crash, burn

Oh no! Looks like you shared too much last night.

In anticipation of our one-month anniversary, the admin team has decided to release a fun meme for all our members! When we were thinking about opening a group, we truly never imagined that it would get the amount of support we've received so far. From the bottom of our hearts, we'd like to sincerely thank all the members who have been with us since opening, and the ones who have been joining since then. We hope to continue fostering a place where you can develop your muses freely while having fun!

We're sure you're already familiar with the concept, but we'll explain it anyway. By reblogging this post, you will be participating in the honesty hour, where other members can send in questions regarding whatever they want, and your muse will have to answer truthfully. Please remember that this event happens in a vacuum, and the things shared are strictly OOC knowledge, unless stated otherwise. Anything posted from this honesty hour should not impact your muse IC. 

The meme will run from Friday July 18th until Friday August 1st, but if you still have asks to reply after that date, you're free to post them. If you choose to participate, please ensure that you send a question to everyone who has reblogged the post as well, whether this be on your character’s account or on anon. 

the pool party is supposed to be a celebration to mark the end of the festival. although not a university-approved event, the Rec Center is packed with students squeezing the last taste of the festival before going back to their summer session classes.

from students doing cannon balls in the deep end to others spraying each other with water guns, agatha enters as the party is in full swing-- already wearing her swimsuit, her hair in loose braids--with the insistence from the student government members that will also be in attendance. finishing up her vice president duties, she only intend to stay for an hour or so and leave before the party gets shut down but she couldn't escape the scene she saw yesterday.

they were too close. their skin touching too much. their laughter a cacophony to her ears. no matter how many girls she sees draped on his arm, agatha can't ever seem to avoid the way it make her chest ache or make her blood boil, never in between.

jealousy is truly a vice reserved for people like her.

it wasn't her fault her mother raised her to never be satisfied.

in the sea of people between them, her eyes finds him as easily as picking out red from green. she could walk into a vast room, not knowing if he's there and still be able to pick him out of the crowd in a heartbeat.

three years is indeed enough to know someone just by their silhouette, the way their body move as they walk, the soft timbre of their voice.

so of course, agatha spots yikyung from across the center from the moment she walked in. her eyes bore into his, waiting until he catches her gaze. tilting her head ever so slightly, as to not raise any suspicion, she motions for him to follow her. it was hard to find a secluded spot in a center filled with other students coming in and out of the pool to others drinking booze closer to the walls, but the storage area where they store the pool's equipment should be well enough.

what started out as a reluctant date orchestrated by their parents soon evolved into an unexpected bond, forged over their shared frustration with the constant pressure to abide by their parents' rules. yikyung knew from that very first night, when they were venting about their parents between drinks charged to their parents' card, that this girl would be trouble. (he confirmed his suspicions later that night, when they made out in the backseat of his car.)

maybe it's their stubborn refusal to let their parents be right about something for once, or the hesitance to step out of this grey area they've gotten so comfortable being in (as if here, the kisses they share or the nights spent tangled together don't count). three years went by with them teetering the fine line between friendship and something more. hell, he's not sure they can even be considered friends.

there's something so... carnal, about his connection with agatha. it doesn't require many words (thankfully, since bickering seems to be the only way they can communicate with each other, it's why it's easier to just silence her with a kiss), just an intense glance from across the room is enough to say everything they need to.

when their eyes met amidst the crowd at the after-party, he immediately recognises that familiar fire burning in her gaze (can't decide if he should be worried or the slightest bit aroused), and takes it as his cue to get her alone. even if she hadn't sent him that signal, he would've showed up at her room later that night anyway.

sohee was already well aware she’s not made to work conventional jobs, but working the d&d booth for just one day was enough to prove it beyond any doubt. following someone else’s orders, doing the same task over and over, the horrifying concept of a “break” being only ten minutes long, and a food break being just thirty. it’s cruel. inhumane. and even then, she didn’t really do it properly. she got distracted. she wandered. she may or may not have pretended not to hear people calling her name.

