yall know whats funny? I was friends with this girl for 3 years, the same 3 years we waited for wuju bakery. Today, the episodes release (pretty sure? minus the impending lawsuit with SOS and the companies) and today marks the 9th week I haven't spoken to her. The day I dropped her, Wuju Bakery was announced a release date.
go off non stab a hoe or two, maybe 5 idk i support ur wrnongs
truly hope mr keng is dead im sorry i hate him so much there's like no way he could be redeemed after the shit he did to non. If anyone thinks non cheated and CONSENTED to that reconsider everything
we got phee doing some investigating bc his dad cant.
Non's parents fighting like that hit way too fucking hard omg but now his mom wanna cry like you didnt contribute to him leaving like did you ever actually try to defend ur son and not compare him to new im sorry that part had me m A D especially when his dad hit him non shouldve thrown hands idgaf what ur child did absolutely never should you whack them fictional show or not.
The maniacal laughter, the fainting, and everything done by barcode was phenomenal truly made me feel like i was getting punched in the gut 100/10
barcode for actor of the year 2024 im gonna go cry my eyes out and write a fic
Chan and Haneul, from my Wuju Bakery fic (: Chan is...chan, Haneul is Big. This is taken from the chapter not yet posted.
___
A date was set. Tomorrow at 6pm. The small Cafe for a little, and Chan would take Haneul to the park. Then, they would go to Chans home and there Haneul would explain his past.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Chan looks up from his laptop to see Haneul channel surfing, flicking through shows and movies out of boredom.
“Stop asking me, yes,” Haneul snarls, “pretend it didn't happen.”
“You broke down into tears, Haneul,” Chan argues, “and I wanted to—” wanted to hold you and stop it.
“Wanted to…?”
Chan collects himself, “to make you feel even the slightest bit better.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Haneul’s tone remains uninterested as every fiber in his being screams at him to push the laptop to the floor; throw himself into Chan and nose his neck. He loves the calmness surrounding him. Chan is so helpful. He's a nice human. Haneul wants that. For once he lets himself be at ease and Chan tolerates him.
Yeah, Haneul is trying to find out if heart palpitations would affect his human cover.Â
“The weather seems to be clearing up. We had plenty of storm warnings earlier today. I hope it's the same for tomorrow,” Chans idle chit chat goes in one ear out the other.
He finds a rom-com, but can't even pay attention. His eyes are on it but Haneul's mind wanders.
Alot of the thoughts concern Chan and the earlier events. He thinks about the cool glass of water in his hands. The way Chan knelt by his feet and talked to him, guiding him to calm down and never leaving unless he knew it'd be okay.
Humans looked for those traits in partners. Just like the one on screen was doing; as she crooned and squeezed the man's bicep. He's so kind and strong. How resilient, smart and capable.
“I love you,” The man kisses the top of her head and Haneul wonders what that would feel like.
Fuck, he thinks to himself, his own feelings irritate him, I like him.Â
“Chan,” he doesn't peel his eyes off the screen, watching the couple as they lock lips.
“Yes?” That alone has Haneul's stomach doing a thing.
“How do you know if you like someone?” He asks, stupidly, whispering his words.
“You're asking while you watch a romantic movie,” the chuckle that follows makes Haneul feel fuzzy in his chest, “you want to be around them, they make you happy, you think about them often…”
“Fuck!” Haneul huffed, very clearly irked by that new information, he did!Â
He's done a complete 180! Haneul told himself he wouldn't, he has so many reasons to never see a human in a positive way!
But Chan somehow made a hole in his heart and crawled in, making himself at home. And Haneul wouldn't realize until it was too late.
“Is there someone on your mind?” the outburst doesn't startle him at all, but Chan is curious now, “It's not like you to ask such a question.”
“No,” Haneul ran his fingers through his hair. He needs to tie it, but just hasn't for some reason.
“No one, this movie angers me,” he muttered before flipping the channel again. Except it gets worse. From one couple lip locking to another engaging in a very intimate moment, Haneul growls as he angrily flicks to another channel. Finally, the weather. Heavy winds but no chance of rain. The weather has been unpredictable lately.
“Surely you're not going to ask me about the weather now, are you?”
“The hell would I do that for?” He spits and sees Chan's displeasure. He doesn't comment on what just happened.
“I've wondered…” Chan glances at the TV, “do you have some miraculous ability to change the weather depending on your mood? It's fascinating.”
But Haneul doesn't answer, because he doesn't know.
