#inter;actions

     Minjae’s been finding himself in Boa’s apartment a lot lately, a fact that’s a little alarming to say the least, but not one he’s particularly surprised about. She’s fun to be around -- a little too fun at times, but he sort of needs that boost every so often. She’s lively, dauntless, flirtatious (again, another trait Minjae could do with a little less of, but he’s not going to hold it against her), and generally a bad influence. 

     Naturally, Minjae loves her.

     He’s got a cigarette between his pinky and ring finger, the rest of his digits clutching at a can of Diet Coke (her offer of tequila had been answered with a wrinkled nose and a grimace) as he exhales smoke out of her fourth floor window, into the Seoul sky. 

     He taps the end of the cigarette against the ashtray, the embers falling into the basin. They’ve both been quiet so far, an anomaly in itself, and Minjae’s starting to get antsy in the silence.

(sms)Minjae; define drunk lol

(sms)Minjae: you might regret not coming over ; )

“Text Meme” — ♦3kwon( status: accepting )

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. ↳ [ text ] i’m lying in bed literally waiting for death. bring me coffee.

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. ↳ [ text ] sometimes i get worried about you

Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. ↳ [ text ] FUC K NOT WHAT I MEANT. I DON’T THINK YOU’RE HOT. I THINK BEAUX’S HOT. THE IDEA OF BEAUX. FUCK.

Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text.↳ [ text ] i th nk this guy alced my drin k but i dont car ec ause his dic k is h U GE

Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. ↳ [ text ] those are the sexiest words i’ve ever seen.

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.↳ [ text ] so like. do you think cats know that i love them. i hope they do.

Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text.↳ [ text ] no offence, but you’re acting a little bitchy. just talk to me would you?

Send “#” for a RANDOM text.↳ [ text ] literally about to strangle this woman in front of me in line

Send “@” for a SCARED text.↳ [ text ] WHAT THE FUCK. THERE ARE SO MANY NAKED WOMEN. THIS IS THE LAST TIME I LET YOU PICK WHERE WE MEET UP.

Send “&” for a LOVING text.↳ [ text ] you’re a fucking loser<3

Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.↳ [ text ] real talk though: what’s it like doing it with a girl. inquiring minds want to know.

Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.↳ [ text ] I JUST BOUGHT LIKE 20+ BOOKS I LOVE PAY DAY

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.↳ [ text ] IMG_3040001.jpg      ↳ [ text ] DON’T OPEN THAT BECAUSE IT’S DEFINITELY A NUDE

   He has to admit, it’s a damn great idea. 

   His agent seems to think so too, judging by the tears of pride that glisten in her eyes when he first proposes it. Minjae’s never been particularly involved in his career, save the actual writing part; a fault of his own, really, because if he keeps coming up with ideas like this, he’ll be rich in no time.

   And really, it is a good idea; what could be better than re-releasing his book -- which, by now, has become something of a cult classic -- with an all-new cover, all-new authors note and, most importantly, all-new illustrations.

   That last part had sort of been the deciding factor/inspiration/his entire reason for even thinking of the idea in the first place. And Minjae’s always been one to give credit where credit’s due. He stumbled across Sen’s artwork while (not creeping, but totally creeping) his way through some old message boards, and her URL was one that had been repeated countless times. Deciding to brave the potential viruses and pop-ups for ‘Busty Russian Beauties!’ he’d followed the link only to find himself faced with a portfolio of art inspired by him.

   For hours he’d stumbled through piece after piece, drinking in every brushstroke and line, the way she’d captured the hesitance behind Taesun’s movements, the light behind Seokjin’s eyes. It was well into the early hours of the morning before he’d been able to tear his gaze away.

   He’d contacted her immediately -- there was no way he couldn’t: she’d captured his characters so fully, so incredibly. He had to meet her. 

   They’d agreed to meet at noon the following Saturday at a coffee shop in Hongdae. Minjae looks down at his watch: 11:56AM. Still time.

    He’s become something of a notorious people-watcher as of late. And it’s not creepy (though, thinking about it, actually saying it isn’t creepy kinda makes it creepy...), it’s just that, after four years of effective literary celibacy, Minjae’s shocked to remember that, hey, writing is hard. And writing people? Fucking impossible.

    Because, along with abstaining from writing, he’s also sort of forgotten to talk to anyone that isn’t himself or cashiers at supermarkets (and that second one he adds to the list hesitantly because he doesn’t think saying “that’ll be debit, please” once a week really counts as meaningful conversation).

    So he people-watches to remember. To remember how people walk, how they talk, how they live. Think of it as homework to be tested on later.

    And yeah, maybe the Cheonguk lobby at three in the morning isn’t exactly prime people-watching location, but he doesn’t regret dragging himself out of bed when the girl walks through the front doors.

    She’s holding a wig, which is enough to catch Minjae’s attention right away, her long hair tied up in a ponytail at the back of her head. He doesn’t plan on saying anything -- that’s kind of a rule he has, like he can’t disturb the constant variable -- but he can’t stop himself.

     Minjae likes Allen. He’s easy to get along with -- talks just enough that Minjae doesn’t really have to, but not enough that he feels like he’s going to be smothered under mundane, idle chatter. Plus, he’s smart -- knows his way around economics like no one Minjae’s ever met before -- and to top it all off, they’re the same age. So, yeah, it’s easy; nice.

     (It also doesn’t hurt that Allen’s pretty goddamn gorgeous, and Minjae doesn’t have a crush -- honest! -- but he sure as hell has eyes.)

     And maybe Allen drinks a little too much, but Minjae’s started chain smoking two packs a day from the stress caused by his return to the active world, so he likes to think that they’re starting to balance each other out just fine.

     They’d met at a club, under strobe lights, with a straw between Minjae’s lips, sucking at his diet coke, and the other had sidled up next to him, clearly shitfaced already, whooping at the bartender to bring him another round and “keep ‘em coming!” and Minjae had laughed, applauding him for his enthusiasm. And so it had progressed.

     They’re at a club now -- or rather, outside of it, leaned up against the brick wall, shoulder to shoulder, Minjae pushing smoke from his second cigarette of the evening out from his lungs and into the air. He holds the pack out to Allen -- he doesn’t even know if he smokes, funnily enough, but figures it doesn’t hurt to ask.

    The way he sees it, it’s completely unnecessary.

    Half of South Korea already hates him, so a haircut is hardly going to change their opinion. The other half reveres him, but that’s because of his writing and not because he keeps his hair neat and out of his eyes (or so he likes to think anyway -- he’s read some of the fanfiction. He knows how the female youth think)... 

    (That one pairing him with Lord Byron had been particularly enjoyable.)

    But, naturally, his agent had other ideas. “This is your big comeback!” she was very fond of saying, followed by (much to Minjae’s chagrin): “Do you really want to look like you perpetually have an old, slightly mouldy mop on your head?” 

    So, yeah, maybe his vision is getting a little blocked by his bangs, and maybe his black roots are starting to peek out from under all the blonde. But when he agrees to visit Caru Studios with promises of “the best,” he does it for himself, damn it. Not for his agent. For him. Definitely.

    The place practically radiates “welcome,” warmth spilling out from the multiple chandeliers, casting the place in light as natural as sunlight. It’s fairly busy -- they’re quite popular, or so he’s heard -- but his agent had the forward thinking to book an appointment ahead of time, bless her, so Minjae walks straight for the front desk, running his hands down his thighs as he addresses the receptionist:

[ ✉️ ] I????? [ ✉️ ] I don’t know???!!! [ ✉️ ] Ahhh im no good at these things ;; [ ✉️ ] Try comforting her????