after avoiding the booth for basically the entirety of saturday, the rest of the club made sure to keep their eyes glued on her on sunday. a coordinated surveillance effort, practically. incredibly unfair, she exclaims, but she also can’t argue that it’s not deserved. maybe one day she’ll be free of the consequences of her own actions, but until then she just has to suck it up and live with it.

when her food break finally comes around, sohee practically skips away from the booth, making a beeline for the food truck area like she’s just been released from captivity. everything suddenly feels beautiful. the sun is just warm enough that it feels like a hug and not like she’s baking alive, her ankle is magically healed. perfect, beautiful, heaven on earth.

she walks the row of food trucks like she hasn’t already memorized the menu of each one, dramatically weighing her options. she already knows she’s going to be on break until one of her club members physically drags her back, so she might as well make it count.

the first thing to catch her eye is the churro truck she’d been dreaming about since friday, the one that tragically ran out of stock just before she got to the front. heartbreaking. soul-crushing. today, though, they still have some. she checks the window three times just to be sure. she stands in line, practically vibrating with excitement, her head bouncing along with the music playing from the truck’s speakers. nothing could ever ruin this moment. not work. not guilt. not even—

“hey, sorry—would you mind if i took the last one?”

the voice cuts in from behind her. familiar. annoying. she turns around slowly, as if giving the offender one last chance to not be who she suspects it is.

but, of course, it is. of course.

her eyes narrow instantly. her distaste triples. the audacity.

his parents have always had a lot to say about the life he chooses for himself, but up until his DUI, they've been letting most things slide. it doesn't help that he knows exactly how to turn on the charm and get a resounding "yes" with his exes too.

he might have a way with people, but an elf is uncharted territory, even for someone with a dating history as extensive as his. never tried hooking up with a mythical creature, but a human dressed as one does sound pretty tempting.

asking them to give up the last churro for him might not be the best way to start, though. the closer he gets to the churro truck, the stronger the whiff of buttery sweetness hits him — and for the first time this weekend, he finds himself salivating for something more than the booze fueling him for the festival.

a chance with the sprightly little elf or a bite out of that crispy cinnamon stick? he isn't han yikyung if he makes himself choose just one. he'll have both, to-go, please.

or not. when elf girl turns around, he finds his eyes locked with a familiar pair — the same ones he's spent nights gazing into, searching for answers to the questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"sohee?" he blurts out, surprised, eyes flicking over her get-up as he mentally notes how well she pulled off the look. classic sohee — only she could make quirky look that good, it was one of the things that drew him to her in the first place.

it shouldn't bother her to begin with.

she'd caught the start of the swimming team's kissing booth while sampling the anime club's pastries with sungmin prior to their wave to earth set, breaking a matcha taiyaki in half to save the thinnest layer of anko for last. there's a line snaking across the quad, some girls reapplying lip gloss in their phone cameras, others giggling behind cupped hands. boys in team jackets leaning in on command, laughing between turns. he smiled through all of it. wiped someone's tint from his cheek and smiled again.

absently, her fingers brush the weight of a 5,000₩ note in her skirt pocket and thought briefly, stupidly, about handing it over. call it a refund. call it settling last night's debt.

not that he'd remember. not in the way that mattered.

the picnic blanket at the astrology club's afterparty isn't even comfortable. too thin against the grass, and it's starting to soak through. but reiko adjusts herself anyway, pulls the fleece throw higher over her legs and yikyung's before crossing her ankle over the other. turns her body just enough so the angle suggests closeness without committing to it. it's almost the same setup as the night before: same proximity, same ambient blur. different room, different boy, worse smelling cologne.

yet again, the seventh glance at her story viewers yields the same lineup, unchanged and oblivious. her message inbox floods with a tepid stream of hearts and fire emojis, a where is this? thrown in for the sake of performative conversation — but none from the one username that actually matters. a sigh barely forms before she switches to the camera, front-facing, screen catching the faint glow of greenery and sky behind her. reiko shifts until the corner of yikyung's shoulder eases into the edge of the frame, the hem of her sleeve grazing the curve of his shirt.

