#deadvibin

[runcecil]

“I’m in lesbians with you.”

“whatever the fuck that means. ‘think i’m interested innit.”

[avchie-blog]

“You’ve got just 2 weeks to live.”

Two weeks to live…

An idea such as that was precarious enough to tickle mockingly at Archie’s fancy. A boy so plagued with a fascination of death often sought solace with the knowledge that eventually, it would come. It’s not that Archie sought it out, no– that would make him a fucking halfwit. He was satisfied with life, had shit to do and sights to see. People to fuck, for christ’s sake. It was the certainty that one way, some way, Archie would find himself gone and in the ground just like all the other graves he often hung around. Spending your nights in cemeteries was one thing, but spending forever is a while thing entirely.

He wasn’t sure if it was meant as a threat; the younger-looking boy’s scowl coming across as more comedic than probably intended. In retrospect, Archie should’ve reeled back with flippant, bordering insulting comments when it came to Jungsu. But seriously– two weeks?

“That’s fuckin’ weird, man.” There was a brief pause after his initial retort, lips curving up into a blatantly amused grin. “Not much of a scare tactic to give me two damn weeks of opportunity to fuck up whatever shit you’ve got going. Try something in the minutes range next time, yeah?”

[amoralie]

( deadvibin )

If you give a mouse a cookie, it’ll ask for milk.

But if you give a stray cat an offer, it’ll milk it dry.

It’s not unusual to try to lend a helping hand to the less fortunate, right? Slip a bill here, give your left-overs from brunch there. There’s one girl in particular who seems to frequent the plaza Jungsu sticks around. It’s bangin’ there, the big bucks! Kind of. If you consider getting enough each day to at least feed half the boys. So, three and a half hungry young men! And yikes, they could each devour their own cow if they wanted (but Jungsu can’t afford seven cows).

So every time this girl in particular pops up, Jungsu gets a lil’ somethin’ somethin’. Pockets it, takes it to the bank! Just kidding. Takes it to a dirty hide-out beneath a bridge.

And this day in particular? The girl stops to converse. Perhaps it’s because she’s seen him so much, she feels on friendly terms? Or maybe she just pities him! Jungsu sure hopes that’s not the case. It could be anything. And now, they’re talking about movies they have and haven’t seen. Leave it to Jungsu to not know a single recent release.

“Maybe I haven’t seen ‘em, but why don’t you show me?” Take a free movie if he can.

“Wanna come over and watch Netflix?

What an intimate offer … Not in the sense of it being affectionate or anything of that sort, but it’s an invitation to her home. Inviting a homeless boy to her home. Jungsu hums in thought, grubby fingers peeling at the dead skin on his lips. “Well, shit, I don'know. Planning to kill me, are you?” At least this makes him sound innocent!

Being too kind is either adored by strangers, or seen as weakness. Or so Amalie had figured, she often got weird looks when she brought stray dogs food, or spoke to people who couldn’t afford or roof upon their heads--  Believing her mother, she was being ridiculous, that every homeless person out there is just an alcoholic and if she gives them money they’ll spend it on alcohol. Thus, the short girl was helping them to drink themselves to death. Nonsense! Why would they drink if they could buy food? Alcohol didn’t help the growling stomach, did it? She wasn’t sure if it did, but it didn’t matter, at all. If she could do something good she would! Being a good person wasn’t being weak, psh.  So, what happens when a young girl who likes to do something good is going to the same place very often? Right. She becomes rather familiar with the people who try to earn money there.  And because this one boy in particular seems to be around her age ( maybe a year or two older ), she decided that maybe, he wouldn’t mind starting a conversation with her. Not many people did that, or? Starting conversations with homeless people wasn’t something she saw all too often. She was right anyways, he didn’t mind it, and because movies are almost always a great conversation topic that isn’t dying out too quickly she went with that.  After her question lingered between them she tipped her head to the side, offering him a bright smile. Eventually, there was a quiet laugh at his response slipping past her lips, quickly giving him a few shakes of her head. Yes, she was actually a serial killer! As if, she couldn’t even hurt a fly. She’s remembering that one time she actually DID kill a fly and felt bad about it for an hour or two.     ❝ ━ Yes, of course! Joke aside.. come on, there are so many good movies you have missed out on! We’ll eat popcorn - do you like popcorn? - and have soft drinks, that’s fun. ❞ The happy tone in her voice along with her smile growing even wider made sure he notice she was actually being completely serious with her offer. 

