[mins-fins]

🧸 . . . isa ꕤ he / they. twenty

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ⑅₎ gn & male writer. 🇸🇳. intp; a consistently caffeinated medical student. ty, yy, & js ult. haechan's undercover clone. jj assigned teddy bear. bookshelf. rq-guidelines. wips. now playing ଘ.

most recent work: it’s my party ( a birthday wish that fucks both of you over, facing the unfortunate consequences of your own actions, lee donghyuck x reader )

requests are open !

[mins-fins]

IT’S MY PARTY.

birthday wishes are always nothing but the slip of one’s mind, they aren’t meant to come true.

PAIRING. lee donghyuck x male!reader GENRE. modern au, horror (to an extent) WARNINGS. unhealthy relationships, manipulation, supernatural elements, mentions of blood, injury, and murder WORD COUNT. 1.8k

NOTES. happy belated birthday to me and me only :) there are no other birthdays of account this month so nobody talk about them. this isn’t even mainly about birthdays but a i’ve been gone for 4 months at best and b i saw obsession in theaters which had me tweaking so hard because that is so an isa plot in another life!!! so yk.. the isa birthday was yesterday and i wanted to play around with the cursed wish thing but also release it in time so it is short and doesn’t really get into everything i wanted it to :[ if anything is too vague it will be explained cohesively 😭

you recall the events of it, the party you had planned for a close friend of yours.

donghyuck was nowhere in your line of sight, and you found your mood heightened at such a fact. nothing was wrong with what had happened, you just felt the day would probably flow by easier if you remained with the crowd instead of seeking him out individually.

of course certain people are going to glance strangely, raise questions on why on this day in particular is where you choose to freeze. endeavors at reaching out to you are quickly gone in the span of three very simple words, it’s donghyuck’s birthday. a marvelous excuse that bodes well enough, why should anyone be concerned about whatever you have going on? you tut in the face of pushers.

you contorted yourself into one of the greatest hosts imaginable, grinning even despite yourself, wanting to possibly smash your face into a cake topper and tragically turn the course of many lives.

someone called out your name just prior to the bereaved happy birthday song, and you had to squint at the sea which wouldn’t part. jeno, he nudged his way in your direction and seemed evident in his effort to not waste time.

“i feel like i’ve lost you today” he meant well, you assumed, but your stomach churned nonetheless. “are you alright?”

your teeth pressed together in a slight irritation, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, not by that point anyway, but you still couldn’t help it. “just great”.

he squinted his eyes and you wished for the end of the conversation.

the cursed happy birthday song saved your day (or ruined it, the tilt can happen both ways, and you were unaware of the way it would truly go), and you only anxiously patted his shoulder as you began clapping in unison alongside those singing for the birthday boy.

donghyuck is spotlighted—he adores the attention in all of its forms, but celebrations are particular. you don’t try to watch too closely, and even then you can glimpse how praise is a commending factor. he’s grinning and putting up his shy boy act now that there’s a crowd, all singing for him, regarding him with such novice enthusiasm that he has no choice but to keel under their attention.

his eyes flicker and land on you for a moment, just a moment, then he returns to staring at the lit candles he’s to make a wish upon. you wonder for a second if he’s aware of your regrets, that you don’t exactly plan to continue regularly talking to him after this.

you stall on those thoughts.

“make a wish!” someone eagerly yells as the singing crescendos to a close, you only observe idly, possibly aware of a couple things donghyuck would wish for.

he gives one last momentary glance at you before closing his eyes, then rather quickly proceeding to blow out his candles with little general disruption. the room erupts into applause and johnny is beginning to try wrestling a party hat onto him, but all you can do is remain still.

you wonder why you can’t stop staring at him.

donghyuck has such beautiful eyes.

you wish you could gouge them out and keep them all to yourself, maybe you would put them in a jar to carry around in your bag, or find a way to fashion them into a keychain. you feel slightly unlike yourself, but you are not going to begin questioning it when donghyuck is so intent on taking it as key.

‘don’t you love me?’ he states, batting those pretty eyelashes that you so terribly wanted to place as jewelry around your neck. something is surely wrong with you, especially when you come to at the early hours of the morning with a handy screwdriver at his neck, just wondering what would happen if you pressed even slightly harder.

it wouldn’t be all futile, it would keep those meddling thieves away from him, then you could do whatever you wanted without the threat of possible escape. he thinks he’s so smart, trying to avoid you, trying to coax you as if he’s a genius of relaxation, as if he’s not just some—

“are you even listening to me?”

you blink, only now alerted to the atmosphere of your surroundings. your temple spasms, as if you had a wretched out-of-body experience, bile forming at the seam of your throat. donghyuck doesn’t look pissed simply exasperated, you quirk your eyebrow upward and level at him with little to no displeasure.

