#planetsorbit

teddy has made the crucial mistake of not satiating his hunger consistently, and now he's broken his fast by draining a salaryman in the alley who thought teddy was a sex-worker. maybe he went a bit overboard, but there's still a steady pulse. footsteps. shit. he could hear the man approaching, teddy turning around to face the tall man with glasses, noting he has sharp eyes but a sweet face. teddy huffs, sweeping his tongue over his lips to collect the excess blood. teddy has been told he's a messy eater. "you will, as long as you don't bolt and run your mouth. leaving witnesses alive never usually works out for me, you understand." he reassures, slowly approaching the man like a cornered animal to make sure he doesn't run. if the man cooperates, this could be resolved cleanly. "he's not dead. but if you call for an ambulance .. that wouldn't be good for me either. if it makes any difference, the man is an adulterer that was trying to proposition me." teddy swallows, his gaze fixed on the witness' face. he's reluctant to show any tells of fear, because teddy really doesn't want to have to kill anyone over this. "i'm teddy, by the way." there's a pause, licking his lips as his brows knit. "so what will you do?'"

nate feels like he's flying through all of it, the set list, the heavy stage lights making him sweat out all the toxins from the night before as he works the crowd. the brief time he has full control and attention of every soul in the venue singing along to the chorus, resonating with it is more powerful and electrifying feeling than any drug he's ever tried. nathaniel's stage outfit is understated, an homage to freddie mercury's performance at live aid — adorned in a white tanktop and jeans with a studded belt. his countenance and performance does all the heavy lifting without the need for all the bells and whistles, but nate can feel his wax wings melting as soon as he steps off stage. the sudden drop in dopamine in his brain, because the goal has been achieved and the party is over, but the performance never is. sometimes he feels like he's so close to reaching the level of perfection he wants, like his idols and the greatest of greats before him but then when nate goes off-key during rehearsals — it feels like the end of the world. he has to stay ahead of the curve. nate's wiping away drying sweat from his forehead with some merch printed with his name on it, feeling like an apple that's been cored. once he lowers it from his face, he spots oliver looking lost and sitting in a folding chair adjacent to the refreshment table, offering him an easy grin because nate hadn't been sure he would show. oliver taking orders well is something to note. nate tosses the towel over his shoulder so he can grab oliver's hand, pulling him out of his seat and into a hug. "hey, man. you made it. did you get to watch?" his breath ghosts the shell of oliver's ear, casually intimate as nate pats his shoulder before pulling away — watching oliver's face carefully as his hypemen seated around them begin to chime in with their input. nate drowns them out. he's receptive to it most of the time, but it's not what nate cares to hear right now. "so what did you think? also, sorry, forgot to tell you in the text, but you've gotta lose your pants," nate sighs, putting his hands on his hips, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing. there's some jeering in response to this request, encouragement because nate has them all under his thrall, a silly inside joke that they've beaten into the ground between tours. thing one and thing two interject with more context, that it's a ritual done to honor their deceased friend gay james — who was a fucking legend. nate grabs a bag of chips from the refreshment table, popping one into his mouth before glancing back over at oliver, waiting patiently to see how this lands as he licks the seasoning off the pads of his fingers. "don't tell me you're goin' all shy on me now, olls." the implication is clear, do it, and he's accepted into the fold.

julius is out drinking at pojangmacha not far from where he's stationed. pocha? he's all not too sure what the locals call it. normally, he can handle his liquor quite well. he grew up drinking whiskey, for fucks sake. but apparently soju is equally strong. after a few drinks, it hits him harder than anticipated -- slurring his words slightly and becoming less coordinated. lo and behold, a familiar face appears before him as he's struggling to pull bills from his wallet. "my friend. what brings ya to this neck of the woods?" julius is sure there's drinking stalls like this all over korea, but whatever. he blinks, placing the notes down on the bartop and slinging an arm around charlie's shoulders. "home?" julius isn't processing that, jaw going slack. "yours? my home is far, far away. 'less y'mean the barracks." it's still early into the night, so he's fine with just walking around a bit, it might sober him up. julius glances down, his gaze unwavering as he looks at charlie's face again, and blurts the first most sincere thing that comes to mind. "didn't think i'd get to see you again."

