起死回生

de·tached adjective \di-ˈtacht, dē-\: not emotional : not influenced by emotions or personal interest: not joined or connected : separate from another part or thing

[shatterxkai]

muscle memory

[myungsooxshatter]

@shatterxkai

he’d be lying to himself if he said myungsoo’s absence went unnoticed. of course, kai isn’t known for being entirely honest or candid with himself, so the distinct lack of myungsoo around wasn’t just noticed—it was loathed. whatever excuse jongin could conjure up that let himself sleep at night didn’t matter—that he didn’t have a half-decent sparring partner or anyone to begrudgingly clear away the filth of empty cigarette boxes left in his wake. they were all just different consequences of the same problem; myungsoo wasn’t here.

fingertips hover hesitantly over the buttons of his phone, tempted to lock and unlock the device to give his hands something to do until he receives the reply he’s awaiting. but he leaves it be by his side and lies down flat on his back instead, arching his spine away from the cushioned floor to stretch muscles that have grown weary with neglect. it’s his own fault for not taking advantage of his free time, but he’d rather suffer in silence than admit it to the very person that had him riddled with homesickness while he was still in his own bed. and yeah, it’s childish to make up an excuse to see someone, but jongin’s naivety is still a curse on his better days.

when the replies bring his phone to life, they aren’t soon enough. he’s already stretched out the rest of what he could until he’s left feeling languid and tired instead of energised and eager. basking in the afterglow of adrenaline and endorphins.

( txt → assbutt ) well ( txt → assbutt ) i did sleep for most of it ( draft → assbutt ) mostly in your bed  ——— ( // unsent ! ) ( txt → assbutt ) you’re the one that’s been slacking off on vacation ( txt → assbutt ) i’ve got training in here later and wanted to try out something first

and though that part is entirely true, he’s pretty sure he knows the technique inside out already.

but running through it one more time can’t hurt.

The elevator dings quietly in front of him, metal doors reeling open and then sighing closed after he’s situated himself a bit uncomfortably into a corner. Myungsoo’s back presses firm against the bars when he reaches out and spends a second mapping out the shatterdome again in his head where combat room b would be on the third floor, if he’s remembering correctly, but it could also be on the second considering the anchorage base had their’s on the third and not all areas are built the same way. He’s probably overthinking it. Mixing things up tends to be a common theme lately; there’s no way in telling if he’s suddenly swapped blueprints because of his time away, or if the feeling in the pit of his stomach is his bodies way of impolitely telling him he’s seeing Jongin again for the first time in months or maybe it’s a mundane pang of adrenaline digested the wrong way. An afterthought brings attention to the little red pills in his back pocket, kept cutely in a tic-tac container so he doesn’t have to carry around a stupid looking bottle of meds in his jeans that would be completely noticeable to anyone with a working pair of eyes. And then there’s questions. He hates questions. 

The metal contraption finally ascends and some enthusiastic, flowery pop song continues where it had left off.

Half way into the third repetition of the chorus, Myungsoo has blandly looked over his phone again to assess the new messages, forehead against one of the walls. His cellphone is tucked closely to his abdomen when he has half a mind to retort with the fact that his vacation was work related, but the door opens like a plea for peace so he keeps the words bundled up on the end of his tongue, bent on saying them sometime into their meeting if he ever had the chance. If Myungsoo retained anything from his time with Jongin, it would have been how carcinogens leaked into his words and how it had the capability of switching so quickly from something harmless to scalding. That’s just how Jongin functions, he reiterates to himself while looking over the markers next to each door and coming to a full stop at combat room A. He remembers the last time he saw Jongin; his hair was damaged but it was the closest to a normal color that he’s ever seen on him. The dark circles under his eyes were just starting to go away. He murmured something about his bad habits into the top of Myungsoo’s spine and months later he still feels the thrum of his nerves responding to the tone of Jongin’s voice in the only way they know how. Despite this, he straightens out his shoulders and rolls his head from side to side in preparation to make himself look a little less like he was across the oceans, like coming back wasn’t something he’s still trying to adjust to. 