“sorry i was.. lost” your evident distraction screws his expression, and he begins pouting like a child who got the world’s shittiest christmas gift. you find it in yourself to fashion a grin of amusement. “are you angry at me?”

“no—“

“are you sure?” you advance and grab him by his leather jacket sleeves, the one you got him for that date, oh how the mighty change. your nails dig into the fabric whilst an ever so morbid smile blossoms over your face, twitching right eye aside. “i’ll do anything to make it up to you”.

you catch the unmistakable fear in his eyes, but he rushes to replace it. that would be ridiculous, he isn’t scared of you, if he truly was he’d think on his actions some more. it’s not like you’d ever do anything to hurt him, just the imbeciles who stand in your way.

“i’d like you to let me go”.

“tell me what i did wrong!”

he stumbles backward in his disturbance and you frown, of course you’re in the wrong when you have an uninformed outburst. donghyuck has so many of those you could compile them into a video for the world’s viewing, and yet the prevalent whispers about you begin, as if you’re some sort of terrible person.

you aren’t the one who asked for this.

“you did nothing wrong” and look at him, trying to mediate, like the goddamn angel he is.

“you implied that i did,” you keep staring at him, at his eyes which you want so terribly to chew on and swallow so you can take that part of him wherever. “some boyfriend you are..” is all that’s mumbled.

the blurred picture of an apology he puts on for everyone else dissipates through the ringing in your blearing ears, and your pressed to his chest on a rejoicing embrace as you feel the remains of yourself begin to fade. one day your grin will never disappear, you wonder how he’ll enjoy the beautiful horizon then, will he still stick to lovingly petting your hair like he is now?

donghyuck has nice skin, you want to strip him off it so you can wear it around town.

you think he would probably dislike that, he seems to dislike a lot of you these days. you wondered ominously if you should alert him of the searing irony in that, but you kept your mouth shut in order to level his feelings. his insistence you remain around pervades, and perhaps there’s a particular irony that you once more won’t step on.

he sleeps like a frank child, to be fair, you wonder if he appears the same whilst dead. there is the possibility that he could be both dead and beautiful, eyes pure white and devoid of any possible life. you’re hopeful that he hasn’t changed his mind, that he isn’t thinking of a quaint escape in the middle of the night, what did you ever do to him which was so cruel?

he shuffles for a moment, shuddering against the cold bedroom and shuffling as if he was having a bad dream. when he turns over, his eyes open slightly and you wonder if he entirely glimpses you just staring down at his sleeping body.

“what are you doing?”

“watching you” is replied simply, you aren’t tired, and your only seam of entertainment is observing the idle rise and fall of his chest.

his arm falls over his eyes, his gaze shaded away from you. “and why aren’t you sleeping?”

“can’t” you cushion, hand carting through his hair in an initially gentle manner. “you sleep like a baby” your grip tightens only slightly, just in case he gets any ideas. you can’t fathom why he would ever want to leave you.

he grunts, you don’t still. “do you really love me?”

his eye twitches solemnly, you don’t enjoy what that’s making you question. it’s a simple yes or no you believe, and you’re a simple man with no desire for anger.

of course.

johnny is on the phone. donghyuck’s birthday party was near a month ago, according to him he’s trying to see if he wants to meet up for mark’s return at the end of the week. he apparently hasn’t heard from donghyuck in a while, a particular while, he’s started to worry himself into a phone dialing hole. you like johnny, even before the spiral you found yourself in, and you don’t like him any less considering.. circumstances.

he said this weekend, how unfortunate, you informed him that donghyuck probably wouldn’t make it. he has a fever. you cushion, he can’t even get on the phone because he’s resorting to complaining in his bed about how he’s sweating over his comforter. mark is going to be bummed, you’ll find a way to make it up to him.

that is half–true, donghyuck isn’t complaining, you don’t think you could call it that, give or take. donghyuck’s pretty eyes are fixated on the ceiling, but they hold still as his limbs remained pinned to the couch. your atmosphere reeks of ichor, your fault, you’ll find it in yourself to clean up later. he would somehow still dig up the tongue for complaining, so it’s fortunate he’s been gratuitously shut up.

“is he alright?”

