sweatpants.
@idjowi
sejun knows that he doesn’t always have the best ideas. and maybe lying to managers, his members, and sneaking out of the hotel was definitely not the right move. but they’re in LA, and he’s a young successful guy and sometimes he just wants to forget who he is back home and just be kim sejun without any strings attached.
honestly it was all too easy to pick out one of his nicest outfits, to blend in with the crowds coming and going from the hotel and get lost in the crowds. he keeps his head down as he wanders through the streets of downtown LA taking in the sights of people in their everyday lives, the scent of the food that wafts through every corner, a medley of delicious restaurants boasting a variety of foods from every corner of the world. and this is what sejun always thinks, dreams about when it comes to LA. so much like seoul but yet so laid back, so casual in their movement like there’s all the time in the world.
maybe it’s his good mood or maybe its the two shots he took before leaving the hotel room, but even on the city streets, kim sejun can’t resist the siren song of music. he feels the thumping beats before the club comes into view, the line of people trying to get in already wrapping around the building. and without a plan, without a worry, he steps up, taking his place in line behind a group of energetic and bouncing college students. it’s all seems way too easy. he gets in easier than he anticipates, little to no words exchanged except for a flash of a smile to the girl at the front door and the imposing bouncer beside her.
it isn’t until he’s inside that he realizes the brick and morter of the building were doing a spectacular job of keeping the lights, the sounds, the intensity so well contained. that the music flooding the streets and surrounding alleyways was nothing but a tiny glimpse, a fragment of what was really going on inside.
it’s easy to lose himself in it all, into the drinks, the music, the trembling of bodies on the dance floor. and for the first time in forever, he dances for himself, for the pure joy of moving his body without any instructions, without sharp movements he’s been known for. and minutes, maybe hours pass and he forgets the worries and stress he’s been carrying on his shoulders for weeks now. he forgets about the giant rifts and gouges that have been making their way through atlas, dividing them. he forgets about his soft heart, pass bruises that still tingle like phantom touches, and for once he just is.