ouchie.

kitagawa natsume | 33 got any games on your phone?

[prnatsume]

the heart is a fruit.

[prnatsume]

[ roheepr ]

her lips part, tongue at the ready—then stops, suddenly suspicious. “wait,” rohee glances up at him, bony elbow finding his ribs with little difficulty. “what is this for?” can’t trust anybody in this crew to do any sort of favors for free. rohee herself wouldn’t, anyway.

it goes like this: you pay fifty dollars for a watermelon thats just shy of ripe, lay newspapers down on the floor of your kitchen and split it open with the biggest knife you own. the length of your arm, your father’s hand guiding you. a once a year kind of treat - a one time treat, really, but natsume remembers the promise just as well. the way the juice ran down his arms, the way it was so sweet, the cold making his teeth ache. the seeds never grew in his stomach but he likes to think they’re still stuck in him, waiting to sprout. maybe then his body will be useful for something.

this is a different kind of rush. bought with his own money, a knife just as big. somebody else’s house, people he doesn’t know all that well, but. kindred spirits, maybe? 

they all drift apart. he crack one of the halves into quarters, the sound of the shell splitting loud and satisfying in a way he can’t describe nor replicate. like a watermelon? like something sweet. a sound that beckons the family. share me. there’s a little of me here for everyone.

“i can’t even say your name? how should i address you, oh goddess rohee?”

he stretches his arms out, durian covered plastic gloves held to the side as he does a small bow. 

“why would i have to sneak this in? this is our house. bring whatever the hell you want. not like hyunsoo is gonna do anything about it.”

he’s a right to a certain extent - it’s absolutely certain that he’s going to get chewed out for stinking up the place, but that’s a problem for the natsume of the future. right now? he sinks his teeth into the flesh, eyes falling shut at the tangy flavor. nothing like it. best of the best.

he coughs, nearly chokes. natsume whines, taking a step away defensively. “am i supposed to eat this whole fucking thing myself? don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

the saying doesn’t make sense to him, but it’s convenient now at least. sometimes you just have to accept good things as they come. sometimes a situation is as simple as it appears. there are cures for loneliness, for the faraway look rohee always has in her eyes. durian seems to be at the top of that list for now. 

[pseudogastronomy-deactivated202]

nuisance ;

[prnatsume]

[ prtaeyoung ]

“ what the fuck are you doing here ? ” taeyoung opens the door only a little, revealing one-thirds of his visage through the gap and clearly not inclined to invite his so-called teammate inside. “ lower your fucking voice, don’t make the neighbors go investigate. ”

they’re all so fucking pretentious - from rohee to zhiruo to jinil. the self-importance, the i’m so bad and i love it, that constant need to assert themselves as the smartest person in the room, the one that’s always above everyone else. except it’s like a dozen of them and natsume puts up with it, finds it amusing even, but there’s something to be said about the fact that they’re all like this and they’re all emotionally stunted. mental illness.

where is liying? does she only do relationship counseling or can natsume bribe her to organize a group therapy session?

it’s like this: you see these faces every once in a while for a couple of years, you get close, closer - never too close. never allowed in. he’s alright with that, mostly. there are things in himself that he’d never let another see. but the look in taeyoung’s eyes - fleeting, but present. natsume knows it, the way it burns all too familiar.

living like this: it’s the loneliness that’ll kill you first, long before any bullet gets the chance.

you don’t always have to cope though. sometimes alcohol is enough, money is enough. coasting through with the things that numb you is enough, if only to check things off the bucket list of temporary pleasures. but everything catches up with you eventually, the way that natsume catches up with taeyoung, slurring and drunk, banging on his door in the middle of the night.

natsume whines. “don’t be a bitch man. let me in.”

he pushes the door open, one hand slapping taeyoung’s chest with a familiarity they don’t have. “not supposed to be mean to me. i’m the baby.”

