#mxkimjaewook

[mxwoohyun-blog]

“are you drunk?”

“no,” he slurried unconvincingly, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. “‘m not, you are!” woohyun unsteadily leaned against the counter of the bar, hand gripping his half empty glass. he squinted at the male in front of him, trying to focus his eyes. for some reason the world was spinning and that didn’t seem normal in his opinion but he’d rather pass out than admit that he was drunk after only a couple glasses.

a lone tear slipped down his cheek without permission as he pouted at the male. “why are you always accusing me of things?” he questioned the male innocently, words slurred here and there. 

woohyun usually wasn’t a depressing or messy drunk, although he did have his moments. tonight, in fact, was one of those moments as he tightened his grip on his glass, tempted to one shot the rest. however somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that’d be a terrible decision and a part of him stopped himself before he proceeded to do something he’d definitely regret the next day.

not that he wasn’t already regretting his decisions right now, in the back of his mind. this was definitely not the best way to meet someone for the first time. but what could woohyun do about it.. after all, he was drunk - not that he’d admit that fact nor did he have to.

[ex-mxdaisuke-blog]

out of the furnace;

“You look out of place. Take it.”

With those two words, he is thrusted backwards sixty minutes. Mind swimming over how he had first been in his apartment. Surrounded by nothing but his notes and books. Eyes scanning a computer screen and trailing dead-end tips. Safe haven unlike these raw surroundings. A place that had been only a rumor over the phone. One he considered never following what with the risk attached to it—you can’t get in unless you know someone. Now it was solidifying as a warehouse in the Haeundae district he snuck into. This is not a mistake. He tries to convince himself. Even with a drug offered to him within 15 minutes of entering the rave, his friend’s advice is like a ghostly mantra.

Don’t stand out. They don’t like outsiders in that place. They’ll drag you into nasty shit, man.

He blinks. Glances over what look’s like a strip of multicolored paper in a girl’s hand. ‘No’ may be on his face, but twitchy hands speak volumes louder than trance music. The weakness of his is obsession to discover answers, and that is obsession driving him to reach for it. Her teeth flash, strobe lights dancing over long incisors before the LSD slip is on her tongue and she grins. The Cheshire cat with a toy in its mouth. Then lips meet his. Nails drag down cheeks and a tongue is in his mouth before he shoves her back, “—what the hell are you doing,” breathlessly tearing from lungs.

Pitched cackling blends with music and he coughs, one fist dragging over his lips. Her glittery black slip disappears and a foreign swarm of sweaty faces takes her place.

Twenty minutes in and his one anonymous lead already drugged him and ran. Great journalist skills, Daisuke.

Of course he finds the nearest wall, leaning into it and going rigid when someone’s hand grips his shoulder and claims—you don’t look familiar. Name? He automatically thinks they must be security of some sort, if the marks on everyone’s wrist were the equivalent to a pass. He shrugs off the hold and straightens a collar.

“Don’t make a me blush. You harass everyone this way, or am I just special? I’m with them.”

He figures it’s better than saying ‘that random guy’. Them being a lone figure just a foot away. One who fits the scene too well, and a stranger Daisuke hopes will support his cover even if their reputation doesn’t.

[lxjm]

nightingale | kjw & ljm

( @mxkimjaewook​ )

There’s a thrill performing during the night, something that not even Jeongmin can understand. It’s become a part of him, he can’t live without it. Maybe it’s the notion of encountering new people—observing the changing emotions within the audience’s faces and ignoring the potential danger that surrounds them. Or maybe, it’s something else completely different. He isn’t completely sure, but he can’t seem to part with it.

“I’m a living flower, I can breathe I’m not lonely.”

As much as he wants to interact with those that stop to listen, it isn’t up to him. It doesn’t matter if they stay behind—it doesn’t matter if they walk past him, it doesn’t. It’s enough for him to look up and see faces of those who do stop. To see the emotions that flash by, to know that they’ve heard. And then it’s over, the song, the people who pass by—it’s finished for the night and he’s left with few hours left to sleep with. Hours that he can’t seem to sleep with anyways.

“I’m a living flower”

There’s barely anyone by the end of the song, it’s usually like that, and rarely does anyone stay back. But tonight seems different; standing in front of him is a lone figure. A strange aura surrounds the man and his curiosity piques. Most of the time it was girls who stayed behind, never is it a man. “Hey!” He waves a hand at the man. “I usually don’t get people staying behind,” a grin forms and he leans onto his guitar. “So, are you a fan or something?”