Sure, on Saturn the wind would pick up, maybe a small thunder storm once in a while.
When he screamed as a child, for his mother, the bloodcurdling scream helped morph the atmosphere. Weights bared down on his chest, the planets around them becoming blurred by a gust of yellow and brown clouds. Everyone around him winced as they dragged him away.
Haneul shudders when he remembers the feeling of hands pulling him away.
“Figure it out,” Haneul tosses the remote aside and stands up, “I’m taking a walk, feel free to not tag along.” He stretched his arms up, feeling stiff.
“Have you had enough of me?” Chan asks, the fake hurt in his voice makes Haneul roll his eyes. No. Never.
“Don’t go or do, I don’t care,” He mutters before walking away. He has to navigate his way through the house to the front door. Turns and twists confuse Haneul and the footsteps rapidly approaching him cause him to whip around and realize it’s only him and Chan.
“Ah, you need a jacket,” Chan reaches up past Haneul’s head to pluck the black jacket from the rack to hand it to him. Haneul remains static for a bit, stunned.
Get it together, Haneul grabs his jacket and pulls it on, regretting giving Chan the choice to join him on a walk.
The walk is actually just around Chan’s home, because he doesn’t know where they are. Chan suggests walking to the park again, but Haneul says no and would rather just walk in circles.
Chan then suggests they could walk to the bakery because it’s not far from his job.
As they take a nice stroll, Chan has to walk next to Haneul to make sure he doesn’t bump into anything because Haneul is clearly very deep in thought. He doesn’t interrupt him, but also doesn’t want to hear another hopeless cry, this time resulting from an injury.
Haneul stares at the sidewalk, eyebrows furrowed as he comes to terms with these stupid human feelings.
But they weren’t just human feelings, his kind felt it, too.
Haneul rubs his eyes, frustrated. Any wall he’s had up is long gone; destroyed into dust and bits. It’s all Chan’s fault. The stupid attitude, his face and words. His fault.
It’s Haneul’s fault for going to his home. He wouldn’t have seen him in loungewear, the tattoos along his arm, listen to him read or break down into tears leaving Chan to comfort him.
Haneul knows Chan doesn’t like him, either, never once has he reciprocated.
“Haneul, I know you have plenty on your mind, but please don’t walk into the lamppost-”
“The huh-?”
As Haneul collides with the lamppost, it’s as if it were in slow motion to Chan; the incident unfolding but he can’t step forward fast enough. He hears the loud clang as Haneul’s face comes in contact and then recoils, screaming a loud “Yetone!” like it was just him around, clutching his nose and massaging his forehead.
Chan ignores the exclamation to ask Haneul, “Are you okay? Do you need ice? We can find somewhere to sit.”Â
Haneul stops walking and Chan comes up to him, both of them ignoring the stares they get from onlookers. Chan couldn’t care less, and Haneul is in pain from his own obliviousness.
“I’m fine,” He straightens himself, shaking his head, “Fuck,” he mutters, hoping there’s no bump that’ll form, “nothing broke.”
“I sure hope not,” Chan looks at him, “let me look.”
Haneul sighs, looking from side to side to see that it’s relatively empty and not many people have seen such an incident. He agrees to let Chan look, but doesn’t expect him to come so close they can practically share body heat. He leans down to his eye level, hand hovering right over the injury.
“Can I touch you?” Chan whispers as Haneul’s face becomes a fiery mess to the tips of his ears as he coughs.
There’s only a few seconds to think and Haneul freaks out, his brain unsure of what’s going on,”Y-yeah, fine- whatever-” He stuttered, mentally cursing at himself.
The fingertips pushing his hair back from his forehead are gentle; like a caress along his skin. Haneul barely stops himself from leaning into it. Chan is touching him, only just for a moment.Â
Chan thinks Haneul has nice eyes; curious and questioning. He tries to remain neutral but his eyes are so expressive; those obsidian coloured eyes that held so much hurt. And Chan wants to see them curve up as Haneul grins. One day, he tells himself, one day.
Only when he pulls away he realizes he forgot to check where Haneul hit himself.Â
He wonders if Haneul felt anything towards him, or if this was one sided. That’s okay, though, Chan thinks, as long as Haneul is able to live comfortably.
As long as you're the one paying for his drinks, he will sing.
When he sings to Porchay in the bar, it feels like it's only them.
___
Porchay finds a table near the window—close to the stage, where the man has been singing since before he stepped foot in the bar.
He sits and looks over the people in the room as he idly strums at the strings, waiting for something.