[hrsxiangke]

(staying) in the groove

[prnatsume]

[ prdaimu ]

“hey!” he calls out. metropolitan dialect mastered, there’s absolutely no flavor whatsoever. daimu catches up to natsume (well, nemo), legs of a one-seventy-four centimeter’d body catching up behind him. “whaddya think?” now he’s out of character, wakayama creeping back on his tongue. he’s working on it. “the suit’s kinda roomy around the arms, but that’s a good thing, ain’t it?”

eight in the evening, summer sun crawling downwards like it’s got something left to prove. it’s not the overhead heat that kills him so much as it is the way the concrete radiates, makes the air taste wet and the girls prettier. all this neon: it’s got a way with making him dizzy but still able to tap his credit card on the first try. no such thing as broke in a place like this, not when money materializes before him like smoke from the mouth.

a little early to get sloshed but by the time he stumbles out of the bar the sky is purple, cloudy, reflecting the thousand lights shining up at it. where’s the moon? a million faces grinning, corners of the mouth going up up up, chemically whitened teeth that scream look at me.

the night’s only just begun, and he makes his way east, stops only for the vending machines to get a couple more drinks.

there’s a line he really doesn’t want to be standing in for a club he’s going to just walk past, but he’s still waiting on daimu to turn up, fashionably late that kid. he’s old to get in on his own - if natsume remembers right - but the parlor upstairs is a members only thing - fancy shmancy, the food is fucking fantastic though.

he whistles. “look at you!” he’s never been so proud. really, never: not like he knew daimu all that well when they were little but in the short time they’ve gotten to know each other natsume feels like he’s practically raised himself. might have, with all the unsolicited advice he’s thrown his way. seems like daimu’s taken some of it to heart.

“you’re gonna fit in just right. here, beer? didn’t know what you wanted. lets go.”

[prheejin-deactivated20200425]

a crease in the struggle

@prnatsume

half-past three a.m., almost four. oh, that’s the sound of her phone ringing somewhere on her nightstand. a sleepy smack of the lips, the fleeting thought of if they really need me that badly they’ll call again. heejin tries to go back to sleep, she has a seven a.m. pilates session tomorrow (today?) and maybe she’ll get a pedicure afterwards–oh, there goes her phone again. maybe it is important.

her “hello?” goes unanswered, the line quiet save for the raucous sound of laughter and something else in the background. what a waste. and she rolls over, maybe now half-awake and scrolling through a handful of recently sent messages. oh, natsume.

he jin

he i jin. pls pio ck uip

then it’s what? ten minutes of trying to pick out an answer from whatever garbled mess natsume insists on feeding her over the phone. an almost exasperated sigh once she finally does get one. “please don’t move, natsume.” heejin knows better, you don’t ask a drunk to do anything–just hope their interests align with yours. but, yet. “i’ll be there in a few.”

[prnatsume]

he stumbles, nearly trips over the highway barrier, nearly impales himself between the legs. instead, he scratches up his ankle and falls over, rolling a little ways before coming to a stop. 

fuck. 

the world spins, or he does - either way, something is moving that shouldn’t be. it’s his stomach, as it turns out, and he rolls over, throws up. the acid burns on the way out, worsened by the bloody nose. he thinks he must have broken it at some point, but he’s not quite certain. 

you win some, you win some more. he should have lost, but at least they let him keep his phone. 

“heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeejin.”

he sits up, crosses his legs and waits, phone sitting in his lap, running through a series of games while he still can. the battery is nearly dead but he can make it last, right? he totally can. either way: heejin told him to stay put so he sits where he is, just off the highway. not the best place, but at least no one will run over him here. 

[haiyuu-archive]

[prnatsume]

god, that is rich

[prnatsume]

[ prdongseon ]

to concede is quick to pass, a small smile gracing his lips instead. natsume ain’t wrong about sharks if anything else, nor about wagyu being rightfully expensive. still helps to know he’ll sleep just fine tonight, frugal, fit. unscary. he can’t say this is a bad time.

“if you kind of like all fish, we should have some added to the lineup here.” half joking, seeing as how they’re both wordlessly content with what they already have. to each their own about what, exactly, but that’s the charm, baby! dongseon uses his tongue to search for any minuscule pieces of food stuck between his teeth, uses this time to sit on that question.

nothing so far. maybe something in his back molars, but toothpicks will be of better use later. “anything but a shark.”

“don’t mix your meats,” punctuated with a glass of water, ice cold. everything seems easier in organized chaos of a barbeque place. relaxed. “it’s not good for your stomach. plus it doesn’t taste good, y’know?”

it’s a personal preference, but he’s also rice. something something proteins in your gut, enzymes. he hasn’t been to school in over a decade, christ. 

natsume picks up another piece of beef, eyes the way it glistens, fatty and delicious. a hundred grams is worth what he makes a day, but that’s what the club is for, right? live a little beyond your means. a lot, in his case. “i get the feeling you don’t like sharks.”

savors it. chews. swallows. what’s better than this? he calls over a waiter for another round of beer. 

