EXILE;

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welcome back to hell kids

it’s one of those mondays that grinds into jongin’s bone and scrapes against his nerve-endings, fraying all his edges and driving him to extremes, so when the coach tells him go to sit on a bench, his initial reaction is sneering and hateful, despite taeho’s jovial responses. jongin is a creature of halves– half snide, half charm, half in, half out, half too much, half never enough, half control, half chaos. but it’s that chaotic side of him today, on monday, that gets him and taeho in hot water, because as soon as the coach tells them to go sit down, all jongin wants to do is shove him into the pool next.

“i was teaching the brat a valuable lesson,” jongin tosses in along with all of taeho’s excuses. “the first of many, in fact, about how swimming can be a fun sport and also a method of survival as well. shouldn’t that be considered more of a noble undertaking on my part?” similar to how the older man reacts to taeho, he simply glares at jongin as well before pointing towards the benches, the muscles in his jaw flexing. jongin thinks for a moment, he could probably take him, if he wanted, if this meant enough to him, if it really angered him that much.

but instead he just sighs and turns away from the other man, rolling his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t just fall out of his head, making his way towards the cold steel seating and slumping down on them, his fingers running through his hair, his chest burning with restrained curses. “next time,” he tells taeho when the coach is no longer in earshot, returning his attention to the other freshmen dumbasses in this class, “i’ll be more subtle. just for this shit, i’m gonna make it my mission for the next semester, to teach all these tadpoles about water survival.” kim jongin, a shark with the scent of blood on his tongue, and months and months in his future to hunt for prey. “can’t believe we’re getting punished for having a sense of humor.”

it’s a monday morning, which means taeho’s reserve of ‘positive’ energy is quickly hitting the bottom of the tank (read: it already has). never mind the fact that his good natured jokes and frisky smiles were actually infuriating as hell (and not all that good natured at all...); all that matters from his point of view is that they didn’t work in appeasing in their coach, and thus returns the signature look on his face. that is, the one of deep, simultaneous distaste, disapproval, and disinterest. maybe throw in a dash of annoyance too, because what were they? five year olds? were they really being put in the equivalent of a public timeout corner?

as he reluctantly walks away, strides heavy and nearly dragging in protest, taeho can’t help but to think what a terrible move the coach has made. like did the man think punishing him - no, punishing jongin - was going to make the poor freshman’s life any easier? if anything, the boy (and frankly all of his fellow classmates’) life was about to get a whole lot worse. a tragically backfired plan, if there ever was one.

𝘼 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏 𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙊𝙋 ˟

          a lost connection found again in old journals and a phone call asking her father, doubting the situation itself until she read her writing, remembered the cravings for ice cream and the challenge of achieving a perfect scoop for a float or sundae. at least now she can avoid the question of asking why they stopped playing together, of why their mothers lost touch. instead, she wants to hold onto the returned memory of her mother’s hand over hers because her own was too small to hold the scoop properly, dropping it a countless number of times and she swears that’s the only reason taeho got a better scoop than her every time. 

          but that’s the part she hopes he doesn’t remember   —   that she used to whine for him to let her win even once. because, with a reputation like his, she hopes he’s nothing like sehun who would lord it over her. at least, the old version of him would. whatever version of sehun she’s been seeing lately is as much of a mystery as ever, just like this meeting.  

          anyway, she avoids the whole do-it-yourself aspect of a ice cream sundae sunday like their mothers seemed to like in the summers when they were young and she suggests an ice cream parlour with a particularly cute theme that she’d been dying to try out since she saw it on instagram. though her capacity for socializing steadily decreased this summer, for him to ask her to meet, she’s at least curious and seeing all the bear themed ice cream is worth it as she waits outside. a root bear float and beary sundaes? cutest thing ever. ( @sgntaeho ) 

reminiscence is not a habit of his. not when there’s not particularly much to fondly recall about his irregular childhood, which was headlined by two constantly working parents and a reality tv camera rolling in his face. still, not all was bad, especially when things were less staged and more casual. he remembers how his mother would take him to spend time with her friends and their kids to do typical mother-child things. and it didn’t have to be anything particularly exciting like going on exotic camping trips or holding lavish birthday parties. the best things were the simple things, like getting ice cream on a summer afternoon — now didn’t that used to be nice?

so when he learns that one of these childhood friends of his also happens to be at seongnam, it comes as a relatively pleasant surprise. though given the number of years that had passed since they’ve really interacted meaningfully, he’s not quite sure if he could call lara his ‘friend’ anymore. friendship was a lot simpler when everyone was ten years old and the biggest concern in life was which flavor to get at the ice cream parlor — and when he was so much less difficult than he is today. but that’s a tale for another time. 

he’s not used to having someone observe him closely at this state, would rather jump off a building than have this happen, really. he doesn’t have the choice to do so this time around, he’s on the ground and he can’t even walk up the stairs right now. it’s a shame. he’ll have to make do with this horrible situation one way or another. hyunjae is already weakly glaring at the other, wanting to point out that it’s dark out and there’s barely any shine aside from the street lamps, but he needs a while to find his voice. he’s parched, much more than usual.

