#namil-sgn

[sgnkai]

(txt: namil hyung)

KAISER: it nekkid tho

NAMIL: how many times we have to go through this?? all animals are essentially naked, tut is no different

KAISER: hhHHHhhmmmMMMmm 🤨🧐

NAMIL: tut likes you, you know? you just make her feel all weird because you keep saying she's naked

KAISER: but she's like EXTRA naked, look at her. as naked as naked can be, she's making mE FEEL WEIRD

[sgnkai]

💤 💖 🤡

💤 A HALF ASLEEP TEXT

(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: YOUR CAT IS NAKED(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: omg sorry hyung(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: my fingers text by themselves sometimes after 2am(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: ok im going back to sleep now night hyung

💖 A LOVING TEXT

(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: HYUNG(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: THANK YOU FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME AND BEING THERE FOR ME I DONT TELL U ENOUGH THAT YOU ARE THE BEST DAD I NEVER GOT EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE THat CREEPY NAKED CAT THAT LOOKS BUTT ASS NEKKID ALL THE TIME ugH THANK YOU LLLLOOOOV... nope i cant do it i cant type it out my finGERS WONT LET ME

🤡 A GOOFY TEXT

(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: puT SOME CLOTHES ON YOUR NEKKID CAT(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: SHE MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: you should make her a stripper cat(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: open up a stripper cat bar(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: you can be a pimp(TXT: NAKED CAT OWNER) KAISER: with ur nekkid cat as ur only dancer

[sgnwooseok]

･ﾟ  wrong order

---------- espresso depresso

     getting coffee before class every morning was a routine that wooseok had inexplicably fallen into when he found himself staying up late every night to redo his notes that he had taken that day, and reading ahead. it didn’t help that he was a bit of nerd, and always got far too into whatever he was studying that sometimes he would go too deep in his research an end up on a topic that wasn’t what he was supposed to be studying. but coffee helps. even if it’s probably a bit addicted to it at this point, if the headaches that came when he didn’t drink coffee were anything to go off of. 

     but it’s too late now. and he would rather spend an extra few dollars everyday then have to suffer through a few days of headaches to forcibly get himself out of the habit. 

     when he’s in the coffee shop that morning and waiting for his drink, he sees @namil-sgn take the drink that’s he’s sure is actually his. because who else here would drink a triple espresso shot cafe latte? (in his defence, it’s the only thing that keeps him awake through his 9am classes.) “uh, sorry—that’s mine. yours is usually the coffee, right? i definitely watched the barista pour three shots of espresso into this cup and i don’t particularly wish an early death on you.”

[sgnkai]

@namil-sgn​ / dad, help

beads of sweat, sliding down the sides of his temples, light sanguine pigments, embracing the briny substance before being wiped off by careless hands. his knuckles, sore. but his pride, inflated. he wins, he always does. his breath is short, though his only injury is a cut inches above his right brow, caused by a key that swung and scraped the surface of his skin. lucky it wasn’t his nose, or anything important. 

he moves swiftly, as if uninjured, he’s only tired, not beaten. his body feels a little sore, but it’s nothing a little nap won’t fix. and he finds himself in front of namil’s abode, his own deeming it too far of a walk from campus. he gives the other’s door a good knock, “open the door.” an unreasonable demand for someone who was seeking a place to quickly rest, and perhaps to recount of today’s winnings. he was oddly proud, especially having broken his newly acquired record. he had punched, not one, not two, not three, or four but five people today within the span of fifteen minutes. adrenaline still coursing through viridescent veins, “hyung, open.” he says again, this time more adamant than the last.

he cups his right hand over his left, putting pressure against his knuckles, he learnt boxing for years and yet, he still hasn’t learn to box with moderation. his father’s encouraged him to do taekwondo instead, it was more artistic, something kaiser never appreciated. to him, fighting was not an art, it was a sport. a form of self defence, a form of offence, a form of releasing his anger. therapy did nothing for him, but fighting did. at least that’s what he told himself. the door finally opens, he impatiently makes himself feel at home, he’s been here countless times before, “hyung, can i grab a bandaid?” he nonchalantly asks, as he roams around in search of water.