long time ago, and he’s only got a tanktop now, his own shoulders bare and visible, the faintest of scars nicking the sharp edges of his skin like reminders of another time.) “naeun isn’t here to join you?” he asked, loudly, over the sound trying to overcome the budding conversation, sure to stick close in order not to lose him. “i would expect her to like this kind of shit, fuck. you didn’t come on your own, did you?”

namjoon knew he hadn’t.

he wasn't drunk enough to have missed the discussions happening all around the room. in fact, as he swayed along to the rhythm of one song to the next and indulged in one drink after another, changmin couldn't help but find himself amused by their words. the fireman didn't dare to agree with their words--for soojung's sake, he refrained even in her absence--but his past actions and the fire racing through his veins on occasion still marked him as an anarchist; a member of the brotherhood, forever mutant and proud.

caring who he saw in the roaring crowd was the last thing on his mind.

though he supposed that it was surprising to see the likes of kim namjoon wandering through the crowd. long minutes after he noticed him, changmin found himself face to face with the rapper, watching him wrap damp fingers around his bottle. the raging alcoholic in him felt no small measure of outrage at the bold act, but changmin merely gave him an amused--wry--look and tilted his head, "naeun is busy with her new favorite ass." he'd be friendly, at least while he had a steady supply of drinks to supply his good mood.

always, he was on the precipice of one emotion or another.

his brows raised, fingers lifting to signal for another bottle, and without a second of delay one came flying at his head courtesy of a grinning squadmate, "nope, not here alone."

not that he'd mind if he were.

for the first time in a long time, he was among his own: raging, angry men and women who felt as if they were in a cage of their own making.

but what choice did they truly have?

( ` she’s huffy for all good reasons — nonetheless, despite seeing reason in bundling her up, soojung can’t help but feel a bit pouty by the situation at hand, mentally counting the layers upon layers  of clothing on her body as she stands at the tug, directing her pout up at her boyfriend even as he dresses her ) not so bad? i look like a marshmallow! ( ` stomps her foot, a whine slipping from her lips ) i’m probably going to have to waddle like a penguin out there just to get by — is this really necessary? ( ` blows stray strands of hair out of her eyes as she reaches up, running slender fingers down his metal arm while giving her boyfriend a stern look ) not to mention you didn’t nearly take care to this enough — you’re going to need a thicker sweater, changmin-ah. or maybe arm warmers… i’m pretty sure i packed some. ( ` wiggles her fingers, pulling the luggage toward her )

The sun is making a rare appearance the morning the 4 Season’s truck stops at the charity event; he’d been excited about the event until the previous night — they had all been assigned partners, and the 4 Season’s staff was an odd number. So was the lifeguard staff at the local pool. The numbers where divvied out and he’d been given the name of his partner the night before. They’d be sharing table #7 at the clothes for the needy winter drive. He was determined to still make the most of it. Being from an orphanage gave Rogue a soft spot for these kind of events, they were the only reason he’d had clothes on his own back growing up, and half the time they were the reason he’d been fed at all. So it’s with a cheerful attitude that he carpools with the driver and steps out into the still chilly morning, breath making plumes in the air as he winds his scarf tighter around his neck and moves to help unpack boxes of last season’s unsold attire from the back of the van. It’s still very early, and they’re some of the first to arrive. He helps with the unloading as some of the elderly female staff of another business make a stand for the volunteers, willing or otherwise, to get free coffee and bagels. Soon the scent punctures the dewy, trafficky smell of a city morning. He brings a cup to his seat at table #7 and settles in, organzing the papers for signatures from the various orphanages and churches that would be bringing unfortunate souls to have their pick of the clothes. Racks were put up, and Rogue’s area was OCD spotless, ready to assist whomever in finding exactly what they needed. He’s optimistic.

The local stations hold charity events throughout the year. With strategically placed boxes throughout the city, most of the attention goes to the orphaned children dwelling in overcrowded foster homes and adults with mutations that stripped them of the ability to live in a house. There were people that no landlord wanted living in their properties, and those were the men and women that Changmin had in mind as he sorted through the clothes at the back of his closet and piled them all into a box.

Each box was filled, turned out.

Though perhaps he could've simply gone to one of their own locations, the firefighter found himself pulling into a small affair set up by the city. He pulled his box from the backseat of his car and wandered in, with helpful directions from smiling volunteers who spared the metallic fingers peeking from his sleeve once.

It was less than the average person.

Of course, the experience wasn't without surprises it seemed. Somehow, it was shocking to see a familiar face sitting at the only table clear of donations. For the deeds that he was now certain that Rogue was guilty of, the fact that he was a patron of charitable activities left an odd taste in his mouth. He supposed his shortcomings in personal relationships failed to reflect his greater ideals completely. Still, Changmin walked forward and set the box on the table; all the while ignoring the stray itch of his knuckles and offering up a smile.