he does manage to say, “wish i could say the same,” at the other male’s greeting. he supposes he should be grateful that it’s no one he knew who came across him right this moment. he’s especially glad that it’s not his best friend, because he wouldn’t be able to explain himself and he seriously wouldn’t know how to react. since the other is here anyway, and he’s too exhausted to actually tell the stranger to back off, hyunjae takes his arm. “you don’t have to stick around,” he says eventually. he hates accepting help from others, hates feeling weak. “i’ll be fine.” he’s not sure of that, but he puts effort into making it sound as if he’s certain.

the suggestions that the other male gives out makes hyunjae raise an eyebrow. was that the impression he’s giving off? the stranger just keeps answering his own questions, so hyunjae stays quiet. it’s nice not having to talk much, especially when his throat feels like it’s burning. he can’t help but to fire back after the other’s last sentence though. “i’m not maniacal. it’s not overachieving if i’m doing what needs to be done.” although after all that, hyunjae doesn’t believe this guy would understand that. “and it’s better than drugs and alcohol, by the way.” who would choose to deal with the two options before the last one?

it doesn't take a genius to realize that the other boy is keeping him at bay, both figuratively and literally; and that’s perfectly fine. taeho gets it. nobody wants to be seen at their lowest, and very few people want to be the subject of others’ pity either. were it him in hyunjae’s position, he’s sure he would’ve done the same. so after helping hyunjae up and passing along the water bottle, taeho steps a pace away, staring off into the distance and heaving a silent sigh. “don’t worry, i’m not jumping in joy at the prospect of sticking around either,” he replies, as if the sarcastic twinge is supposed to be of some comfort. in his own strange way, it really is. “just making sure you won’t fall dead the moment after i leave.”

fortunately, it seems as though his company here has regained some spunk and conscience - at least enough of it to fire back in rebuttal at his pointed speculations. seems like the boy has some fire in him, which is wholly a good sign from taeho’s perspective. “ha– ” he lets a scoff slip out from his lips. “a lot of people actually,” he answers hyunjae’s question as if it’s a simple matter of fact. “with drugs and alcohol, at least people will generally recognize that their habits are destructive. with overworking themselves, they don’t.” he swivels on his feet to face hyunjae again, shooting him a telling look. “apparently not even when they blow their own fuse out.” 

⭑⭑ bad idea ˟

“surprised to see you here, timmy,” serena says, almost as if she’s announcing her presence as she leisurely makes her way towards taeho. the simper that spreads across cherry glossed lips reads amusement with a hint of something vulturous, but at this point she feels as if that’s a natural part of their dynamic – if you could even call it that. still, she finds it down right entertaining to find kwon taeho out of all people donned in a sad excuse for a toga hovering near the bar at a toga party. he came off as the type that was above anything that consists of a good time ( definition pending ), and serena tells herself that’s one of the main reasons that she found herself beside him now; turning so her body is facing the main gathering before them, elbows resting upon the counter top behind her. it’s that, and boredom – the only reasons why she’s there, uh huh. it has nothing to do with the annoying gravitation she’s felt towards him since that night in the lake, something that still burns slightly ( despite the humiliating interruption ) which has caused her to act out in ways that would all be worth it if she got to see taeho sweat just a little. sometimes it was a hit, sometimes a miss.

she likes to think that she wouldn’t miss anything tonight with the last minute costume she picked up that barely passes for a toga. it most likely doesn’t, but it’s obvious that she was let in anyways because she fills it out rather nicely.

“you borrow your mom’s bath towel for your outfit today, hm?” and it isn’t long before the provoking starts, cup filled with whatever toxic concoction the cinth’s made is used to cover up the way her mouth twists with her stupid joke, brim concealing her amusement easily while she takes a sip. her need to throw jabs at him is probably the only stronger feeling than the itch she has for him at the moment, one that was much too powerful to ever stifle. that, and it’s not like she could ever tell taeho to his face that he looked much better than decent, toga or not. so the one-two punches keep coming, “no but for real, i didn’t know that you even knew how to enjoy yourself and not take shit seriously. i’m actually happy for you, y’know. what’s next, you’re gonna tell me that you actually have friends that you came here with?” and she raises upwards as much as she can within her heels, making a show of the way she gazes around the perimeter in search of these so called friends she made up,hand resting outwards above her eyebrows to help her. there is a point in time where she does meet the gaze of another guy not too far from where they stood, but serena doesn’t catch the way he gives her body a once over, too busy trying to sell her antics. “no? well, baby steps i guess. someone will come along that’ll be desperate enough to deal with your shit, i’m sure.”