“maybe a manatee? or a sting ray. cute but you got one of those venomous tails.” 

[prnatsume]

authenticate.

[prnatsume]

[ przhiruo ]

the snapping of a latex free glove coming off her hand isn’t nearly as loud as the specific brand of chimes alerting her that someone from the president’s club is calling her. it doesn’t usually ring this time of day, as the majority of them have day-jobs or other appearances to upkeep during the week, but she tosses the non-specific glove into the garbage next to her lab table anyways.

a slow exhale prefaces her swiping to receive the call. she doesn’t even bother greeting him, or even acknowledging him. knows that once he hears she’s picked up - he’ll tell her everything she needs to know immediately. some old dogs can be taught new tricks. chew them out hard enough and they will.

“30,000 pieces of artwork.” she states, phone held to her ear. “out of 30,000 pieces of hokusai artwork, you land one of his shunga pieces for me?” but the prospect is interesting. there’s always some talk of various hokusai pieces turning up in the most interesting of place - hell, monet had about twenty-five of them.

then, because she’s in probably the best mood she’s been in a while, she pinches the bridge of her nose. hokusai pieces aren’t usually forged, people usually go for the bigger, euro-centric artists, and there’s only about eleven of hokusai’s erotic pieces out there, so she throws the dog a bone as a reward. “how horny, though? cause if it is not borderline scandalizing it isn’t his brand.”

“yuuuuup.” he pops the syllable, leans over and digs around for his lighter and an ash tray, located in the mess on his floor. ah, if only she could be here now. maybe then he’d clean up. probably not. 

“engorged penis and everything. lots of pubic hair. beautiful pussy. just stunning.”  erotic art doesn’t really do it for him. he doesn’t care much for art in general, and he never really paid attention in history class. he knows this: you get invited to a big game, you have to know when to tap out. keep your money and your head. get extra lucky, the way he always is, you get a tour of the mansion. gorgeous stuff - some famous architect. a collection of statues in the garden. 

some disturbing pussy print art hanging in the hall. he knows that’s what’ll get zhiruo’s attention most.

“couldn’t get a picture of it, but i found a pic of it online. not the same but you know ‘many times’?”

natsume lights a cigarette, taps the ash off delicately. best thing to do before a stint would be to get sweet zhiruo in to check if it’s real. he’s already got a plan for that, but all he needs is the okay from her. 

[prsebin]

STACK UP

@prnatsume

on any other weekend, establishments like these are swarming with customers. they’ve got the seasoned veterans: old men with leathery skin, loose coats and a keen sixth sense. boring lot, but good for business. then there are the yuppies, twenty-somethings strutting around in packs like they own the place. sore losers. still good for business. maybe even better, if they’ve got loose change rolling around in their pockets by the fistful. 

dad’s taught them the fine art of observation. small details are just as part of the big picture, like the amount of hair gel slicked through crop-cut hair, or the brand of perfume clinging to fresh-pressed linen. indicators of class, age, bad habits and good. all it takes is one look, he’d say. just one look for you to start assembling the pieces. know thy enemy, or however it goes. proverbs aren’t exactly her thing.

sebin ambles in at noon. by then, most of the tables are completely occupied. only a couple empty singles remain. a quick scan of the crowd eliminates all but one spot in the back, just across from the king himself. she drifts over, a self-effacing smile in place. not a drop of familiarity in sight- natsume who? “’xcuse me- this spot taken?”

[prnatsume]

natsume picks at his teeth with his tongue, feels around. yeah, there’s definitely something stuck there - probably a tortilla chip. he glances around, disappointed that there’s no waiters near the table. he’s feeling snacky. he’s been running on cigarettes and martinis (gross) for five hours now, but he keeps getting roped back to the table. what’s a man gotta do for some guacamole round here?

he sets his cards down, takes out another pack from his jacket blazer, offers politely to the geezer sitting next to him. refused, thank god, and natsume waits while the dealer sets up the next round. 

corner of his eye, pretty lady, pretty face - oh, fuck, ow. 

cigarette ash on his hand, sputtering up pathetically. thanks sebin. real smooth. he gets a couple of stares, but it’s not like he hasn’t been ogling every woman here so far. nothing unusual on his end. 

he picks up his cards, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. sebin always talks the talk, but he’ll see today if she’s really all she says. 