“oh you know him,” you muse, humming as if he’s giving you the silent treatment over something petty. blood begins pooling from the tips of his fingers, and you swear silently at your shotty craftsmanship. “he always wants it to go his way”.

he shoots what appears to be an attempt at a disregarding complaint, his jaw isn’t giving him much material to work with. you close your eyes and you imagine the tenfold of excuses privy to spill from your mouth the moment people begin wondering. he makes a brave dare to glance at you but you don’t squint at him, how typical of him, you can’t even make a simple mistake without the bearing of the entire world being pressed onto your shoulders.

“you’re a terrible communicator” you reprise, sucking your teeth, narrowing your eyes. johnny says something about not fighting on the phone, you sigh offhandedly. “but now we won’t have that problem anymore”.

not unless he stops gargling.

[i8rs]

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@mins-fins ⠀&⠀ A ⠀Mimosa!⠀🍋‍🟩🪸🐬

[mins-fins]

isa in real life 🤗

[mins-fins]

i miss u isa mins fins….. currently nearing the end of my junior yr.. can we believe it….

no what the hell aren’t you like 8 years old

[mins-fins]

how do i make this about na jaemin…

[mins-fins]

rose color — [ na jaemin — 엔시티. ]

your arena of self awareness is unprepared for the swift right hook you are offered. in more ways than one.. | now playing ❁

you are unfortunately sucking the air out of this moments' wedding party.

or maybe you aren't? you have been attached to this drink you are unsure the true contents of for a staggering fifteen minutes, simply watching, observing, out of a need to do something with yourself that does not include getting progressively more drunk off this drink you should have put down an hour and a half ago.

you presumed the hardest part of this would be debating on your acceptance or denial of the invitation mailed to your home, now it's the effort in attempting to remain sober without the pulsating anxiety that comes with such a thing.

you just have to last the next.. five? eight? twelve hours? you experienced less internal suffering whilst having to write an organic chemistry exam.

"y/n! y/n! you don't want to dance?" you startle in your spot and make no endeavor to step away from the madman desecrating your personal space with unwanted affection. "you're being all boring and weird in the corner".

"i'm not being weird" you retort, no comment offered to the moniker of boring, it is not worth battling much. "i'm just looking.." you offer, shrugging chenle off your arm with little aggression, even if the title of boring is circling around the nerves of your brain.

"looking and being weird, who doesn't dance at a wedding?"

"why don't you go dance with jeno?" you groan, longing to persist in your perpetual state of inspection. "you said i'm boring".

"and petty too".

"excuse me?" you bite, and all you are offered is a shit eating grin from one na jaemin. he places a sly arm on chenle's shoulder and whispers an unintelligible statement that has him jumping up in a stark realization. jaemin pats his back in faux support and chenle pouts alongside his scurrying off.

you glance backward in tandem with chenle's relentless pursuit for donghyuck on the other side of the room. "what the hell was that about?"

"nothing" jaemin displays both rows of teeth in his reply, seemingly indifferent while your heart palpitates in such intervals you desperately want to sit down. "you don't want some alone time with me?"

you pause, biting into your cheek. you not so slyly place down the drink having tipsied you uncharacteristically amongst baked treats, no one should possibly be able to notice that, correct? you clear your throat completely soberly.

"didn't realize you desired alone time with me" there's the lilt of a scowl which is all shitty wine fodder, you prefer the company of jaemin as opposed to someone who only serves you a distinguished level of tension. "am i so great?"

"the greatest".

you squint at his lingering trenchancy.

before they settle into your mind, the words are already escaping your mouth; "do you think i look weird and boring just standing here doing nothing? especially weird i don't look weird do i? i mean—it's not like people don't just stand around and stare at large gatherings i am certainly not the first!"

jaemin blinks, then settles into the silence, then simply gives you a look. you suck your teeth in irritation, you know that look, and jaemin isn't the forefront of people who often give you that look. he responds to your word vomit naturally, as if such a thing is on par with his mundane tuesday.

except it isn't a mundane tuesday.

"why are you looking at me like that?" your measly strive for discontent falls flat, blind to jaemin's driven spirit for something otherwise.

"i just think it's interesting that you showed up" they are not completely malicious words, simply tragically precise. you have a slight disadvantage to the manner in which jaemin can read you, eyes pressing under the pores of your skin so gratuitously. "and no i don't think you're being weird, just obvious".

jaemin's word is untrustworthy, however, he's the strangest guy you've met. what point does that leave you on the weirdo scale? you sigh and curl into yourself.

"obviously is worse than weird".

"i think they can be on the same wavelength" he raises an eyebrow, side eyeing one half of the newly married couple before glancing back at you. "you don't want to dance?"