Myungsoo bridges the distance with his hands in his pockets and stands in the doorway, rigid but bright-eyed. “It was a business trip, you idiot.”

[shatterxkai]

muscle memory

[myungsooxshatter]

@shatterxkai

he’s rusty, and that’s the worst thing for a man in his position to be. the title of fightmaster implies that he’s proficient at doing just that, but punching bags and humanoid grappling dummies are only good for so long until it’s exactly like fighting an imaginary opponent. there’s been a prolonged lull in kaiju activity, and he’s nothing short of relieved. it’s just that the shatterdome on a whole begins to calm down. without the immediacy of impending doom, no one feels the need to practice staying alive.

but he knows one person who’ll humour kai’s urge to fight.

( txt → asshole ) meet me in combat room b? ( txt → asshole ) go easy on me, it’s been a while

Myungsoo has been back in Hong Kong for about a week, if that. With the sudden calm at the breach, he took time to travel to the states but not once did he allow himself the luxury of a supposed vacation while he was there. Many of his endeavors were work related, visits to what once was the anchorage shatterdome--turned to an American naval base gave him time to clear his head and still be productive. There he tried his best to discuss with officials what’s happening in Hong Kong and the operations taking place. He knew it was going to be a sensitive subject but he’s thankful there were few who listened, chiefs, once in private, even willing to offer their own to the cause and he assumes that perhaps when humanity is given time to process their own foolish decisions ( he’s not pointing fingers but the wall was the worst investment they’ve ever made ) they are more than willing to make up for the mistakes. A troop of trainees jog by, single file, using the halls as a track to go on evening runs and his phone chimes cutely at the end of one of their obnoxiously loud chants. Myungsoo remembers suddenly that he’s home and the jet-lag still has two strong hands clasped around his shoulders. Pushing down. Pulling backwards. His steps feel like they’re carrying the weight of his months away and the cellphone screen flickers to life with a brightness he has to squint at again from readjusting to the darkness of working underground. 

[ Outgoing Message  >> Ashtray ] You’re telling me you had all of this time to train while I was gone and you didn’t take advantage of it?  [ Outgoing Message >> Ashtray ] You deserve your ass to be kicked if that’s the case.

[thegirlwhocrieswolf]

It was the age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications.

Haruki Murakami (via langleav)

[lstarkiss]

141107 Star World Tianyi Telecom Concert © made in L Do not edit/crop/remove the watermark

[shatterxkai]

tequila mockingbird

[shatterxkai]

his cheeks are a bloody crimson and his heart is fluttering like a hummingbird. both sensations are a mystery to him because kai had long since forgotten what it felt like to feel something other than a sardonic cocktail of anger, apathy, and lethargy. his life was a simultaneous loop of those three things—until he met myungsoo.

unable to define what it is that he feels, and not just because of the alcohol coursing through his veins, kai’s eyes wash over with a bleak darkness not even he can subdue. his head is spinning, but in the most strangest of ways. he’s sick with a kind of vertigo, a dizzy yearning for when times were simpler than this, when kai could close his eyes and fall without wondering how hard the pavement was beneath him. his bones feel brittle and his muscles ache, and he wonders when it was that he’d grown so weary. his mother had once told him he was a boy full of spirit, that his eyes could light up a room in winter when the storm had stolen the neighbourhood’s power. 

it makes him sad to wonder what his mother has to say about him now. 

he stands still for what seems like an eternity, and in kai’s head, seconds pass with the weight of hours, a lifetime spent in his own head by the time he hears myungsoo’s voice again. swaying on the spot, kai turns until the man is in his view, raven strands of hair he thinks would feel like silk against his fingertips that kai has only ever dreamt of touching, always admired from afar, never upfront. he doesn’t like how honest he is with himself now, how easily it would be to part lips and spill secrets he’d spent months hiding away. kai has always taken refuge in intoxication, but tonight, it’s his greatest enemy. 

unconscious steps bring him closer to myungsoo, and kai agrees unintentionally, though his drunken thoughts had always been the most honest ones. again, the honesty, and kai’s heart is a place long since frozen over, but he thinks he’s beginning to feel it thaw. there’s fire in myungsoo’s eyes, or maybe it’s simply a reflection of kai’s own eyes, the flame he wishes were there and is so desperate for it to catch alight. 

