This boy’s transparent. Taemin is having a hard time controlling his expression– he can’t take this kid seriously in the slightest. Admittedly, there’s a certain charm to this. The stranger seems like the type that you could effortlessly be friends with. Especially if you’re the quiet type and you need someone that will make up over 90% of the conversation. His lanky legs, wrapped tight in black fabric smattered with small tears to reveal milky skin, stretch out lazily under the table, one ankle crossing over the other, and he tames his smug grin, sharp gaze lingering on his opposite’s sweet face.
“Let’s start from the top. You shouldn’t have to force yourself to control the dream. Take the potion, and if it’s meant to be it’ll be. Though– if you dream about changing some other physical aspect of yourself, you’re out of luck. Say good bye to your height. But your subconscious most likely wanted.. whatever other change it was, in the first place.” He pauses, thick lips pressing into a thin line. Don’t laugh, Taemin. Don’t laugh. You’ll give it away. “And, uh– These potions have been around for eons. The formulas for them aren’t to be tampered with. If you want vanilla and chocolate, go to Baskin Robbins and eat your feelings when you feel sad over being so adorably short. But if you want change, you gotta tolerate the sour, the bitter, the gross.” He smacks a warm palm against the tabletop, it makes the bottle jump a bit in its spot. “With this.”
He ignores the bit about the friend– let’s not play around here. But there’s something nagging in the back of his brain. Remember that demon you wanted to summon? This kid could make a good offering, right? His lips purse to the side. “Huh, maybe..” It’s a quiet murmur to himself.
“There’s a spell we could try. But it requires quiet and privacy. Wouldn’t do well to do it out here.”
That’s a little concerning. What if he accidentally dreams about his feet and wakes up with bigger ones? Then none of his socks would fit. What a stressful concept. The thought causes his brow to furrow in the middle in slight distress. After all, socks are very important. Plus the male would look exceptionally disproportional with short legs and big feet, like a duck. He’s about to shift into extreme daydreaming mode when the other’s palm so abruptly smacks the table and snaps the male back to reality with a jolt of the body and a soft yelp. “You sure it’d be bad to add flavouring to it? I mean, flavoured water is a thing. It’s still water, but tastes like grapes. Or I guess it probably added a few calories, so it isn’t exactly the same water from before.” Upon realizing he’s just answered his question, Jaeho’s quick to wave a hand about, as if to shoo it away. “Ah, never mind, never mind! Dumb question!”
He still isn’t 100 percent certain if he should buy this thing. Jaeho’s eaten a variety of concerning/terrible/stupid substances over the years, primarily during his childhood: glue, mud, construction paper, a combination of vodka and green tea (which was horrifying), apple juice mixed with beer (equally as horrifying). And yet this green…stuff doesn’t sit well with him. So naturally, he perks up at the mention of a spell. “A spell? Really? Do you use a magic wand and stuff? Or does it come out of your hands like Spiderman? I know Spiderman wasn’t magical or anything, but you get the idea. Or I guess he was a little magical, depending on your definition of magic.” Amidst the cheerful, idiotic rambling, Jaeho’s soon hit in the head with yet another thought, or question in this case, and, of course, he just has to blurt it out. “How much would it cost?”
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