#jonginmi

[ ✉ → jongdae ] i just wanted to let you know that i didn’t forget your birthday, even though this is late. i hope you had a good one, or if anything that you at least survived it. you were always better at the surviving thing than me anyway, so i’m sure you’re fine. i’m sorry i couldn’t be there for it too, really. maybe one day in the future one of us will have a birthday where we can celebrate together like old times and not have to worry about getting shot or hating each other or something. it’s nice to dream about these things, right? maybe not for you but…for me it is

[ ✉ → jongdae ] i’m sorry. please be careful

( ; the messages come one by one and jongdae ignores them all at first -- sure that they must be from the company before he gives up and decides to just take a look at them. he skims through the long ones, not bothering to read through them when he realizes that the number is unknown. he pauses, scrolls back up before reading the messages word by word. he probably has a clear idea of who it is and if he'd wanted to he could easily trace down the said sender. but he decides to play ignorant, thumb hovering slightly over the messages before he types in a reply, face void of any emotion )

[ text » unknown ] who is this? 

[ text » unknown ] stop bothering me.

( ; he's good at this -- avoiding any emotion and he doesn't let any emotion seep through his face as he clicks on the number and taps on the screen a few times )

[ sms to: twin ] idk man i survived for pretty long on my own though so i think i'd be good

[ sms to: twin ] well you didnt shoot me when we saw each other the other day so i think i'll be safe

[ sms to: twin ] see you do love me dont you

[ sms: twin ] oh fuck

[ sms: twin ] i was wondering why i suddenly got so many notifications on facebook

[ sms: twin ] do you think im an idiot of course im not going into syndicate territory

what's he doing in a starbucks? taemin doesn't remember. he also doesn't really care, for that matter. the shop isn't too busy, which isn't surprising considering it's three in the afternoon on a thursday. who comes into starbucks at three pm? apparently, taemin does.

he's not sure what to do with himself. he's ordered some kind of cold coffee, and for once he actually likes the way it tastes, so he doesn't want to bug the barista about having done it wrong, since that would mean he'd have to give back his coffee.

he sits in an uncomfortable leather armchair: one of those that looks as though it'll be nice and comfy but actually ends up being lumpy and unsatisfactory. he stares out at the nearly empty shop, idly sipping his coffee through his straw and thinking about nothing at all.

when he gets the sudden urge to get up and move, he vaguely decides to go to the bathroom, even though he has little to no need to use it. he stands, leaving his coffee and keys on the table; if anyone steals it he can just fuck them over later. he's still zoned out as he walks, thinking of all the possible ways to get back at someone who tries to steal from a professional thief. because he's not paying attention, he runs right into someone going the opposite direction.

taemin blinks at them for a moment, wondering if he just ran into a mirror. but no, the body was warm, and definitely did not feel flat like a mirror. but he can't deny that this person looks a lot like him -- so much that it's mildly disturbing. taemin blinks at him for a second, then realizes why he looks so familiar (aside from the fact that it feels like he's staring at himself).

"Did you go through the latest business files?"

"Yes."

"Did you read through the books your father got you?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Mr Kim just wants you to grab your suit and read up the script he's printed out for you for tomorrow's meeting. He really wants you there."

Jongdae could only sigh, eyebrows furrowed as he mustered up a faint, "yes" once more. Tired. Jongdae was tired, stressed and honestly sick of the life he was living. He could hardly care less about the people his father met, or how business ran. He was a seventeen year old boy and he could only feel envy as he watched the other kids his age run around, party hard, fall in love, make mistakes and learn from them.

Because Jongdae could never do that -- he couldn't afford to. Mistakes were for the most part, impossible because Jongdae had learnt from a young age that mistakes would get him no where.

With nothing but a burden in each of his steps, he walked out the door, not bothering to bow to his father's secretary. And Jongdae always wondered what life outside of being a rich man's son was -- what a life outside of being a mafia's son was.

He stared out the window and began tracing circles in a mindless motion, his eyes wandering from one end to another, lips curled downwards. Jongdae hadn't wanted this, he hadn't wanted a life that was already dictated for him the moment he was born. And with nothing but bitterness building up in his chest he punched the glass in one swift movement, shattering it slightly, the cracks visible as his knuckles began to bleed.

But as horrible as his life was, as distasteful as he felt and as immoral as his family was, Jongdae was always secretly thankful for his last form escape. The one person he could go to for solitude. Perhaps the only person he could call a best friend.

[ text → dumbass ] hey meet me at the playground?

[ text → dumbass ] that was an order not a request btw

[ text → dumbass ] i just need someone right now

“happy birthday, mom,” jiyeon remarked into the motorcycle mirror as she swung her leg over the seat, a tone of sarcasm tinged with regret wrapping itself around the words. the date was not lost on her – crossed on her calendar, there was absolutely no way that she could forget. faintly, she wondered how things were back home. sentimental occasions such as these were the only times that she would allow thoughts of her family to creep in and disturb her work-focused outlook. as she weaved in and out of the busy city traffic, her mind, dangerously, was not focused on the cars coming from many directions, but instead on her mother, and how she was spending her birthday. was her father there? how about her siblings? did her mother wake up that morning with the image of jiyeon’s face? would she ever know?

a solemn, wordless mood had settled heavily on her shoulders by the time she was approaching jongin’s place, the echo of arguments between her parents still rattling in her head, blocking out even the most vibrant of car horns. parking up outside, she sat, facing the passing cars for a moment to collect her thoughts, before her heavy footsteps made their way into the building to find his door.

never thought you’d make it to forty-five, that’s for sure. her knuckles rapidly knocked against the thin wood of his door, an exhale strong enough to cause a moderate hurricane leaving her parted lips. if there was anyone who could return her to her usual, computerised state, it would be jongin and his uplifting personality. crouching down slightly so she was face to face with his letterbox, she opened it so her voice would ring through his rooms, yelling in her normal monotone.