minseo takes a big pull of his vodka cranberry, trying to decide if he should respond to that assertion or protect his peace. it's not that he hates this arrangement, far from it. studying and advocating to protect endangered wildlife didn't exactly pay a six figure salary, so he looked forward to these bi-weekly events where he could spend time with charlie and holly. he considered himself an equal opportunist, liked women almost as much as men and it wasn't difficult for him to become affectionate and clingy after a few drinks, giving holly all the attention that charlie couldn't. "speak for yourself," minseo replies, eyes narrowing as he studies the sharp lines of charlie's face. this wasn't the happiest he could be, but minseo was comfortable, and it's not like charlie could say shit to him when he was settling and afraid. minseo wants to skirt around the topic, pull out some practiced and witty line to make charlie stupefied, but he feels tired. "your parents must really like her, huh? i get it. i'm filial too - to a point," he admits, cocking his head to the side and giving charlie a sidelong glance. as a kid, his parents always encouraged and humored his passion for tigers because of their strong ties to korean folklore, a sense of national pride. minseo cried when reading books about all the endangered species, when he learned about poaching or when japan designated tigers as harmful animals that needed to be eliminated to the point of extinction during the occupation period. he had always cried, when things felt unfair, and that remains the same now. "you're the most miserable guy i've ever met, and it really confuses me, because you don't have to be." minseo gnaws on his bottom lip, anxious that charlie might interpret his words the wrong way. he didn't have a miserable personality, but it was obvious he was subdued and not pursuing his own happiness. fear stemmed from a lack of knowledge, and minseo was content to let charlie know him even if he didn't offer the same. he clings to charlie's back, his arms wrapped around the smaller man's waist as he nuzzles into the back of his neck, lips brushing against the skin. "you smell good."

it's precarious. charlie doesn't even come up to his shoulders, and julius knows that a man of his stature needs extra help when it comes to defending himself. regardless, the path to hell was waved with good intentions. he positions his hands at charlie's hips, gaze downcast. "where do ya think power comes from? your fist? it's from your core," he explains, then nudging charlie's feet slightly apart with his own to correct charlie's posture and footwork. julius inhales, as if dazed, and then coughs before moving a hand around the juncture of charlie's elbow. "make sure the back of yer hand is parallel with your arm. you'll get a strained wrist otherwise. and when you throw your punch, make sure your shoulder is relaxed," he says, lowering it down. julius pauses, unsure if charlie is following any of this.

taeha lets out an affronted noise, eyes widening in mock offense. they may have known each other since grade school, but charlie was still an ingrate. it was the kind of proximity that more or less forced them to become friends, because it was easier than fighting it. taeha had a well of patience equipped to deal with charlie's prickly and stand-offish nature, when it might've run dry a little sooner for most people. they don't talk every day, but every once in a while charlie would contact him for things like this and it reminded him that he was, in fact, a somewhat important fixture in charlie's life. not that he'd ever said as much outright. luckily, taeha can read between the lines. "shouldn't you be more worried about what i could say about you? or has that ship sailed? just, y'know. let's not implode together and agree to omit any unsavory details," he suggests, his brows raising. they had enough dirt on each other to set off a catastrophic amount of mud slinging at this event, but would the juice be worth the squeeze? taeha doesn't think it is, not when they could go for drinks and lecture each other about poor life choices in private. "let's just iron our story out beforehand. i publish poetry collections and short stories. esteemed literature that should be taken seriously." his lips twitch, trying not to laugh. taeha fails, shaking his head with a sigh. "your hyung's head is gonna be so far up his own ass that i don't think he'll really ask for details, anyhow."

gunwoo was surprised kangdae texted him, figuring they didn't really click aside from their sexual chemistry. but kangdae was unexpectedly funny once you got to know him, and gunwoo is always drawn to people that take time to figure out — their idiosyncrasies requiring extra care. so gunwoo shows up at kangdae's apartment in a fitted tee with pre-rolled joints in a ziploc in the back pocket of his jeans in case the situation turned out to be more dire than he thought. a large pizza and weed seemed as good a way to combat heartache as any, gunwoo thinks. he makes himself comfortable, sitting on the carpet of kangdae's living room cross-legged with a piece of pepperoni pizza in his lap, half-devoured already. gunwoo wipes some grease from his lips and frowns. "don't you think that's part of the problem? you're both too in your heads. and you don't know that it's not reciprocated, yeah?" gunwoo thinks they would be sweet together, if they could overcome their inhibitions and be blunt about how they felt. although gunwoo can't claim to know yohan's mind or feelings, he knows it's difficult for him to form attachments and the fact that he's been friends with kangdae for so long speaks for itself. as nurturing and as helpful as gunwoo wants to be, he's not exactly been successful with his romance either and he's getting frustrated with the game of push and pull he's been playing with yanjun. there was an obvious chemistry and their friendship came so naturally, but he doesn't know if yanjun wants him in a serious way. "if you feel like it's too soon to confirm his feelings, you should try being more touchy with him, but in a way that feels natural," he suggests, leaning back against the couch with a far-off look in his eyes. there's a beat, because he's here for kangdae and is reluctant to commiserate. gunwoo clears his throat, sheepish. "i don't know if he likes me or likes the idea of me." that was the thing, wasn't it? gunwoo didn't know if yanjun would like him once he knew all of his flaws, how jealous, hard-headed and possessive he could be. he sighs, waving the thought away. "and i'm talking about holding his hand, or hugging his back — not sticking your tongue down his throat. not that i think you have it in you," gunwoo clarifies, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. kangdae was too fun to tease.