#dotwon

                  he’d expected a day like the rest . to wake up , sit in the library for as long as he was allowed , to eat the dog food they called dinner , to go out into the yard & to go back to his cell . he had it down to a t by this point , knowing his routine like the back of his hand . but he’d been called in for visitation . he half expects it to be his sister or his lawyer , fingers drumming restlessly against his orange - jumpsuit clad thighs before wandering in , spotting the only table with one person sat at it & he could’ve sworn that his heart just plummeted . he manoeuvres his way through the room , coming to sit at the table across from yeawon before clearing his throat .     ‘  don’t tell me ... you’ve always wanted to see what the inside of a prison looked like ??  ‘

               the number of people taehyung is genuinely nice to can probably be counted on one hand. somehow yeawon seems to have snuck into that number. he’s sat waiting for her in hotel pocha ( not his favourite gay bar in itaewon, but he doubts she wants to spend the night in looking star with him ) with a bottle of soju already waiting, to toast the end of the week. ❝ yeawon-ah, you’re late, ❞ he scolds, pouring her a glass before she’s even had the chance to sit down, whether she’s going to drink it or not.

text messages starters | status: open!

the five senses / accepting@dotwon

the way his movements halt is a little comical, noodles half-slurped in his mouth and half dandling from a pair of chopsticks, liquid dripping down on the lid he holds them over. a moment passes, and then another, as yoongi doesn’t even really breathe, because he tries this hard to be able to hear whatever the other apparently has just a few seconds earlier – but he doesn’t. perhaps it was all in the female’s head, for which yoongi would no doubt tease her until the end of the day and probably even longer than that, or maybe it was just a short, actual sound that got lost in yoongi’s own, decidedly exaggerated slurping of the spicy and creamy broth.

(신라면 might’ve not been the most glamorous thing to eat on a casual but special for its rare occurence outing (or more like in-ting, seeing how they just caved in at the female’s own apartment), but hey, it did fill its purpose: it was tasty, warm and made for good social food, all messy slurping and eating from one pot. and he did splurge on the luxurious, double price black version – and added cheese on top. that counted for something, no?)

but – but somewhere inside of his head, on a third thought, he has this painful awareness of being who he is, leading the life that he does, and he gets just a little paranoid. everybody knew of the horror stories of idols being followed, assaulted, their privacy breached – now, yoongi has always considered his fans to be extremely civil about these things, but then again… who knows. things change. different people happen. lady luck tends to be a bitch.

“did you hear where it came from?” he asks eventually, giving up on the food and biting off the noodles, half of its length falling onto the lid he holds. it feels slightly absurd when he realizes that he eyes all doors and windows like they suddenly became his worst enemies, especially that in a moment like this, he is supposed to be the brave and controlled and calm one – but he can’t quite help himself.