⌞b r c r c y⌝
@nxinha
there is a satisfying sort of vindication evident in the full weight of festival tickets burning a hole through his joggers - a harmless thing, trivial but still somehow significant in its own right. significant, really, in all rights. it settles comfortably in the hollow of his rib cage, muted but thudding in a systematic rhythm as he muses excitedly about the bunny-eared thing he knows definitively to be hanging softly against the ring toss booths. the soft plush. chubby in a way that is distinctly cute. it’d have been simple. so simple. three quick tosses in succession and the strange little rabbit-eared plush would have been his. if only he’d had the tickets to play.
the lithe lines of his fingers twitch as if in anticipation, and mingyu wonders vaguely if he should be embarrassed of his own enthusiasm. (he isn’t.) especially not when he catches sight of the hanging ball of fluff from mere metres off. his lips twitch at the corners in a way he’s grown to find involuntary, the telltale beginnings of genuine excitement bubbling through his veins, firing at his synapses in quick succession. he can see it now, fat rabbit, the reigning overlord of the (worryingly expanding) plush pile making a home for itself on the free bed in his dorm.
until he can’t.
mingyu is at the booth before the plush can settle comfortably in someone else’s arms, but the trajectory is too late to counter. and the sleek shine of the back of loosely flowing and fiery red mocks him, familiar in a way that makes his nose wrinkle slightly in petulance. (it’s not a pout, damnit.) and the irony of substantial familiarity is not lost to him.
“hwang inha. why do you have my fat rabbit?”