burn like a chariot

(/generally speaking, song minho (statistically average at most things) doesn’t necessarily have the best hearing skills, but his ears somehow manage to pick up the slanderous whispers (”hey, did you hear about the director’s son —”) of a young student as he passes by the lounge area. so naturally, as wheein’s favourite childhood friend of all time, and bearer of so-called classified information, he gasps (loudly) and backtracks immediately to set things straight once and for all) HOLD ON just a minute, young man (/he slams his fist menacingly onto the table) i don’t know where you heard that ridiculous information but it’s NOT wheein — she’s uh (/retracts his hand awkwardly) she’s not his - son? (sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly insecure at night, he asks god why he wasn’t born mute) if uh, you were - (/hooo boy) - wondering, i just.

wow ( not to be vain or anything, but this commonplace, typical combination of dark jeans, white tee, and leather jacket is really working wonders for his self-esteem issues right now ) bro ( minho starts, voice laden with hushed excitement when he finishes lint rolling himself for the umpteenth time, shoving the sticky contraption into his sling bag and zipping it up, careful to avoid the edges of his biology notebook ) i am ready to, uh ( what's the word ) fuck shit up ( yeah, that's it ) live it up, my dude bro ( he's grasping at straws tbh, but he thinks he's got the gist of the rebel slang taehyun spews on a daily basis ) take the law into my own hands ‒ ( he hisses in pain when his hand, with unfortunate timing, collides against taehyun's door frame as he stumbles lamely past the threshold of his room )

moodboard → song minho.