#kkoobuk

 @kkoobuk

Almost. The word stabs right through her once, then twice, then thrice, and so on. It resonates within the space of her skull, bouncing off its walls and amplifying the simulated pain to her ego. A reminder of her failed attempt, to put it simply, or several ones to be just.

Her pout drags the rest of her features, creases showing on her forehead.❝It’s unfair.❞ It is indeed. How can she not grab the stuffed espurr out of the claw machine? How can she still fail at the last minute, watching it slip from the claws and back to its friends? Not like she wants to separate it from them, but surely it will like its new home too.

Can she even try another time? She checks her pocket: only has two coins left.

( sms : 작은 이동혁 ) if he doesn’t reply to you, why do you think he will reply to me? ㅎㅎㅎㅎ i’m kidding, kinda - not really but i’ll see what i can do! ( sms : 작은 이동혁 ) yah…. don’t lie, you only messaged me for yuta ㅎㅎㅎ no, but i miss you too. how has everything been on your side? ( sms : 작은 이동혁 ) you do? well … you can borrow it for a little longer but i hope you can come see me soon to return it? or just talk, and i’ll give it to you ^^

↻ ┇ ❛ question sentence starters ❜ ; @kkoobuk / accepting.

“and— wait, do you hear that?”

the words catch jimin off guard, and rightfully so — hansol had been in the middle of a story as they ate, an accompanying piece to some advice he’d given. (very graciously, too, jimin thinks. he’s surprised that they’re able to speak so freely with each other like this. surprised, but grateful, because there’s nothing like good food and good conversation. moving on.) 

now, it can’t be a break-in. security is tight, he remembers their ceo saying, no one will bother you. but the niggling thought won’t leave his mind, keeps his body tight as a bowstring. so he listens, just in case.

a beat. jimin doesn’t breathe. 

there’s nothing. 

he sighs, almost relieved, glances over at hansol. doubt now colours his tone, against his better judgement. “are you sure you heard something, hyung?” 

except, there is something, because no sooner had he spoken does he hear it: the sound of… nails, maybe, on wood. faint, but definitely there. and it’s almost comical, really, the slow way jimin’s expression contorts. he’s calm at first. a little spooked, but calm, thick brows furrowed as he listens harder, food long forgotten. but then the scratching grows louder, gets a bit more desperate, and maybe his eyes widen a little too much. he lowers his chopsticks from his slack mouth — which happens to be slicked in the silky red of 김치국물, spills right outside of the lines onto bare, tan skin. but it’s not the main matter of concern. after all, it’s their well-being on the line, or something.

( perhaps, internally, he’s being a bit dramatic, but you never know. it’s better safe than sorry. )