[mdpvrk]

Shop — I’ll write a drabble of my character taking yours shopping.

{ deadvibin​ } ;;drabble prompts Shop: I’ll write a drabble of my character taking yours shopping. 

    Digits brush against a packaged set of dried pears, barely out of grasp Jimin’s fingertips. Tsk, how annoying. A few strangers pass by, a few meeting his glance before peering away to go  back to their own devices, some looking down upon lists that have been made by spouses or reminders to make sure nothing was forgotten. Already he’s managed to get most of what he needs, grocery basket held by left side, contents of what he needed for now placed inside neatly, stacked perfectly in a way that wouldn’t cause contents to shift or basket to become to heavy for one appendage to hold without help from another. 

   If it wasn’t for a single box of  dried pears he could simply leave – it wasn’t as if he really needed them but, he wanted them. The fact they were out of his reach, clearly in view but still far from coming into his grasp, sort of makes him want them even more. A mild determination is made in mind, thick swallow given as gaze is tossed around aisle, certainty given that no eyes were currently on him at the time, Jimin goes to his toes, digits gaining a bit more leverage than before yet only succeeding in pushing package back even more. A huff of air escapes lungs, frustration building despite coming close to intended goal. Hum settles in throat, gaze veering toward a familiar figure that lingers close, attention focused on something else entirely. Ah, yes, that’s right – Jimin had dragged younger to store. Jungsu was becoming a regular at his home, stopping by every now and again, sometimes not showing up for days, weeks even before dropping in once more. 

Just like a stray cat. 

  Corners of tiers twitch, movement made towards younger with light footsteps. Hand comes to outstretch, digits taking grasp of elbow and encouraging younger male to follow him back towards a single package of dried pears, single digit raising to point towards said package he doubts younger male will have trouble reaching. He’s like a child asking permission for a desired treat, eagerness held in dark hues mixed with a hint of childish desire, “Can you get it for me?” plump tiers for a tight line, grasp given to elbow released as hand falls to side, basket handle adjusted to slide down to meet bend of appendage. Amusement becomes an apparent feature along younger’s visage, opposite tiers finding a light smile. It’s not much but it’s still being useful to someone that helps without too many questions or sticking their nose into something where it didn’t belong. 

  He’s becoming slightly dependent on Jungsu, finding it easier to relax as time goes on, rather seeing him as simple a patient he treated from time to time, or a reckless kid that tended to get in trouble too much – Jimin sees younger as a friend, someone to rely on, even if it was something as silly and foolish as taking a box from a high shelf. with ease, little effort made, packaged dried pears are retrieved, handed to awaiting hands that seem to wiggle with anticipation. Smile grows upon plump tiers as box finally comes into hands, thumbs brushing over a few labels and gaze trailing a side filled nutritional facts, dark hues casting over to younger’s profile, curiosity brimming,

“You are staying for dinner, right?” 

   It wasn’t as if he’d bought extra ingredients for anything. Eating alone was a bit – upsetting, to say the least. Not once had he managed to get Jungsu so stay over longer than younger desired to, it was becoming more and more of a determination, something to attempt each time younger male came over. How long would he stay this time? Jimin wonders. It was like trying to coo over a cat, calling it by name over and over, receiving just enough attention from said animal to keep you adoring it. Unconsciously he goes to reach over, digits delving lightly into short locks on top of opposite head, giving a faint knead along scalp – cute. Nose scrunches, box of dried peaches held up for Jungsu’s viewing pleasure, “Should I share these with you, ah, don’t tell me you aren’t a fan of fruit – do you at least eat your vegetables?” He rambles, easily losing track of previous inquiry and motioning for younger to follow – all that was left was to head to register. 

