seven minutes
Baekseol, 2 years ago.
The party scene here is different than what he’s used to. For one thing, it’s cold as fuck — although that’s really more of a Baekseol-in-general thing, Selin concedes, flipping the hood of his jacket up not just to be antisocial or hide his bedhead, but because there’s actually snow melting on his hair. It’s been almost a week and a half since he moved from Sori, and he’s still not entirely used to the idea of wearing layers out of necessity rather than style.
The other thing he’s realized, as he stares up at the gated mansion at the top of the hill, is that in this city, apparently “house party” actually means “estate party.”
He checks his phone again. Sanghoon is nowhere in sight, and since Selin assumes he’d be fairly easy to spot with his bright pink hair, that means he’s either really late or already inside, and of course he wouldn’t think to text back either way. Selin sighs, breath thick in the frigid air, but he can’t really get upset — the guy is basically the people version of an Espurr. It’s honestly amazing he can keep track of how many fingers he has on each hand most of the time.
Still, Selin thinks as he stares after a pair of cute girls in thigh-highs holding hands (okay, maybe layers aren’t so necessary), he’s done waiting around. Pocketing his phone, he starts up the intimidatingly long driveway to join the crowd at the front door.
It doesn’t occur to him that a house party would actually have a guest list, but if it had, he probably should’ve known that Sanghoon would forget to get him on it.