"wait," she calls over, already angling the shot, "get in frame with me." her thumb hovers over the shutter, face tipped to catch the constellation overhead. "should i tilt my head this way, or—" she leans in again, just slightly, "is this better?"

don't get him wrong, she's the kind of pretty he would swipe right on on a dating app (yes, he knows now that talktalk isn't one of those... thank you reiko for reciting that for the hundredth time), and she's definitely the kind of feisty that makes up the bulk of his dating history, but those aren't the things he sees when he delivers her a cup of coffee during her late nights working on the app.

as someone who has a vision he yearns to bring to life himself, yikyung respects and envies reiko for having the tenacity to keep going until she achieves her goals. he might complain, even grumble a little whenever she requests (read: demands) his help, but the one thing yikyung wouldn't do is say no to her.

tonight's favour is a little different... not that he's complaining at all. might even be his favourite one yet. he doesn't know the details of what went down between her and minjae, but he understands the tension that ensues the day after an unexpected hook-up, a little too well at that. he's been there, done that, and there is quite frankly no better person to help reiko out on her mission to get minjae's attention.

the mere prospect of ruffling minjae's feathers tickles him; hand him the opportunity to one-up an old-time rival and he'd grab it faster than you can say "competition". this time, there's really no competition — reiko's more like an annoying sister if anything, but there's no harm in putting on a little show for minjae. if there's one thing he had learnt from his parents, it was how to put on a convincing act.

when sungmin was tasked with photographing the last day of yeonchella, he foolishly assumed this meant he would spend most of the time hovering backstage, catching candids of each performer on and offstage. however, it seemed as though some other photographers had a similar idea, since he had to quickly change course and cover the student booth section instead. not exactly what he had hoped for, but he figured it would be fun to capture the magic of college students enthusiastically hitting each other with fake swords, or maybe showcasing the creative prowess of the art club’s caricatures. 

neither of those things happen. not yet, anyway, because as he scans the area for opportune shots, his camera lens lands on one han yikyung looking his way.

well, not just looking. actively approaching.

sungmin freezes in place, not unlike a deer in headlights. he’s lucky the camera is looped around his neck, otherwise it would’ve hit the sidewalk and cost him his dignity. a few hundred thousand won, too. sucking in a breath, he closes his eyes and briefly contemplates turning right back around.

it’s too late, though. by the time sungmin opens his eyes again, yikyung is closer to him than either allowed themselves to be for a little over a year, now. he knows yikyung wouldn’t just approach him out of nowhere, not with their history, so he simply puts on a neutral expression and clears his throat. be professional, sungmin. you're on the clock.

it's why yikyung doesn't question them when they told him to drag one of the photographers on duty to the kissing booth, snap some photos of all the action they were bringing in at yeonchella. if people weren't flocking to the stage, they were huddling around the kissing booth, egging their friends to hop in line.

yikyung scans the crowd for someone with a fancy camera hanging off their neck, his gaze landing on one in his immediate orbit. he picks up his pace, headed right for his target before they could wander off into the crowd. it was only when the photographer lowered their camera, did he realise he was walking right into a hole he had dug for himself. not good.

if it wasn't so crowded (he blames the stellar concert line-up on sunday — best believe he'd be scrambling to the front for bibi), he would've spun right around to look for another photographer. unfortunately, the only one he's come across in the last ten minutes is someone he's programmed himself to avoid since freshman year.

for someone with a messy dating history like his, he's practically mastered the art of awkward run-ins with exes. the problem is, sungmin is barely an ex, and the way things ended between them haunts yikyung more than an ex yanking his glorious strands out. maybe it's because this time, he knows that he's the villain in this story.

