#kiallen

   “Well alright— I’ll leave you alone then.” The female pauses, arms crossing over her chest. “I really think you should tell someone soon, though. It’s unhealthy to keep something like that bottled up.”

     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.

“Give me my usual,” He called out the the bartender once he’d hopped onto one of the club stools, drumming his fingers along the counter. “You look like shit,” He blurted out to the unfamiliar man sitting two stools away from him, without really paying mind or care to the fact that others might’ve had stress on their minds. “Might wanna get a drink too, kid.”