[mdpvrk]

{ deadvibin​ }  ;;drabble prompts : kiss & protect Kiss: My character kisses yours, or vise versa. Specify. Protect: My character keeps yours safe from harm. ( trigger warning; blood & violence ) also I may have gotten a tad.....dramatic/carried away - snickers 

It’d been so stupid, so foolish, and most of all reckless of Jimin to think for one second those men had forgotten about a previous debacle. 

Not moving.     Why wasn’t he moving?

     Ear presses against chest, subtle thump to be heard -- weak, so weak. Short lashes come to a nervous flutter, chilled extremity pressing to opposite chest, digits curling inwards along fabric of a shirt and twisting it with each ticking, torturous second spent in silence. Crimson forms in quaint puddle, dripping from betwixt parted tiers where Jungsu draws in a shaken breath. He too feels as if he may join the younger in unconsciousness. Quivering plump tiers bruised with a cut, and knuckles suffering from torn flesh, droplets of crimson seeping into white fabric of a shirt he so desperately continues to cling to. How had it come to this? How had he gotten like this? In his mind Jimin plays back the last twenty minutes back -- rewinding it as if it were some type of film etched in to his memory. 

   Ah, yes. They’d been walking together, or more like Jimin had opted to walk with younger after seeing a certain cut along corner of mouth wasn’t exactly healing properly. He recalls nagging Jungsu about ointment that’d surely need to be applied along an irritated area, something to keep scaring to a minimum, to perhaps avoid marring younger’s features. Hand had reached up during that time, digits eager to perhaps delve into short locks an give them a reassuring ruffle ( mild affections becoming easier to display as time went on ), but all actions had been halted at the sight of approaching men. So much, there had been too many of them -- more than before. An obvious held grudge in their eyes at the mere sight of Jungsu and Jimin. It seemed one of their own had been victim to jail time with their last encounter and their gang tended to look out for their own ( something he oddly enough respected ), words an curses had been spat to them but Jimin hadn’t been given much time to react nor retort back. 

   Wrist had been grabbed, frame pulled into a nearby alley, with encouragements to run hissed underneath breath. Heart had pounded harshly, thumping against chest without mercy as feet carried him behind Jungsu who seemed determined to lead them out of trouble rather attempt to talk things through with a group of thugs. Ha, how different they were -- Jimin had wondered back then who exactly was the foolish one? The kid who ran from the problem or the one who seemed dead-set on taking a beating? Corner of tiers twitched, wrist slipping momentarily from a grasp to find a much firmer hold upon opposite extremity, smaller frame much easier to tug along, pulling into one place than the next without a single care. Jungsu seemed to know where he was going, as if he’d memorize these streets by heart, an unseen map held in younger’s head that Jimin would never come to fully understand. Passing buildings all looked the same to him, if given time he too might learn every nook and cranny -- perhaps a time when thugs weren't chasing behind them with crowbar and sharpened blades. 

   A fence had become their main adversary in escape , standing 187 cm from ground up it seemed nearly impossible to hop in one go, but the men were catching up to them, and quickly, despite Jungsu’s back ally way knowledge.  Younger releases extremity, warmth from said hold fading instantly as chilled night air brushed against palm, without a hitch Jungsu can easily make use of his own height and hop a metal prison, landing on the other-side with a slight huff escaping lungs, feet perfectly making contact against concrete without stumble. Shouting had been heard from the distance, mixed with that of Jungsu who was yelling at him to jump over -- adrenaline racing through veins and allotting blood to rush to head, Jimin goes to do the same. Surprisingly making it near the top, his own height however wasn’t helping with much else. He shifts, tossing one leg over to opposite side, digits belonging to younger tugging on hem of jeans to help pull him over. Jimin desires to hop down but can’t, leg hanging near danger is caught, a tear in jeans made as a rusted piece of metal along fence has caught him. Digits go to make attempts to free himself but find it in vain, panic settling over him upon sight of approaching figures, features scrunched in disdain. 