fact number two: sometimes, jang minjae has terrible judgment. even with a million won on the line, he really should’ve known better. and with minseong in the picture, even more so. yet here he is — after making sure every camera he knows about is conveniently disabled (one of the perks of basically living at the pool, with all that behind-the-scenes access handed to him under the sweet assumption he’d never misuse it)—slipping off his shirt, fingers tugging at the drawstring of his sweats; one pull and he’s bare.

against better judgment, his eyes don’t stray from the curve of yikyung’s bare body, the way moonlight spills over skin, catching on the sharp edges and the quiet dips of muscle.

wrong. he was surprised to see minjae barely hesitate to tug his clothes off, his swimmer’s frame cutting through the air as he sprinted after him, catching up with yikyung in no time. he's so fast, yikyung didn't even get to take a peek where it matters (it's the ingrained rivalry — makes him wonder who really is the better man).

while he's not thrilled to hear the echo of two simultaneous splashes in the pool (definitely not keen to argue about who jumped in first, or worse, split the wager with minjae), the exhilaration of breaking a rule together temporarily drowns out the lingering rivalry. he wants to tread over to minjae and give him a high five, but his pride was pulling him back like a spirit in the water yanking him by the legs.

"you should know me better than that by now." skinny dipping is hardly a challenge for an audacious character like yikyung. ask him to sit through a two-hour lecture on political theory though, and he'd pick jumping into the pool unclothed any day. "you, on the other hand, surprised me there." yikyung admits, kicking up a splash in minjae's direction. "didn't think you had it in you. not afraid your coach would find out about what you're doing in his pool?"

jeongmin can clearly recall the first time a package was mistakenly delivered to him. the calls were the first annoyance of the whole ordeal, a poor employee ringing him to let him know his stuff had arrived, the faked enthusiasm in their voice clearly displaying the working conditions of the staff, just to be met with a crude reply. “i haven’t ordered anything.” followed by the empty dial tone of a hung up call. they persisted the next day, same voice, same fake tone. and jeongmin replied just the same. after three days, the voice turned slightly threatening. 

“if you don’t pick up this parcel by the end of the day we will be forced to get rid of it.”

“ok, then get rid of it.”

finally, he thought. 

it wasn’t over, though. it took less than a week for another call about another package to come in. “i thought you got rid of it.” was the first thing he said as he picked up the phone, no greeting. they explained to him that they did in fact get rid of that package, but that this was another one, and if he could come please pick it up soon, thank you very much. at this point, jeongmin was sure something out there was messing with him. hermes, perhaps? was he acting too out of line at track practice that now he was getting punished by the god of athletes and messengers himself? he couldn’t help but pick it up now, maybe there was something divine in the package, some sort of revelation he desperately sought. 

nah, it was just some shit from depop.

at least he was finally able to figure out the issue, the packages were meant to be delivered to some han yikyung, though his dorm number was written on them. faking a smile, he walked back to the gaeum building mail center and tried to explain the situation, but they wouldn’t take the package back from him because, according to their system, it was delivered to him and he had already received it. they didn’t even bother to offer a solution, and jeongmin couldn’t even feel bad for the poor student that was anxiously waiting for packages that would never show up. 

the packages never stopped showing up, and he started hoarding them like a dragon that slept on a bed of gold coins, amazed by the stubbornness of said han yikyung. like, maybe, perhaps, check you’re writing down the correct address before you check out? it took some investigating— asking seolran— to figure out who the packages belonged to. it made sense, it was someone that lived on the same floor as him, though he never crossed paths with him. not until this moment.

much to the dismay of the rest of the track team, jeongmin likes to start his days fairly early, before the campus gets too crowded and the uv rays get too strong. locking the door behind him as he leaves his dorm, he bumps into a figure he can only describe as zombie-like. brooding, sluggish, incoherent, just the guy he was looking for.

if only he was one those masochistic freaks that go for a run when he's in need of a dopamine boost — unfortunately, his only outlet of masochism takes place in the bedroom. hey, at least he still gets his cardio in.

