all over.
apolore:
( * * * )
LIFE HAS THREE STAGES.
you are born. you live. you die. no use in being bitter about it.
obviously, soojung didn’t get that memo; skipped the peaceful tranquility of death to serve shiny, fruity cocktails to girls in low cut dresses and wallets that weight more than them and their friends all combined. she tries not to mind. which is a lie, because she does mind, so perhaps she just tries not to show it.
( the dollar bill tips tucked under sugar coated glasses do help. )
everything gets quiet at this time of day. she can hear her breath and hear her heart and the itching of her rag on the counter-top; all too silent and close to comfortably bear. she likes filling her nights with voices and people and bass so heavy she can feel it on the soles of her feet. keeps her away from bad thoughts and other wasteful activities.
( when it’s this quiet it just seems like it’s withering away. )
at least she can always count on taemin to trot his way over and bring back the joy in her life. or maybe suck out hers. look pretty while doing it too.
she eyes him as he sits, lets her gaze shamelessly drift along the expanse of his collarbones, down along all the parts his shirt reveals, “what cleavage?” there’s a tsk to her tone “there’s nothing to see i haven’t seen, anyway. you’ll have to figure out a different bribe. i suggest considering something on your knees.”
still, her fingers find the mouth of a bottle, something green, with the lingering scent of rubbing alcohol she takes as a sign of good enough, two shot glasses filled within seconds and ready to be split. she drinks hers first, doesn’t flinch. “what beat you to this state anyway, lover boy?”
