b a b y *

he’s a familiar face and it takes sia a few minutes to recognize where she knows him from  -  only to realize he’s one of the neighbours that she’s probably never talked to.  it was just once, early in the morning when she was coming home from grocery shopping at the 24hr mart just to avoid the crowds  -  he looked a little tired.  she doesn’t even know if he’d recognize her.  (  frankly, sia wouldn’t blame him.  )

OKA Y alrighty anyway– hello guys!! some of u may remember this trainwreck of a muse, but tis kim woosung, or sammy, back at it again, takin names nd terrorizin the town. thank you, as always, to the overwhelming amount of welcomes i’ve received, i’m working to get to all the messages! i’ve added his links for easy viewing below, please let me know if any plots/starter ideas catch ur eye.  and i’m notoriously really bad at this, but PLS PLS 

go ahead and ♥ ( LIKE )  ♥ this humble post if i’m able to come bother u for some threads!! or, leave ur current favorite song as a comment for a charisma starter.

about | plots  ( i’ve reset the whole plot page- pls let me know if you had one of the spots before and would like to keep it! thank u~ i also have some ideas not listed so come hither lemme lov u )

pls come plot with us, thank thank!! ♡

coming home after practice has become one of the best moments in her training life. in fact, it’s probably her favorite time of day, when she sees her apartment complex in sight, goes up the elevator and can just flop down on her mattress ( still without a bedframe, still for the aesthetic ), she takes a shower, dries her hair, changes into clothes that are clean and comfortable, and she feels like it’s one of the best times. she’s always been more of a night person, so she feels the most productive after practice, which is ironic, considering everything.

she hears him walking toward her door even before the knock, and she starts to make her way to the front of her shared apartment so that by the time she hears his voice, she’s nearly there. she opens the door, letting only her head show as she looks at him. “people say that it’s bad to let strangers into your house, so should i really let you in?”

an easy laugh, because by now he knows that she wouldn’t deny him of anything, especially not when he had food. she steps away from the door, putting her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt ( not her’s, probably stolen and probably from him ) to let him in. “isn’t it cold outside? how are you not freezing?” her eyes go to the food that he’s holding, her expression visibly brightening as she’s suddenly aware of how hungry she is. “what did you bring?”

“am i really a stranger at this point?” he remarks dryly, one eyebrow raised. “i am hurt. now you have to make it up to me.” the effect is, however, ruined by a cheeky grin.

he gently slides past her once the door opens wider, eyes fixing immediately on her top. “hm... that sweater looks really familiar,” he muses, sarcasm dripping heavily from his tone. “did you buy the same one? in the same size? interesting-- what a coincidence.” there’s no malice in his tone though-- rather, it’s colored with amusement. “well. looks better on you anyways,” he sniffs, breezing past her and setting the bags of food down on the counter.

“because,” he snarks, lips curling at the corners, “i’m warm blooded,” he laughs. “just kidding. it was cold. i’m just stupid,” he admits cheerily as he unpacks the boxes from the bag he packed. “takeout from that bento place we went to once. low calorie, for your terrible diet,” he wrinkles his nose, breaking apart bamboo chopsticks and handing some to the other.

━    it’s your expression.  you always look like you’re scheming something.   ❪  ˟  .  she pauses for just a second, crossing her arms in front of her.   ❫   it’s probably your hair.   ❪  ˟  .  her eyes scan him, from the way he feigns innocence in his eyes to how he points at himself.   ❫   so you can stop pretending now.  you’re acting like i don’t know you when i know you all too well.   ❪  ˟  .  her voice is clipped as she speaks to him, tapping her arm with a finger - sammy never fails to grate on her nerves somehow, but still he always seems to get his way.  manipulative little shit.   ❫   and you’re asking me for company? of all people?   ❪  ˟  .  she tilts her head with a grimace.   ❫   is this considered blackmail because i know what you have in your phone, or do you genuinely want to spend time with me?