"i don't think i can" you swear at yourself, you would be a better liar under better circumstances.

jaemin whistles, arm comfortably nestled on the indignantly flashy tablecloth. "you're not that drunk" he gently tugs your right arm and you stumble his way with little defiance. "and it'll get your mind off things".

it is no mystery as to what things includes, and jaemin has no qualms with side stepping it even if such a thing is practically impossible. you are at his wedding for christ's sake, the only reasonable fashion that could happen is if you were to leave.

(and wouldn't that be awkward?)

"you got a crush on me or something?" you grin, all faux and boyish. "don't take away from renjun's most important day".

jaemin squeezes your hand, the first and only break in his facade that you hope is merely a fabrication of your tipsy anxieties. "you don't have to worry about me kissing you".

if your foolishly handed psychic abilities are doing you correct, you indeed do have to worry about that.

[mins-fins]

ETERNAL LIFE. — na jaemin (preview)

the world ends (sort of). to ensure that you do not remain in such a depressive state, the government sends you an alien-companion thing to better your sanity. it goes just as well as you think. | cw swearing, mcs much welcomed negativity, implied violence, dystopian-existentialism turned up to 100%, sexy alien jaemin.

APRIL 22, 2031.

your cure is shipped to your door on a brooding yet irritatingly warm april afternoon.

finding yourself at odds with your very sanity is completely in character for you, the human compulsion of routine evades all other senses in your still thriving mind, unfortunately. you have extended your will to the ends of the earth in an attempt to spark relief from even the slightest situations in your existence.

you opted to shield yourself from what was your inevitably rational meltdown by diving into endless distraction. the immediate surroundings which were formerly cast in the presence of people, some more inviting than others had basically grew to a screeching silence, the appearance of life replaced by a soul-sucking emptiness you admit terrorizes you in the midst of sleep.

thorough stillness is petrifying, and you longed to return to the world of giggling spurred on by nightly hymns. you miss the camaraderie of speaking, muttering, yelling, laughter, without it your position as one in a pit of voiding quiet slowly dissolves you into a madman.

somehow, you survive a grueling battle strewn across a year and a half where you discover that happiness was fleeting and your state of being was akin to a hellscape. the delirium that was humanity almost plummeting to its end (nervus interfector your ass—they could’ve given it a less freaky name) was not the great assessor which granted you the purchase of a gun to promptly shortcut your life with, and just granted an abrupt strife you were unaware was deserving. that strife having the addition of lunacy would have been better handed to you with an instruction manual.

your job falls through, and you unfortunately surrender your pride to keel over the sources you begrudgingly had handed to you. a number way too fucking long later, you ended up in an estranged corner of your couch on the phone with a nice man named kun, he had a smooth voice which in someway eased certain nerves.

“and what do you feel exactly? misery? boredom? a general lack of expectancy in our now ever changing world?”

again, eased certain nerves.

what would once upon a time be heralded by conversation with a professional trained to administer solutions for your problems was now being treated with.. something else. you could give kun all your graces, he was still some jackass at the other end of a government issued phone number, and they do not love anything but their ambiguity when you specifically call for a trouble they said they were going to fix for you.

then you are stalled. stalled for such a fuckload of time it becomes embarrassing. you presumed a shy vagueness was better than being put on hold with a background of shitty music through terrible phone speakers, but the resentment weighing on the thought of drugs or specialized therapy or whatever the hell those strange people at the other end were concocting for you took ahold of your reveries the following nights.

impeded sleep and an attachment formed to your liquor cabinet later, you awoke with a buzzing headache whilst adjusting to the rhythmic knocking on your door. the months of withstanding peace had you grown accustomed to hearing things, filling the void of vacancy with sounds that do not exist any longer.

you twitch for a second before rising in a moment of impulsivity, you realize your display is pathetic and you dodge the mirrors in your home. the knocking has such a metrical reverberation that you eventually grow to irritation, something not unlike you in these passing days.

“what the hell do you want?” your forehead makes due on the hard wood making up your door, eyes closing in a last ditch effort to cease the pounding of your head. the knocking halts, if only for a second, then is promptly replaced by shuffling and muttering. you cannot find it in yourself to spasm excitedly at the addition of brushing human contact in your days, but the exasperation in your skin prevents those emotions from peeking outward. “you couldn’t bang on my door any louder”.

there’s a cough, the clinking of keys, a man who clears his throat which startles you against the door, eyes remaining shut. “excuse me for my bad manners but you called for us, did you not?”

the migraine offered to you by the world is only further burdened when the outside rays make contact with your eyes through your door. you swear under your breath, hungover and angered by even the smallest things. “excuse me?”