“we’re..” he begins, though it’s nothing close to resembling the mess of a sentence he had manifesting in his mind, gradually perfected right down to the drunken slur. “where?” myungsoo has always had the ability to force kai to a standstill, to rid his mind of the effervescent wit he’s forced himself to be known for. and it’s the most uncomfortable he has been in years. strip back the sarcasm and he’s as vulnerable as ever. 

his mind is a blank slate once more when he directs his attention back to myungsoo, a feat in itself with the continuous hum of distracting lights flickering around the two of them. this night, this adventure, this .. thing was a dangerous idea, though as reluctant as kai is to admit it, he doesn’t regret the decision to spend a night foolishly and wholly in myungsoo’s company. forearms cross over his chest in a thoughtless attempt to conserve what remaining body heat he still has, and kai follows without another word of protest. 

unsure how he’s understanding a word myungsoo’s saying, kai cuts himself off from the anxiety slowly catching up to him. it’s cold, unfamiliar, and the ground is turning to quicksand beneath him, each step he takes is a mountain compared to the concrete he’d been walking on seconds prior. he wants to sleep, wants to curl up in bed and wake up in a year or two, when breathing is easier and they’ve figured out an instant remedy for hangovers. 

but there is no rest for those who hold humanity on their shoulders, and they both must get back to the place that has consumed them, the cause they have now dedicated what remaining life they have left.

“i don’t want to die, myungsoo,” kai stops in the middle of one of the narrow streets they turn down, his arms dropping to rest by his sides, and his face is as monotonous as his voice. thoughts string together like the notes of an orchestra, and kai is too slow to cut them off one by one. so they multiply, taking over his mind until he cannot do anything but tread after them.

“not anymore.”

[myungsooxshatter]

The alcohol doesn't weigh him down so much compared to what he thinks it should and Myungsoo wonders if it's because he's suddenly unearthed the ability to hold liquor much better than he used to, considering the last time he went on this sort of excursion he fell asleep in the back of a taxi and woke up in the cafeteria of the shatterdome as opposed to his dorm, but there's also a possibility that he's trying his best to hold onto the skill of digesting information, simply for the sake of being able to process what broken sentiments and poor attempts at relaying thought patterns come filtering his way. He figures he has a hard time with decoding Kai's vagueness when they're both completely coherent, sometimes taking minutes of silence in the fractures between where they share their ideas and opinions to think about how to respond or if he should even respond at all, and that the probability of understanding is a task far more difficult to achieve, that it could be nearly impossible in this circumstance, that someone who projects themselves like a series of codes and locks and faded puzzle pieces soars into an entirely different level of intelligence and patience that he doesn't have. Especially not now.

But let it never be said that he doesn't try.

Myungsoo takes a deep breath, looks over his shoulder and studies the way the other's mouth moves, like words are locks and Kai just doesn't seem to have the right key to access what he's trying to say, crosses his arms that are notably bare—the streetlights outline the hair on his arms, soft, but dark—and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes he would have remembered his jacket. Not that he would wear it, but rather to give it to Kai; to give him something other than these barren streets and that feeling you get in the bottom of your stomach when you're with another person, but you feel alone. People like them, these wayward guardians that are expected to stand with their backs straight and their heads held so unbelievably high that they don't see themselves crudely objectified to the public or feel the way trivial activities pull their emotional stability in each and every direction, they aren't expected to want much. They're conditioned to give. Give until there isn't much left to offer, but no one thinks about what they want, Myungsoo ponders, no one has ever asked any of them what they want.

