#trioky

bzzt, bzzt.….. new txt msg!

( txt: +82-xxx-xxxx ) ? who’s this? ( txt: +82-xxx-xxxx ) sorry, did we go out or something?

Fingers flex beneath cellular device as dark orbs focus on screen illuminating features, a somewhat loud ding catches his attention as thumbs come to a halt upon screen -- browsing facebook at 7AM is most definitely the best way to start off a Saturday morning.

Single brow raises as he taps the notification, a small smile tugging at edges of lips; he can’t quite tell if the other is kidding or not. Oh well, either way, Seonghwa decides to go along with it.

@ 7:12AM to: 기요 형!! 💖✨💫

let it be known that kiyong isn’t the type to blush, but the current situation– the current predicament that he was literally stuck in…. caused for a storm of cherry-hued cheeks once the girl’s scrutinizing gaze fell on his. god, this couldn’t be any more embarrassing. he didn’t really want to dignify her with an answer, so he turned it around on her: “instead of staring, why don’t you help me out of here?”

She couldn’t help but snickers as she sees the light tint of pink on the other’s cheek. She probably shouldn’t be laughing, considering if she was the one to be get stuck inside of a locker but it just looks funny to her. Exactly, how can one get stuck inside a locker? It doesn’t make sense at all. Oh well maybe the guy was searching for some stuffs or something, who knows.

Flashing the other a friendly smile, she finally steps closer in order to help him. “Do I just need to pull you out or...what should I do? How did you even get stuck inside that, really? You owe me a story once we get you out of that locker.”

again.

fucking. once. again.

he’s not sure how he ended up here once more, bound between the metal panels– but at this point, it was becoming ridiculous. cursing under his breath and noting to never touch a bottle of tequila again, kiyong grimaced and released a strangled cry. fuck his dignity.

“i don’t fucking know man, just help me out of heeeeeeeeere.”

Slurping on his empty drink through the straw, Byunghun just stares at the other from a relatively safe distance. His other hand is stuffed into his jacket pocket as he rotates the lighter in his hand. Sometimes he wishes he had a phone or a camera in order to capture moments like these. He’s sure he could make some money off of the evidence or have his images make headlines. That would be a sight to see. 

‘After shooting to fame, this rapper’s luck seems to been locked away!’ Or something equally as ridiculous.