nothing frustrates him more than not getting what he wants, when he wants it. for someone who's always paid for express mailing because he doesn't like to wait, it's frustrating to not see his packages show up the very next day. at first, it was just a couple of days, then it turns into weeks.

after a few days of wondering where his packages went, he forgets about them — he's the kind of guy who forgets what he ordered, especially if it was an impulse purchase (and he makes a lot of those). that is, until the "package has been delivered" notification kept popping up on his phone.

he's meant to file a report for lost packages, but found it too much of a hassle and would rather blow the money than deal with all that trouble. (if his parents saw how careless he was with money, they might think twice about reinstating his access to his trust fund.)

back to the fluorescent lights and ear-splitting music at the club it is — the perfect breeding ground for the worst of his vices combined. the morning after a night of debauchery is usually the worst. could be the hangover or post-nut clarity hitting him (probably both), or the utter shame of staggering back to his dorm room when other people are starting their day.

just his luck — running into one of those demons who start their day at six in the morning. he tries to avoid eye contact with his neighbour, who, judging from his attire, is all geared up for a run. unfortunately, said neighbour seems to be calling out to him, his voice a little too loud for the stillness of dawn. (yep, he's definitely hungover.)

yikyung flinches at his neighbour's beckoning, brows creasing at the human interaction he was forced into at this ungodly time of the day. everything clicked when the other explained where his parcels ended up, but he couldn't decide if he was relieved to finally uncover the mystery behind his missing parcels, or be frustrated at the prospect of having to move all those boxes in his current state.

"oh, fuck. my bad." he offers, a little too unapologetically for someone who has been hoarding his neighbour's dorm room with his forsaken packages. "must've messed up the 8." duh.

what a stupid 1L he was, not taking judge kim's evidence class seriously enough. it was a nine am and minseong was notorious for either always being late and thus being cold called every week as his punishment, or he would make it to class just in time to snag the farthest seat in the back (only, again, to be brutally picked on by his professor who knew what bullshit minseong was trying to pull all semester trying to sleep through class thinking that he couldn't see him dozing off head first into his macbook from the back row).

it was a sick foreshadowing of the blog that had caught wind on talktalk (thanks, reiko) that he'd made in lieu of his worthless business administration degree. it was just a prank, bro! — yeah, clearly telling all of yeonhwa that dr. jung jiseong in economics was a ggondae who clearly drank way too much cass beer in his free time and that dr. lee jina in marketing was wasting her time as a professor when there were men out there who would undoubtedly drink her bath water if it was a commodity to be sold. all fun and games until minseong had made a post linking to a google doc full of receipts of campus tea that he'd completely forgotten was linked to [email protected] with a shareable link and editable access. an absolute champion of a lawyer in the making.

his blood ran ice cold the moment yikyung slid into his dms, screenshots and receipts in tow — irrefutable proof that minseong was the wizard behind the curtain of that embarrassing, middle school-tier tea blog (which, to make things worse, was riddled with enough grammar and spelling mistakes to make a damn english professor cry). changing the permissions before anyone else could see and locking the blog permanently, minseong immediately groveled to the student — three years his junior — pleading his case that he would do anything to keep him quiet.

as punishment, these texts that give him heartburn and, frankly, the urge to chain smoke — they come in the evenings just when minseong thinks he's in the clear for the night, only to be summoned right after he's finished brushing his teeth and taken out his contacts.

and in true yikyung fashion, no reply comes after the initial text from sender 82-080-DONT-PICK-UP. not then, at least. minseong drags a hand over his face, a mix of frustration and exhaustion settling in. at least jihwan’s not here tonight — because explaining why he’s meeting some other guy for drinks under the shadiest pretenses would be a nuclear disaster waiting to happen. he hasn’t spilled a word to jihwan yet, mostly because the guilt of sneaking around feels like a punch to the gut. but honestly? the thought of getting reported to the school and possibly kicked out of law school? that nightmare is a hell of a lot worse to swallow.