campus parties are generally stupid. cinth parties are even more stupid. so what does that make a cinth toga party? absolutely imbecile. taeho has hated uniforms and costumes for as long as he can remember – and yes, he even hates halloween because of it. yet here he is, dressed like an ancient clown in the heat of it all. his only solace is the drink in his hand, which by the way, tastes like koolaid watered down with hose water (that’s probably what it is, isn’t it?). honestly he’s starting to question if it even has any alcohol in it. so scratch that – the only solace he finds is that he thinks he’d look even worse in this ‘toga’ if he hadn’t been really hitting upper body at the gym these past few months. he mentally kicks himself for being like this; for now being not only a killjoy, but also vain as hell. walking up to the bar, taeho asks (or more like coerces...) the cinth bro on shift to pour and mix his new drink per his own instruction, because whatever they were already giving out wasn’t going to help him have anything close to ‘fun.’

speaking of fun, it does somehow manage to find him in the midst of this witless toga party (if you couldn’t tell by now, he thinks togas are really fucking stupid), and it comes in the form of none other than serena yoon. well, maybe ‘fun’ isn’t quite the best way to put it – but at least she’s interesting (and looks more than interesting...), he’ll give her that. but really, just listen to those personal attacks already flying his way, as if she’s had them ready, locked, and loaded for this very moment. truly riveting. “yeah, yeah. whatever,” he replies, his nose scrunching up a bit in annoyance but unable to bring himself to defend the stupid costume either. it’s hard to hear things super clearly over the loud music and the ruckus of the crowd, but it doesn’t take so much to know that she’s mocking him. “friends? yep, don’t have any,” he replies, so deadpan that it’d be hard to press the point further if he were someone with regular feelings and insecurities. luckily, he’s not.

ㅡ * ✰ . under my skin ,

she’s certain now that she’s feeling the effects of the high, as if she’s on a completely different plane than the one she’d been living on for all of her life. it’s as if every anxiety and problem has seeped out of her through her pores and onto the ground, pooled into a puddle and she’d left it behind, leaving her feeling light-headed but free. her senses feel heightened, like she’s one of those superheroes from the marvel films she enjoys so much, like she can count each and every hair on a person’s head, can smell each individual ingredient in the food at the booths she passes by, can feel every cell working within her body. it’s an incredible and addicting feeling, and it makes her feel alive. 

one thing that remains unchange, though, is a heightened sense of self-confidence that may seem a bit over the top to some, but is rightly earned, justly warranted as far as she’s concerned, and it shows in the way she laughs in his face, boldly, but also almost childishly in a way that hardly makes sense but also makes all the sense in the world. she picks up the toy pistol in her hands and it’s probably made out of some kind of synthetic compound or plastic, but it feels like the finest steel in her hands, a real gun, something she’s never actually put her hands on in her life. she holds it up like she’s seen in all those spy movies, pointed up at the sky and close to her face, peering at taeho—who, by the way, is even more striking through this new lens, and it isn’t even fair—through squinted eyes. “oh, i’m not worried,” she says, words dripping with the same kind of cockiness that’s gotten her hate before when she’s streaming. “because you’re not going to have a story like that to tell.”

she then points the toy gun in his direction, firing off an imaginary shot, which she gets scolded for by the booth attended. the strict tone with which he’s said it only sends her into another fit of giggles, one she barely manages to pull herself out as the game starts, shoulders still shaking with mirth as she takes aim. shooting off a toy gun in the real world and shooting off a sniper rifle in a computer generated 3d world are a little different, but she feels laser focused, even when her shots fall a little short, even when she misses more than she thought she would. what’s most surprising of all, though, is that she doesn’t grow frustrated with the results as she can be known to do; instead, she laughs, enjoying the moment in itself than worrying about the outcome. of course, that doesn’t stop her from trying to cheat, hand reaching out to try and push taeho’s gun down and decrease his accuracy. “try and tell that to my subscribers. they’d never believe you!”

except they totally would.

some say confidence is the world’s strongest drug, and with the way she’s acting right now, taeho thinks that might just be true. not that daeun was ever especially reserved or anything, but it seems like the little something they’ve shared was enough to tip the scales over to the next level of blistering self-confidence. to be clear, this is not a bad thing in his books; if anything, it’s the opposite. he loves seeing people in their element, regardless of what extra artificial kick it might’ve taken. most any experience is worth having once, or twice... or maybe a few more times than that. ‘all things in moderation’ is his rule of thumb -- as long as it doesn’t become an debilitating habit!

that being said, his already dilated pupils grow yet a little wider when she turns the gun at him, not in fear but in pleasant surprise at her theatric antics. however the booth attendant, who is quick to berate for their total carelessness, is clearly nowhere as near as amused as taeho personally is. but come on -- it was a toy. it wasn’t going to blow his face off, was it? maybe leave a stinging gash at worst. he belatedly figures that wouldn’t be all that great either. oh well. shaking any remnants of caution or restrain out of his head space, he instead pulls on his acting chops, theatrically clamping a hand over his chest and fake grimaces when she ‘fires’ the imaginary shot at him point blank. maybe he was more ‘fun’ when high.