    Lungs were burning, already out of breath as dark hues flicker between men and Jungsu who seems to to be adorning a matching expression. Jimin shouts for Jungsu so go without him but younger doesn’t seem to budge, like a deer caught in headlights he remains put, gaze falling to men who draw closer, sight of Jimin caught causing their pace to quicken. Many thoughts must be swarming through younger’s mind, gaze flickering from one place to the next, mild sense of panic settling between the two. Extremity belonging to Jimin pushes outward, digits barely brushing opposite as he encourages Jungsu to leave without him. Younger isn’t given much time to argue, shirt fabric grabbed onto from opposing side sends Jimin toward concrete, a thud of flesh hitting hard slab and knuckles scraping against ground. Flesh tears upon impact, pain seeping in with a slight sting, nothing compared to fist meeting features, thick ring adorn along pointer catching a lower tier and tearing it open. Crimson is dripped upon concrete, a hotness seeping behind lids, causing tears to spring forth along corners -- a typical reaction given, nose barely given a brush during impact. 

   There is mental preparation for the next hit, opposing foot raised with a heavy boot to perhaps com crashing down upon a seemingly fragile rib cage. Prep for an oncoming hit, what pain to expect, what may or may not happen, can be made as much as he likes but it’s nothing compared to real pain of contact. Jimin waits for it but it never comes, lids that have come to a tight unknowing shut crack open just in time to see Jungsu back upon opposite side, kicking away an opposing enemy, shock from a surprise hit to gut causing said man to stumble back just long enough for younger to pull Jimin back to his feet. Escape seems almost futile now, group surrounding them looking even more pissed than they were from the start, but for some reason he has faith, belief it might be okay. That they might make it out just fine just as the last time -- how foolish. Without warning men jump in, like predator charging prey once it’d become weak, going in for a kill. In the past recollection of judo classes taken crosses Jimin’s mind, of course it’d been years ago, such knowledge needing constant practice, a brushing up on that he hadn’t been giving. Still, he recalled enough to at least keep off a few of the men that’d come to his side. 

  Jungsu seems to be doing better than himself, sudden realization hitting him that younger indeed knew how to fight -- getting more than a few good hits in, no falter given when said hits were returned, no matter how badly they seemed or sounded. Pain, it always seemed to hold one back, causing falter, waver in steps when it becomes unbearable. He feels such a dizzy spell hitting him when a direct hit to the head sends him to his knees, bits of crimson dripping from forehead where gash has been made. Frame is pulled up, appendages held back behind him -- made to stand in a heaving mess. Ah, yes -- this is where it’d gone badly, because of him things had gone to hell and back. Halted were the movements of younger, a deep voice flowing outward from man presumed to be leader of this band of thugs shouting out orders left and right. A falter was all it’d taken before they were both caught, Jungsu made to be held back as well, strong fighter having his battle short lived because Jimin was too weak to keep up the fight. All it had taken was a single order, wave of the hand given as words flowed outward,

 “beat the shit out of them.”

    Iron had become a familiar taste in his mouth, eliciting a few gags here and there when said taste became too strong. Slight numbness to pain given once endorphins had kicked in, hit after hit after hit had been granted to both frames. More crimson spilling upon concrete slab until it looked like someone had painted ground with red paint, or better yet spilled a can of paint  -- splattering it across. He doesn’t recall when it’d stopped or when thugs had left them to their own devices or perhaps to die, somewhere between crowbar coming into contact with features and bile rising in throat, but in the next instance short lashes are fluttering, cheek pressed against concrete, and gaze searching for younger. Frame had been pulled upward, forced and made to move closer once Jungsu had been spotted -- back pressed against brick wall, breathing shallow.  Hand had made light contact against cheek, patting it to perhaps gain some type of reaction, maybe wake younger up from slumber. Ear was pressed against chest in the next moment, subtle beats of a heart giving him a mild sense of relief. Although he still remains unnerved at the unconscious sight. 

