insu liked to avoid a lot of things in his life in many ways. music was one of them. beat street wasn't that busy on days they tended to stock, he noticed, which was why he always made sure to religiously stop by when he could. he was flicking through different sleeves of their records with sort of a pretentious ease, a smile gracing his lips as he found the one he was finally looking for. "got'cha," he murmurs, pulling it out and taking a step back. "look at you pretty baby. you're comin' home with m-"
his elbow collides with something, or someone, he guesses, as the warmth of their body brushes against his skin. this would be considered one of those cliches, he figures, as he turns to give a half-assed apology. instead he pauses, and then lets his brain boot up again like a '90's processor, and then it registers just who he bumped into and images of that night flashes before his eyes before he can stop it. ah. fuck.
he knows he must look foolish just standing there with a deer caught in headlights look. he's all but clutching the vinyl's packaging in his grasp as if it will grow legs and flee away from the painfully awkward atmosphere; because insu is on the right side of stupid to just stare at her for a few long, painful moments as if she is some sort of mirage. he goes to speak but for a moment nothing comes out, painfully awkward in a way he typically isn't. sometimes he wonders how he has made it this far in life. speaking. right.
"jesus fuck—h-hey!" smooth, insu. so smooth. "shit, my bad. didn't see you th—anyway, uh, june, right?" he would feel bad about how unsure he sounded later in the privacy in his apartment, where he could possibly sit in the corner and berate himself. "didn't really take this kind of place to be your vibe. what's, uh... what's up? i mean, find anything good?" maybe if he times this right, he can throw the record far away as a distraction and high-tail it out of the shop. instead, he waits.
♦︎ ♦︎ ♦︎ ⸻ 𝒏𝒐𝒘 , 𝒊 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒘𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅. ↪ @jcne
