#spected

(kkt) boombah (kkt) 어디야, 지수야? (kkt) ㅋ

@spected

he leaves the hotel at five in the morning with damp hair and last night’s shirt hanging off the skin of his back.  seoul greets him condescendingly as it does each time, good morning you piece of shit written in bleary traffic lights and a dull impending headache that’s sure to follow. no time for a pity party, though- business calls!  kim taeoh is on a schedule, and a girl and one too many drinks are the least of his concerns.

it’s six thirty when he strolls out of lee sangwon’s apartment complex with a curse, impatiently wiping wet palms onto the front of his shirt.  it’ll reek of blood but he’ll deal with it later- for now, there’s a man with a price on his head.  even a dumbass like him probably understood what taeoh’s return meant: his time was due, non-negotiable. the kims had been generous enough.  the phone rings once, twice, and again before cutting to voicemail. “it’s not polite to make people wait, sangwon-ssi.” smoke’s already filtering the air in front of him by the time he hangs up and wanders into the crowd of pedestrians.  if the man wants to play the game, who’s he to refuse? 

kangjoon texts him to let him know that he’ll have the car ready in five minutes. taeoh finds his own ride instead, taxi driver dumped offhandedly onto the streets before he slams the door shut and revs the engine.  the radio’s blaring obnoxiously but he lets it play, distracted, before his gaze is struck by something else.  someone else.

“oh. morning.” he can drive with one hand.  the other pulls the gun out of his pocket, clicks dully, aims.  “in a rush.  business to attend to. you know how it is, don’t you?” unfortunately, this position makes it difficult for him to take a drag; he sets said gun in the folds of his jacket instead before following through, eyes lazily wandering to meet the passenger’s in the mirror. why not? “you picked a good time to head out, man. we’re going to have some fun.  sit tight.”

there’s the familiar brush of air as knuckles barely graze his cheek, and the taunting smile he wears morphs into something uglier as he ducks away. “you weak or something, kiel?” a harsh laugh manages to slip its way between that and a quick jerk which goes along the lines of knee foot ankle, and junha watches in triumph ( or whatever little of it ) as he successfully hooks the other from under his legs. 

but there are no blaring alarms that signal the universal language of defeat. all there’s left with is a mess of blonde, sweat and bruises that lie in a heap at his feet. 

in other words, kiel han. 

tiredness falls over him, just like it does every time he works this hard. and yet, despite the effort that it takes him, he reaches out a hand amidst the rumble of heavy, uneven breaths—a nudge to get up, get up and keep going. 

or maybe, he can allow a break just this once. 

( he tells himself it’s not because he cares—a ridiculous thought—but more so because, well, he does care. )

“i went easy on you today.”

( a lie, but kiel doesn’t need to know that. he would have had to be blind—or made out of steel, really, to not have noticed. ) 

there’s a disapproving scowl on junha’s lips as he slips one, two gloves off. “well, let’s call it a night.” 

steps out of the ring, wipes off his sweat. tosses his things into his duffel bag. it’s almost routine by now, shady hours of sparring with kiel and the unmentioned intent to be better. it’s working, at least. 

only as he swings his bag over his shoulder and prepares to head out does he stop at the doorway, hesitant figure turning around almost as if it were an afterthought. it’s far from it, though. “do you,” he says slowly, “want to go for samgyeopsal? my treat.” 

not as if he cares, anyway.

eggs and toast sit on a plate as a simple courtesy, half-touched when he sips water through a straw. the sun’s quick to peak past the hill miles away, unmatched in comparison to the very one he sits across. there’s an idle stack of empty sugar packets by his plate, spare crystals spilled randomly, generously upon the tabletop.

clarification: she’d been referred to as the epitome of sunshine on more occasions than one. by more occasions he means the times he’s actually listened to terry, and by that he’ll say he means all. no one asks though, so when the time had come to finally see her in the flesh, kiel had found himself a bit more energized as opposed to drained. still does (shocking, given the hour). people like this are usually heavy despite acting so light, grins too eager and touches far more unwelcome.

he’ll save an actual smile for later if she so earns it, but judging by the aura she wears in everything she does, it feels he’ll spare one soon. it’s nothing personal (this time). what brings him to a standstill though are those particular words haebitna chooses to speak, wary replaced by curious in the gaze he holds. how one can make something so deep sound so…

“elaborate.”

childlike?

terry should have mentioned her sooner.

      Early into the day (or late into the morning) and there she is, red, frilly apron still donned as she takes a seat on one of the booths – few of those occupied at such time. There isn’t many customers, the high time of the diner’s morning rush has already ended and it is time to rest. Rest is actually her serving yet again, this time not out of work, but out of concern and affection. Two plates, one for him, one for her. Eggs and toast. Waffles. Different tastes.

     Different Terry.

     He came least expected, yet never unwelcome, however he came in a different light. By that, she means his hair, dyed rather boldly, and perhaps the way he had kept the food waiting. The latter may not be really new to her, but she urges him still, pushing the plate a bit closer to him while taking a bite of her waffles just as her words dropped – random. And random is how they would always define themselves. It wouldn’t be a surprise for him to hear, especially during the morning. Random, but will soon be carefully thought of.

     “You know, poems have these... condensed meaning. They’re shorter, way shorter compared to books. Yet they can mean just as much as books do. People can be like that too. Some are books. Maybe most of us are, but a few are poems. Special ones. And they are beautiful to read, don’t you think?”

     Her eyes are able to reach his momentarily, the wide curvature of her smile is how she says good morning amidst the sudden drop of her odd thought. Another odd thought comes in that instance, however. How can an alteration in hair color bring such a change to a person?

he’s heard hello an infinite amount of times in this hustle life, this being the first of its kind. ‘shocked’ would be a light way of putting it, the subconscious feeling of matching the greeting to a face. it’s a response that’s almost immediate, any attempt of pretending not to care down the drain when their eyes meet. key aspect: meaningfully.

or so the other implies.

“you ever try singing and playing at the same time?” that’s only half of a jab, eyes traveling to the man’s fingers with an observant feel coursing through his veins. kiel sniffs and tucks his cleaning cloth under the base of his guitar when he’s done studying (re: thinks he is), allowing the other to speak again as he then closes his case. friendship is subjective, he wants to say. ending results vary, as does the hypothesis. the background research, the experiment, the procedure. analysis, conclusions, questions asked and left unsaid, etc —

it’s not fucking rocket science. not science at all. if he were up for correcting himself, however, chemistry would most definitely count.

relax.

maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but he’s got a light buzz going on beneath his skin from a glass and a half of beer. the thoughts that count are the ones processing correctly, a cohesive mingling with the crowd that has his body melting with leisure. it’s just the getting comfortable with strangers part that gives him an extra kick, but even so, his mind is still in working order. or seems to be.

the introductions come first, a name that sounds weird when you’ve said it one too many times, then a nervous grip placed on the neck of his guitar like he always does when meeting new people. he mindlessly plucks the strings to let the unfitting silence between them settle in place without the fabrication of small talk.

it’s the feeling of running into an old friend after several years, the same, reassuring familiarity that has his lips running loose. 

   she lets him touch and doesn’t move. eunmi figures he’s smart enough to know if he tugs too hard, she’s willing to catch his wrist and snap it. 

   it’s the reaction she expected, and realizing this makes her mentally scoff a laugh. her eyes close and her fingers tap in a slow tempo atop her thigh. “ swallow that pride of yours and take the compliment, ” lids open. she bares her teeth in a smile at his comment. ahah, hilarious, this man.