His hair is long and black, falling over one ear and tucked behind the other, his eyes tired and his posture slouched on the stool, a foot propped up to hold the guitar.
Someone calls a name, and he responds by turning his head, his lips parting in question. A glass slides over to him, the stage is next to the bar. He gets up, sets the guitar down and walks over.Â
Swirling the contents of the glass slowly, he stares inside of it. The golden liquid sits in an intricately shaped whiskey glass, ice cubes clink around as he downs it.
He swipes a tongue over his lips, and Porchay watches with fascination.
Getting back on stage after emptying the glass, he sits down again and picks up the instrument, fishing the guitar pick from his pocket. He strums once, and then plays with the rings on his fingers. One of the rings is a large black gemstone, square cut in a silver setting. It shines in the light of the bar.
He reaches out to the microphone and pulls it closer, Porchays eyes never leave his hands.
"Good evening," his voice is smooth, and Porchay wonders how much he's drunk.Â
He doesn't catch the glance towards him.
"My name is Wik," he introduces himself, "if anyone has suggestions, refer to the sign."
Porchay looks at the sign behind him, "Will sing for booze."
Oh, that made sense.
Porchay wonders why the musician chose to introduce himself, he's never been to a place like this. Yet he finds himself sliding out of his chair to go to the bar, paying for another glass of whiskey for the man on the stage.
He should really be spending his time doing something else. One day he'll be up on a stage, singing to everyone that loved him. Hundreds, thousands, he hopes that one day it'll be millions.
In a matter of minutes the drink is poured, more ice is added, and handed to Wik. His takes it, and thanks Porchay.
Their eyes meet, and as he lifts the glass to his lips does it stay that way. Porchay stops breathing, and watches as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Each gulp is slow.
The glass clicks as he puts it down on the table, letting it be taken away by the bartender once more, who shakes their head.
"For Porchay," Wik says into the microphone and finds a rhythm, fingers plucking the strings and he clears his throat.
Wik sings beautifully, and Porchay wonders why he's in a small bar rather than a large crowd of thousands.
The song is slow, sad. Porchay isn't sure how to describe it. He's written his own music before, but this is something he can't place.
A tale of two; separation, maybe, he thinks, but he pauses when Wiks eyes flit past his. His eyes are pretty. The diamond earrings he wears are stunning.
Porchay sighs, wondering if he should go.
But he can't bring himself to get out of his seat, not unless it's to get Wik another glass and watch him knock it back.
Porchay and Wik catch each other glancing more and more as the songs go by.
___
The guitar sits in its case by the door, while Wik slips his shoes off next to Porchays.
They're grabbing each other's faces, lips crashing together as they're walking up to the bedroom, kicking the door open.
Wiks hands are trailing to the plaid long sleeve Porchay wears, pulling it off so it falls to the floor, leaving him in a white shirt.
"Kimhan," He mutters against Porchays top lip, eyes still closed and their foreheads touching.
Porchay repeats it, breathless, "Kimhan,"Â
"I've missed you, Chay," Kim murmurs, his hands moving to his thighs to lift him up. Porchay allows him, staring still in his arms as he's walking to the bed.
"Have you?" Porchay asks, his voice low, "this is what you've been doing?"
With a quick peck of his lips, Porchay is placed down on the soft sheets, "I needed something."
A sad excuse Porchay has heard so many times when they were together.Â
He sighs against the musician's mouth, "One chance."
Kim plants their lips together, again, a way to say thank you. He would stay.
A part of a Wuju Bakery fic im writing, where Raon plans on confessing to Wuju, but Wuju comes back to the bakery to tell Raon he's leaving.
btw i dont know whos who- some say Raon is Barcode and Wuju is Jeff, but others say its reversed (Jeff is Raon/Barcode is Wuju). Here, Barcode is Raon and Jeff is Wuju, the alien. Nodt is Haneul, Ta is Kyong.
---
Six. It's six in the morning when Wuju wakes up to fix his appearance. Raon should already be at the shop this early. The sun isn't even up yet.
There was a possibility Raon was baking bread, muffins, pastries, and getting them ready for the day. He woke up early when Kyong would be unable to help.
Last night, a few hours ago, Haneul informed him Kyong wouldn't be there. If they needed to talk privately then Raon would chase him away for the day.
Rather than the pink uniform gifted to him, it's the black sweater he was given back some time ago after Raon dried it from the rain. He fixes his dress pants and does a once-over in the mirror.