soon the game begins, and a smug grin settles onto his lips when he realizes his predictions are true. as he had hoped, she’s nowhere as sharp with her aim in this state. nevermind the fact that a carnival game wasn’t equivalent to gaming -- he’d hold it over her head while he could. “damn, you’re washed,” he taunts in between a chain of relaxed chuckles, finding it easier to laugh now more so than usual. but perhaps he celebrates too soon, because she’s straight up cheating; so obnoxiously so that he’s not even mad. he fires off the rest of his shots, and to nobody’s surprise, doesn’t hit much at all. who won? he doesn’t know, doesn’t really care. he just finds comfort in how he’s not the only one finding such immense, juvenile joy from their mutual incompetence. on the other hand, he can feel the judgement oozing out of every spectator around them, and he doesn’t intend on letting that killing his vibe. “alright cheater, let’s get out of here. but let’s be clear — you definitely didn’t win.” upon making his point, he returns the toy guns back to place before steering her away to who know’s what’s next in their evening of chaotic antics.

❱❭ *super rich kids

     he wrinkles his nose a little bit, mostly at the other male’s tone. the unfamiliar male is a good deal taller than him, unfairly so. seungjun himself only stands at 173 cm, and physically has to tilt his head back slightly to meet the other’s eyes. it makes for an even more awkward situation, especially because he doesn’t know what he’d done to warrant such a rude tone. “um, well… i wouldn’t call him that,” he smiles apologetically at his bodyguard, who is obviously still on guard at the overly hostile stranger. 

     “but i guess you’re right, he is here for me…” his voice trails off, the other’s eyes on him rather aggressive, and instead of cowering, seungjun straightens up. he’s used to this kind of situation, he thinks wryly, there are plenty of people who would like to intimidate him to gain some kind of advantage. at the other’s sarcastic, biting tone, he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. he’s guessing that this person has no idea who he is, or who his parents are, or else he doesn’t think the other would be taking such an obviously combative stance against him. “lee seungjun,” he says simply, and he eyes the other’s hand. 

     “i’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…” he trails off, letting the sentence speak for itself, taeho’s belligerence uncalled for and unnecessary. still, he reaches out to shake the other’s hand, a firm grip, quick and professional, before he drops it. “did you really just come here to yell at someone you don’t know?” he finds the idea barely believable, such a ridiculous notion, and yet that seems to be the case.

interpersonal conflict is something that most people prefer to avoid when going about their lives. fortunately (or unfortunately?) taeho is not like most people. conflict is something he strangely enjoys -- no, correction: it’s something that he just finds himself caught up in, regardless of how hard he does or does not try, to where it no longer feels abnormal or extraordinary. so while seungjun’s bewilderment at the sudden confrontation is objectively valid, taeho just doesn’t get what’s so absurd about his choice to knock at a stranger’s door, and the way he stares blankly at back at the other boy lets him know. “well, yeah,” he replies curtly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

taeho raises a single wary brow when he notices how seungjun shirks away from prolonged contact or direct dialogue with him (understandably so). whatever, it’s fine. he doesn’t think mr. bodyguard would’ve allowed much more anyways. but wait, what did the guy say his name was again? lee seungjun? he can’t decide whether that rings a bell or not. seongnam is large enough that a rogue like himself can’t easily keep tabs on who’s who; but it’s also small enough that if you’re prominent or problematic enough, your name gets around. 

breathe;

his back will probably be killing him for lying down on a bench for too long, that’s a problem for future hyunjae though, one that’s wide awake and ready to take on the world. that hyunjae will probably push through it like he always does, he isn’t that hyunjae right now though, he can’t even bring himself to open his eyes. he isn’t really trying to, he isn’t trying to do anything much except for breathing, but even that he’s accomplishing with quite the difficulty. oh well. he’ll deal with the consequences later.

there’s a bit of commotion going on that he could sense, but it becomes a garbled mess to his ears. there’s not much to hear in the first place, with the park being as quiet as it is at this time of the night, he’s still somehow able to tell that something’s happening, just not what it is specifically. the light shaking gives him something more to work with, giving him some of his thoughts back. silence passed and the clock continues to tick as hyunjae slowly comes to his full senses—and it really does feel like it takes forever. his breathing evens out and he makes a distressed hum, surprising himself when he finds his throat scratchy.

eventually, however, he manages to crack open an eye—barely. the moment he does, his head began to pound heavily. he sucks in a breath, only to cough harshly for doing so. it takes a while for him to realise that someone is there, but it takes a while for him to find his voice. “what… why… you…” was all he could say for the time being, said in between coughs. not only was his head too heavy on his shoulders, his stomach felt too empty and his throat was burning. there were too many sensations for him to handle, that he couldn’t lash out at the poor stranger just yet as he usually would.