Kai doesn't want to die.

"You know what I wanted when I was a kid, Kai? I wanted this thick, old book that could supposedly teach me how to be a magician, and I could see it in the window of this little bookstore every time I walked to school," he replies nearly in punctuation to what's confessed, mouth dry and lopsided from holding an indecisive frown, words a little bleak. It doesn't register that these, although initially fruitless glitches upon a trembling plane of conversation , are probably the most personal pieces of information he's ever offered the other throughout the expanse of their acquaintanceship, that stone cold Myungsoo with the perpetual scowl would probably throw himself off of a cliff if it meant destroying the part of him that was inebriated enough to think this was okay. Then again, he doesn't feel all too drunk, a little heavy-footed, but not influenced enough to aide him in making decisions if there wasn't a part of him that didn't think it was okay in the first place. He admittedly has no idea where he's going with this statement either, but that the quiet, reasonable sounding voice in the back of his head tells him it's going to wrap up and make some sort of sense, somehow. Kai deserves something that makes sense, probably just as much as he deserves a jacket. And maybe a few days from this moment, when the haze of liquor veins and winter burning its way into their lungs subsides into the common ritual of coppery humidity inhaled beneath heaps of tunneled metal, he'll look back at this and probably raise his eyebrows because smiling is typically not his first reaction to pleasant things. "I wanted it so bad that every time my birthday would roll around, I would send my old man a letter asking for the money to get it."

Underneath their feet, the tarmac surges with the force of an early morning subway run. Myungsoo's voice drops onto the street, drips lifelessly into the pores of an abandoned sidewalk; they may both be standing on it, feet away from each other now, but their presence would be something close to a vestigial flicker of sadness by the time anyone has a plan to tread upon it again. "He told me that magic was a waste of time, wanted me to make something of myself." Fingers slipping with somewhat of a struggle into his hip pockets, he looks under sleepy eyelids into the catastrophic depths of Kai, of misplaced hues and trap-door-pupils that plunge him into feeling like he's been dipped head to toe in ice water. The night siphons the sound of a misplaced laugh, and by the time it reaches his lips it's gone, leaving the shell of an expression that probably shouldn't be there."I guess what I'm trying to say is that death is inevitable, it doesn't care if you want it or not, it'll come. It always does," he tries to continue, dull and just tracing the boundaries of sympathy enough to make it palatable.

"The question is: what are you going to make of the life you have left?"

A pause is met with an inhale.

"And will you kick it in to gear? I didn't intend to get frostbite when I agreed to come out with your slow ass."

[coolguyhat]

Visit Original Link

[aseaofquotes]

Alexander Gordon Smith, Solitary

[myungsooxshatter]

Aerodynamic Affinity

[shatterxsanghyuk-deactivated201]

Sanghyuk almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock on his door, shrieking before putting his hand on his own mouth like that would conceal the loud noise he’s just made. He was only distracted thinking about the short amount of time he had to change before going to his next class and the rest of his schedule for the day; besides that, because of the material that the door was made of the knock always was a louder than anyone would expect and the worst of all was that it echoed through the room, making Sanghyuk feel like he were in one of those horror movies with dungeons and the person on the other side was his hangman ready to put an end to his life in a very painful way. He was still getting used to that even if in a corner of his mind there was a voice that he never would. His shirt halfway out of his body, his hands tangled with it and his hair a little messy because of the motion of the fabric when it passed over the red dyed locks.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart down and remember that his life wasn’t a horror movie and this was just the Shatterdome, nothing to be scared of — unless it was invaded by Kaijus, then it was a whole different story that Sanghyuk wasn’t so keen to think about at that moment, besides they never did so the chance of it happening were very low; or that was what Sanghyuk liked to think. There always were the Rangers who bullied the trainees, especially the young ones like Sanghyuk or even younger than him, but they still weren’t hangmen wanting his head and they weren’t even that bad most of the time; just a little arrogant and walked around like the trainees should worship the ground they stepped on, nothing unbearable at least in Sanghyuk’s point of view. 