“the quick-support line? i believe you talked to our call specialist”.

you stagnate in your momentary hesitation, the past few weeks lost to your memory.

“wha..?”

“if you could open the door, i could explain to you what we have set up! it’s a bit embarrassing talking to your door”.

you possess the appearance of a frank mess, you treasure the ability to unravel in peace, but it is not the effect of unraveling, more of dejection caused by your circumstances. clinging onto the phone call you can barely remember the details of was really all you could do, humanity had become desolate, but you craved the company so terribly.

you grunt, you have little hope to throw it all away once more.

the man who greets you is as bright as the sun which pierces your oncoming vision, your headache now emboldened, bless your soul. he grins widely, bypassing your disheveled impression even despite your very anxieties about the fact. you squint, shutting your door and forcing him backward.

“good afternoon”.

you seethe at the lilt in your tone.

he somehow manages a full smile, a feat you would have expected impossible in today’s world. his inherent cheerfulness is almost palpable, almost. “afternoon, i am kim jungwoo from the world government’s quick support line, i understand that you have become miserable in your solitude?”

you still. well that was certainly a way to put it. the truth of your sensitivities being spat in your face would hurt less being stated to you by a person without such a large smile on their face. you would almost believe he took joy in the part.

“you could say that..” is what you respond with, proud of the manner in which you let yourself take that statement. “so what? you’ve come to personally deliver me antidepressants?”

he chuckles, muted to your ears yet seemingly high enough that it echoes in the desolate space which has become your neighborhood. your words of generosity have been eroded by something as trivial as a fit of laughter, and you suck your teeth.

“drugs? that is what you were expecting to quell your awfully distracting hopelessness?” your former front falters slightly at the reply, as if all these egomaniacal world government officials know better than you. laughing down on one in a pessimistic state is simple, and bringing some guy to their door from the supposed quick support line is seemingly much simpler. “drugs pain you, they tire you, they can decay your teeth and even raise a chance of diabetes”.

“that’s broad” you retort, not all turned off even despite your impending demise. “a sliver of happiness is surely worth all that suffering”.

he twitches parallel to a robot, you fear that the man before you is a machine, and you struggle with how you would execute him given he attempted to attack you. perhaps the insanity has consumed you full stop, and your mind is muddled by the fashion of his effervescently wide grin.

“it should not have to be, and that is why we are glad you called our quick support line, such a process should never pain you”.

not unless the nerves of your brain are being violently exterminated.

you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“if you were to remain all desolate in your misery, it would be long before you gave into the whims of taking your own life, and if that were to happen it could possibly be our liability” such thoughts relayed to you with that same unmoving expression cause a contrasting physical reaction. you bite into your cheek, peeved by the sanitation in tandem with the deduced insensitivity of it. “it is in our best interest that you do not depart from our world”.

you raise an eyebrow, not yet producing motion, still in your same position, aided by the fuming sun and your awfully high shadow. “you aren’t really convincing me right now”.

he hums, motioning his hand over toward the hinges of your gate. you peer, bewildered, your mind in a haze and your wavelength of indulgence unbalanced. when your vision clears, a man steps into your front yard, skin illuminated by the rays of sunlight, abnormal in all other regards.

“who is that?” you can glimpse the moderate slurring, and your fingers come to cushion your temples, the pulsing pain about to keel you over into sobs.

jungwoo grins, you are beginning to grow sick of such a thing. “your companion”.

your right eye twitches, it is all completely atypical, you swear to no god in particular. “my what?”

“to circumvent your irreparable isolation, we brought you jaemin”.

“brought?”

according to wide government appeal, the cure to a year long depressive episode caused by a course of severe seclusion is.. an attractive man? you are not superficial nor dishonest, the man in front of you is unreasonably good-looking, like genuinely so unreasonable you feel your limbs begin jerking in a faux outrage.

jungwoo glances at jaemin who remains one in the same.

you are unaware of you should be enraged or puzzled.

“i dialed you for help because i’m about to go insane from the deep well of misery i feel so overwhelmingly and you just send me some guy?”

jungwoo appears genuinely disgruntled by your outburst, as if you are being obstructive. “jaemin is not just some guy, he was designed and formed with your needs in mind, you did issue an agreement to answering our questions”.

“you didn’t tell me anything about what you were doing with that information!”

they both grimace, as if they are poster-children of swell acting and grandiose joy. you sit in your sensible infuriation, rashly allowing judgement from two plain nobodies who are obviously just on some hefty payroll. your head is paining you and you should probably hack up the liquor making its sweet way up your esophagus.

