#kindvongift

Vanilla, rice flour, honey- yes, she had everything.

Standing outside the store, Eunseong checked off the small list she had been sent to get for her mother. Honestly, she should have done this before she had gotten in line, but regardless it didn’t matter; she had everything. She was ready to head back. Starting her walk, the girl dipped her head down, eyes at her feet, as people passed her, not wanting to attract any attention late at night. But wait-

Why was one of her white shoes, red at the toe?

She paused, digging in her purse to grab her cell phone to turn on the flashlight. The underside of the top of her left shoe was indeed red; it looked like blood. Nervously, she turned around, and could see the half footprints of blood created by her shoe. “What in the-,” she muttered under her breath. Unknowingly lead by curiosity, she retraced her step to see where she had stepped in the blood at the same time noticing her footprints weren’t the only blood traces on the sidewalk. Upon reaching the main source, a shallow pool of blood far from a street light, the girl couldn’t imagine how this whoever had left this blood had gotten injured. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the trail continued into an alley. 

It didn’t take long for Gavin and Charlie to became close friends despite the fact that they met under different circumstances; he was there for work and she passed by to look for someone. He was under the impression that she wants to hire him, and she, on the other hand thought that he is the informant (that’s what she call the person who gives her the whereabouts of her troubled friends). Although it was an unfortunate first meeting, the two ended up helping each other and keeping in touch as they continue their uncanny relationship. 

[ Sent To: gavin ] YAH! I better see you at the show tonight! 

[ Sent To: gavin ] If not, I will come barging in on your place and drag you out!!! You’ve been flaking on me and I am not taking your BS anymore! 

[ Sent To: gavin ]  Also, bring me some food on the way there. I’m getting tired of the food inside the pub. 

"You don’t seem that well today.”

It came out as a quiet mutter since she was not entirely sure what to say or do. Yoona had somehow gotten used to Emrys and his emotional up and downs, seeing how this was not the first time that she worked for him. And even though he seemed to be okay with her around, she never quite knew what exactly she did that kept him calm around her. Yet it was needed at that very moment, because what she had just said was an understatement. The male was obviously mad. 

With a sigh, Yoona set her water bottle down and carefully stepped closer, leaning in so he would hear her next words.

"How about we go outside a little? I honestly need a break, and you look like you need to break something."

It was raining heavily, and Siwon was on his way back to his church, carrying a bag of pastries he had bought on the way home. He really shouldn’t be eating so many, but he figured all the exercise he did would cancel it out. 

As he was prone to do, he noticed someone who seemed to be in a little bit of trouble. The other person was soaked to the bone and didn’t look like they were going anywhere.

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WE GO THROUGH too much bullshit, just to mess with these drunk and hot girls.

This was the song that immediately tugged at his mental compartment when seemingly surrounded by just that: drunk and hot girls. How apt. While most typical men would jump at the chance to sleep with intoxicated women practically drooling on your shoes, Sangho was not a typical man. Certainly not enough drinks had been filtered through his system to entertain such an idea (not that it was like him to fornicate with strangers anyway). So now, blasting club music felt entirely too loud, his skin covered in prickly bumps, an expression of fear coating his features.

Gripping at the bar behind him, as if it were a life preserver, he began to panic. Sadly, he was far too nice to ever directly say no, even if the situation called for it. And no one would assume that a man would need assistance getting away from a gaggle of women who wanted him. To put it simply, he was stuck. Their slurred words made him uneasy, hating being the target of promiscuous words with people he didn’t know at all, let alone wasn’t dating. ‘Give us your phone number, oppa!’ ‘We have a hotel room not that far away, we can take you home with us.’ ‘Yeah, we’ll give you the time of your life!’

@kindvongift

His eyes didn’t know they were looking, lest of all what they were looking for–– But from time to time, he’d feel a random spike in core activity. His circulatory system went into overdrive, working at twice the speed his lax body was used to. His pupils would dilate and he’d turn to look around, suddenly frantic, desperate to locate the source of his congenital high. Even though the instances should have been alarming, due to the nature of his three second flutters, he’d forget. Shoichi went through the motion, got carried away with by the tide of subtle extremities in life and moved on, carried on living as per usual. After permanently relocating to Japan they were far scarcer in any case. Naturally, he assumed something in the British weather gave him palpitations. However, the fluctuating vertigo returned with a relentless fever the second his feet touched South Korean soil. In a crowded coffee shop it rolls over him, causing a tremble from head to toe. Fighting the urge to sweep the room with his gaze proves futile; he stares and searches until the jumpiness subsides. And then all is seemingly forgotten, as a stranger politely asks about the tattoo on his left hand.

That night, he dreams.

Everything is extraordinary: the warmth of the Texan sun, the grainy sand on the roof of his mouth and the putrid stench of camel shit sweltering in the heat. He can’t see himself but he feels bigger, bulkier, sturdier. His shoulders are definitely wider and donned with leather. No need to inspect the surrounding area because he knows it, like the back of his tanned hand, he knows where everything is. On a weathered wooden bar, in a glass that has the fingerprints of another stamped all over it, his finger of whiskey awaits him. He knows to grasp it, tilt his head back, and take it in one swig. It burns on the way down but his face doesn’t crumple. Dancehall girls shoot him awe-filled glances yet he doesn’t blink. Old Western sultriness personified.

The slap on his back takes him by surprise, but instead of reaching for his handgun, the corners of his mouth curl up into a soft smile. He glances upwards and is greeted by the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen. He instantly knows that he wants to take the boy into his hands, kiss the golden forehead lines the sun has gifted him with, wrestle him to the ground and give him a spanking for being so gosh darn pretty. The words fly out of his mouth before he can think, sounding melodic and familiar, filling his heart with... Longing. Longing to live the fantasy forever.