ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪs ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ

    He knows for a fact that the whole conceding talk is bullshit. There’s no way this bullheaded bastard would give up so easily. He can’t think of any conceivable way to be thrown, so he is content in knowing that no matter what kind of scheme the other plans, he will not fall. He doesn’t think to gauge his own distance from the ground until his head smacks it one more time.

    “Fuck!”

    One second he’s sitting and the next he’s sailing through the air at an angle he’s not exactly comfortable with. The ground is over his head and then it’s at his back and god damn, his head hurts like hell. Pretty sure he’s bleeding, at this point. But who gives a shit? He’s got more important things to deal with - like the asshole on his abdomen.

    In a quick effort to at least dodge some of the fist headed for his face, he brings a hand up to yank at Taka’s other wrist. He’s able to move just enough, and he feels bony digits scrape against his cheek, down his ear. The bone on his face aches but isn’t broken, so at least there’s that. He hopes the guy busted his knuckles on the ground.

Before he can get himself back to his feet, however, the other's foot swiftly and brutally connects with the lower side of his face, forcing a pained grunt from his throat and knocking him back a few steps. He takes a moment to recollect himself, recovering his stores of common sense as fast as possible, using conversation as a distraction tool until he's finished thinking.

"Lucky dodge back there." Taka laughs maliciously, "If ya hadn't done that I might've just crushed your face in. Would 'ave been a bit sad really." He brings his fist up to quickly inspect the damage, but finds that he can't see much through the blood from his skinned knuckles. "I'm enjoyin' myself and I wouldn't wanna cut that short, though I don't know if you'll feel the same way in a few minutes."

At this point, victory becomes Taka's only focus and goal.

This guy's somehow been able to get out of everything he's trapped him in, so he assumes that brute force is the best bet at this point. If trapping his opponent won't work, maybe rattling his brain against his skull will daze him long enough to get some hard kicks in, maybe a couple punches too. 

When he feels ready, the elder rushes forward, ducking low to avoid any attacks the other might try to make as he runs; his arms also stay firm in front of him so he would be able to quickly and efficiently block any low blows as well. As soon as he gets close enough, he grins and quickly brings himself up, swinging his right foot around as hard as possible to land a crushing blow on the side of SeLin's face. Soon after, he attempts to use his momentum as he whirls around to pack even more power into the uppercut he's aimed for the man's jaw. Another kick follows rapidly, this time targeting his opponent's ribs. He leaves no openings for error, making sure every move is calculated well to achieve the highest rate of success and accuracy. It's not something he likes to do often, but if an exact strategy will help him win, he's more than happy to spend time executing it as precisely as possible.

Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier, over park, over pale. Thorough flood, thorough fire! I do wander everywhere, swifter than the moon’s sphere; And I serve the Fairy Queen, to dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be; in their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours; — in those freckles live their savours; I must go seek some dewdrops here, and hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. 

    He narrowly avoids biting his tongue as he takes a step back to brace for the next hit. He knows it’s coming, just doesn’t know from which direction. It turns out to be from below, knee to his stomach with a breathtaking force. He wheezes, trying to refill his lungs as he takes a hold of the man’s leg before it disappears again. Does he even need the air? He’s not sure, any more.

    He yanks the guy’s leg as he swivels, lets go at the arc of the swing, and watches him stumble. He finally gets his wind back as he smashes into Taka at the waist, knocking him over. They hit the ground hard and he scrambles up to sit on a heaving abdomen. Fingers slide into dark hair and his grip is unforgiving. Taka’s not getting free without gaining a bald spot, that’s for sure.

It takes a few moments for Taka to bring himself out of the slight daze of the impact with the concrete, and he lets out a quiet pained noise as he tries to push himself up, but fails. For a moment, he's somewhat puzzled, until he feels a harsh, yet irritating, tug at the roots of his hair and realizes that his opponent is sitting on his back. 

Taka needs a plan, some way to get this guy off of him and onto the ground where he belongs. Oh, how he would enjoy grinding this asshole's face into the ground with his heel when he found a way out of this. He takes a few short moments to think over all of the possible options, which he's never really enjoyed, but he'd rather think logically than admit defeat, which he has never done, and most likely never will. 