“i changed my mind, i don’t need your help” you run both hands over your face, tangling them in your hair. “both of you need to leave before i make you”.

“but there are no takebacks! it’s attested that your chances of getting better decrease greatly without a companion!”

“out” you grouch, gritting your teeth and slamming your door behind you. 

you trust in yourself to maintain that crystal clear decision.

[mins-fins]

HI ISA!!! late happy new yr! but i hope you’re doing well imy lots 🥹 i’m almost halfway thru junior year omg i could die.. ahh i’m excited 4 my bday.. and summer.. ily lots baiii

HIII KARMA HAPPY NEW YEAR 🎊 junior year is in fact hell but once you get through it it’ll be worth it.. work hard and go to a good college 🤗

[mins-fins]

the new years lineup is all haechan 🤗

childhood friends to lovers haechan ft. a haunted mansion and ghosty activity

mutually insane murderous husband haechan

supposedly the devil haechan who destroys the sanity of priest mc

[mins-fins]

blue lock i truly underestimated your game..

[mins-fins]

csm movie 💔

[mins-fins]

mr. man in the moon

ambiguous gay cowboy blurb featuring johnny suh & lee jeno | cw for mentions of death, smoking, implied childhood abuse, alcohol abuse, and small town drama

your mother is dying.

whether it is a curse imposed on your being due to adolescent mischief or the guilt ridden pleasure which soundlessly captured you that moment during your father’s funeral, you are completely unaware. the framed portrait of his sickening grin in the photograph meant to echo cheerfulness, delight, a juvenile essence now tarnished by memories you would rather remain closed off.

god has forsaken you this week it seems, poor stormy passing a day prior to your non-escalating arrival, then your arrival coinciding with your mother’s lessening health.

your mother beams as if her life is all gleeful, however, trapped by the whims of a seating chair and a recognizable feline curled over her lap. you presume that she does not want to roam over the thought of leaving you a grown orphan, simply tied to her final days with her rather irritable cat companion.

“youngho still works here?” you do not tread, hands tied behind your back as you observe your displayed childhood across carved wooden shelves possibly older than your bloodline.

“oh yes, he’s here everyday, almost forget he has family out of town” she hums in the presence of her calico cat, cinnamon, you offered up that name. “he’s been a great help, you seen him yet?”

the smile formerly upholstered by your facial muscles strains out into a frown, not out of any true disappointment, even as your stomach crescendos into slight nausea. “no, i was driving all day, mama”.

she manages to politely curse under her breath, never one to hold her tongue. “will he move now that i’m here?”

cinnamon yowls, as if you hit a rough nerve in her side. your mother gazes idly, her gaze faltering into rasps of blinking, then traveling off towards the photographs occupying her wall. “i don’t know.. he’s stayin’ in the back house with jeno”.

the mentioned name quirks your eyebrow, humor, sternness thinly veiled. “that button with the gun?”

your mother produces a fit or laughter. “oh darlin’, he’s no button”.

“my apologies for not wanting a man carryin’ a gun in the house while you’re sick, mama” you huff, speaking to your mother that way is taboo, and your shame guilts you into the following expression.

“he’s the farmhand”.

“he don’t look like no farmhand”.

her eyes narrow, but she does not register the anger she should possibly veer in your direction. “johnny trusts him, so i trust him”.

you should blindly trust her judgement, that is what you tell yourself, anyway, you should trust your old friends judgement as well, should you not?

you pursue another venture.

“what did the doctor say?”

though the inquiry is expectant, your mother does not falter, reaching for a catalogue propped on a wooden table and swiftly opening it to the halfway page. she gives a measly shrug, “same thing since december, take it easy, take my meds, continue my supplements”.

you chew your cheek. “and chemo?”

“good lord, you interrogatin’ me?”

“this is serious, mama” you urge. “have you considered it?”

“consideration don’t mean i gotta do it” she drawls, once more consumed in her catalogue, her faint humming coinciding with cinnamon’s purring.

“so you’ve mentioned to your doctor that you’re refusing treatment?”

“god, darlin’” she sighs, as if your concern draws out her true stresses. “johnny already fusses me everyday, i didn’t ask for you to come around here so you could trouble me with these questions”.

however your mother may perceive it, the factor of her deterioration is not as loosened for you as it may be for her. her tranquility in the face of death contrasts that of yours, and her innate satisfaction scars you.