Did he look decent? Wuju ponders, staring at the blank eyes in his reflection. He makes several faces; quirks an eyebrow, showing teeth, smiling, puffing his cheeks. Wuju looks the same, but a little…overwrought, was the word he read once. He adjusts the neck of his sweater again and steps out of the room, considering washing this face again before he walks to the bakery. There were numerous worries he had concerning his appearance; maybe a second shower, re-wash his hair, comb it, but how he dresses shouldn’t be on his mind to tell someone goodbye.Â
Haneul greets him in the yard with a sympathetic, strained smile. He stands up from the blanket and tries wiping oil away from his hands, succeeding in only spreading it.Â
“You’re just going to say goodbye,” Haneul watches as Wuju straightens his sweater sleeve and tugs on his pants leg again, ensuring they’re level and unwrinkled.
“I know,” Wuju breathes. He was so nervous. Nervous to see Raon, to talk to him. He isn’t sure how the interaction will go. Most likely, in Wuju’s thoughts, Raon is too occupied with his bakery and has Kyong to keep him company who’s another human that can hold him and not slap him away because they understand each other.
Before turning away to walk, Haneul stops him to ask him, “Did you see the bag on the table?”
He guesses Haneul is talking about the table by the bedroom, where he was getting ready this morning.
“No, do you need it?”
“It’s for you, I’m not returning it if you don’t want it,” Haneul gestures for Wuju to go by fanning his hand. Wuju goes to retrieve it. He sees that it’s in fact laying on the table and can’t believe he totally missed it.
Trying to make it quick, Wuju fumbles with the bag and turns it upside down, the plastic crinkles and makes irritating noises, but something tumbles out of it. A white box with swirls of orange, white and green on the front with what seems to be an apple on one of the sides. He grabs it and slides the box open to reveal the shiny thing inside. It’s a phone; it had the shape of the communication device Raon, Haneul, and Kyong used.
The case is white and inside there is a cable and weird block with prongs sticking out of it. He didn't waste time and didn't examine it, just shook it out of the box while he messed with the phone in his other hand to turn it on. Eventually, the screen lights up and shows that it's at half battery. More than enough because Wuju doesn't plan on using it much at all. He swipes up, as the screen tells him to, and there's a message from Haneul.
Haneul: Keep it with you, the repairs will be finished by the afternoon.Â
Wuju tilts his head at the message, looking around and he spots Haneul watching him from outside.
Haneul: I think you should go now. Before Kyong goes back.
Wuju swiped up, amazed at the screen's response: the digital keyboard appeared. He just gave a simple thumbs up, though, as it was the first thing to appear on the tiny bar above the numbers.
He pockets the new device and left.
___
Trays of muffins line the inside of the display case, Raon slides the oven mit off when he hears his phone’s chime. It’s from Kyong, telling him good luck on running the bakery today without him, as if that hasn’t happened before. Raon huffs a laugh at the amount of attitude his message could contain, likes the message and Kyong changes his status to “Good Luck, Everyone!” before going offline. Perhaps it’s due to his exam being today.
Raon slides his phone back into his apron pocket and inhales the scent of buttery croissants and blueberry muffins. The strong smell of baked dough comforts him. One of the first recipes he’s ever learned and one of the most popular things bought during lunchtime.
He’s dressed up for today; wearing his hair curled and a green button up with dress pants. The apron would come off when he was done setting up the display and preparing an assortment of fruit drinks and coffee. Today was special; there was going to be a food critic coming to his bakery. Raon was filled to the brim with anxiety and excitedness. He couldn’t wait for them to arrive. The anticipation was overwhelming and he’s had to gulp down several espresso shots since he got no sleep the night before.Â
Sleep hadn’t come to Raon in a while, actually, and he wondered if it was insomnia-as he’s had the bad habit of staying up to sunrise numerous times before. Whether it was anxiety or just because, he didn’t know. After being separated from Wuju, he put his focus on baking and reading. The dough would be mushy and lumpy, the macarons would become burnt, and Raon stressed over every fine detail on his fondant, every crumb on his loaf of bread and counted the pores on his spongecake. His legs begged him to sit down and his cramping hands made him drop the spatula.Â
The dark circles are covered by concealer, his cheeks blushed just the slightest and he decides 3 hours of sleep the night before is sufficient enough. Kyong looked at him in disapproval and pats his head, watching the curls bounce back at his palm. He wishes him well, drove him to the bakery and left.