Eventually, he finds the perfect tactic, and goes about it very slowly in an attempt to disguise his preparation as struggling. "Get off me, you fuckin' asshole. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to pull hair when you were fuckin' little?" He complains, shifting his body a bit as a distraction to prevent the other from realizing he was gradually moving his legs up under himself to create a bit of an angle between him and the concrete.

Height has always been somewhat of an issue for Taka; but luckily, this situation is a bit different. Sure, SeLin is taller than him by a couple of inches; but the size advantage is fortunately much smaller than what he's accustomed to, so the challenge is about on the same level of difficulty for both of them. Lifting the other won't be too much of a challenge; but getting to the point where he can without garnering his attention will be, at least slightly.

Garbage - Control

    He doesn’t realize he’s laughing until a split second later. It’s madness, probably; the kind that always surfaces when you’re high on adrenaline and aren’t likely to come down any time soon. He doesn’t get this much fun out of Speed. He rushes forward, grips Taka by the shirt, and pulls their skulls together in a crash that has him seeing stars for a couple of seconds. Go big or go home, right?

    “If ya say so, Stupid Fuck!”

    He’s shouting but he can’t hear himself over the pounding in his ears. Blood’s rushing and he’s feeling good. His right fist finds its home in the man’s gut and he twists, digging just that much deeper. If he were a bitch, he’d have pulled out his knife, too, just to make things interesting. But this is a fist fight and he’s not gonna fight dirty until he actually wants to kill this guy.

When he hears SeLin's laughter, he can't help but allow a small smile to tug at his lips. Luckily, he's found someone who will enjoy a good fight just as much as he does, which will make this all the more interesting.

In the midst of his thoughts, SeLin makes his move and Taka hisses when he feels the other's head crash into his own, but it's only enough to send him stumbling back maybe a half step, nothing more. "Well, you got a hard head, but I think I asked you to show me your punch, yeah?"

The elder gets his wish in the form of a fist to the stomach, and it forces him to double over and knocks a good bit of air out of him. He doesn't feel much pain immediately, but when he attempts to straighten up, it races through his abdominal muscles like electricity. His words are tinged with a bit of pain, but he toughs through and rids his voice of it about halfway through his sentence. "Tch... Pretty good, but I'm damn sure I can do better." 

In a matter of milliseconds, Taka thrusts his head up and into the other man's jaw. Shortly after, he brings his foot up and drives it straight into the other's stomach with a force even stronger than his previous punch. He mentally reminds himself to tone it down though, because he's stronger than this guy and he doesn't want to damage him permanently. That would be a waste of a perfectly good fighting partner, and who knows where he'd find another one of this guy.

At the compliment, he laughs. Usually he just goes out in a shirt and some jeans, so this is about as good as it gets, and happens pretty seldom. “I think you’re probably biased. But yeah, you just might.”

He grins, taking the other’s hand in his own when they’re close enough for him to reach. Normally, he’s not good with human contact. He doesn’t particularly like touching other people, but even sometimes just a simple brush of their shoulders together on a crowded street is enough to remind Taehyun that he is alive. It’s a reminder that everyone else is, too. And he likes to know that Takahiro is here, with him, and existing on the physical plane instead of his imagination.

"Yeah, that’s good," he says, smile softening fractionally. He doesn’t know much about the restaurant either, just that they’re a more expensive than the others around here and supposedly have pretty good food. Of course, it’s not a requirement to dress up, but most people he sees heading inside do anyway. It was probably a good idea to do this. "Thank you."

He grabs his coat and closes the closet door. It doesn’t get slipped on just yet, because he prefers to gauge the temperature outside before he decides to commit. And then he tugs Taka towards the door.

"Don't mention it." The elder turns his head away once more in order to hide the bit of pink beginning to blossom on his cheeks once more. "Sorry to spring somethin' like this on you at the last minute, I guess. My bad. Shoulda given you some prior notice or some shit. My apologies." He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and shrugs. He figures he'll go ahead and fish out his keys and have them ready so he can unlock the car downstairs. He struggles a bit with the liner, but finally tugs his keys free. 

As Tae tugs him to the door, Taka takes a step ahead and opens the door for him; because apparently that's something one is supposed to do for their partner on a date. He prepares himself for the cold gust of air that he knows is going to hit him straight on; and when it actually makes contact with his skin, he curses at the chill in the wind. Cold weather is something he's always had little to no tolerance for, and unfortunately, he'd picked a cold day to take the younger out.