   “J..jungsu -- wake up..” swallowed thickly is a taste of iron, digits grasping on fabric twisting it in a sudden bout of worry, anxiousness settling over him when he’s given no response. Jimin presses closer, short lashes fluttering and heart picking up it’s pace -- he gives Jungsu’s frame a firm shake, jolting younger’s body with said force. Still, no response. This is where panic had set in, gaze flickering from one side to the next, ignorance of his own injuries given as worry over younger took hold. No, no, no , no  - the thought of losing such a precious friend, one that’d come back to save him, one that’d gotten a much worse beating than himself, elicits forth a hotness behind optics. Someone else for Jimin to grow close to, someone else for him to gain attachment, someone else to lose in an accident. Wetness finding it’s way shamefully along swollen cheeks, dripping onto ground when it became to heavy to linger along flesh. A few droplets make their way to fabric, painting Jungsu’s bloodied shirt. Features dip, pressing inward along crook of neck, shoulders giving a faint shudder as he listens to a barely audible sound of breathing coming from younger’s parted tiers.

                     “Are you crying....?”

  Weakened tone falls from betwixt tiers, a flutter of bloodied lashes, crusting with dried crimson, encourage a faint opening -- opposite hues drifting to features that have been stained with tears and now even more so relief. Digits twisting along shirt release their hold, leaving wrinkled fabric in their wake, as extremity come upward, cupping opposite features. “ -- You are an idiot......I told you to go.....why didn’t you go....” things could have ended worse for him if Jungsu had left him, Jimin knows, but a part of him feels guilty, regretful that the two had been put in this situation again because of himself.  Words that have been spoken betwixt broken sobs, coughs granted as an ache in lungs returns, are not given answer, instead graced with a half-assed smile, pearly whites turned a mild blood orange from dried crimson. Jimin hates it, such an expression, as if he already knew the answer to said question. ‘I’ll protect you’ -- younger had said that in the past, yes, but had Jimin truly believed him? Not until now, and seeing such severity of said words coming to life -- well, it made him feel unsettled. 

       Who was he to deserve such loyalty? 

  Thumbs brush over swollen cheeks, flesh split in a faint gash, droplets of vitality losing their weight to drop an steadily dry along flesh instead. Without further ado, lips make contact with a swell of cheek, lingering there for a moment, lids sinking to half mast. Thankful, he was oh so very thankful for the younger, “....idiot...” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to opposite cheek, faint twitching of tiers granted as a scrunching of nose occurs along Jungsu’s features, in which lips come to press against bridge, settling down a wrinkle along said flesh. It was hardly the time to be bestowing such affections ( thought of calling for an ambulance crossing his mind ), but relief had momentarily taken hold of his actions, relief Jungsu was still alive and breathing, that this kid hadn’t become a victim of something worse because he couldn’t leave Jimin behind. His life, Jimin practically owed Jungsu his life, and leaving his own zone of comfort away for a moment or two wasn’t going to kill him. 

  Squeeze is granted to cheeks and with a final show of gratitude, plump tiers make contact with Jungsu’s own, pressing a firm but chaste peck to opposite more swollen tiers -- he lingers for a moment, faint inhale of a scent he was becoming steadily familiar with taken in as tip of nose brushes against cheek upon his retreat. Ah, well -- this thank you should suffice enough. Darkened hues don’t bother in meeting opposite gaze, digits coming to slip away from cheeks, resting upon shoulders, as weight is shifted closer. Forehead pressed against opposite, lids coming to a heavy sink, Jimin exhales, 

     “ -- don’t do it again ......please....”

[runcecil]

— ( young one ) // strays

the breeze (fleeting through bolted plates of metal that are seemingly loose) (but don't question the boys about the meaning of danger) is a blend of refreshing and bone-chilling against the stray's bare ankles. it twines between sparse leg hairs, tickles his skin. through his far-gone eyes, all red and puffy, it's a wee roach of sorts and with a quick swoop of his hand, he knocks it off of him. if you wanna argue about its existence he'll challenge you, without a doubt. there are times where they're bathed in total darkness. speaking of bathing, they haven't visited a public bath in a good week now. which is surprisingly uncommon for the strays. your nose wouldn't be lying to you if you pointed out a musty smell lingering in the air. but they don't. they're used to it. used to all sorts of smells. ampit odour. farts. rotting food. dead bodies. back to darkness...yes. total darkness. like when the train births its way through tunnels. the friction of old wheels rolling, drawing sparks over rusty tracks is one of the most haunting noises and it swarms over them as if to claim them mine. it's especially spooky when you've done a little something illegal. this boy prefers when they pass under trees. like right now, for instance. the way the stars are there and then they're not—it's like a light show. the only light show they'll ever see for free. he's searching for a sign of life within the confines of this tiny freight car. there are lifeless bodies slung over stacks of rice bags—lifeless as in, knocked the fuck out, as in, don't worry, cecil hasn't killed them, they're just asleep. the youngest looks awake, maybe. so he crawls over, dust clinging to the fabric of his slacks. "listen, i know 'yer tired but i'm about to tell 'yuh somethin' brilliant." there's this boyish sense of wonder littering dark eyes, sparkling in the shines like an animated character. a grin munches away at a chatty-mouth. "i'm buyin' us one of them portable record players." mirth pitifully hangs onto each and every word that leaves his lips. look, we all know it's a lie (saving money is one of the things he's most terrible at) (it'll go up in smoke) (ganja)...but you can't deny that look on his face! come on, let him have this!!

