#sovtherncomf0rt

“I never realised before how obnoxious height can be” Kijung grumbles under his breath as he stands behind the man in the queue for the cash register at his local store. 

"185... 188... here we are!" Kijung calls out over the loud hubbub of the swelling crowd, as they finish shuffling along past excited fans at dizzying heights, high up in the stadium, as they get to their seats. Already chewing on his game snack, Gucci scarf wrapped around his neck, draped over his shoulder with matching glasses and snug in his denim jacket with a cardboard cup of diet Pepsi in one hand with his phone, Kijung flips down his plastic seat and lowers himself down. 

Jesus they were high, he thinks to himself as the bartender pees forward a little to see the drop down, steadily filling with fans waiting for kick off. The open air stadium of tens of thousands of fans around them, waving signs and flags, it had a good, if very macho vibe. Looking over to his own little piece of macho, Kijung smiles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose (which he is loathed to let Minho know he has to wear - but really spending the whole game not even being able to see the ball did seem silly), and folding one leg over the other turns to him a little. “Did you play much soccer as a kid?” He calls out over the noise, opening his mouth as he leans forward and seals his lips around his straw, watching him as he waits for a reply. 

                       Sometimes it was as simple as asking where he was.

And sometimes it was anything but that. But it was a start, it was something that they could agree on. He’d name a location, or she’d simply be there, perchance, and it felt like in some small way, their own fate. To find each other across this small planet of theirs, as if it weren’t strange to find a boy who spoke with a Southern drawl within his voice when they spoke English with one another, or that it wasn’t a mystery that she sometimes showed up, just because, to take him to get something to eat. That they’d find themselves in beautiful places, and ugly ones too, because what was life without a little contrast in it? The little Chinese princess and her trailing dark hair, with a small smile that edged between rebellion and politeness, a concept that she felt met so well with his American mannerisms. Hoping he felt that same thing whenever they met up - that less alone emotion that made it all seem worthwhile.

Tonight it was the Philippines, with the both of them at the edge of the Manila Bay. Colette, with her shoes off, staring out at the water, and Minho at her side, as listless and lost as she was. Maybe that was normal, it was an expected reaction, but she always found it funny coming from someone who otherwise lived such a regimented and sure life. His presence a kind of blessing she took comfort in, wondering how long it would take him to drive back to Floridablanca, and if he found the place strange because it was yet another way in which his childhood chased him all the way to the other side of the world. How Americanism, really, ate up the Philippines and the history that tore at its edges. The remains of the street food that they’d bought (and she’d insisted on paying for until they refused to take her credit card, wanting to be upset but more embarrassed than anything) spread out on tin foil between them, the sticky feeling of it still damp along their fingertips.

“Thanks for coming out.” She was willing to lie and say it was just coincidence that she was in Manila. State that there was some fashion show, or some store she absolutely had to go to but the truth was a little more depressing; that her father had asked her to meet with the son of another family and that she’d thrown a fit when she’d overheard that it wasn’t so that she could go negotiate on behalf of the family, but just to play show and tell with their children. At 19, the concept felt so foreign and far off, grabbing her passport and her credit cards and taking off that night. “Was it far? The drive from the base... how long are you here for? And when are you coming back to Seoul?” China was out of the question, no bases allowed on communist land, but the country anything but in name. “It’s peaceful here...” somehow, despite the armed guards that seemed to walk around everywhere armed with their AKs as if it were normal. As if there weren’t people being shot in the streets, and as if there wasn’t a fear that blanketed this country.

fill in the categories with 5 things that your character can be identified by. repost, do not reblog. Tagged by: @sovtherncomf0rt (imma copy your format beau)  Tagging: @military-shop-untouchable​ @voiixes​ (my two daddies)

ft Kijung

i. emotions/feelings

1. tiredness, utter bone deep exhaustion to the point where he’s dragging himself to bed from the couch where he had fallen after a long shift.

2. determination - tell him he can’t or wont and he’ll make damn sure he does. 

3. the friendliness in his smile and even if he grumbles and complains, he’d bend over backwards for those he cares about

4. the calm when his fingers slip over ivory keys and play classical music from his professional days

5. enjoying a romantic day dream 

ii. greetings

1. a soft smile as lips press to his neck and he realises he’d disappeared into a musical daydream as he played to an empty bar before opening 2. a sarcastic comment accompanied by a sharp, unforgiving smirk as he polishes a glass 3. the slip of his controlled exterior seeing a long lost friend, the crumple of emotion, following the widening of his eyes before he flings arms around them and squeezes tightly.  4. slipping into bed at 4am when the bar finally closes, not wanting to wake them but needing a goodnight kiss and a whispered good morning.  5. a sleepy, groggy and snappy ‘yes!?’ as the shrill ringing of his mobile wakes him up at 11am, still cocooned in bedding with hair far messier then he would usually let anyone see. 

iii. colors

1. a clear amber 2. gun metal grey 3. marshmallow fluffy white 4. coke-a-cola red 5. black

iv. scents

1.  aftershave 2. cigarette smoke 3. coffee 4. hair products 5. cherry lip balm

v. clothing

1. pressed white shirts 2. a plain silver necklace 3. a bright red music college hoodie 4. soft, light grey pj bottoms 5.  boy band t-shirt

vi. objects

1. a half broken coffee machine with a button fixed with tape that needs hitting each morning to turn it on 2. a small black comb 3. the framed bottle cap of the first beer ever opened in his club 4. the club’s baby grand piano in shiny black wood with slightly yellowed and worn ivory keys 5. the keys to the club, on a ‘sassy kitty’ gifted key ring that’s battered with age and still makes him grumble in distaste. 

vii. vices/bad habits

1. smokes when stressed (literally the same as Minho) 2. insisting that he’s quit smoking to anyone who interogates him 3. being too picky and being hyper critical of men, whilst at the same time thinking his romantic life hopeless and DOA 4. classic workaholic  5. control freak when it comes to his club, only allows part time bar staff, taking on all the work himself

viii. body language

1. the slow, judgemental arch of his left eye brow 2. licking his lips before he lets them crack with a faint chuckle 3. letting out a soft yet long, forlorn sigh as he watches someone young do something impulsive and stupid in the name of lust or love 4. slouching over piano keys as his eyes close and he lets himself get lost 5. sleeping on his front, inevitably an arm or a leg flopping over the edge, as usually perfectly styled and combed hair covers his eyes 

ix. aesthetics

1. resting a phone between his shoulder and cheek, stress cigarette dangling between his lips as he gruffly argues with a supplier, hands full as he tries to change a keg in the basement, grumbling about giving it all up and moving to Hawaii.  2. frowning gently with understanding as he soothes the young bar-hand through another heart break, remembering what it was like to be 23, thinking every boyfriend was the great love - only to eventually watch him race off to jump on the back of some bozo’s motorbike and throw his heart into the ring once more. 3. falling asleep slouched in his arm chair, in front of a black and white romance, 8pm on his one night off in a week 4. playing soft yet technically demanding pieces on the bar’s piano, to a soft chorus of claps, a far cry from the concert halls of his past 5. daydreaming about dancing, resting a cheek on a shoulder and moving on slow steps, big hands splayed across his lower back 

x. songs

1. Rupert Holmes - Escape (The Piña Colada Song)  “if you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape, you´re the love that I’ve looked for, come with me, and escape"

2. Annie Lennox - You Belong to Me “just remember till you're home again, you belong to me”

3. Nina Simone - Mempis in June “it's paradise, brother take my advice, nothing's half as nice as Memphis in June”

4. Elton John - Are You Ready for Love?  “say the world, and I'll be there, loving you forever”