[sarawada]

[prnatsume]

the heart is a fruit.

@roheepr​

post-meetings they’re all free to go. split open and fall apart like pomegranate seeds bursting from a fruit, scattered. kept together at the roots, planted in distant rows. they have their parts to play.

all that said, this place is nice. mama really splurged on the villa, and it certainly beats sitting at home in his tiny studio. maybe if he saved his money he could get a nicer place, but house is not a home, instant ramen is sustenance, yadda yadda yadda. the natural light in this place is great. makes him feel like a sunflower, wobbling and turning to where it’s brightest.

“rohee! come downstairs!”

cardboard all over the dining table, plastic gloves up to his elbows, a knife the size of his arm. durian stinks up the whole house, but thats not his problem. he splits open the fruit, gentle as he pulls out the seeds.

“you hungry or what?”

the hard work of ripping it open is nothing compared to the taste - sweet and tangy, bursting like color on the tongue. is this what drugs taste like? he wouldn’t know. but the anticipation rolls down to his gut. good things are meant to be shared, maybe. at least with pretty girls they are. 

[prnatsume]

sip sip

[prnatsume]

[ prliying ]

unfortunately, liying’s always been open to bribery with food and wine, even if coming from him of all people. “surprised to see that you cleaned up for once.” she mutters as she eyes the lunchbox in front of her, tentatively unclasping the lid only to lean back in her seat. “where’s the wine?” still, she will not be swayed so easily by the likes of him.

natsume puckers up and blows a kiss. a woman angry is still a woman acknowledging his appearance, and if liying really didn’t like him she’d have put a restraining order on him years ago. or had him killed. whichever’s easier for her. 

(thinking that it might be the latter is weirdly a turn on).

“i think your receptionist likes me,” he showered, after all. natsume knows how to clean up, even if liying doesn’t know how to appreciate it. “you think i have a chance with her?”

loyalty be damned. he still has a chance with liying, obviously. temporary distractions. 

sitting up, lanky legs bent awkwardly. why the hell is this couch so low? whatever. he opens the lid, takes out a couple boxes of food and cutlery sets, before he unzips a bottom compartment, pulling out a chilled bottle of pinot. ice packs babyy.

“you think i would lie to you? on this holy day?”

[prnatsume]

god, that is rich

[prnatsume]

[ prdongseon ]

“oh,” he mouths. is that why…? vague hand gestures here, all in his head. doesn’t really like to think about work outside of work, and yet.

nemo like the fish, huh. but liying is remy like remington.. hm.

and then he laughs, still polite. “not at all. i mean, there’s the whole thing about fish getting into trouble but not in the same way marlin and nemo do. sharks are there, too.” they have to be. dongseon’s brows furrow in a beat. “kind of tired of the way sharks get antagonized though. they’re just big and have sharp teeth?” takes a stab at some marinated ribeye, tossing in some mushrooms and onions onto the grill. “loser sharks exist as well, hello. the hell are hammerheads, huh?”

natsume flips over all the meat, a little clumsy, but he gets it done. slides over a couple of pieces onto dongseon’s bowl. he likes it, right? he doesn’t know anyone that doesn’t like wagyu. 

he nods. “you mean why its my name? yeah. kinda. sounds cool though, doesn’t it?”

he shoves a perilla leaf in his mouth, follows it with beef and ssamjjang. chews. swallows. delicious. maybe the koreans are onto something here. “sharks are antagonized because they’re scary. not deep.” natsume’s not particularly scared of sharks, but then again, he hates the ocean. doesn’t everybody? all that blue. “but hammerheads are cool. stick out from the rest of the crowd, yknow? i like them. though i kind of like all fish.”

he licks the end of his chopstick. “if you were any sea creature, what would you be?”

[prnatsume]

sip sip

@prliying

the second nicest thing he’s ever done for a woman is showering before he shows up to her place of work. liying’s rather particular about not having anything to do with him (”don’t even think about it you fucking weirdo,” is a little more accurate), but natsume knows just how to get through the door without looking too dressy - presentable but not nearly boyfriend worthy. no chance of any professional accidents here.

a well timed entry during her lunch break is key.

sweet talking her receptionist, a gentle knock at her door, right before he walks in without permission, a big lunch box in hand. 

