#sipji

   granted, he holds them like it’s the prettiest bouquet you’ll be able to find at ten o’ clock, and they probably are. no one stops nor looks back twice, and he’s not particularly insistent about it, though it’s always amusing when someone does look—except she didn’t. but you see, today he’s selling near a bus stop, it’s in the name of business he pretends he’s anywhere near as eloquent and approaches the only person there, 

   “flowers—” 

   he doesn’t realize when he falls quiet, holding what he calls the serenity bouquet the furthest, blues and whites opaque without enough light. there’s something about her that bothers him, a glimpse of something that isn’t quite right. something that doesn’t fit on her like it also doesn’t on him. it’s easy to lie to yourself and say it’s the stray hair sticking out. quickly, he clears his throat and tries again.

   jiang worries she’ll find them ugly.

   “hi, would you like some flowers?”

SEND A SYMBOL FOR A TEXT // always accepting!

✉ 2am text

[ sns ⇒ booty call ] why do human beings have to exist like tbh[ sns ⇒ booty call ] anyway is chonyal asleep bc im going in

✘ unsent text

[ sns ⇒ booty call ] i have to tell you something

☠ threat text

[ sns ⇒ booty call ] no blowjob for you - NONE

❤ amorous text

a downpour.

the carpet is soaked as jeonghan enters, hastily kicking off shoes drenched in disgusting puddle water. he kicks the door closed once wonwoo’s inside, dropping his bag on the nearest single couch. “fucking christ,” he mutters, pulling out his phone to check his messages - 10 unread, but he scrolls through to read only the relevant (subjective) ones.

“looks like we’re  stuck with each other for awhile.”

( what else is new? )

jeonghan makes his way to the window, peering behind the curtains to see the current condition outside. from a distance, zeus’s fucking fury comes into view, forcing jeonghan to stumble back. oh jesus. he realizes mingyu isn’t here as he staggers to the kitchen, inhaling deeply, preparing for the rumble that follows the strike of light.

“can i--” he calls out, pulling out the pitcher of water from the fridge, then a clean glass beside the sink. he exhales. slowly. “let me stay in your room.”

momo wonders for a split second where yeon manages to get the money to keep bailing her out, but she’s more thankful than curious. after all, they break into banks all the time - mostly at momo and chaeng’s suggestion, and to yeon’s dismay. momo isn’t sure where all her money goes, but she thinks it’s time to refill her bank account. 

( plot twist: she doesn’t have one. )

the sun is setting by the time she reached the auto-shop. arms stretched above her head, wide grin on her face, she greets the other employees who are beginning to clock out with enough energy that shouldn’t be allowed at the end of the day. some of them sighs at momo’s sudden, and highly exhausting, presence, but that’s something she never notices - or cares for. 

( ”here she goes again.” )

“lookin’ busy there, puddin’,” she starts, approaching her favorite co-worker. she leans against the edge of the car, arms crossed over her chest. “you up for some excitement tonight?”

hi yes me thank u

@sipji

bgm

the sun hasn’t risen yet when he steps out of his home. the sky is a dusty purple, casting weak strays of light onto the quiet street while allowing a certain amount of darkness in corners for street cats to feel safe enough to hide in. jungskook’s gaze lingers on the small grey cat that watches him beneath the waste bags. 

“...”

jungkook crouches down, clicking his tongue to draw it out, beckoning with his fingers. there’s no need to mind the time as long as he reaches his tea house before 7- he could even be half an hour late, as there’s no one waiting for the place to open. 

he decides to take it with him, keep him company until it gets bored. for now, it doesn’t seem to mind being cradled in the warmth of his coat.

it’s about twenty minutes before the opening of his tea house when he realises that there’s no sugar in the kitchen. jungkook looks out the window for a moment, staring into nothing until the sunlight completely whitens out his sight and the small cat fidgets uncomfortably in his arms. “...i guess we’ll have to open a little late on our first day,” he murmurs before shrugging his coat back on and stepping outside.

he’s a little sheepish when he enters the bakery. he picks up a small tuna sandwich so he won’t feel guilty about asking for a bag of sugar. “hello,” he says quietly. “i’ll take this, and i was wondering if there’s a bag of sugar i could take.” the boy behind the register has a kind face, he’s hoping one tuna sandwich would be suffice to ask for a bag. 

jungkook pauses, and the small cat meows, as if it’s reminding him that he missed out a small detail.

Personify Seoul as much as you want, yet the city will never be more human in the way it quiets for two days into the twenty-eighteen before breaking resolution on the third.

“Good night. No. Morning? Good morning. It’s three AM. It’s a weird time. I never know what to exactly wish people when it gets this time. I don’t wanna be an ass and not wish people a good night or morning though. You know?” 

Three-AM. He assumes Baekhyun’s back in the office playing his third round of Grand Theft Auto: The Purge while three stack of reports glare at him off to the right, while Jeonghan’s somewhere between his fourth and fifth mid-quarter-life crisis of the night after remembering he hates his job. Jamie’s filing her nails, making some sarcastic comment at Juwon, probably about how right she was about the latest office romance they both have not -- or more so shouldn’t -- an ounce of involvement in.

He assumes all of this and is ninety-nine percent right about the gist of the office, even if he’s miles away along the outskirts of Seoul by Suwon stuck with the one person that despises every fiber of his being more than his own mother.

Just another typical day in the nine-nine.

“In a fortunate development, you are working night shift with me, staking out two of the most dangerous druglords in all of the Republic of Korea.” His eyes aren’t what a man having ran on four to five hours of sleep the past six days should look like – instead of fatigue, they hold steadfast to any bit of elation left on the grandeur of possibly making the biggest catch of the year – even if only three days in. 

“And for four more nights!” Juyeon’s giving him The Look, and he’s got about ninety-nine seconds before it transitions into The Other Look, and a punch comes flying into his face.