🍸 // your muse offering mine an alcoholic drink
it’s the same forks and knives scraping against expensive plates, pompous small talk over the elongated table permeating the fine-dining ambiance. it’s standard: mouth upturned into an agreeable, personable smile. polite nods and only skimming appropriate topics with appropriate responses.
( appropriate topics: the weather. inappropriate topics: the increasing gap between the 1% and working class, and what are you doing, mr. park, for the welfare of the less fortunate? )
song aegi gongju was the queen of it all, despite her namesake.
where ji yong sat with his posture hunched, twirling cutlery between his fingers, aegi sat with a poise so scathing, she put royalty to shame. her smile; charming with purpose, of course. for she only directed those captivating grins to her elders– anyone that mattered in that room. when her eyes turned to look at him all charisma dissipated seemingly into thin air as he dragged his fork against the fine china. he shoots her back a toothy grin and an almost-wink (almost. because at seventeen, kang ji yong is not as suave as he’d like to be. also because song aegi gongju scared him, if you want to know the truth). she doesn’t bat an eyelash; indifference. he’s used to it.
when dishes are now empty, scrapes louder against dishes, the company shifts around the kang penthouse. half of the usual suspects are missing, and he wonder if that’s the reason why he finds the empty seat beside him filled by the girl with the deceptively charming smile.
she places a cup of liquid amber in front on the table, nursing her own between her lips. for a moment, he looks around surreptitiously (he doesn’t know why he does it– the CEOs and business people are all properly pissed by now, laughter drifting through the penthouse along with coltrane jazz). he thinks that maybe, she’s tampered with the drink– poisoned it out of sheer boredom. but it seems he doesn’t care enough, taking the whiskey and throwing his head back to get a few big gulps to sear the inner lining of his throat.
“so, why did jaebum beat the shit out of you?”
the nonchalance is dripping from her lips into her drink, not looking at him as she spoke, arms folded delicately in front of her. he wants to ask her which time? a grimace spreading as he takes another swig of liquor and recounts all the adolescent fist fights and scratches. but he knows exactly what she’s talking about– the bruises took months to heal.
he wants to tell her it’s none of her fucking business, but he knows better (contrary to popular belief, kang ji yong does not speak his mind. he’s far more calculative than he likes to admit). he shrugs, finishing off the whiskey; no heeltaps. “didn’t you hear?” he starts, twirling the ice in the tumbler around and around. “i’m bat-shit” and he grins absentmindedly, looking up at aegi.“get over yourself, kang”