“liying!”

kicks that expensive ass door shut, before he realizes he might have scuffed it and crouches down to inspect. “i brought food. and wine. please gossip with me.” 

it sounds even more pathetic when he wipes off the shoe mark with the edge of his sleeve, pouting at her before he stands up to his full height and saunters over to the couch thats usually reserved for bickering couples. he wonders if anyone’s ever fucked here. 

natsume sets down the lunchbox on the clear glass table before relaxing onto the couch, lounging as if he owns the place. 

[prnatsume]

get your fucking dog.

@pryongji

all that money on a bottle of whiskey for a girl that passes out after two sips. it’s almost not worth it, but at least he gets to see the inside of her apartment. it’s also probably the only time he’ll get to see the inside of her apartment, but he’s not going to complain. at least she’s being nice to him, even if she’s out of her damn mind. 

natsume gently pushes aside her puppy with his foot, but he’s drunk and wobbly and carrying dead weight on his back. 

the puppy comes back to bite him in the ass later. literally. 

he wakes up, face buried in a couch cushion, blinking terribly at the offending mutt. it’s a wonder he didn’t suffocate over night, the way he slept. just his luck though, that he gets woken up by a sulky dog instead of being allowed to sleep through his hangover. 

begrudgingly, he gets up, bones creaking like a rusty door, one hand rubbing his back. he’s young and sweet, only seventeen, but it’s at times like these he remembers his mortal body ages.

terrible.

“yongji!” he bangs on her bedroom door once, before sighing, wandering off to her kitchen. she’s gotta keep the dog food somewhere accessible, right?

[prnatsume]

authenticate.

@przhiruo

the nice thing about being in a club is that pretty women are obliged to give you their phone number. he doesn’t abuse this privilege as much as he’d like to: wouldn’t be handy to be blocked when he actually needs a call. but zhiruo is a little prickly, so he’s extra careful with her. 

some things are unavoidable. this isn’t, but it’s a really good excuse.

he doesn’t expect her to pick up the phone. he makes sure to not call her work phone but her work work phone. can’t go messing it up now and making her look bad, can he? 

natsume shoves his phone between his ear and his shoulder, inspects his fingers to clean. “zhiruo, baby, baby. boy, you will not believe what i have for you.

“a real hokusai. or at least i think it’s real. definitely horny enough, you know? but that’s your job more than mine.” 

[prnatsume]

family matters.

@prdaimu

it goes like this - you meet your extended family once in your childhood. your cousin has too many kids, and unhappy family, and a deep seated hatred for all the men who can’t help her. that extends to your father. it extends to you. 

natsume’s all grown up now though. so is daimu. 

the thing about reconnecting is that you never expect to do it. but it happens and then you’re stuck and you don’t know if you’re better off being alone. natsume might be. daimu sure isn’t. 

so by extension, natsume isn’t.

for him, he’ll fold all the clothes in his room, put them away so he can sweep the floor. wipe down the table so that they can eat (chinese delivery, of course. he won’t curse the boy with his cooking). 

natsume kicks the fridge door shut, two beers in one hand, a bottle of soju in the other, balanced precariously between his knuckles as he flops onto his futon. the doorbell rings, and he pouts. “can you get that? i think it’s the food. there’s money on the counter.”

[prnatsume]

god, that is rich

[prnatsume]

[ prdongseon ]

there’s some reward in being truthful, no? just as much as there would be if you were to be dishonest and get away with it. what does natsume deserve, exactly? dongseon can’t talk (he might actually make him believe he legitimately can’t), what with where he’s personally come from. to nobody’s surprise (he’s nobody), he’s grasping at straws.

what a show! whatever that was just now. wasn’t a show more than it was a vulnerable time, he figures. so, so, dongseon it is. he looks him over once, resuming his meal in the midst of deciding—but only after he’s offered natsume some water to chug down. “you ever watch shark tale?”

“shark tale?” natsume smacks his lips together, savors the texture of the meat. it’s delicious - definitely out of both of their budgets, but money isn’t worth anything if it’s not spent. he’s vaguely conscious that dongseon doesn’t seem the shopaholic type, but that’s what he’s here for. spoil the kids. find out what they like. figure out if you can become it.

“is that like nemo? i’ve seen finding nemo. great movie.”

up there with the best, actually. he won’t admit that he cries after every movie. sap things. “what’s it about?”