#kkjgn

... If you don't, I will find you, Kim Jongin. And if you stain it, I will hurt you. --That's a warning. ( ' he shakes his head slightly ) I know you know it's my favourite one.

— “Come on, Sehun. Pick the damn thing up.” Jongin growled under his breath as the call went to voicemail for the 30th (300th?) time in the past hour. Jongin would be furious, but he knew the other male all to well to think he’d be ignoring him on purpose. A fist rose up and banged on the door in front of the silhouette. When Sehun didn’t answer the 3rd call, Jongin was getting annoyed, but when he didn’t answer the 10th time, the male was already on his way to the musician’s home.

There was still no reply from the other, not a single sign of life inside, not even the faint sound of music could be heard. It was as if Sehun wasn’t there. But Jongin was positive he would find him inside, sitting at the piano, he just knew it. Fishing out a pin from his pocket, Jongin set down the cup of coffee on the ground and attempted to unlock the door. He’d recently learned that Sehun loved coffee as much as he did and given Sehun was probably working on a new piece again, he would need all the caffeine he could get. Plus it might get him off the hook for breaking into Sehun’s home.

Well what if he was dead or something? Who would know if nobody checked?

The man entered his dear friend’s dwelling and headed straight towards the room he’d remembered the piano was in. There were still no sounds or even hints that the other was here, only eerie silence was present disrupted by the occasional creaks when Jongin’s weighed down the lose floorboards. It was early enough for Jongin to still bother Sehun, but late enough for the sky to turn into a black night. It all reminded him of a horror film, sending shivers down his spine. He grasped the cup a bit tighter.

Peering into the room, his lips pulled into a tiny smile, an inaudible chuckle sounding somewhere deep inside of him. There the boy was, sitting at the piano, just like Jongin expected. He was not composing a new song though, his head was hung dangerously low, body rocking back and forth just slightly, barely unnoticeable to the human eye. The boy was sleeping, his lips pulled together slightly, with a few hums slipping out here and there.

Jongin set the cup down on the table and without much efforts, scooped the lean boy up into his arms, carrying him over the the bed. He lay him onto the bed and pulled the blankets over him, settling down onto the spot next to him. Jongin ran his fingers through the other’s soft locks, adoring the way he looked so peaceful while sleeping, a stark contrast to how he was with Jongin when actually awake.

— “I’m going to make sure you get at least 24 hours of sleep.” he spoke in a hushed tone so to not wake Sehun up. “And you better thank me for this later. Tsk. I wanted to hang out, but it looks like I’ll be babysitting.”

What if I want cuddles too.

Blessed now was silence, such a rarity in its wholeness; though be it a fleeting spectre it remained austere in all ways and he would herald and praise its coming, if not for the vehement memories of battles lost and long since passed what should disturb his deserved peace that now presented much of his sins uniquiet and inescapable. Junmyeon would argue that heavy was more the past than any crown one might bear but louder still were his demons.

He was not meant for silence, but instead muffled cries and regret unseen. It was no less strange that his mother deemed it necessary for him to pray intensely for any wordless refuge, the quietus sure enough offered no solace. A shame the boy did not believe in something called a god, much less in someone who pulled the strings behind one's happiness and misfortune.

Man forged his own destiny and yet he had failed at doing so; what a shame.

He was harried, dogged and exasperated in the presence of his own thoughts, so much that he was unknowing of footfalls and the clearance of a throat. Eyne of steel focus then, muscle memory serving to quicken his tired limbs; a pivot, the unmistakable defensive stance; it made him calmer when there was lack of a threat or sarcastic comment.

{ ✉  → huntato } Oh Sehun wants to get out of the house. Alert the media!!! { ✉  → huntato } but yeah, it does involve you getting out of the house { ✉  → huntato } but before you can meet me, i am sending you out on a quest. { ✉  → huntato } first order of business - get me coffee { ✉  → huntato } and fries { ✉  → huntato } get me fries too.

It isn't strange for a man to enter a bar on his own, many do it, he's pretty sure of it as he sits at a nightclub, refusing to budge from his stool because this was a bad idea since he does not dance under any circumstances, but there's no pretty girls at the bar and the  few stragglers at the counter are also shy men like himself who sullenly cradle their drinks, pretending to be invested in barely wet bottom glasses to the point where socializing isn't necessary but it's the reason why they're all here to begin with.

One of the main reasons he thinks tonight in particular is so rowdy is the fact that it's Friday and kids are getting a lot better at making fake I.D.'s because some of these teens are no older than seventeen and are flailing crazily, extremely wasted by the two sips of beer they had and it's kind of pitiful, really. He sighs, leaning with the small of his back pressing against the edge of the counter, staring out at the hype crowd moving in sync to the house beat blaring from speakers, the volume threatening his hearing even though he's clear across the club from the DJ.

Send me a ▸ for a 3am text message