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"MY RENT--" He coos with an unabashed faceplant into your crotch. Smooth. Subtle. Tact is Kim Jonghyun's middle name. "How I've missed you. Not the rent, I mean. but."

“Dunno.” He shrugs, the foreign currency pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Looking worn and diseased and for a second he wasn’t sure whether he’d been describing the money or the man infront of him. The adjectives seemed duly fitting. “Save up to travel the world instead of the fridge? I found it under my ex’s couch, it has to be worth something–”

a really.... impressive physique? charming smile? roguish good looks?and of course-- if you’re asking how i rank on the one to ten scale, i’m most definitely a forty. 

“i mean, if you gave me fifty thousand won, i could give you admittance to my show. can’t say i top the charts-- but for twenty thousand more, i could certainly top you--”

“Oh, thank god.” His shoulders slump in relief at your answer, latching onto your offer like a lifeboat. He waves the dollar-store box of premade mix at you with a wince, the second one of the day and a silent ode to his failure. “I was planning to make one for this kid’s birthday, but the first time I tried-- uh. someone called poison control and it-- it was a bad time. Needless to say, I’ll take any help I can get--”