“mama—“

“no buts, we had an agreement” she counters, though her extent of anger is unclear. “i won’t my harm my heart fightin’ with you, i’m dyin’, and you’re gon have to accept that fact”.

she doesn’t mean to hurt you, it isn’t her fault she created one such open wound, her son a wreck even if she wished he was better than. your arms fold over in defeat, for your stubborn nature, only one woman can beat you at that game. “i’m sorry” you concede.

a grin curls over her features, then snickering at your solemn expression in the face of your apology. “there’s no need, you’ve always been an emotional boy”.

her reminiscing does no good on your part.

she is all you have left, you are all she has left, the thought presses against forcefields as she raves on about funeral arrangements. she won’t ever not be bizarre.

you worry, but such worry is a form of disrespect to your mother’s legacy.

your whiskey enthusiastic father had a charming dislike for johnny suh.

his distaste began at a vantage point much beyond you, surmising that those in your vicinity were viewed just as you were in your father’s eyes; a write-off. attempting to understand that reigns impossible, your father mind alarmingly indefinite, a schmuck, which is what johnny offered.

the johnny who now ensures your mother awakens each morning since you departed, your contrition at such a certainty settles, though peaking once every few minutes as you bask under the eerie night sky. you stand to scour off the wine in your system, johnny only stands to bum a smoke.

you know better than to chastise him for such a habit.

“you missin’ the city? all those sirens and shit?”

“fuck off” you snark, tapering off into failure as your lips hook up into a tight grin. “i like seein’ the stars, cepheus” your pointer finger opts upward, as if the constellation will wrap its non arms around you in an embrace.

“yeah yeah, thought you got famous and forgot about little old me” escape is useless, his arm reaches out and your hair is combed into his fingers in an instant. your mumbled complaints just barely peak over his incessant cooing, the soft swoop of your hat resulting in a modest wind. “who am i kiddin’? you’re just a daisy”.

“screw me, suh” you deliver a smack on his hand, yet you take no stride in aiming to swipe your hat back. his height perturbs you at every moment, nothings changed. “didn’t mean to leave for long”.

“eh, seven years could’ve been worse”.

you pause, then kissing your teeth in the face of smoke becoming one with the atmosphere, cementing itself in a silhouette. you gaze curiously. “it’s been that long?”

johnny’s corresponding hum is vacant.

the silence should offer solace, such peace the catalyst to many junior reminders which often ended in tears shed and bruises blemishing your knees. seven years ago such impressions buried themselves in the repository of your mind.

but they don’t ever dissipate, they simply get locked away.

“what’s with the chucklehead?” is how you stab at the intruding souvenirs of your father.

johnny chokes, then as he continues it dwindles out into a fit of laughter. “jeno? your mama ain’t tell you his name?”

“she did” your tongue clicks, you bypass his suggestive glance.

“what? you two get into a scuffle or somethin’?” your mother would giggle if ever catching wave of those words. you feared the whispers of wind mills when you were younger, how would her saccharine child ever find himself in a tussle with anybody?

“nah, just don’t know why you have a looking ruffian living behind my mama”.

“jeno is a soft face, he ain’t doing anything” he dismisses, your eyebrows screw together, and you flick at the smoke between his fingertips in your agitation. you brush aside the frame of a second gasp johnny provides, arms crossed over your chest, hand finally swiping at your hat.

“never know what someone will do with a gun” you clear your throat, an action johnny wishes he could take as he reverts to coughing at his former activity. perhaps he should’ve quit when prompted, that is beyond you, however. “and he’s got a stupid face”.

“i think it’s pretty”.

“don’t go telling about your boy crush now” you huff, finally steadying the balance on your two feet, hat twirled between your fingers. “take it up with your dreamboat".

and as if the devil were tapping on your shoulder, the old, weighty door behind you swings open with the face of pretty boy presently lit up by the nearby street lamp. you squint, he gazes offhand. “your ma’s calling for you”.

you suppose appreciation is given at the curt manner of delivery. johnny chuckles, and you kindly do not offer him the finger.

you guess you’re learning to be nicer.

[mins-fins]

like why am i a junior w responsibilities now 🫩 can u beliebe we became friends in my freshman year

making me feel like unc rn

[mins-fins]

HI USER MINS FINS IMY

OH MY GOR HI USER LUVKYU

[mins-fins]

worst behavior — [ lee jeno — 엔시티. ]

there is much worse going on, but you two can't exactly focus on that part | now playing ꥟

awkwardness grips the air of your surroundings.

while you found it endearing that mark thought so much of you to issue an invite for dinner, you silently wished for the absence of melodrama this time. it isn't as if you expect the worst of your close friends, but two prior moments consisting of explosions before expensive restaurant entrées did not give you the confidence that anything would be different.

and as it stands, you might as well be a fortune teller.

