#88xk

[94krysjung-archived]

Starter for 88xk 

Her head tilted upwards to the sky as she remained silent for a moment, simply observing the shining stars above them. “I know it sounds stupid but after playing To The Moon, I can’t deny I haven’t thought that maybe stars are secretly light houses signalling to each other. I don’t know. I think it’s quite a nice thought though.” Her gaze lowered to the male beside her. “What did you think they were when you were growing up?”

[hvmartia-blog]

                     † Crawl | Xavier “Granny-Fucker” Kwon

closed starter: @88xk​

He’s never considered himself anywhere near being the adventurous type. His life accomplishments—marrying young & entrepreneurship—debunk the very perception from the root, elsewise suggesting that he’s ambitious at best. But, nevertheless, Andrew still finds himself overcome with flattery when it’s mentioned in passing by the older woman he’s chosen to ask directions from. She’s delighted to learn he’s traveled to Seattle from South Korea (’My daughter in law is Korean!’) and that he’s interested in one of the more obscure antiques shops the city has to offer (’Everybody goes to the one downtown beside the Cheesecake Factory, are you sure that’s not the one you’re looking for?’) and —

“—your English is very good.” She tuts in continuation, a kind smile manipulating the seam of her mouth as she speaks. Andrew likes to think that his grandmother, whoever she might have been, would have been the splitting image of her—short, silvery hair in tight curls, rail-thin, and wearing a shapeless salmon dress with a series of pearl necklaces wrapped loose around her neck. Vintage. “How long have you been learning?”

“It’s actually my first language—” He replies, watching in mild amusement as the other’s hands fly up to her mouth in some-sort-of obvious shock, “I was born in Maine and grew up there. I only just moved to Seoul a few years ago.”

“How rude of me to assume!” Her voice is a pitch higher, and he smiles so genuinely because her concern is entirely all too endearing. It must be an American thing, because he’s yet to have met an old Korean woman who wouldn’t grunt in disbelief and slap his shoulder in discipline for having the audacity to correct her. She merely frowns, quite apologetically, instead. “My apologies—”

 “Think nothing of it.”

“—You’re too kind, dear.” A palpable relief seems to wash over her in that moment, but it exists for only seconds more before she’s turning to gesture somewhere down the crowded street, “Like I said, what you’re looking for is a few blocks down. It’s impossible to get lost if you keep straight.”

                                                                    -   -   -   -  -  -

She tells him he can’t get lost, but he can’t help but feel like she should’ve been warning him about the dangers of becoming too distracted instead. As it turns out, Seattle’s streets are home to some of the most unique shops and back alleys he’s ever seen; and all too suddenly, there isn’t near enough time in the day to conquer each and every one of them. In fact, there might not even be near enough time in the remainder of the week that he’s limited himself to spend here.

But, like any good tourist, Andrew doesn’t let that stop him. 

By the late afternoon, after a few hours spent in-and-out of the neighboring stores, he finally ends up in a crowded bookstore that smells of old paper. During his short visit, he spends a great deal of time in the philosophy section, admiring the way the bleeding sunlight bathes the shelves in a warm, golden colour. Before he leaves, he manages to find three novels and happens to make a brief friend out of the cashier when she excitedly recognizes the translated works of Woncheuk in that small stack of purchases. She makes a note of telling him to check out the record shop across the street if he’ on the hunt for vintage things, but  “—only if you have the time, of course! I think they close around 5?”

He checks his watch when the door comes to a close behind him. 3:45 pm. The better part of him knows it’s in his favor to continue his way down the street in order to wrap up business with the antique store he’d been originally seeking, but when has the insatiable curiosity in him ever bent?

Andrew hazards a scanty glance toward the business across the street as he tucks the likes of his watch under a sweater sleeve. Just a peek, he tells himself in finality, in and out. 

                                                                   -   -   -   -  -  -

It’s not as busy as the bookstore he just left, but he still somehow manages to find himself elbow-to-elbow with tattooed hipsters no matter where he goes. So, after he’s finished shuffling down the aisles, delving and dipping fingers into genre bins he’s never really had an interest in, Andrew sets his small selection of vinyls down at his feet before folding himself up on the floor beside them. Without even really trying, he manages to discourage the drifting of close-by customers and finds himself alone very, very quickly.

Andrew utilizes this moment of peace, overturning each and every one of his belongings to the sounds of a quiet radio, distant chattering, and the muted millings of fellow, scavenging customers. When he’s satisfied with his pickings of Jazz, Soul/Funk, and Classical works, Andrew rakes a hand through his hair and adjusts his sleeves so they’re rolled up just past his elbows. Then, with all and everything neatly gathered in his grasp, he picks himself up off the floor and meanders toward the front counter. Once there, he gently places his belongings on the surface and glances towards the employee, making not but a noise as he does. 

He’s not too terribly surprised by the clerk’s appearance, not when he’s spent the last thirty minutes among the customers who don’t vary much. However, there’s a small difference in the energy that the dark-haired stranger gives off—it’s magnetic, but not in the way certain other people, places, and things tend to be. He doesn’t feel an unsatiable itch to collect. To Claim. To Keep. In fact, it’s very much the opposite. 

“Is that real?” He finally speaks, loosely gesturing to the back of his own neck. “It must have been painful. What does it mean?”

[daekm-blog]

@88xk You must be hungry.

[daekm-blog]

So fucking dense sometimes.

Guess you really needed it, huh. Might consider using a cotton swab on you if you’re rude. 

[yxmihan]

Starter for --- { @88xk } ---

“You know what? --- You’re the best ever, I don’t think I ever tell you enough” She casually brought her shoulders up for a shrug before smiling in his direction. “Let’s go do something~! We never do anything anymore..” She put on a fake frown before a soft chuckle erupted. 

[daekm-blog]

@88xk 

Let’s play a simple game, complete the sentence and you’ll score your free meal: you want to watch the cat, when—?

[kamimashikana]

📱!

What ringtone my muse has set for yours: ♫What contact photo my muse has set for yours: XavierWhat my muse thinks of the way yours texts: Same as Illya, although not as often, Xavier's texts also sometimes send her into hysterics. How quickly my muse responds to your texts: As soon as humanly possibleHow often our muses text: Not enough.How often our muses call: Same as the above! Mika always wants to know what he's up to at any given time so let’s more texts and phonecalls between them, please!Does my muse purposefully miss calls from yours: Of course not! Why would anyone even want to do this?!Last text sent from my muse to yours: [text : Xavier] Guess what happened on my way home this evening.

[kamimashikana]

Just wanted to pop in and remind you that you're a truly beautiful and wonderful person!

Argh! You are so incredibly sweet that my heart is just about to explode!!