minseong throws on a hoodie and jeans — the kind of outfit that screams please don’t perceive me, which is exactly the energy he’s dragging into this bar he has no business being at. it’s not even the right dress code for the kind of place yikyung likes to haunt — the ones with overpriced cocktails and clientele who never seem to work but always look like they just stepped off a runway.

as always, he’s the first one there. and as always, he’s fucking miserable about it. his fingers drum impatiently against the condensation of his soda water (he'll lie it's a vodka soda if he asks), annoyed at himself for even making the stupid fucking blog to begin with. he could've been home, knee-deep in case study prep for tomorrow's internship meeting — not curled over some barstool on a tuesday night like some washed-up regular cheating on his wife, even though right now, he definitely feels like one.

his stomach twists uncomfortably at the familiar figure sliding in beside him, and he doesn't try to his his disdain for all of this. god, fuck that blog, for real. if he could go back in time and throttle his younger self, mid just for the lolz, he would. he watches yikyung take his drink and wrap his lips around his straw without asking and begins to picture an alternate universe where the drink is laced, yikyung drops dead mid-sip, and all the pretentious finance bros at the bar scream as his body hits the floor.

instead, he bites the inside of his cheek at yikyung's comment, trying to suppress a smile that the second year really is too fucking stupid to not realize it's got no alcohol.

most of all, yikyung struggles to admit that he really just needs some help. it might be the way he was brought up to not show weakness (in his father's words, it'll only give people the chance to take him down), or the way minseong always looked at him with unsheathed daggers, as if ready to be launched at any moment. the way yikyung sees it, it was easier to make people do things for him, than to ask for help.

at first he turned to minseong because he was the only guy he knew in post-grad law, then he keeps coming back because whether he likes to admit it or not, the dude is smart. it doesn't take a genius to solve a mathematical equation, but it takes someone with a whole lotta brain to be this funny.

he likes the way minseong solves his problems with that little sprinkle of creativity. tie it in with his expertise and knowledge of the law and yikyung almost always has a way out of the mess he finds himself in, one that has nothing to do with his parents and the influence they wield. he appreciates the safety net they've cast for him, but he doesn't like to be reminded of who held the reins over him.

with minseong in the picture, yikyung found a way to game the system without having to put his pride on the line. he also gets to enjoy a bit of company, but he'd leave this bit out if minseong ever asked.

"so, i got into a bit of trouble earlier, but it's dumb, really. i was at this mom-and-pop shop and just took one of those plastic lighters that didn't even cost a dime. i didn't have my wallet with me but i really had to smoke." he offers a knowing smile, hoping the other would understand that itch to puff one out.

he fills minseong in on the details, about how he got into a squabble with the owner, made sure to describe her and her tacky orange curls, which is why she is refusing to let the matter rest. he even offered to pay her back for the stupid lighter but she didn't want it. she just wanted him to apologise, maybe grovel at her feet.

"and why would i apologise to someone who doesn't keep up with the times and implement cashless payment? i mean i would have, if she didn't come screaming at me like i was some sneaky thief." except he was, and a very unremorseful one at that.

the bartender sets their drinks before them, and yikyung flicks off his straw, taking a big, angry gulp straight from his glass, brows furrowed as he realises that minseong's drink wasn't a diluted glass of vodka sprite. he makes a face, but takes another sip anyway.

one can say that kangmin was born for this job. literally. he'd been born for this job. growing up he'd spent a lot of his time after school playing with a bunch of friends or here - at the fried chicken store. it honestly isn't that bad of a stint either, he's surrounded by the smell of chicken, it's at a pretty nice location, and he's got a know-in with the owner since he's the son and all - hooray, nepotism! the only downside he can think of is the fact that the pay is absolutely shit (see: he doesn't get paid at all, because he's the son - boo, nepotism).

it's fine though, really, kangmin thinks it's the least he can do for his family. and there's something about working at a family-run business that makes him happy. this time though, he's been tasked with training the new part-timer. the cute, pretty, adorable, part-timer. the one with a face like adonis with the unholy ability to send kangmin's brain crashing like a windows xp.