"S'too fuckin' cold lately. Gettin' just about fed up with this winter shit." His words come out in an annoyed grumble and he gently pulls Tae along, shutting the door behind them.

"Should I go start the car and turn the heat on or do you want me to wait here while you lock up? Last thing I want you comin' back to is a trashed place. Don't want all this effort goin' to waste, yeah?" The last thing Taka wants is for all of his hard work for tonight to go to waste because some jackass picked Tae's home to break into; the thought of the event itself pisses him off even. He figures that he'd hunt the asshole down that did it and snap his thread with his bare hands; and he would enjoy it, too. 

    “Good if ya’ve got nothin’ else, pretty much.”

    It’s a dive, that’s for sure. Not much in the way of quality, it’s home to a lot of the rougher faces of Seoul. People who just need alcohol and don’t care about taste, that want to forget. He’s come to know it well, and for that, he may be slightly ashamed. But he’s never been one to dwell on what other people may think, so the feeling fades as quickly as it surfaces.

    “Neither of us’re the common type, you’d think,” he grunts. He doesn’t care about the other’s name, nor does he care about how the one he gives is probably a fake. He’s never going to see him again, after all. “How ‘bout I just call ya Stupid Fucker? Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

    He smiles, wide and crude.

    A sigh forces its way past SeLin’s lips and he starts walking, brushing past the man in front of him and then gesturing for him to follow. He does enjoy taking the lead.

    “Fuck it, c’mon. ‘s a pretty okay bar ‘round here somewhere,” he grumbles, and decides that even if the hairy bastard doesn’t follow, he’ll go for the drink anyway. It’s just as well drinking alone.

A bit of distaste for this man had formed in his chest a few minutes ago and was now worming its way a little farther up. With every word he speaks, Taka feels as if he's being given dose after dose of his own medicine; and honestly, he'd rather live with the sickness than take the medicine to get over it. "Think I've heard of the one around here. Good drinks I think."

The younger sheds his pajamas quickly, discards them in the hamper to be washed another day, and opens his closet. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal attire, but he doesn’t want to dress down and look bad. He wants to look lie he’s worth Taka’s time, and all the effort he’s thrown into the evening. It’s a subconscious desire, sure, but the compulsion to dress up is still there.

He doesn’t have a suit, hasn’t had one since he was a kid and needed it for something or other his parents had been doing. He doesn’t recall it very well. So he’s going to have to make due with what he does have; black khakis (slim fit because he’s a twig and he doesn’t like baggy pants), a white button-up, and a black vest he’d forgotten he even had. A search of his sock drawer unearths a simple black tie that he can’t exactly remember how to wear.

After dressing himself he flips his collar up, slips the tie around the back of his neck, and just leaves it be for now. He’ll figure it out later.

A quick glance into his mirror tells him to remove the almost-forgotten clips from his hair, and he combs his fingers through in a vain attempt to get it to settle straight. Better than nothing, at the very least.

"I know," is the first thing out of his mouth as he reenters the living room, and pauses to put on his socks. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. And I like your name. It suits you."

He goes to find his shoes with upturned lips. They’re in the hall closet instead of next to the door, because he doesn’t have much of a reason to wear oxfords on the daily. Usually he sticks to his sneakers for convenience and simplicity.

As he steps into them, his eyes flicker up to observe Taka sitting at his chair. He’s infinitely glad he saved and closed his draft, because he really doesn’t like anyone, even Takahiro, seeing his work before he’s finished with it.

After he's sure that the redness on his cheeks has faded at least a little, he turns toward the other to look him over in his newly donned outfit. He's taken aback briefly by just how much the other had done in a couple of minutes. Somehow Tae had gone from relaxation night to runway model at a breathtaking speed. However, his surprise fades when he realizes that this probably happens all the time before he goes out for him to look as good as he usually does. "Well damn. If I could make myself look that nice in that amount of time I could get twice as much done in a day," he jokes. 

"Yeah. The place with the good drinks." When Taka notices that Tae is slipping on his shoes, he stands up from his seat and strolls a bit closer to the other. "That's good, yeah? If you wanna go somewhere else, I'm up for it. I just asked the last guy I saw what the nicest restaurant he knew of was."