🍃– “Bummie-ah,” the husk of his tone is scandalized, the faintest raising of dark brows to couple it as he clings to his brethren, an arm sneakily working to loop its way around an unsuspecting elbow. “You’re totally asking me to be a sell-out, I can’t do that. I’m a loyal dongsaeng that admires one Minho-oppa just like everybody else.”
A pink appendage breaks the seal of his lips to wiggle playfully before he attempts an abrupt tug Kibum’s arm, “Enough about Kim Taehyung. Your networking prowess inspires lots and lots of jealousy. How are you going all these places and seeing all these people except me, hm?”
🍃–“Hyung, is that a real question or are you baiting me with a nice and fresh, wiggly pink worm?” Dark eyes twinkle with suspicion yet in juxtaposition, lips dutifully protrude in a manner meant to garner pity. “I haven’t had anyone to gossip to. Or send these cute new pretzel emotes to. Did you miss me back?”
“I would have actually preferred never,” he’s wagging a finger at her as he continues nonsensically, obviously having suffered through endless research solely to refute her, “But I guess that’s not an option these days? What has the world come to? It’s like, there’s no undo button or something. So many people have viewed the picture already, how do I take it down? You’re a curse aren’t you? Why didn't anyone tell me you put this picture here? Look at these comments--”
“You don’t blow into a vagina like a Nintendo 64 cartridge.” // Welcome to Illume!
“We’re having this kind of talk now? Is it possible for you to maybe hold onto comments like that after we’re done playing this? I understand that the scripting for this game isn’t like...good, but that’s what makes it fun, right?” On the verge of a solely verbal conquest ( to prove himself right, of course ), he nudges the other with an elbow-- and this took quite a bit of stretching, considering very early off into the multiplayer introduction, he had built an invisible divider between them to avoid any friendly fire that wasn’t in game. “Did you even listen to the mission objective? I'm going to die this level aren't I?"
“Really? I think it’s nice too, actually it’s kinda hard for me to not listen to it, yanno? Doesn’t it make you wanna dance?” His nose is scrunching into the smile he’s sending her way when he shrugs loosely, adding as an afterthought, “Thanks! It’s so sad, no one believes that I could possibly have a good taste in music.”
seoul was increasingly suffocating, the thick air and thick busy masses of people often forced namjoon into some uncomfortable situations. he hated crowds of people, they made him ill. he was a particularly solitary person. most of the time the only crowd he enjoyed was underground hidden by dull lights. right now, namjoon had been in a small area of a park doing some studying for school.
and now, a boy who looked at least a year younger than himself had walked across to this very spot, one which the extremely smart namjoon had thought was unfindable ( of course, he had no idea that the other was a natural in being drawn to unfound places ). looking up at the skinny youth, namjoon arched an eyebrow to raise with curiosity.
❛ who are you ? ❜
“Nice to meet you, I’m Kim Taehyung.”
met with a rather abrupt bow and a hasty introduction, the latter’s sloppy pronunciation from a daegu-region accent took him a moment to mentally decrypt. making out that the man’s name was kim taehyung, sharing a similar last name but assuming a different meaning when placed with his first name, namjoon continued the awkward conversation, breaking silence with his own introduction.
❛ it’s nice to meet you. i am kim namjoon. i was born in ilsan and i’m currently sixteen. ❜
this entire situation made the brown haired boy feel uneasy, gripping carefully onto the edges of his book with caution.
👶🏻 – Upon being given the knowledge to put a name to who had up until now been nameless ( hindsight, he’d purposefully marched across the stretch of green and incited this encounter ). “Call me whatever you want, okay? Ah, look at that! You’re not much older than me are you, Kim Namjoon? Namjoon-ah.”
His eyes were easily drawn astray from where he’d managed to maintain a minimum of five second’s eye contact-- he was only his senior by a margin, and yet he spoke having taken no time to consider that maybe he should slip into that dialect he’d been ( not so ) studiously practicing for these past few months, no doubt having ignored the notion that speaking so loosely and with so little regard for propriety may pass him off as some uncivil pig that would ultimately sully the name for all those originating from Daegu and now residing in Seoul. You can’t charm everyone with your satoori, Kim Taehyung.
“I was born in Daegu, which is kinda where I wanna be right now. Seoul just feels different, yanno? Uhm-- no offense, I think we’re doing very well so far?” He’s gotten this far, why stop now? Unabashedly he blinks down at the school work strewn about him, a hand raising to ruffle through his hair, albeit lacking confidence but his smile saying otherwise, “I think that now that I know something about you, we can be friends. What’s that? Are you reading? Is that homework? I think I could cry over my homework sometimes.”
“ It smelled like patchouli and scared hipster. “ [Welcome to Illume!]