still as gorgeous as the boy may seem to kangmin, he's well aware of the fact that he needs to maintain some form of professionalism and not stare at him all wide-eyed like he was auditioning for a role on 'i-fell-for-my-coworker's/schoolmate's-face'. no! which quite frankly, isn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, because yikyung is... yikyung isn't the best at the job so far, and they've been raking in customers like there's no tomorrow.

they're standing by the cashier, as kangmin describes the mechanics of it all. "usually we ask for card or cash, that's pretty straightforward. but we've got a combo button here, for easier uh," what's the word, what's the word, "... access." nice. his brain is freezing up. he leans in, body towering over yikyung's slightly as he points at the button, "and you just have to click here." nice nice.

"it's easy to mess up though - trust me. i made a customer pay over a hundred dollars once," a terrible memory, but kangmin digresses, "so if you ever piss a customer off, just you know - be nice? customer service? i guess that's key," good job, he nods his head, very professional. "... you're really pretty though, so i don't think i could get mad at you," ah, nevermind.

for the first time in all twenty-three years of his life, he saw the words “card declined” flash across the payment screen, but that wasn’t the biggest anomaly of all. even the people who have seen it all have yet to see han yikyung scrolling through… wait for it… job portal sites.

this is it: rock bottom for a prideful man who has never worked a day in his life. for someone born with a silver spoon in one hand and a black card in another, he has never entertained the thought of getting a part-time job, much less acquire the necessary skills to land him one.

yikyung wasn’t sure which the bigger miracle was — the fact that he finally landed himself a job, or that he wasn’t fired after a day. (didn’t last more than an hour cashiering at the convenience store near campus — could not stand his supervisor and it’s apparent the feelings were mutual.)

he realises that applying for a job is nothing like filling out his tinder profile — all talk and no show was not going to cut it. after being turned away from most employers for his barren resume, he was not expecting the friendly couple at the fried chicken store to take him in.

they didn’t mind when he told them he’s never had a job before; didn’t even chide him when he messed up an order. they always had the same warm smile on their faces when they tell him, “it’s okay, you can try again.”

he’s never met anyone so… nice. his own father likes to say, “people that work for you are not your friends”, that it was important to draw the line so they wouldn’t forget their place. things are different here at the fried chicken store, sometimes it feels like they treat him like one of them. like family.

it might have something to do with how they have a son his age. yikyung has never met him but he’s heard a lot about him. the granny that helps out at the store occasionally told him a lot about the boy, even mistook him for her grandson sometimes. that’s how he learned his name — kangmin.

after a couple of days on service duty, the owner assigned him to help out at the cash register. said something about how they get a lot busier during summer break and that he seems ready to take on more now that he was messing up a lot less these days. (he had to bite down a smile when he heard that. so this is what it felt like getting praised at work?)

that wasn’t the only smile he had to fight back. imagine his surprise to find that the dorky airhead everyone talked about was a doe-eyed boy with a disarming little smile. for the first time since yikyung started this job, he finds his resolve to stay focused starting to waver. it certainly doesn’t help that kangmin was tasked to show him the ropes to operating the cash register today.

as if learning all the buttons on a cash register wasn’t enough of a challenge, now he has to pretend he doesn’t notice how close they were standing, or how defined kangmin’s forearm looked when he was demonstrating how to work the machine. (how is someone so guileless built like that? it feels almost immoral to wonder how he would look under that apron.)

“i’m sure that customer didn’t get mad at you then, since you’re pretty too.” yikyung grins, enjoying the sheepish look on the other’s face when he let that slip. cute.

he doesn’t stop there, eager to find out if kangmin is just affable like his family, or if all that eye contact they’ve been exchanging meant something more. it’s brazen, with kangmin’s parents in the vicinity, but he’s not han yikyung if shameless flirtation isn’t his first language.