patience is a virtue. unfortunately, it’s not one of kwon taeho’s virtues. regardless of his valiant(?) efforts, there’s not a desirable response from the passed out boy, and frankly taeho is dead dry on other ideas to wake him up. dare he say he’s also starting to grow a little scared that the stranger is not so okay after all. luckily, after what feels like an eternity, hyunjae seems to stir from his ‘sleep,’ generating some sort of guttural noise that indicates that he’s human and alive. “yeah, that’s it. rise and shine,” taeho urges him on, like his half-assed attempt at morale support was at all helpful to the cause. 

anyway, gradual progress is made. an eye cracks open, a cough expelled (was this even a sign of progress? probably not), and some tangible words spoken, albeit strung together in a way that doesn’t make much sense -- but hey, it was a start. “mhm, nice to meet you too,” he responds wryly. he gets up now, arms crossing in front of his chest as he examines the other boy, who is by all means still struggling. after brief hesitation, he decides to offer some actual support, stepping closer to offer his arm to help prop hyunjae up to a seated position.

❱❭ *hard carry

— [ ♡ ] the fact that the male has to face front and focus his attention on walking, therefore not being able to see her expression, gives her the perfect opportunity to roll her eyes at his statements. (much like he himself did a few moments prior, unbeknownst to her). of course he would say something about her weight. yooa has half the mind to tighten her arms around his neck so that she can choke him, but she decides against it. at the end of the day, he is doing her a favor by carrying her back to camp. despite that, she’s still going to chew his ear off for even teasing her that she is quote, unquote too heavy. ❝ yah, if you really think i’m too heavy, i think that says more about your health and fitness than it does about mine. as if your tall tree stature and twig arms couldn’t carry someone who is like forty-three kilograms. ❞ 

she shifts so that she’s supporting the majority of her weight with one arm, the elbow of her other arm coming up to jab into his shoulder area forcefully. it’s of course done out of spite at his offhanded teasing of her height. sure, she may be tiny compared to him, but she has good proportions, so even if she isn’t tall, at least she looks taller than she really is.  ❝ you’re right, the view is slightly different from up here,. but you know, i’m perfectly fine being my height.❞ and of course, because he seemed exasperated by all the science stuff she talks about, she’s going to bring science back into the conversation.  ❝ i wouldn’t trade my height for this view, not when i’d have a higher risk of getting some cancers, blood clots, and spine, neck, and back problems. ❞ she grins, patting him where she had jabbed him moments earlier.  ❝ but i guess all these possibilities are in your future, so i’ll be share to pray for your good health.  ❞

.

screw science. he hates science. first the astronomy disaster at the observatory, and now the biology suggesting that he’s at greater risk of chronic body ailments and a painful death. all swell stuff, and precisely what he wants to hear on this beautiful, early summer day. his ‘scientific’ knowledge of the human body is limited, but he does recall reading somewhere that the elbow is one of the hardest bones in the body... and she’s certainly helping verify that claim in a firsthand experiment. he lets out a dramatic groan when she digs her elbow into his back in retaliation -- it’s not actually that painful (just like how she’s not actually heavy in the slightest), but it certainly isn’t a pleasant sensation either. “yeah, wonder why i’d ever have back problems. it’s just completely beyond me,” he replies, snide and sarcastic. “so keep your prayers to yourself. you might end up owing me an appointment with the chiropractor instead.”

but separate to all the mumbling and grumbling on his end, he grows accustomed to the the newfound weight on his back, finding his groove as they move along the hiking trail at brisker pace now. he hits pause on the complaining or bickering for a second (thankfully he’s preoccupied trying to recall what’s for dinner when they finally get back), but grows sick of the the quiet very soon enough. who knew? it was rather awkward to walk in silence while carrying someone -- so strange that he figures it might be time for legitimate conversation that doesn’t predominantly consist of jabs and taunts. “by the way, i don’t think i’ve ever asked you,” he breaks the silence. “why are you even here?” it comes out more interrogative and out-of-the-blue than he intended, so he quickly follows up. “like why’d you pick seongnam for grad school? aren’t you from abroad somewhere? i’d imagine they have dirt for you to eat over there too.”

Yoori is accustomed to the hush that goes over the room when she enters it, so when she joins the group and the eyes are all on her she does the routine of rolling back her shoulders and keeping her head high. Maybe before she used to duck her head at the sudden attention, or the realization that everyone was talking about her prior to her joining but she had learned that people especially the affluent fed of weakness. Which is why her reaction to the girls earlier was so out of character, to care what they think or their stories of her fiance was not normal protocol for her but something new and deeply instinctual. 