Just then, when he heard the knock again, that there was someone waiting for his answer — a better answer than a yelp that is — outside of his room. Sanghyuk looked at his shirt still in his hands and then at the door, contemplating if it was too rude to receive someone in his room without a shirt on or it was ok to leave it like that, not exactly like that because he felt embarrassed enough of his first reaction he didn’t have to give the grace of showing how incapable he was of taking a shirt off without making a knot with it and his hands.

"Oh, right. Please, come in!" In the end, he just mouthed a whatever and turned his back to the door and using a little force to finally free his hands. "Myungsoo-hyung? Hi." Sanghyuk looked over his shoulder, frowning at the older male in front of him not helping but think about what he had done in the last 24 hours to explain his presence there since usually Myungsoo wasn’t the type to come just to check on him and that was when he noticed the familiar notebook.

"Is that mine? But mine is…" Then he mumbled something, kneeling near his bed and once again with his back to the assault specialist so he could look at his bag, frowning again when he couldn’t find what he was looking for and only then he looked up at Myungsoo this time with his characteristic smile on his face. "Ok. Not here. So yeah, that’s probably mine. Thanks for bringing it, Hyung." 

[myungsooxshatter]

He'd like to pretend that the little paper airplane stenciled into the trainee's skin doesn't make his heart start to pound at an alarming rate or that he's not desperately trying to find other things to look at than a simple tattoo, but he keeps dragging back to the same figure over and over again and his eyes start to sting. Why did it have to be a paper airplane? Why couldn't it have been an actual airplane? Why the hell do mundane objects still have that sort of power over him? The type of influence that's strong enough to make him fall back a few years—cue the cloudy vignette of some faint pipe dream where a paper airplane collides directly into the space between his eyes. Someone's laughing, but it's definitely not him because Myungsoo never laughed. Laughs. He still has no sense of humor. And since this is a memory he assumes the person laughing is Gyusung. It always is. But he wishes he could tell him stop because the sound makes him a little queasy and he can't. This is a memory. He can't—but he sees someone's face tracing along dotted lines on Sanghyuk's skin. Myungsoo doesn't say anything about it, normally never says anything about hallucinations or ghost drifting or the way his head pounds sometimes. He just stares. >

He seems to do a lot of that nowadays; staring in no specific direction.

After blinking once he realizes that he's being talked to. After blinking twice, he remembers that people normally talk to other people because the second party is expected to talk back. "Seonsaengnim," he corrects lightly, almost as if he's trying to punctuate the trainee's sentence with it. " I'm your teacher, at least try to address me as such." And he tries to sound stern because Sanghyuk already has a way with thinking they're friends and that Myungsoo doesn't have the power to make him stay a trainee for as long as he pleases, but he keeps looking at that damned tattoo and it's making him uncomfortable so his voice gives out, fades like the breath is being siphoned from his lungs and coincidentally everything that falls from his lips begins to sound similar to how it did before he ever joined the PPDC. Meek. A little confused. "Your back." Between the frazzled way his tone dips in and out of solidity and the fact that he could have phrased himself better, he's not sure which one embarrasses him more. "Is a paper airplane something symbolic to you?" the because it is to me and I need to know why it's on your skin or I won't be going to sleep tonight seems to slip his tongue.

