qui vivra verra.
/ --- @hgsheila | nice reminded him of racing pedal cars through the negresco’s old halls and subsequently getting scolded by scary foreign nannies. it was no surprise that he would usually stray to the cote d’azur’s more...lively spots. and yet there he was. chasing a bit of peace and quiet after a brief, but surprisingly eventful, weekend in monaco.
minjoon was having a horrible day. it had presented itself as the perfect holiday afternoon -- he’d been woken up sometime around eleven and the only thing on the itinerary was sailing down to st. tropez with a group of old oxford friends. but safe to say the yacht, someone’s dad’s dad’s vintage treasure, and the rough waters were not to his liking. and he’d sworn it wasn’t seasickness but he was getting off right then and there.
right then and there turned out to be nice. with only the clothes on his back minjoon headed into town. he barely noticed the beauty of the shores or the palm-lined streets. his belongings were miles away ( ok 20 minutes, but still ) and he was essentially homeless. how could he enjoy the day in such a state?
it took his assistant exactly an hour to find a suitable hotel and room and exactly ten minutes for minjoon to find his way there. by then he couldn’t be bothered to be angry nor uncomfortable. he was basically on autopilot. no i don’t have any bags, no i can find the room myself. one swipe of the key and he was inside the suite. a noise somewhere out of eyesight? must’ve been a maid. he was already turning the ac as low as it’d go and dreaming about his overdue breakfast. “ajumoni--” ah, in french, “call room service will you, anything will do. merci beaucoup marci bocup.” he turned to the balcony, enjoying the view without stepping outside the now ice-cold room.
