alright alright alright so what the fuck was he on? adrenaline? something a little deeper, a little rougher? not in his chest but in his head? blurring out his thoughts and blurring his sense? jesus does this kid even have any sense?
people would ask when kihyun challenged a junior twice his size freshman year. what the fuck is this child on? people would question his mother as he ran around the house, endless energy and destructive digits. it’s always the same. his friends were a little more raw in their questioning, leaving no part of his pride untouched. feelings were nonexistent. onlookers and family friends were probably more tight lipped and wearing it on their sleeve. etiquette and connections were very much a thing. his mother? she tried. smiled small, spoke small and even reacted small but it always translated the same. what the fuck is wrong with him?
“what? am I not speaking korean? am I not making sense? are you a fucking parrot?”
he expects his answers, he expects this to go relatively easy and he expects the truth. he’s not guaranteed it by any means and this false entitlement is the first step he takes downhill. the truth in this situation should silence his concealed fears but these words, these responses from the male before him alternatively build up a coil around his chest.
there are telltale signs of submission. universal body language that should quell the burn in his chest but it’s not stemming from fear. it’s not stemming from caution. irritation can only burn so freely that it starts to consume rationale. kihyun doesn’t see the hands raised in gentle surrender, he sees the sharp edges of the words aimed at him. his hair stands on his skin, his stomach lurches everything is yellow and red and he’s burning. so when the male dumps out his pockets kihyun’s dumping out all reason.
“waaaaaaaaaaah,” he starts again and this time he’s moving in succession with words dragging out like a broken dial tone. “you’re really good at this aren’t you? what. where were you going? the drugstore down the street? or maybe you were heading home? down here?” he’s laughing. it’s strained and broken. lonely in how unused it sounds. “yah, you know who lives down here? people that’d tear you apart. I’m trying to do both of us a favor. you think I’m dumb or somethin’?” he doesn’t walk past the male and he doesn’t get too close but his foot steps on a bill and he knows he’s crossed acceptable territory. he knows he’s testing, taunting, doing everything he can to prove himself right because that’s all he has now. kihyun doesn’t have time to take back the accusation. he doesn’t have enough space in his mind to double it back and let the traffic build up so he surges forward instead.
“yeah go, go the other way and stay the fuck out my way.”
for a second, he hears nothing but piercing tinnitus in his ears. the boy speaks. he can see the rapid succession of muted words, moving lips, and the turbulence that lines his face. taehyung blinks slow, throws an inexpressive glance to the dimming sky, amber glow of a setting sun that steadily coats the city. it lights up the vivid orange strands of this boy's hair, a soft inferno, and he's briefly distracted here. just for a second. it’s enough to keep him grounded.
the laugh filters in first, broken sounding, and he's wiping a palm down the side of his face, right over his ear when the ringing finally fades away, too soon. he feels the brunt of his last few words then; of the foot that steps on his bill, insulting, testing.
anything he says now to justify himself wouldn't work here. not with this guy. he's got answers, but nothing to be heard. it's easier keeping it in. he doesn't owe him a second of his time. thinks of all his fleeting one-sided conversations, grating repetitions of words for him to hear, to accept, soundlessly. they didn't mean anything anyway.
he could walk away, but it's never that simple.
"hey," he says, finally, quiet as he steps in front of him, blocking his path, "i'm walking this way too," steady gaze, jaded voice, he's jabbing a thumb behind him. "don't tell me what to do."
he turns on his heel then, sneakers scuffing loudly against uneven cement.