Teacher student relationships, he thinks, are a lot easier when there is a lack of personal information hanging between them. He supposes that he might be overstepping his own boundaries, but as long as he doesn't mention anything about himself he'll probably be alright. Probably. Because it's just a tattoo and there's part of him that's coming to conclusions too quickly and it says that it might have been one of those spur of the moment decisions where anything sounded good and oh let's just do a paper airplane because that's unique and very hipster of him and people seem to find those things cool, but then the other part of him thinks that it is unique and that sometimes unique things have a reason for their uniqueness—and perhaps falling in love because the person who spiked him with a paper airplane when he was a trainee turned out to be the best person on this whole planet, his only drift partner, his saving grace, is pretty specific— but he can't help the churning in his gut that tells him the heartache behind it is the same. Something great turned into something awful and that he should probably sit down.

He might be here a while. 

[shatterxkai]

( / he would never let himself believe it, would never willingly allow himself to fall head first and steadfast for sanguine possibilities and probabilities that may or may not ever coexist with him. kai is as stubborn as he is hopeful, though he only ever voluntarily discloses one while keeping the other as suppressed as a whisper, granted only to those he’s convinced will treat it with sincerity instead of judgement, with belief instead of dismissive shrugs that have the power to crush the fightmaster one muscle twitch at a time. kai is a fragile mess of woven insecurities that he braves with a face full of fury and a bark far worse than his bite, but he likes to think that myungsoo is aware, that perhaps the possibilities he’s been afraid of for years on end won’t occur this time around. jongin’s back arches like the careful draw of a bow, breathing suspended in favour of a piercing surprise lodged in his throat, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted together in an intricate pattern of confusion and unconsidered optimism; another fight with himself that he surrenders to immediately. the tilt of his head and the turn of his beck is reflexive, subconscious and casual and everything that kai trained himself not to be, but his training is abandoned and replaced by hope and fingers tangling in strands of black and grazing over skin resembling silk. the ghosting of kisses litter his skin and his defences fall, come crumbling to the ground and shattering like panels of glass around his feet, breathless words and tight grips left in its wake. )

[myungsooxshatter]

(/ He doesn't really know why he was expecting something more violent to ensue, like Jongin decking him in the nose or trying to hurl him over his shoulder in the limited space of the shower stall, but at least it's a bigger surprise to him when that doesn't happen. Pleasantly, because he very much prefers the way Jongin's hands start to map out his skin, stop and clutch and start again like he's trying to find something—anything that would make sense really and Myungsoo doesn't blame him because, despite being planned out to a certain degree, they probably have no idea what they're doing in each other's arms right now, when a month or so ago they were wanting to rip each other apart—and he tries to help out, as much as pulling by the waist until they're chest to chest and a tight squeeze of lithe stomachs sticking together could rearrange the discombobulated mess of their actions. But he can taste breath on his tongue and he thinks he should probably kiss Jongin now, probably crush any hesitation and confusion and subtle paranoia between scraping teeth and swelling lips, so he does. He tastes like cigarettes and Myungsoo's breathing is heavy because he's beginning to feel impatient, but he's been waiting to feel like that so he doesn't have the ability to think about how anxious he is or how it's been such a long time since he's kneaded his thumbs into someone's hips like he does to Jongin, like they've done this before and like most things it's something they've mastered together; the particular art of pleasure.)  

[kpophqpictures-blog]

[MAGAZINE] INFINITE L – Hanryu Pia Magazine October Issue ‘13

[shatterxgain]

Lucky Star ✯ Myungsoo & Gain

[shatterxgain]

{ Unknowing of the thoughts tainting his perception she continued onward, soft laughter emitting from those pink lips at his uttered statement. The notion was an intriguing one, something that had never flittered across her keen psyche but now took root in a mischievous fantasy.} You think so? Should I visit your class sometime and scare them all with gruesome details? {Comfort draped it’s hand across keen senses as she basked in his solid presence, eyes lidding just a fraction as her amusement mellowed. Perhaps it was the the curious blend of morning light, Myungsoo’s scent and her own sleepless nights but soon her body was relaxing entirely — gloves and boots kept securely away despite the fatigue. Such a state lasted only for a few minutes, slipping away in the beat of both of their hearts. The feeling of life at her back remained her most treasured aspects of human contact. Beyond all the playfulness and general affection she harbored and bestowed upon all those around her there was something about that security of a trusted friend one could lean on metaphorically and physically. If peaceful unconsciousness was within her grasp she could imagine no other draught calming enough than someone beside her. As she rousted herself — there was still work to be done — another hint of laughter bubbled upward.} Curiously difficult? 

