@eterneli; "I prefer the latter, in case you were wondering."
baekyun will never, ever change, will he? not for himself, not for a belief, not even for fate, katsu guesses. he is not surpised. a decade must’ve felt ridiculous on his snarky friend, even if it felt like an entire stretch of white on white to katsu. just a long, long winding stream of never-ending days hastily sewn together into a franken-esque timeline.
the cold has never been an element that exists to katsu, either, even if he pretends that it does; that he often plays at curling in on himself a fraction for the show, muscle tension accruing in increments anywhere between his back and his legs; that for a veneer of something-human, some-thing logical, katsu would pretend to play at most things with unerring precision, if the risk did not outweigh the desired returns. so katsu bows his spine just a smidge when the wind takes a crack at them, and throws a not-so-heated glower at that motherfucker with the stupid square mouth.
the taunts slides off of his skin like melting snowflakes—here for a split second, inexistent in the next. katsu presses the lukewarm bottle that’s sweating the very last bits of its condensation against the heat of his forehead, and lets the drops sliver down the arch of his brow, down the length of the cartilage of his nose; smiling, bitingly, at the sheer adamancy of the boy that refuses to let up the fiasco, right when he breaches the silence for the second time, a third time.
it is supremely funny to him how friendship fits like a glove between them. it’s perhaps the one indisputable fact that’s made him come back, over and over, with increasingly more idiotic insults to throw at him just to see which one of them would stick; that they somehow forget to be strangers despite the chasm of time and distance. how all of that and them defies a lot of established science. but…that’s not a very important aspect to have, really.
perhaps it’s the centuries of lives that baekhyun has had to live; that from each and every one of those lives the ageless boy has gleaned a sliver of something that coaxes familiarity, a thing that tells the other standing—or sitting, in this case—that they’ve already seen this before.
it fits right like the almost-empty bottle in katsu’s hand, so pleasantly rigged with so much drug that the taste had turned tacky— not that it would have stopped him from downing it regardless. the experience of drinking it was just worsened, is all, but the effects of the drug gradually kicking in would make rights out of that in about three minutes flat.
“i’d take you up on the offer but i don’t like taking shit from people that stand about one foot tall.” the bottle stays where it is against his forehead, though at feeling that fool’s sight set on him, katsu turns ever so slightly to meet it straight on. the fucker smirks. katsu mirrors it right back to him. “if i drink your blood, you’re going to curse me into being short. i’d rather eat shit, or might as well eat a grenade. and for the time i’ll be without a form, i’ll be at your ear, being the world’s most annoying fly that you can’t kill until you give me three bottles more of whatever this shit is.”