[csyoun-blog]

for; [ ✢ deadvibin​ ]

The brisk night was certainly to his favor on this particular day. Hey kid, you’re not allowed here, make your way out the room, the man said. So he insisted, as if he was baiting clueless fish in the ocean of gold, that the man had nothing to lose when going against this kid he was supposedly referring to. So they bit the hook, and the fisherman certainly does not let the bait roam free once it has been caught. That’s the most thrill that you can pull out of the certain sport, could anyone disagree? The allegorical representation did not differ much in the card room, as the boy once again shuffled the piles of chips on his table rather indifferently, tapping the bills before etching on a rather crude, yet strangely stainless grin upon his lips; the one that made the defeated ones wonder if they’ve actually been placed out of the water with the lack of air— or they have just been simply deluded. 

Unnecessary disputes were something the gambler considered mundane at this point, so he planted his sordid winnings into the pocket on the back of his jeans, before swiftly making his way out of the scene as he decided to disregard a muffled shout of enmity. ‘I’m going to get your ass out of here so you can never come back, ya darn dawler—!’ something along the similar lines, probably, as he simply hummed his reply before turning around while still pacing himself. I’ll be back, don’t you worry about a thing, mister!

The crisp air glides through the thin layer of coat he decided to wear for the night, so he breathes in the air through clenched teeth; but lackadaisical steps do not fasten. Perhaps it was a forecast of some sort, he only certainly knew that he wanted to take his time while making his way out of the dim streets; as if the night wasn’t dim enough already. Then a step hisses, and he fervently takes a step to the side before nimbly swatting the unfamiliar contact in the dark. Whoa. Watch your hands, ya crook. He sneered, probably out of amusement in the most extraneous encounter, before positioning himself in front of smaller figure.

[mdpvrk]

♢ just because you were a smartass with the pillow this morning

{ deadvibin } ;; accidental affection                 ↳send me ♢ for my muse to get dared to kiss yours

Dangerous. 

   It was so very dangerous to mix alcohol, tossing back one drink after another, never sticking to one brand and taking whatever is handed to him. Being downtrodden is not reason behind his sudden need to replace water with liquor, no, tonight is a night of celebration. One year had pass successfully since Jimin had entered Yonsei University, one year of his degree done, pushed to the past – some might say the first year was the hardest, one filled with trials and tribulations, testing students patience an mind. Testing them to see if they truly desired this life. He’d found truth in this, having a rather hard year himself ( more than most in his age group ) and still managing to pull through. Of course some of his trouble had been because of his own recklessness, missing a couple weeks of class, having to catch up here and there, putting in the extra hours to the point he wanted to do nothing but break down and quiet – yet, he’d striven forward. Surely, it was something to celebrate.  

    Jimin was past his breaking point, words slurring, medical terminology not quite falling off his tongue the way he’d like – taste of liquor solely residing there, but there is no alarm to be had, he thinks at least. Jungsu has opted to come along, playing the role of his savior or his protector during such a vulnerable time of celebration. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t appreciative, every so often catching sight of younger in his eye, only reaching outwards when he felt he may slip or fall flat on his ass. It seemed almost too much trouble to place upon slender shoulders, although they were broader than his own, Jimin wonders how strong Jungsu may be. He doesn’t seem to struggle during those times Jimin does manage to lose balance, hand coming outward just in time, pressing palm against mid back to keep elder to him steady upon feet. Despite being a drunken mess Jimin still manages to murmur a quick ‘thank you’, digits finding fabric of shirt sleeve and twisting it. 

