#nojitsui

짓수이.

“very well.” the finality in his voice is concerning. every wrinkle between his brows shows that he’s not fucking around. not this time.

after five intense minutes of intense concentration, jitsui uses his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. he’s really got to work on that, or at least carry a rag with him. but finally, he seizes the man’s wrist and raises it to his eye level. upon closer inspection, the second thing anyone could easily tell that minho… has really nice hands. he should really be a hand model, but first thing anyone would first notice is that…

“i think blue would’ve worked better actually.” the entirety of minho’s finger nails, tips and pads were all coated in red polish. when jitsui said he was a master painter, he meant figuratively, not literally. the only thing he’s mastering right now is a head ache. rest in piece, choi minho’s nails.

` 최⁹¹ . Minho watched with concentration as the other went to painting his nails, and very seriously at that; this reminded him of the time Taeyeon took to painting his nails for fun once, and he thought it was pretty funny. This time, it was his first time trying it on every single one he owned extended from the palm of his hands.

         “Interesting speculation.” A pause. “And a popular misconception.” Pretty big words for such a pea-brained boy. 

         Dark eyes lift, surveying the boy sitting beside him. There’s strange familiarity in that face. Not laying within the features, no, not tucked inside the crevices of their skin. Minjae knows exactly who Jitsui is. At least, all that he needs to know. He’s been acquainted with their eyes already before, and their mouth. Their throat in particular. No sexual innuendo intended though, because Jitsui is a singer and that’s all the maggot knows. 

         There’s familiarity in their naivety.

“ … “

someone might as well just go ahead and write ‘guilty’ on jitsui’s face with the world’s blackest sharpie . his brows crease, and he’s sweating far too much, but he’s trying to brush it off with a smile. however, nothing could tear his eyes away from the screen where his twitter feed came into view. now slow down a little, jitsui, deduce what you can from the 943454935 videos that span out throughout the entirety of the page. each one featured.. himself… okay… and he’s stylin’ all over what seems to be a private booth for karaoke? the light emitting from the widescreen television nearly blinds him, but jitsui could easily make out his silhouette flipping and snapping about the floor, arms flailing in a coordinated vogue-esque dance. he didn’t realize that he had the ability to seamlessly rap the entire a’wesome album by hyuna but- ..he’s doin’ it.

“… so. about last night.”

『 ✝ 』     EVERYONE’S DONE SOMETHING STUPID ON THE INTERNET. in the technological age, this seems to have annexed itself to the definition of  ‘HUMAN NATURE’ - for it truly is difficult to understand the entirety of situational context  (  if there is any ... hunter isn’t too sure about this particular scenario  )  from nothing but a tweet, or a few video clips. it isn’t the context of the video that hunter sees an issue with ... but the fact that there are  SO DAMN MANY  of them. he’s sure this is the result of a drunken social media escapade - something of which he himself has been guilty, though only a handful  (  if it is a  GIANT’S  hand  )  of times. but it’s never been to this extent, he can proudly say. 

                 ❛  YEAH. about that.  ❜  hunter’s lips press into a line after the brevity of those two statements passes, his eyes narrowed to judging slits as he glances the younger male’s way.  ❛  i’d say delete them all, but - the damage is done. how the hell did this even happen ? how much storage does your phone have ? this is ridiculous.  ❜  hunter leans over the back of jitsui’s chair, brows screwing together as -  JESUS CHRIST,  that’s a lot of videos. a hand rests atop hunter’s protruding hip as his head cocks to a side.  

                 ❛  well, ‘least it wasn’t instagram.  ❜

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