━    ❪  ˟  .  if there’s one person she claims to never want to see, it’s kim woosung in all his infuriating glory.  but the problem is, he knows her, probably better than most people she’d like to admit and in ways that she wouldn’t even come close to speaking aloud.  seeing him here, though, is as unexpected even though it shouldn’t be - sammy has always been an enigma that she couldn’t quite wrap her head around, but he’s her headache nonetheless.   ❫   sammy.   ❪  ˟  .  she says stiffly, arms crossed as she stares at him.   ❫   i can already tell you have something planned in that head of yours, and i’m already planning on saying no so you might as well not even ask.    ❪  ˟  .  her brow raises because she knows him all too well.  she knows he’ll probably ask anyway, just as she knows that she’ll probably give in to his whims.  it’s just the little game they play now and again.   ❫   what do you want?

tw: death mention

the past is something jihyo, in all her exuberance and grace and openness, would very much prefer to keep shut.

loss is something inimitable, it seems; there are days grief hits harder than she’d like, moments when her smile falters even just for a moment — by no means is she fake in her enthusiasm for life, but the cause of such fervour is one she tends to keep to herself, unwilling to spill all of her heart out across the table ( she still needs to keep some cards on hand, after all ). all remembrances of the person she was, and the people she surrounded herself by, are things she tries to keep away, cover up with potted plants and dancing and beat down car adventures. but on a day like today, it appears as if the universe reminds her of how it has her on a leash — and how they don’t intend on letting go.

it’s just a regular oolong tea order, at first.

she tries not to pay much attention to how familiar the voice sounds ( despite being years older ), the slight pang of something she feels as she prepares the tea in the plastic cup. where she knows the voice from is the question; there’s a ghost of familiarity, of something that probes and prods at her — a feeling she can’t seem to shake off. nevertheless jihyo ignores it ( as she does all negative emotion ), sealing the cup and walking towards the counter for the customer to receive it.

then he says her name, and memories come back to her like a flood.

she resists the urge to curse under her breath, and for a moment jihyo can only stare into the other’s face with an uncharacteristic silence. words longing to spill out end up stuck in her throat, and the girl says nothing, eyes overtaken by surprise and nostalgia ( and maybe, maybe just a bit of resentment ). zach said i’d be able to find you here — of course he did, she thinks, for a moment bitterly regretting ever telling their common friends where she spent most of her days. there’s a stall in his voice, a certain uncertainty that she catches easily; it’s simple to note people’s quirks, she finds, when you’ve grown up with them.

( she also finds that just because you’ve grown up with someone doesn’t mean you know them at all. )

“… oh.” placid smile, cold eyes. play it cool; you can’t get upset here. “you’re .. here.” clearing her throat, she takes a straw and throws it lightly beside his drink alongside a napkin, now actively averting his gaze. “would love to chat, really, but .. work’s work, you know ?” please leave. “not the best timing, sammy.” in more ways than one.

he doesn’t really know how he ended up here. and it’s super cliche-- he knows-- that looking at her in front of him makes him, for the first time in a long time, miss what he had back home. back when he called america his home. when he’d sneak his uncle’s car out using only his permit, and they’d drive to a diner in the middle of the night, laughter ringing, insults being tossed back and forth, along with bits of milkshake, cherry bits and the stray piece of bitten fry. he remembers the eyes that turned into crescents, pupils sparkling-- remembers those terribly snapbacks he and his friends used to wear with just tank tops, and the girls’ wavy hair tied up into ponytails or “apple hair” or whatever was trending back then.

he’s dfound himself missing it-- more often than not. but he also isn’t too arrogant or too self-absorbed to not see that it was his doing in the first place. he’d distanced himself and he knows it. and friends like the ones he had, deserved more than just static silence with no explanation. so... naturally...

sammy notices the cold air-- the aloofness. the way jihyo is avoiding his gaze. and he knows, almost for sure, that she is putting up a front. he knows her that at least that much. ( but does he really, anymore? )

he isn’t deterred, however. 

he leans against the counter on one arm, the other hand curling around his drink as he stares at her with a blank expression, almost unnervingly. this goes on for a few seconds before he bites his lip in thought, an old habit really, before he finally pulls himself back to his full height, boba in hand. he peers at her through his overgrown white fringe. “okay then,” he pauses, thumb idly swiping at the condensation on the cup just so some part of him is moving-- a small, nervous tick. “i mean,” he shrugs as he unwraps the straw and stabs it into the lid, “i can wait. or i can come back.”