Reassuring it is to have someone this close.

‘You two look so good                 together! Wow!’

‘Yeah, yeah!’

                 ‘They should kiss!’ 

‘Do it, Don’t be a wuss!                           kiss! kiss!’

‘I dare you!’ 

    Comments are tossed left and right without filter, falling from betwixt lips of drunken fellow Severance Hospital interns of whom Jimin had tagged along with for the night, all in celebration for one hellish year gone. Had more sober ears heard such words he may have grown abashed, uneasy with his current stance of one single appendage tossed around opposite shoulders ( keeping himself steady), and would have withdrawn quicker than it took to breathe. Instead he finds amusement, rational thought gone, head momentarily tossed as a hearty chuckle spills outwards from tiers at full force. Funny, it was so funny – but encouragement to complete this ‘little’ dare does not cease. Hands comes outwards, pushing along Jimin’s shoulder, causing subtle swaying movements, for appendage to cling harder to younger. Shouts only increase in volume as a few strangers join in, honestly, he’d made a mistake in allowing Jungsu to come along – he could have made the excuse that he was still too young but, Jimin wasn’t even of age ( just yet ), and he’d be speaking nothing but hypocrisy. 

     “There is only one solution –” words flow outwards, dark hues veering towards opposite features, digits curling along fabric of shirt, twisting it momentarily an allotting wrinkles to form. Grip releases after a passing second, palm sliding from shoulder to press along opposite nape, only to curl digits along neck to build a steady drumming along a beating pulse. Ah, well, this was strange.  Opposite hand comes upwards, head craning to one side as hues lock upon younger’s features – there was an option to follow through with dare, to give awaiting stares what they wanted, but, he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and he could not. Free digits trail along opposite jawline, encouraging a gaze that seems dead-set on avoiding his own, corners of tiers twitching into a subtle grin. While he wasn’t going to truly kiss Jungsu, he could give a little show so to say. If there was anything being drunk helped with it was confidence, something Jimin normally lacked while present in any situation. 

     Weight is shifted closer, opposite hand retreating from jaw, digits trailing down to brush along flesh of neck and coming to connect with opposite pair that have rested along nape – a trap. “I’m going to kiss you.” intentions are announced , head cocking to opposite side, grin stretching a bit higher. Younger must be confused if not disgusted by his sudden change in demeanor. He shouldn’t play like this, bordering a line he has no intentions of pressing closer to than needed – Jimin is no fool, even more so lacking subtlety while intoxicated, and knows where his true loyalties lay. Still, he leans closer, wondering just how close he can get before younger finds need to reel back or weasel from a grip that lacks strength to truly keep him in place. Tip of nose brushes against flesh of cheek, lids coming down to half mast, deep inhale is taken inwards – this is not a scent he’s accustomed to , one he hasn't had luxury of memorizing nor engulfing himself in. It’s foreign -- lulling forth a sense of unease if not a sudden bout of melancholy. 

     Momentarily dark hues flicker over to opposite pair – ah, well, he was pushing this a bit too far wasn’t he? Without warning lips come into contact with flesh, pressing firmly against cheek, sound of impact certainly audible to opposite ears. A kiss, was it not? Noises of disapproval engulfing surrounding area, ‘boos’ filling the spaces in between. Digits unclasp around neck, palms sliding downwards from shoulders and pushing off away from opposite chest, stumble granted as he fights to regain some type of balance. Easily he can bring forth a smile, pearly white showing through parted tiers. Easily he can ignore vocalized complaints, gaze veering towards fellow interns that give a thumbs down, an obnoxious chuckle being his answer. With hands coming upwards, digits pressing to lips, he blows a kiss to scrunched faces, movement made to turn upon heel abruptly and lose himself in a crowd.

                  Oh God, he needed to pee.