Raon wonders how Wuju would react to his new outfit. Sure, he’s seen him in his uniform and his pajamas, but never dressed professionally…was this considered fancy? Could Raon be overdressing? He could leave the bracelets and blazer in his bag. Enough worrying, he tells himself.Â
He goes to chew at his nail and slaps his own hand away after remembering a baker shouldn’t be touching their mouth, especially if they’re in the middle of baking. There was a lemon and date compote waiting to be prepared in the kitchen. A part of this specific baker wishes his not-really-an-assistant, assistant accompanied him.Â
There’s a brief wave of panic through Raon when he hears the bell chime above the door, someone is here? Now? So early in the morning?Â
“Welcome,” His voice is shaking, and he clears his throat before repeating himself, but it doesn’t sound any better. Raon wipes his hands on the apron.
Wuju doesn’t reply when he hears Raon’s voice, the uncertainty in the other's voice makes him even more uneasy than he already is. He turns after closing the door and pauses upon seeing the fluffy hair that’s now sticking up and going in every which direction. Wuju swallows while something in his mind screams at him. Raon looks amazing, and Wuju forgets what he’s going to say; goodbye .
He sees the bounce of several black curls when Raon tilts his head and Wuju averts his eyes to the floor, where he now sees the neatly tied dress shoes on Raon’s feet and his beige colored pants.
Sure, they had a small argument a while ago and misunderstanding, but did that make Raon like him any less? Absolutely not. They're all human. Raon considered confessing to him days ago, but seeing that they’re both here; now and alone, it couldn’t have been more perfect. He pushed down the ball of nerves and opened his mouth, but Wuju speaks before he does.
“I’m leaving,” and a meek apology follows.
"...I– you're…what?" Raon doesn't know what to say. Quitting didn't mean they wouldn't see one another again. They could visit…
Wuju stiffens, standing straight and Raon glanced at his shoulders.
"I'm leaving," but when he looks back at his face, it's wet. Wuju curses, wiping his eyes. He told himself he wouldn't cry.Â
"You're quitting?" Raon steps forward but Wuju takes a shaky step backward. He prays that his legs won't give out, there's nothing close enough to stabilize himself on. Falling into Raons arms is the last thing he wants.
Wuju shakes his head, "No, no, Earth. I'm leaving Earth," he repeats, his words becoming jumbled. Raon can't hear what he's saying. Wuju covers his nose as he cries, though sniffles.
"You were a really nice human Raon," he can't bring himself to look up. Raon is watching in shock as Wuju seems to be falling apart as he continues to speak. He pats around for one of the napkins but he can't get close enough to even hand it over. Wuju’s eyebrows crinkle as his shoulders tense.
Wuju stammered, "You were," hiccup, "the first one I met," hiccup, "I'm so sorry I hurt you."
Raon can feel the tears forming in his own eyes and he blinks, "Wuju, what are you talking about—?"
"I'm not human, Raon," He can't stop himself from saying it. Raon stands there, dumbfounded. He wants Wuju to stand up and grin, so he waits for it, and waits, but Wuju heaves.
Raon quickly has to come to terms with it not being a joke.
"Home– I'm going home. I can't stay, we're too different."
"I don’t get it," Raon tries to go closer but Wuju moves back like a scared animal.
It takes a minute—perhaps more—for Wuju to get a word out. Even then, Raon doesn't get it.Â
"Can't we just talk it through?" Raon murmurs, he can't stop the flow of tears down his face. Okay, he's another species but he looks and acts human. Not the weirdest thing.
"I don't want you hurt," Wuju shakes his head, "You're crying." He blames himself. This wouldn't have happened if they just left without a word.
"You're not gonna hurt me, not purposefully," Raons nose scrunches. The blush on his cheeks has stripes running through it. He's cried it off and doesn't know. "You didn't mean to, right?"
Wuju shakes his head once more, it was never on purpose.
"You're better off with another human," he does his best to compose himself but it doesn't work. Not when Raon is crying in front of him. Raon wants to wipe Wuju's eyes, which Wuju doesn't allow. He's too scared he'll never let go if they get close enough.
He turns to the door, back to Raon and walks off with one final "bye."
Raon realizes that if he let's Wuju leave: he'll never see him again. He won't let Wuju leave without getting to be honest about his own feelings first.
And that's why he forces himself to chase him and grab the back of his sweater and yank the alien into his arms. Wujus back hits Raons chest. He fought against it, albeit weakly.
Raon is sobbing against the fabric, gripping his waist and telling him he has feelings for Wuju.