Taeho speaks up and she shoots a look at him, wondering if he’s defending her in his own way. Blinking ever so slowly, she catches the glare and the words that follow with a slight flush on her features. To be called out so bluntly by the likes of him were even more embarrassing then the whole class overhearing her old group rip into her script. She felt too seen with him as if she was transparent and he just drilled dark eyes right through her. Maybe that was his superpower, or maybe it was only with her. Either way, she hesitates before answering trying to figure out what to say in response that would defend her silence but finds nothing yet again. “I don’t know,” she admits willingly wringing her hands under the desk as she glances down as she swallows, “at first it was because I was supposed to follow the rules but soon it felt too personal, and due to recent events…” she thinks of Jongin yelling at her at the party and her kissing him hard and shuts her eyes tight, “maybe I’ve not been vigilant enough and in turn have become too relaxed. It’s probably easier to come for me then usual and I reek of easy prey.” 

He made a good point, why did she turn on him so easily and yet when a bunch of snooty righ girls jumped her throat she couldn’t get a word in edgewise? Maybe because he only knew whispers of their relationship was arguing about the fundamental issues with arranged marriages whilst the girls obviously had experiences with her fiance in particular and basing all of their criticisms off what they really knew about them. Maybe because unlike Taeho, they were aiming to hurt her. Or it could just be the fact that now, unlike before, she cared that she was being actively cheated on and it hurt her whilst before she was just keeping up the facade of the perfect couple. “I suppose I am weaker then you thought.” She chuckles dryly, “sorry to disappoint.” 

he has no clue what’s going on in yoori’s life or her relationship. sure, he hears periodic whispers, mostly about the... liberties taken on jongin’s end. but he's spent too much time around the ‘fake’ news machine that is his father’s media company that he has a hard time believing everything that passes through rumor mill unless he has a firsthand source. besides, regardless of how true or false the basis of the girls’ provocations were, it wasn’t a tell-all of how yoori felt about it all. though judging from how she quit her original group, he figures it couldn’t be anything particularly positive -- but again, not his place to over-prescribe the condition, given how little she’s ever expressed to him about it. all he knows is that she’s not on top of her game today; that is, if verbal confrontations were a game. and in taeho’s worldly view, it certainly was. 

he doesn’t like how she’s responding to his prodding either: low spirits, strangely introspective, and seemingly legitimately hurt. "okay, then how about you maybe... stop? stop reeking of easy prey. crazy idea, huh?” from the disgruntled twinge in his voice, it’s hard to tell if he’s giving earnest advise or rubbing salt in the wound. so he pauses, forcing himself to tame the aggression and heaves a heavy sigh before continuing. “look -- nobody’s asking you to be a bloodthirsty predator. but how about you stop letting the bottom-most rungs of the animal kingdom over there--” he motions with his head at the snooty cluster of girls, who giggle nervously and frantically avoid eye contact with him when he does "--step all over you? it’s getting uncomfortable for people to watch, alright?” by ‘people,’ he’s talking about himself but of course doesn’t specify.

❱❭❭ honesty hour … closed

his forehead creases in displeasure as he processes the question. “...yes?” he says the word like he’s never put it on his tongue before. “the latter yes, to be specific. whichever one you’re plugging in instead of no.” he’d consider this a stupid question... if it were even a question in the first place. “are you really fishing for compliments right now? cause i hate fishing, fishers, fish, all of the above,” he spits disgustedly, but cracks the slightest of smiles at the end.  

(...)

"you’re right,” she tells taeho, as she takes her time, unhurried, to take in the appetisers in front of her. “you really are such a good boyfriend! paying for my meals, serenading me, complimenting me,” she comments impishly, a devilish smirk growing on her lips. there is nothing that makes yeeun feel better than being a winner. “also,” she notes, “if you wanted to play footsie with me, you just had to ask! no need to kick me under the table like that!”

okay, yeeun knows she’s just being an asshole and rubbing salt into his wounds at this point. it’s been all fun and games, but please, no more questions, no more random conversation with strangers. she has had her entertainment with taeho attempting to sing a cheesy love song in public, so it’s now time to shut up and eat some good food.

.

two of the things taeho hates the most in the world are being hypocritical and feeling regrets. in the current moment, he might be guilty of committing both of these vices. what made him think two fiery personalities could put their egos aside, sit politely at this table, and pull off this scam? all he knows it that twenty minutes ago, he was the one clowning her for being apprehensive about this whole fake couple scheme. but oh, how the tables have turned. now he’s out here singing vapid, cringey love songs at the dinner table for a girl he evidently does not love... correction: perhaps the fact that he’s not actually in love with her is less so evident right now, but that’s all thanks to his diligent theatrics and idiocy -- she’s not making much effort to hide how she thinks he might be the biggest fool on earth.

anyways, all this is to say that he’s not sure if he’s liking this little pretend game anymore, especially with how gleefully she is relishing this lowpoint in his life. “oh, you wish,” he replies with a light scoff, trying hard not to roll his eyes. but whatever -- with all the hardass corporate recruiting bullshit she puts herself through (albeit voluntarily...???), he decides he’ll be an absolute saint and spice up her life with some entertainment for once. still, it leaves a somewhat bad taste in his mouth. and when you’re in the middle of a generous round of fine dining appetizers, that’s really saying something. 

there seems to be a momentary ceasefire, and they work away at the food in peace. another couple (he assumes its an actual real one this time) is seated next to them, and so there’s less of a spotlight on the two of them. amazing how peaceful it is when strangers aren’t butting into your fake love life. however, it wouldn’t be very in-character if he didn’t help himself to one last poking with a stick. spotting the inquisitive waitress returning with their main entrees now, there’s a devious glimmer in his eye as he picks up a fork, stabbing a piece of food before lifting it towards her mouth. “alright babe, open wide. say ahh,” he coos, voice deceptively sweet because he’s actually toxic for this. in trying to feed her, he might just be feeding the fire... but oh well! 

