eujunseo:
an inexplicable spike in junseo’s anxiety is why he’s at dionysus housing, sulking on the sidelines of another lavish party — well, that’s part of the story. the longer story is that junseo’s become somewhat reliant on weed to fill in the gaps where his medication fails, and the guy he’s been buying from instructed him to meet up right here, right now, right in the throes of college students getting hammered. it’s already nerve-wracking enough to enter a party he was only indirectly invited to, let alone one he has no intention of staying at, but said guy swore he’d be right back and it’s been — junseo checks the time on his phone, probably his hundredth time doing so since arriving — ten minutes.
he’s acutely aware of how stupid he looks, not even pretending to drink in a sea of people with red solo cups and wine glasses alike. no one’s made an effort to talk to him yet, probably due to the overwhelming edgelord aura junseo emanates at any given moment, and he’s perfectly fine with that. in fact, he’d prefer it, because he’s going to give this dude all of five minutes to come back before he decides to give up completely, leaving the party weedless and still having a brutally anxious pit in his stomach. fun.
he doesn’t even notice the guy-who-definitely-isn’t-his-weed-dealer approaching him until it’s too late, and junseo gives him a startled look that’s eerily reminiscent of a deer in the headlights. he frowns at the cups, which have grapes in them for some reason, and then back at the stranger. he seems nice enough, but this really, really isn’t how junseo was anticipating his night to go, and now he wants to leave with a stronger urge than before. he just has to accept his weed dealer forgot about him, which, ouch.
“no,” he responds curtly. for a child of hestia, he knows he’s kind of acting like a dick, but he’s banking on his bad mood warding off any well-meaning party-goers so he can go back to having a clear exit strategy. it doesn’t seem to deter this one though, so junseo makes an unimpressed, disgruntled face, his shoulders tense as he speaks again. “i don’t want to be poisoned.” not even a hint of a smile, though he’s definitely beginning to feel bad at shooting down this guy-who-definitely-isn’t-his-weed-dealer so rudely. he’s not the enemy here, though he certainly is a roadblock.
“like, no offense, honestly… i’m just not really in the mood.” it’s the closest thing the other will get to an apology, for the time being. junseo has time to be mortified at himself later, when he’s safely tucked under the covers and far away from the ruckus of dionysus’ housing.
no? no?? back up. to his credit, jiahn doesn’t flinch—doesn’t let a minuscule facial muscle slip save for the pointed arch of his brow and a quiet inhale. it isn’t often that he’s told no (not often that someone says no to a face like his—to wine like his, especially in the middle of a party like this). so the scandalized (however muted) reaction was justified. he thinks. was this little sunspot even worth keeping company? the quick, scorned answer is no. but jiahn knows better, at the very least, his pride as dion’s son makes it rather hard for him to back off.
grouchy grouch? no problem. he’s seen enough depressive leave-me-alone-to-the-darkness-of-my-mind teenagers pass by here to know how to deal with him.
“you hurt me,” he jests, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder. deceptively good at hiding his true feelings as always. “but very well.” he isn’t one to press regardless—cheapens the gesture. instead jiahn moves to twist his fingers over the glasses, humming idly while they revert back to its former fruit form. he wouldn’t waste good wine on ungrateful brats anyway.
“but you know, for someone not very “in the mood”—you’ve somehow managed to land yourself in one of the busier houses of the night.” jiahn speaks absently, handing off the glasses to the nearest passing dion child before turning to the redhead once more. “which i assume means you’re waiting for someone.” he keeps his tone pleasant, long fingers twisting at his own wrist out of habit. whatever he could help him with (to get him out of here quicker), he wouldn’t mind anyway. “host duties” and all.
“and so, you know, as the host and dion house ra—” cue sardonic hand gesture. “it wouldn’t be too hard to help find whoever it is...” jiahn casts a cursory glance around moving bodies before peering at the other out of the corner of his eye, lips curving impishly. knowing. there’s no point in hiding it—if the redhead’s made things so obvious to begin with. “just so you can get out of here quicker.”
his smile widens; more so a sneering fox than a charming demi-god. times like this, more like mom than he’d like to admit. “it would be my pleasure to, too.” jiahn extends a hand here, perhaps forcing the boy’s hand in pleasantries he hopes he’ll hate. “i’m jiahn, by the way.”












