“aren’t hair pins supposed to work?” ( @skvllkd ) he swears they’re supposed to - used to know a girl that utilized hair accessories as a quick and easy way to break into prohibited buildings and the rooms within. the current scene before him, though, is far less impressive, bordering on mildly irritating as it lightly scratches beneath the surface of his skin in the form of irregular impatience. each second that passes with the two of them loitering here, trying to bust their way into a place they clearly shouldn’t - that they clearly have no business being in, they risk exposure and capture. and as hayden watches his friend fumble with the hair pin they’ve found by mere chance, he thinks that the messy and loud presence of the girl from memories ago would be ironically useful, right now.
and he’s buzzed. floating within the warm area that rests between completely intoxicated and uncomfortably sober. as he floats, he wonders if this is even worth it.
whatever’s inside this building better be worth it.
(there’s not enough liquor in his veins to take up the empty and hollow space of sobriety. there’s not enough to completely fog up his mind, totally cloud his judgement. but there’s enough for him to go along with what’s happening.)
“you’re gonna pick a lock and you don’t even know how,” muttered words form through exhaled smoke as fingers fiddle with the cigarette between them. eventually, he becomes tired of simply watching - feels all too sensitive to the amount of time that passes - and crouches beside another soul. cigarette between his lips, one hand held out in expectancy, and then he speaks muffled words.
“gimme it. not even doin’ it right.”
“make way, make way for hayden bond.” there’s already so much nonchalance that slips in between everything jc does. but it’s harder to control his lax attitude when there’s the mix of a bit more than just his own mind and the way the world revolves around it. it’s not spinning, he’s had enough from the days in the country side. at an age so young it would be considered a delinquent act had it happened in the city. when you’ve known the strong taste of alcohol from a place that doesn’t need to even buy it because they have their own sources, it’s hard to even consider the bottled soju in the cherished soul of seoul to be alcohol.
it’s watered, has the same taste. but the sting is not the same. his parents did mention that if not for them, their kids might be coming back for, at the very least it’d be to find their own mind within the burn of the taste of their liquor. homemade, homemade is always better.
“but how am i supposed to know how if i never try?” it’s a genuine question. but there’s never anything that is not genuine about what jc says or does. it was the dilemma when they landed on this side of the country. people around them seemed to be in it for so much more than the authenticity of their actions or words. it was hard to pinpoint who was true and who was simply painted the colours they wished you to warm up to.
jc’s crouch falls, he sits on the ground and presses his back to the wall next to the door. his fingers let go of the hair pin, as useless as it is in his hold, is the way kc’s guitar also felt like. it feels a bit amusing, when he tells people he cannot do anything except singing and they think he’s lying. but there are proofs everywhere. in the quake of the drum when he wants to take siyoung’s role, in the distorted sound the bass makes when jinkyung is not around and he knows it’s his only chance to so much as chance a glance at her diamond. his fingers always stumble on the keys when taeil’s keyboard find their way through the experience.
but most of all, kc’s guitar is the hardest to handle. the weight, the material, the strings. they seem to want to cut through jc’s fingerprints. it’s why he’s never hesitant when he fails and they ask for the task. so here he is, dropping the pin in hayden’s palm and waiting, as usual.
“i think i see a flashlight. no, i definitely see a flashlight, they might be patrolling becaaause we’re noisy.” said as if they shouldn’t hurry, as if they wouldn’t be in trouble if they’re found here. “be fast, bond.”