— lights up

{ ... }

any other time, in other company, she may have been embarrassed by his sudden mention of the fact that she had a crush on him as a child, but that was so long ago by now, and there are more pressing matters at hand, so she waves it off, turning toward his mom. “he does have a nice face though! it makes sense, since your family has such good genes. his sister is pretty too, where is she by the way?”

aside from the way she likes to tease him a little, she had come with nothing but good intentions, only meaning to sit down for a few chats with his mom and then leave possibly before he even got back, but clearly life had a different plan, so she pats the couch next to her. “you should come and sit with us for a bit! i’m sure your mom would love to hear about school.”

truth be told, he’s starting to regret the ‘welcome’ he’s provided -- not because he’s afraid he’s hurt her feelings or anything, but because it clearly wasn’t enough to scare her off. honestly he worries if he’s messed with her too much over the years that now she’s growing immune to his taunting and torments. or maybe it’s the fact that the confines of his own living room feels more like her turf. i mean, look at his mother, already won over by her gentle charms, sweet demeanor, and... vegetable harvesting hobby? for real, his mom could probably bore a hole through his skull with her scornful gaze about now. so much for home-court advantage.

he watches in bemusement as she pivots herself out of his first attempt at derailing the conversation, side-stepping his implied accusation with a complement. sure, flattery was an effective mode of deflection. but he doubts hyunjoo is actively trying to get tricky about it; he thinks she’s just actually just genuinely nice, unlike most people who kind of just go in whatever direction the wind is blowing. anyways, taeho still doesn’t like where all this is going -- which is him, somehow ending up in a seat around the coffee table with them.

˟ ⭑⭑ WICKED GAMES

if there’s one thing that she can agree with him with ( right now ), it’s that this moment is absolutely sobering – easily showing how far gone the both of them were that something as simple as this was so unforeseen. in her deficient defense, it was significantly hard to think about things outside their radius whenever taeho’s gaze meets her own and there’s a flicker of something different within them – a loosening from the traditional steely look that he gives, a little more open and a lot of something that she can’t exactly name but is all too familiar to her, causes a sweltry and carnal feeling to swirl within. at the very least, she should have been given a pass if her natural discernment was found out on vacation at the time.

but oh, how it quickly returns upon the sense of danger that stretched out before them – and if serena wasn’t so focused on getting the absolute fuck out of dodge, she would of found it funny how delayed her counterpart’s reaction seems to be; maybe even satisfied at the daze that he’s cemented in for those couple of slow seconds. instead, she finds herself more concerned at the attention they may be grabbing at the moment – splashes of escape slicing through the serenity of the lakeside, hurried limbs sliding on whatever piece of abandoned clothing they could find at the moment. it’s harder for clothes to slide on with ease when your body is slicked down with salt water, but serena finds herself forgoing her intimates to save time, especially whenever she spots a hot white light starting to illuminate their shadows. “god damn it – go, go!” the girl is practically yell whispering while a palm pushes against his back rather roughly before she remembers – why the fuck is she trying to even help him in the first place, like they were some sort of partners in crime? absolutely not. once her feet are halfway into her shoes and underwear balled within a fist, serena pivots around the boy to make a run for it – but not before leaving him with something to remember her by.

“and maybe if you act like a good boy, there could be more where that came from,” and she leaves it at that, more entertained by the thrill of being caught now that terrified of it, and it’s that which allows her to kick one of taeho’s shoes out towards the open, watching it slide away from him while she covers her mouth to stifle her laughter, lightly bouncing away into the shadows.

prior to tonight, he might have had both ‘hook up in a public location’ and ‘hook up in a body of water’ on the list of kinks he’d seriously consider as appealing. but after this absolute hot mess, he’s should probably go back and aggressively scratch those off the list -- or at least add a giant, unmissable red-font warning that reads ‘DO NOT ATTEMPT AT SCHOOL SANCTIONED EVENT’. honestly, how could he ever think this was anything but an absolutely doomed idea destined to blow up in his face? sure, kwon taeho has a lot of bad ideas; but this one would go down in the books as one to remember... or forget. either-or. for the millionth time tonight, he can’t definitively make up his mind.