there's something particularly amusing about this, observing the varied expressions littering the wishfully oblivious crowd at the table. renjun is abruptly entranced by his pasta, chenle has his focus ensuing on his phone, jisung appears one irritating shout away from tears, jaemin seems to be harboring on slumber, and jeno..

jeno is staring at you.

the argument beginning from the point of a tasteless joke (obviously chenle instigated) has now devolved into a back and forth regarding who exactly will pay for the dinner gathering they organized together. you made no attempt to intervene, you learned from the two previous instances that donghyuck did not appreciate such a gesture.

your eyes take a roam before landing on jeno once more, who keeps eye contact before squinting in your direction, forming a silly face which has you snickering quietly on sight. it was unfortunate that he wasn’t present the last time, it probably would have been less awkward with his presence.

he raises an eyebrow curiously, remaining tight-lipped as he relays his message.

you furrow your eyebrows back, realizing how strange you must be looking as you giggle once again. jeno can't seem to withhold his own laughter either, eyes crinkling adorably as he slaps a hand over his mouth to contain it, as if the two arguing beside him aren't causing a larger disturbance.

no words need to be spoken, you comprehend his leisure immensely. it is almost as if you two are saying can you believe it? they're pulling this shit again.

but it's pretty funny isn't it?

you clear your throat, very much striving to not give any attention away to yourself. "excuse me" is whispered, hands patting down the idiotically lavish tablecloth as you ‘smoothly’ make your escape.

when in a restaurant that has itself tablecloths which possibly cost more than your months rent, it is no distinct revelation when the bathrooms arise as fancier than anywhere you've ever lived before. enough space to reminisce on the time you had before mark and donghyuck decided to act like idiots at your table, stalls that have their doors lined by glass at the bottom, which have so much space provided that they could be their own mini rooms.

you're unaware of why exactly you believe you'll be able to wait this out for a good ten minutes at best. you have tried this trick before, it works while you're hiding from family who are seeking out murder in the midst of an argument about who they think is the hottest old time actor, but with your two friends who are competing for the ‘who can be most stubborn?’ award, your escape is probably void.

"and why are you hiding?"

"oh shit where did you come from!?" you intelligently smack jeno on his arm. his stillness endures, and he glances at the door for a second, as if chenle will suddenly be eavesdropping on you two in this extravagant restaurant bathroom. "jesus, are you trying to me have a panic attack in a fancy bathroom?"

"i'm just being a good friend, no one else budged when they saw you leave" he shrugs once more, face falling flat though a smile thinly peaks through.

"that's because thing one and thing two are roleplaying a disgruntled couple at our table" you reply, waving a dismissive hand. jeno’s arms cross, and you raise an eyebrow in his direction, then rolling your eyes. "it's much more interesting".

"they do this every time" jeno slightly whines, placing a balanced arm on your shoulder. you would complain and push him off, but you decide to go the stingy route today. "and you also do this every time, you can't hide in the bathroom forever".

"the last time i tried to calm down one of their fights i was given an entirely new reason to hide in the bathroom" you subside, budging his arms cross with the tip of your shoulder but avoiding pushing it off wholly. "it's the only thing that brings peace".

"aww, i thought our table telepathy mattered more".

"that's a dumb name" and we haven't even done it that often.

you purposefully omit that statement, however.

"it's what we do" you realize other bathroom patrons may find you two strange, simply standing around and muttering indignantly about seemingly nothing. the mere thought of such a thing (along with a glance some guy gave you when he walked in, clearly rushing) has you bursting into laughter, unable to contain the velocity of your voice.

"these guys think we're weirdos" you whisper, thumb pointing backwards at nothing certain.

jeno blinks at the door. "nonsense, the weirdos are fighting at the table".

"hey, don't forget jaemin".

he appears to take more offense than jaemin would at such a statement, and you finally push his arm off your shoulder, clicking your tongue. "i have to make my grand escape, now".

"and how are you supposed to do that without getting your stuff?"

"excuses, i've done it multiple times" you say, hands waving once more. "oh, my cat is sick again, my mom called its urgent, my car was totaled by my imbecile brother".

jeno furrows his eyebrows, but you find yourself pleased by your own shenanigans. nothing wrong with leaving an awkward situation.

"think you could make one up for me too?"

you grin, and appropriately smack his arm once again (in a much gentler way this time). "of course, my mother requests our presence".

"our, yes".

he's too excited, and maybe you are too. dinner doesn't exactly have to end right now.

[mins-fins]

How u doin.. I’m gonna b a junior bruh I shd die.. but I’m seeing piwon and kali uchis next month so after that

i’m dying 😊