“I’m not sure what that smells like but it wasn’t me.” Although he’s quick to respond at his own defense, he’s also narrowing his glossy pools at her, having just suddenly readjusted to reality after hours of having them trained on a screen lit dimly, grown accustomed to the occasional sounding off at the slick of his sword passing through one of his many opponents’ bodies. Of course, he only responded after flying to pause the game-play after the controller was jolted out of his hands upon the female’s entrance. “I’ve been waiting forever, I got so hungry that I started eating those frosted flake crumbs I told you about earlier. Disgusting, by the way. Also, what’s a patchouli?”
👶🏻 -- Unabashedly he would admit that he missed Seo-gu, maybe even his grandmother’s hands deftly unraveling a pale green mat bread topped with walnut ( she didn’t know he hated walnut, would pick it off every time, and so she was persistent with her order when going out of her way to Pungmidang; he wouldn’t dare complain, not to his sweetest, most generous ahjumma); what was rarer for him to admit without some mad prick of guilt was that he craved the fleeting portraits of a life that paled in contrast to what he remembers, though with steadfast conviction he would call it pleasant.
Guilt deemed itself his companion when thoughts such as these submitted to every waking affair, and those in his foreseeable future ( at least, he prefers to thinks he’s got a grip on awaiting crises )-- its possible that the control he yearns for may develop into a bad habit, or maybe it’s been festering for a while, bade its time for the mere purpose of propelling him onward and into the onslaught of his unknown. ( He misses Daegu ). Wouldn’t it be awfully selfish of him to rouse his parents’ worry with such futile complaints? They’re already here. They’re already a little unaware, there being conflicts much bigger than himself, how couldn’t they be? They’ve already settled into their house, and settled back into their old habits. His father jolts a glass of mixed berry juice into spilling while, visibly harried, he departs,no doubt to terrorize his coworkers with his heavy-handedness. By the time Taehyung is squishing his feet into shoes that he is too lazy to untie, he’s uttering an elongated goodbye for his mother, though he knows she must still be sleeping.
He’ll spend the day doing what most fifteen year old boys do besides poking fun at their instructors behind their backs and being loud. He and his friends will josh around and talk about the most mundane things; the midterm tests looming only weeks away, the strand of hair someone found in their homemade udon and what this could possibly mean, a halfhearted stream of babble about scandals pertaining to some idol or another that none of them really cared about. The repetition is comfortable until he returns home ( always before his father, his father is never home this early ), and it’s a toss up on most days whether his mother is awake or not. He’ll slowly make his rounds about the kitchen given she answers him, retrieving a large reusable coffee cup in lieu of a glass because these are always dirty, fills it almost to the brim with almost no forethought before slipping into his parents’ room and making a beeline for the bed where, if even a little bit lucid he will push the cup into her hands. It’s been done routinely enough that if she spills, he has a towel at the ready to soak it up ( when he does, resolutely dabbing at the soft creme carpet, on occasion something will draw his eye-- without thinking he’ll slip it into the same hand that’s scrubbing at the floor ). By the time his father is home again, she’s asleep again.
He’s made some sorry excuses in his admittedly short lifespan, and unwittingly maybe, he’d just made another one. (The thing is, when you put curious boys in dubious situations, there’s the very odd chance that the events to pass thereafter may be in their favour. He hasn’t yet decided on which end of the spectrum he’s fallen into, he’s decided there’s no in-between.) He’s been known to make acquaintances in peculiar places, and when offered the chance to make a decision? He pounced on it like an animal driven by starvation and asked few questions about it. It was some kind of satisfaction or euphoria, he didn’t know which, and so he thought little of his surroundings which were becoming less familiar. Where am I? He thought even less of the abnormal introductions he received, was barely even sponging up that information when rather abruptly he found himself bowing at an angle, eyes blinking owlishly when he spoke; “Nice to meet you, I’m Kim Taehyung.”
“ so this is the first thing you ask me when we haven’t seen each other in weeks? i mean i was hoping for a i missed you? but i guess i guess that works too. —- maybe it’s because it’s messy to eat, hence the shredded ground beef and sauce? “
“But see, there is no because-- a matter like this can’t go unacknowledged, I had to say it before I forgot it, okay? Wouldn’t it be a shame if I inconvenienced you by calling you at like, some ungodly hour to talk about gross American inventions?” His inquiry somehow manages to acquire a matter-of-factly lilt, a loose grin pulling at his lips as he abruptly pushes his phone into the other’s grasp, “Yanno, I would’ve called first but I was thinking ‘hey, surprise!,’ right? Look at this, come on, come on, is my point proven valid now? Obviously I couldn’t read it but loose meat and and popular doesn’t sound right to me.”
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