but it’s not like there’s much time for self-introspection anyways. after that absurd moment together sharing whatever it is that they shared, he’s welcomed back to reality with a sharp slap in the face. and he doesn’t even need her to whisper-yell warnings at him or physically shove him along anymore, because his own sense of urgency is enough motivation to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. but of course she wasn’t going to make things any easier... not that he was expecting her to offer her earnest and wholehearted support in these trialing times, but really now? in the heat of this very urgent moment, she still manages to carve out the time and effort necessary to fuck with him like this? well, he feels deeply honored. truly honored.

the dominating sentiment in his eyes as he glares at her now has reverted back to malice from desire, and he mouths her a clearly enunciated ‘fuck you.’ it’s a shame what’s happened to his shoe (thanks to her), but they both know there’s no time for a rescue attempt. but hey, it could always be worse. he’d rather crawl back to his tent (or god forbid, try to explain to a professor why he’s dripping wet from head to toe at this hour of day) with no shoes than no shirt or no pants. he’s usually not an advocate for optimism, but figures this minimal bit of positivity is necessary if he wants to make it out of here unscathed, with the last bit of his reputation untarnished. still rushing, he shakes his head in disgust and picks up the lone remaining shoe, sloppily tossing it in her general direction in protest. fuck those. he’ll figure it out in the morning. having miraculously slipped on the required clothes, he really picks up the speed now, bypassing her -- but not without unnecessary veering off-course to give her a light bump. “peace out, idiot. should’ve just let you drown.” with that, he rushes off, hoping that he makes it back without being caught by the predatory flashlights. and what about her? he figures whatever will happen will happen... wasn’t any of his concern, was it?

❱❭ *sincerity is scary

( ... )

with their proximity, she has to admit that it does feel slightly odd to be curled up next to taeho like this, and yet at the same time, it somehow feels… right? she tries to focus, on the oddity of this situation she’s managed to land herself in, on how close he is and how she should probably shift over so they can have more space to breathe, but instead she’s thinking about how the warmth from the blanket isn’t nearly as comforting as the warmth emanating from him. so against her better judgement, she makes one of those impulsive decisions that the influence of alcohol can conveniently lend a shield to. she nestles up closer against him, and for a split second it almost feels like she's gravitating towards him, like there’s a natural force pulling her closer and closer to him. “you’re warm, you know? you’re warm, and you’re nice.” the corners of her lips lift into a soft smile when she makes this declaration, and her eyes slowly begin to shut once more. “good night, taeho.” she whispers again, for real this time, as her consciousness ebbs and her breathing slows, sleep finally washing over her.

being shy has never been something kwon taeho has had to contend with in life. if anything, probably the opposite was true. countless times he’s been told that he’d be less of a pain in the ass prone to insult and injury (inflicting and receiving alike), if he had more modesty or reserve to temper his brash tendencies -- that he should learn to avoid and deflect sometimes, or to actually have the occasional shame when metaphorically swimming against the tide or driving the wrong direction on a one-way road, like any other decent human would. right now, he’d still deny that he’s feeling ‘shyness’ or any of its cousin emotions. but it’s undeniable that some of the symptoms he’s having in the moment (e.g. the slight warm flush in his cheeks or his shifty pupils) would be reasonable cause for concern on paper. as for now, he insists it’s mere coincidence and fortunately the darkness is on his side, concealing any physical signs that would give him away.

however as danbi nestles ever closer in what feels like a both gradual and sudden move, he’s feeling increasingly incriminated. the lack of light in the room doesn’t do anything for concealing his uptick in heart rate, and he fears that she’s actually close enough to be able to notice. initially he’s stuck in an awkward limbo where he tries not to move too much or too abruptly in either direction, away or closer. funny how she was the one who marched her way into an objectively embarrassing drunken episode, but he’s the one left feeling dumber about being so flustered. to be fair, this was an ending to the night that he was neither expecting nor intending -- not to mention he doesn’t even really know her all that well. it’d be weirder if he wasn’t feeling uneasy right? he decides to take solace in this bit of fact and reason... but it doesn’t quite explain why he’s not hating the current moment, the proximity either.

he furrows his brows at her final half-awake comments, the first about him being warm (which is frankly in part due to her own self) and the second about him being nice. at the latter especially, he has to stifle a laugh. honestly he can’t actively recall the last person to voluntarily call him ‘nice’ -- probably his grandmother, and even she must have stopped once he hit the age of fifteen or so. “i’m not,” he responds bluntly, though he keeps his voice soft and low. “i’m not warm or nice. you’re just drunk,” he adds with a light sigh. however, she seems to nod off almost immediately, still snuggled close against him. yet he doesn’t want to wake her and drags himself to the conclusion that there’s no way for him to get comfortable without giving in either. shutting his eyes, he gradually eases up, giving into the proximity and maybe even adjusting to settle in more naturally next to her. was it possible to be at both this much ease and unease at the same time? his breathing calms too, unknowingly falling in line with hers over time. again, a very very strange night to say the last. but he’d concern himself with it once the sun comes up on another day -- for now, sleep was calling his name.