#rmjongin

@rmjongin​​

the first time hanbin meets jongin is in freshman year.

“you’ll like him,” jiheon says. and the next minute, he’s standing in front of the younger, his careful gaze sweeping over jongin’s still form.

the first thing he notices is that jongin is dark eyes and dark hair and darker gaze. even then, hanbin could tell that there was a shroud of midnight that tightly embraced the latter’s form. hanbin likens him to the night, in all its silence and mystery.

back then, he had always thought that quietness was a trait that exclusively followed meekness. but seeing jongin then, hanbin just knew that the younger’s silence could never be attributed to something as simple as mere diffidence.

the first time hanbin meets jongin, he knew that the latter was capable of darker things. but hanbin never doubts the judgement of a friend he trusts, no matter how new.

so the first time hanbin meets jongin, he knew that he would stand by him through anything.

(he just didn’t know that the worst thing jongin would ever do would be to him.)

now here he stands, broken and betrayed. and there jongin sits, alone at their usual table in the busy cafeteria. hanbin is clenched fists and locked jaw and seething anger as he stares at the back of jongin’s form. from the latter’s usual stillness, hanbin bitterly assumes that he is blatantly unfazed by the previous events.

he takes slow steps towards the table, and before long, he’s standing in front of jongin with a gaze that hints at a greater anger within.

“hey,” he tests cautiously, his tone low and not quite achieving its typical indifference. regardless, hanbin sits warily on the chair beside him.

FOREWORD. dedicated to @rmjongin with whom taemin shared the glory days.

“oh, you’re the roommate.” stating the obvious sounds incredibly stupid when it’s deadpanned out loud like that, but even passing for idiotic makes for a better first impression than the contempt enlacing the words.

he can tell his attitude is far from passable, but his mood is sunk so far into itself he’s been finding it hard to get a grip of it all day. beginnings and first impressions are not his forte. the ra had given him the peppiest greeting he remembers ever receiving, and by the end of their 4 minute exchange she was already using an unpleasant monotone, holding the door open for him. that’s taemin’s role in his new life, his newfound calling -- spreading joy everywhere he goes.

he can’t help give him a once over before glancing around the room, taking a look at the empty bed he’ll be sleeping on for the semester. he doesn’t mind the guy, specifically -- rationally. it’s just not his day, and it won’t be his day for the next four years.

( if everything goes right. )

pulling his head out of his ass for a second, he plays strategic. a couple steps have his knees brushing against the pole of the bunk bed, and he puts his two bags down by the floor to empty his hands, rolling his shoulders in slight relief.

“they said down there that you’d be tall.”

ish. not that taemin’s one to talk, having to glance up to meet the guy’s gaze. he just wants to say anything positive and feign friendliness if he’s gonna have to sleep in the same room as him tonight. he even curls his lips, almost a smile. the most he’s done since he stepped on campus. this might as well be an award winning performance at this point.

@rmjongin

“okay, honestly,” she declared, stomping through her slur by persisting through the brush with a confidence that shouldn't have been present, "this is usually much easier when we're not in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.  and yes, it's nowhere if there's no street lights because fuhrankly, i'm bad at ..."

what did she want to say?  racking her inebriated mind, she couldn't find an answer, only able to focus on the fact that the longer her pause was, the more stupid she'd sound.  

“ ... doing what columbus does. did.  which is a win on many fronts, just not today. i mean, you know, he wasn't great, and... well, you, YOU GET WHAT I MEAN.”  what would've normally been punctuated with a glance back is accompanied with another generous chug of the double -- tonight's poison was ginger & rye -- clutched in her hand, the last of three (as well as the many social sips she had taken earlier in the night) because tonight was as a night in which she was not only drunk, but totally okay with the idea of getting utterly wasted.

a sharp gasp parted from her lips the moment she began to feel the ground underneath her feet shift into something else, softer, and she began to book it through the green, stumbling, then clumsily taking a few hops that finally resulted in a jerky, delighted flight path out of the woods (one that felt incredible, but likely looked strained and a little worrisome).