[myungsooxshatter]

(/ Someone bumps into him, knocks the stars from the sky while they're at it along with floodlights and the smooth desperation of scientists trying to scrounge for data before a carcass runs cold. The morning makes Hong Kong look like more of a dystopia than it already is, post destruction under the cool wash of sunlight. Smoke streams. Dying electrical fires. If he weren't so distracted by the movements of Gain, who could possibly swathe his light colored clothing in godawful blue, he would have said something. Myungsoo would have commented mercilessly about how they're still fucking humans despite all of this chaos and that chivalry is not dead, say you're sorry dammit or he'll give you a really good reason to feel that way, but instead he grunts because he doesn't have the energy or the lack of moral to make a scene when Gain is just trying to enjoy herself and do her job.) Only to me, really.(/ He reassures because he knows well enough that she'll understand quicker if he blames it on himself, honing it in on his already skewed sense of conceptualizing the world.) You're a unique one, Gain.(/ and Myungsoo thinks of how he isn't, how unique is a bundle of wantable qualities tied together under cherry lips, long eyelashes and pixie fingers. He isn't anything unique, but he's everything complex and he feels a little disjointed, shuffling on crumbled pavement. An antonym to the diligently working grace of her.) 

[myungsooxshatter]

( txt → 변태 ) no. the only thing you'll have to keep you company are empty lighters and the memory of the best roommate in existence because you don't know how to take care of precious things. ( txt → 변태 ) i hope your imagination is vivid, because that's never going to happen.

[Text to: Jongin] Yeah, I guess you're right. The last precious thing I had put all his trust in me and you know what? [Text to: Jongin] He died. [Text to: Jongin] Whatever. Enjoy your free time, Kai.

[sapientiac]

Visit Original Link

Bibo No Aozora | Ryuichi Sakamoto

[myungsooxshatter]

( txt → mean myungsoo ) i felt the condescension in that one. ( txt → mean myungsoo ) all hail caring myungsoo. break it and i'm going to get you a permanent bed in the infirmary. ( txt → mean myungsoo ) i'm counting down my minutes of freedom. don't rush, ass.

[Text to: Jongin] Will you sit next to me and feed me applesauce in the infirmary when you do? [Text to: Jongin] ... [Text to: Jongin] Afraid I might walk in on something personal involving my shirt?

[myungsooxshatter]

( txt → mean myungsoo ) no i'm pretty sure hyuk has most of them now. apparently smoking is bad for you so he wants me to quit ( txt → mean myungsoo ) maybe one day i'll tell you what it really is that you have. ( txt → mean myungsoo ) how long until you're free?

[Text to: Jongin] Apparently? Oh wow, who would have known. [Text to: Jongin] Well, whatever it is, I'm probably going to keep it and take better care of it than you did. Like all of your things. [Text to: Jongin] Why? Are you dying to see my face already?

[myungsooxshatter]

( txt → mean myungsoo ) well, sometimes you give me that look that makes me think you're going to rip my throat out at night ( txt → mean myungsoo ) but yeah, you're not so bad. ( txt → mean myungsoo ) i'll give you one guess. ( txt → mean myungsoo ) wait does that mean you don't want me to have your shirt? ( txt → mean myungsoo ) i'm having it anyway.

[Text to: Jongin] I swear if you say I have your cigarette lighters I will attempt to rip your throat out.[ Text to: Jongin] You can have it. [Text to: Jongin] Kind of wanted to see you in it.

[myungyeonsim]