"I like you! I just came to terms with it and now you're leaving me? " Raon sobbed into his shoulder. Wuju can feel his heartbeat, and the eyelashes fluttering shut, every time Raons chest rises and falls.Â
"We're not supposed to be together, Raon," he looked out of the windows to the streets. Where the lights are just flickering on in some buildings.
"Why?" He sounds like a petulant child, grasping on to any hope. That Wuju would be stumped and couldn't find a reason to run away.
"I'm not human, I have learning to do," he looks down at the hand clutching his shoulder from behind, under his own arm. Wuju wants to hold it.
"I'll teach you," Raon takes a deep breath, "what do you want to learn?"
"I'm not fluent, we speak different languages,"
"I'll buy you books. I'll teach you Korean if I have to," he seemed to counter every point Wuju had.
Wuju feels the smile tugging at his mouth. Why was Raon so determined? He was going to do anything to keep Wuju. Because he was in love with him.
"Humans are touchy, affectionate creatures. We are not, Raon," he sighs.
"I don't care. I won't touch you ever again," despite saying that, his grip on Wuju tightens and the tiny, broken voice Raon uses makes Wuju want to give in, turn and hold him.
Gently, Wuju places his palm on top of Raon’s hand and squeezes. He didn’t want Raon to let go and Raon is puzzled when Wuju voices it.
Raons hand is covered by Wuju's, the squeezes are comforting and reassuring. Raon sniffles, pushing his head back into the shoulder of the alien after taking a glance.Â
"You can touch me, Raon," Wuju mumbles, thumb stroking over knuckles, "I won't push you away."
"Why did you try leaving me?" Raon whispered.
"I'm not from here, it's not our place to come and stay," Wuju doesn't know how to explain it. They thought Raon and Kyong were untrustworthy, only one of them seemed suspicious.
"It's Earth, we have different species and you look human," Raon doesn't know if he's crying or not. He's glad the sweater is black because every product he wore is probably smudged onto the fabric of the alien's clothes.
There's a moment of silence as they let go because Wuju wants to turn and face Raon before he answers. Raon hesitates before letting go, allowing Wuju to turn. He reaches out again, stopping before they could hug, only doing it again when Wuju nods.
Raon hugs tightly, arms around his shoulders and Wuju feels short of breath.
"Can't breathe here," yet he returns the tight hug that nearly has them stumbling. Raon loosens his death grip.Â
"You're a really nice alien, Wuju," He has to take a deep breath and fill his lungs with air before continuing, "is liking you that wrong?"
His nose is stuffy and it's very clear whenever something is said. There's splotches of pink and slight gold on his cheeks, to which Wuju lifts a hand and places it comfortably on the side of the baker's face. His thumb runs over it, picking up glitter and swiping at the tear from under his eyelashes.
"We are very different, but feelings and affections seem to be the common ground between us," Wuju rested his thumb where the hole would appear on Raons cheek. Although the placement was weird, there was no questioning it.
"Then tell me about it, I want proof. Not that you're just making up something to leave," Raon turns his face into Wuju's palm, relaxing at the warmth.
"It will take a while and I think you're busy," There's a fond look on his face as Raons nose bumps his thumb. They can talk about it later.
Wuju wants to burst out laughing at the sudden pause and the way his eyes flew open at those words. The immediate look of annoyance crosses his face and they're pulling away so Raon can go find his belongings. Wuju follows closely, not wanting to go anywhere else.
They walk to where Raon has a bag underneath a beige blazer, that he puts to the side to unzip the bag, and a tinier one in it. The thing he pulls out looks to be a compact mirror, he assesses his face. All of the makeup is gone. It's on someone else's clothes.
"I'm going to wash my face," Raon tells him, his eyes are shiny and the whites look to be red in the corners.Â
"You should, too," He suggests before stepping away. Wuju frowns but he knew he was probably snotty.
He splashes water on his face after Raon freshens up. He has a tiny bottle with a weird stick that's swept under the eyes.Â
Drying his face, Wuju can't stop watching the transformation. It's very simple changes to his appearance, but so fascinating.
Then there's a red cream that gets dabbed onto the cheeks and nose, blending smoothly. It rouged those places. The other hand fixes and twirls loose curls and strands in place. Raon looks like himself, just brighter.
"Oh, Raon," Wuju stands there happily, feeling better after getting to be honest. He watches through the compact mirror.
"I like you, too," he watches the color darken dramatically where it's been applied. Wuju tilts his head, "you've added too much rouge."
"It's not the product!" Raon turns away in an attempt to also cover his ears from view.Â
