#krxjongdae

@krxjongdae

it was rare for the small girl to drink on her own, it was even rarer for her to get so drunk that she couldn’t walk anywhere near a straight line. but here she was was, standing in front of a familiar door and knocking on it irregularly, a bottle of rose in one hand. truth was, it had been a rough day, and she couldn’t bring herself to bother anyone about her problems when she was sober, so she made the unconscious decision to drink and help her with it.

somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she’d worry the elder cousin if she appeared this drunk at his door but she missed him and needed someone to talk to. the small florist had promised herself she wouldn’t cry anymore today, she even wondered ho bad she looked at that moment, but it all flew out the window when the elder opened his door, tears automatically clogging up her vision. 

Hyungwon walked into the dusty shop with the chime of the door bells, eyes scanning the room before walking over to the mechanic tinkering at his table. It wasn't his first time here, far from it. Being a chronic clumsy person, Hyungwon was breaking things all the time. This time, it was his favorite watch, an ancient timepiece he'd inherited from his grandfather. He didn't know much about it, but he knew it was from before the war, and that meant that it was hard to find someone who knew the ins and outs of its gears. So when he found out about Jongdae's business, of course he became a frequent customer.

He didn't know what was wrong with it this time, but Hyungwon had handed it over to Jongdae a week ago to take good care of it. Now he was here to collect his little baby and pay, but one look at the other man made him think that money wasn't the thing this guy needed the most. Hyungwon's fingers twitched just looking at his shirt. Sure, it was probably clean, but just how many stains were permanently stuck onto the cloth..? And those were definitely oil stains on his pants. And some grease on his arm, smudged on his face, the rag on the table reaching the end of its sad life... That could not be healthy.

@krxjongdae

The techno vibe of the music played by the DJ blasted throughout the club was a bit obnoxious to his ears as Jongkook sat on his seat. He tapped his finger on the table, eyes occasionally straying to the dance floor where some of his friends were swinging their limbs to the music. He took a sip of his non-alcoholic drink, not even pretending to express any interest in what the rest who weren’t up on the dance floor were playing beside him. 

Although he does indulge himself in sins like these from time to time, it was never really something he found great pleasure in. He took great deal in taking care of his health, so he seldom drinks. And precisely because of that he’s often the chaperon that makes sure all of his friends return back home safely and in one whole piece. When he’s not on his shifts, of course.

The music changes just when he was suddenly greeted by the appearance of a familiar person who was out of breath. He could recognize him as one of the mechanic in the car repair workshop situated not far away from the location of the club. He had even stopped by for a short visit before coming here. Yet the presence of the person didn’t seem to speak of good news, and he even had to request for a glass of water for him to calm down first.

@krxjongdae

It wasn’t normally like rose to ask for favors, much less when it came to work at the nightclub. Normally she could be seen as a highly stubborn woman with an aptitude for intelligence and independence, but when it came to the task given to her at hand she had lost of those characteristics.

“Why the hell couldn’t Sooyoung do it himself....he does know I’m no handyman right?” Rose grumbled softly under her breath, her eyes cast downward as she rounded a street corner quickly. A small closed box, filled to the brim with whatever sort of treats lay inside, was grasped tightly in between Rose’s hands. The letters KJ were found written in large black letters on the top of it.

Her feet were quick against the pavement, her eyes latched on the cracks on the sidewalk as she hopped over them. A slight twist in her body caused one of the many black belts wrapped around her torso to pull a little too tightly, rubbing harshly against the smooth white feathers of her wings. They were hidden yes, and to her it was a pain to walk around with them strapped to her back every day. But society demanded (of course) absolute perfection so here she is now, wincing slightly in pain as tears slightly fill her eyes, fogging her view. She wipes them quickly away from her face with the back of her hand, a sigh flowing through her lips as she continues walking.

And then suddenly she’s at her destination. She stops, standing outside two large double-doors that lead to Jongdae’s apartment building. Entering, she walks over to the elevators and walks over to a newly arrived one. It was a quick trip, the building not being that tall with not many floors.

It comes to a stop, the doors opening up to the third floor corridor of apartments. It’s quiet, but in the distance she can hear rock music blasting behind closed doors. She smiles, probably Jongdae.

She continues down the hallway and stops in front of #301 the source of the noise being apparent as she heard high-pitched singing on the other side. Bringing one of her hands up, she raps her knuckles loudly against the wooden door, calling out for her friend.

@krxjongdae

Everything is bleak and blurry. Streaks of light blind Taehyung as he each time he opens his eyes again. 

He was pretty sure he heard someone saying something to him as he stumbled into the lobby of the building. By the tone of their voice though, it seemed more like a nuisance than an emergency that Taehyung pay attention. It’s not until he manages to stabilize himself against the wall next to the elevator that he registers what they were trying to tell him. 

The button he presses three times doesn’t light up; as it usually does. So instead, Taehyung bangs his fists against the safety doors once before dragging himself towards the stairwell. It was a good thing he only lived on the third floor.

Of course, taking three flights of stairs up is a lot harder than taking them down when you’re pissass drunk. So the fact that Taehyung actually manages to do so is quite impressive. At least to his drunk self.

“Fuck,” Taehyung grumbles under his breath as he pushes the door open to the third floor. 

@krxjongdae

if there was one thing in the world that hanbin actually liked, it was riding around at high speeds on his motorbike. he’d gotten the bike a couple of years back because he was quite done with putting up with public transport and since then he had not looked back. there was a sense of freedom which came with racing down straight roads as fast as you could, avoiding any cameras or police cars on the way, all while knowing that one wrong move could end up with you in a world of pain on the street. there was nothing between you and the floor once you came off, but that is what made it more exciting.

so, when said bike decided to completely conk out on him, hanbin was not in the least bit impressed.

                                                              ✜ 

There’s this part clap-board, part plastic low setting table in Mihyun’s apartment, shoved into the small space between her pop-up armoire  and her bookshelf. On top of it is her spare blankets and bedding. Above it is a single picture of Mihyun at age 5 sat between her mother and father from the time she was still Kim Yoona. It was the first thing she bought for the apartment. Not pots, pans, chopsticks, plates, or bowls, a table. 

There’s a smear of orange nail polish on the left corner from when she painted her toe-nails for her first job interview, a slight crack from unceremoniously dropping her giant textbooks after buying them and crying from the stress and the headaches she endured that day. There’s also the faint lines of script from pen ink that bled through a paper she was writing onto the table. It went from an all-purpose table, to a coffee table, to a foot rest, to a bed side table, to a haphazard shelf. It’s not it’s final form, but someday when Mihyun is in a better situation maybe years down the line, she’ll look at this old table and remember all that she’s endured. 

idk how i’m really supposed to be doing these?? so im just gonna do it as a mun talking about her muse????????????/

(tw; self harm)