#chtoyant

jealousy meme | status: open!

It’s only by reflex that her gaze flits away from the subject in question to her friend, and then back again. And then she’s looking everywhere at once, straightening in her seat whilst stabbing into her slice of cake for a saving grace in the form of a forkful of cream cheese. Savouring the bite buys her some additional seconds of silence, only offering less-than-convincing nods with her eyes downcast.

deoksu empties a bag of onion rings on the table and organizes them from the roundest to the most oblong. his stomach complains but he doesn’t eat them, glancing at her when a slight breeze takes the empty bag on an adventure across the street and into the nearest alley. he’s still in his homeplus uniform, having sprinted from the electronics section to the door when his shift was over, nametag pinned sideways and in desperate need of a wash.

“i’m with you on the ‘rage-filled’ thing.”

he responds without thought, biting the inside of his cheek when there’s a mistake in his unorthodox organization. if there was one trait neither he nor deokhyun were blessed with, it was the skill to remain neat in the most trying of times. deoksu curses a higher power for granting him dashing good looks but nothing practical. “nicest, though?” his brows furrow until the space between them wrinkles. “sweetest?”

an onion ring crunches between his teeth when he deems his work satisfactory and deoksu leans back in the plastic chair, grateful for the light post behind him. haeun is the closest thing he has to a best friend (female, at least, because no one could replace mousy little minjae) but their banter… okay, frenemies may be a more accurate term, but since when did he care about that?

“i think you’re a little delusional,” he chooses the smallest onion ring to emphasize his words, “just a little.”

what once was a look of self-assurance and anticipation deflates into one of muted disdain, and it remains to be one of their many constants. (one of them being the recurring question of: why are we friends again?) the roll of her eyes is complementary, at best, and wandering fingers make a slow crawl across the tabletop with intent of disrupting his ... work, for lack of better word. she nudges a piece out of line with the pettiness of a six-year-old toddler and a twenty-two-year-old son haeun.

“i resent that,” she protests past a scowl, eyes darting upwards only to send a resentful look his way. if anything, she was nice and sweet enough for someone so rage-filled. surely that counted for something. tight-lipped does she pluck the onion ring from between his fingers, gnawing on the salty snack with more force than necessary. “i think you’re a little shit but i’ve never said that out loud.” (a false claim.)

minjae draws it down to two things.

one: ruffled hair and turtlenecks are inherently charming. two: his stature throws him an advantage in the cute department.

but her compliments are stored in his mousy heart and he grins, raised cheeks flushed the slightest hue of crimson. his wardrobe is simple — shirts and jeans, because everything else lays on his frame like stolen drapes, drowning him in fabric. deoksu hates this shirt, though; whether it was the fact that it came from the women’s section of nordstrom or the sleeves running far past the tips of his fingers, minjae wasn’t quite sure.

he never is, really.

“ah… ha, thank you,” he responds when his vocal chords function again, “i keep this shirt for special occasions, but… everything else was dirty.” he clasps his hands (sweater paws galore) together and looks up at her, their difference in height nothing more than a novelty. most of his friends were taller, wider, bigger than him but it only becomes a problem when he’s teased about it. “you look great too! a fashion icon, as always.”

most of his words fly right above her head, and haeun’s left staring at the younger in something akin to awe. her grin widens impossibly at the way he reacts to the compliment, entirely too gleeful when his cheeks start to pink. there’s adoration swimming in her eyes, only half-listening to what he was saying. she had to feign interest like one would while amusing a child—not out of apathy, but more so because she was too occupied with having to resist from ... hell, the human mind reacts very oddly(and violently) to adorable things.

that effectively snaps her out of her reverie.

text message starters | status: open!