#p.trouble

hey lover come and be my alibi, i'm gonna burn down the house tonight. @dubbelster​ / eunchan & taekyung / the streets of seoul, 12:49pm.

they’re huddled outside a gs25, bodies thrown across flimsy plastic chairs, eunchan slumped down into it, shoulders hiding just beneath the line of visibility. it cramps at his back, but he refuses to move. taekyung’s legs are long enough that their knees are bumping when eunchan sits like this. slouching and lethargic. not that he’s tired. maybe just his body is. the night’s still young. especially for the both of them. nothing good ever really comes of them together, but it’s what eunchan chases after. that exhilaration that comes with doing terrible and dangerous things. the feeling of his heartbeat jumping up his throat, trembling fingers, a swell of adrenaline that has his pulse thrumming humminbird-fast. 

it feels like what being alive should.

eunchan nudges their knees together, lifts his brows at the other as he takes another swig of the bottle of soju. it’s nearly empty, has a scattered collection of empties on the teal-colored table in front of him. he’s tipping past tipsy, hitting that realization that he’d already managed to get himself drunk a good ten minutes ago. but he likes that feeling, drunk. it’s like being an amplified version of himself. one that doesn’t think. one that doesn’t worry. one that worries a little less over what everyone’s thinking about him. so he likes it. likes taekyung too. bumps their knees together again. 

“you need more?” he asks, because taekyung is a literal giant, and eunchan always gets wasted far earlier than him. he privately thinks that he should have worked up his tolerance by now, but he’ll accept his fate. at least he can spend less to get drunk. his pathetic body frame is at least good for something. he reaches out to drop his newly finished body into the midst of the collection. the world feels a little bit like it’s tipping every time he takes his time to blink his eyes closed. builds up his resolve, hooks his fingers in against the arms of the chair to haul himself upright. his hair’s a mess, ruffled by the wind and half tucked underneath the hood of his sweatshirt.