★ㅤclub。

@ⓔ seungcheol c。 "Yeah?" Jiyeon moved the hair from her face to have a better eye on the guy in front, at first she got the idea that maybe the man could be hitting on her but then he suddenly brought up a wallet and she was taken aback. "what?" she raised her eyebrow, thinking the other was a weirdo or probably drunk already or just stupid thief. "why do you need to see my wallet?" the female asked as she stepped closer to the bar and leaned against the counter, eyeing the bottles and cocktails there were on the shelves while she waited for the young looking guy to answer her.

@jiyeon p。 Seungcheol was surprised upon seeing the female after she had bumped into it, not thinking of it until he began to process that this was his chance of switching wallets. "Hey uh-" he started to get her attention, reaching over to tap her shoulder before she could walk away. He didn't start his sentence yet, however, face going blank as if he forgot what he was going to say. "Can you check your wallet, please? I just want to make sure-" he muttered, not wanting to seem like a creep.

@ⓔ seungcheol c。 Jiyeon enjoyed her time, jumping and singing out loud along the songs that were played, being loud and having fun, surrounded by strangers that didn't even know her and that's good because if they were to get to know her not so likeable personality well she would end up dancing alone. Finally getting a little bit sweaty Jiyeon decided to have few drinks that was when she had to slide trough the crowd and reach the bar, it was hard since she was in the very centre of dancefloor and people were barely moving from their spots. Somehow the female pushed trough the crowd and bumped into the same guy as before "now it's my aplogies" she chuckled, she still remembered the face she bumped into yet she could confess if it were to happen next day she may have not remembered but now it was like twenty- thirty minutes ago.

@jiyeon p。 Seungcheol first made his way to the bar. It was better to have a couple of drinks first before he went dancing, mostly because he always thought about it less when he's at least a little bit buzzed. Sitting down on one of the tall stools, he nodded when the bartender asked for his ID. But as he pulled out the wallet out of his pocket and opened it, he was surprised to see that the ID didn't even belong to him. He froze, staring at it. "We must've grabbed each other's wallets..." he muttered, glancing out at the crowd of people. God, was there a lot of people there. Not only was it going to take forever for him to find the girl that it belonged to but it was going to be extremely awkward asking strangers. The black haired male sighed, fingers running through his hair. It was already seeming like his was going to be ruined after all.

@ⓔ seungcheol c。 Jiyeon moved back into the city few months ago and still haven't gone to any club which was quite surprising for her, she was the dance floor girl, she was the girl that would make the guys look at her way just by walking past them, giving a sneaky smile and few sways by those hips and yet she would always remain the one that you can see but can't touch. Unlike some people Jiyeon liked that so once she found enough free time she decided to visit a nearest club. Once she entered it she had to get her ID ready if she was going to buy drinks or if any security guards approach her and doubt her age, a strong hold on her waller wasn't as strong as she hoped as a man bumped into her and it dropped on the ground. "it's okay, I wasn't looking as well" the girl smiled and picked up a wallet, puting it straight into her pocket so the action doesn't repeat again, it was crowdy afterall.

@jiyeon p。 Seungcheol wasn't quite sure why he was here. Out of bored, he guessed, but it was a good way to let loose while he had the chance, at least until he had actual work to do. He brushed his hair with his hands, eyes scanning the area. While he was too busy focusing on something else, he bumped into someone, dropping his wallet in the process. "Ah sorry-" he apologized, not bothering to look at the person as he was more worried on finding his wallet. The coloured lights made it harder to see, so he quickly picked up the first black thing he had saw on the ground, not bothering to look inside of it. Tonight, he was going to have fun, dance a little, and maybe even get wasted. And he wasn't going to let anything ruin it.

@ⓒ alfred h。❝freddie O: i feel so adult! :D
*bounces with excitement as you find us seats*
CAN WE SIT HERE? :D
SINCE A WAITER HASN'T SEATED US YET I'M ASSUMING IT'S OPEN SEAT :D
*sits in one seat and then scoots into the one beside me to make room for you but then scoots again just because it's fun :' D*
THIS PLACE IS SO FUN!! :DD

@ⓣ eunwoo j。 /looks around all curious like with my hands over my ears as to drown out the incredibly loud music ringing in my head.
a very long line indeed- all these people look really old.
/laughs a bit, scurrying over to some seats and pulling some out for us with my foot.
look! seats! lots of them!

@ⓒ alfred h。❝freddie :D *finally enters the club after the infinitely long line*
wO AH THAT WAS SUCH A LONG LINE :D THIS RESTAURANT MUST BE GREAT! :DD
*the deafening music yells into my ears as the blinding strobe lights hit my eyes, i can barely make out what even i say and yell louder than my normal inside voice, which was already pretty loud*
DO WE SEAT OURSELVES? :D

@hyunwoo k。 [1/ᆯ]


“How are you feeling?”

Hands, etched with blue grey lines, prominent veins that bulge with every clench and release; a thousand times over until the crescent impression of nails is left in the foot of his palms. His breathing is subtle, his brows furrowed and his eyes looking anywhere but at the man seated in front of him. It was a conventional setting for a psychiatric evaluation he muses – though Doctor Howard would digress, as he’d done many times. He, this being Howard, found his patients to be more lax and open to vulnerability when in a familiar setting. Edward didn’t necessarily agree, but the privacy his home offered ensured that he did not have to worry about news of his bi-weekly visitations to (from) a therapist coming to light.

“I feel fine,” comes to the practiced response, and he is on his feet before he knew it. It takes every ounce of his being to not pace, to allow the unfurling itch of anxiety crawling beneath his skin like the graze of a blade free reign. “It’s been a busy week,” he continues, scarcely glancing in the general vicinity of the weathered, astute man. “Photoshoots, product endorsements …”

“When we’d last spoken last week, we were discussing your…” Howard pauses, perhaps for dramatics – this was something Edward had noticed early on, the theatrics and minutely wondered if all therapist wielded this attribute – or just to watch as Edward ambled into the kitchen. From his perch on the leather sectional, viridescent irises peer over circular spectacles at the lithe figure. “Drinking problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Edward countered readily, hand taut over the body of the empty glass, fingers suspended near the neck of the Jack Daniel’s bottle. There is a noticeable slouch to his shoulders, the weight of a battle long fought; he’d grown tired of the repetitive nature of these sessions, the unrelenting prying – which, admittedly, is the entire purpose of his seeking the assistance of a therapist in the first place; to root out the source of his problems, underlying anxiety and paranoia. “It’s not a problem,” he reiterates quietly, pouring himself a generous amount of the amber liquid. It perfumes the air around him, thick and heady, sharp and biting. He gingerly plucks the glass from the polished granite surface, all but downing it; he’d gone forgone savoring every drop.

“If not a problem, then what?”

“Drinking. Drinking is.” He struggles to find the words to describe his thoughts, provide validation and accommodation without the blatant undertone of melancholy. “Drinking turns down the volume,” he finally admits, svelte fingers dancing gracelessly over the rim of the glass. “Quiets the world down. Makes it more tolerable.”

“Why is the world unbearable?”

“It’s loud and judgmental, its cold and its cruel, its ugly and its unforgiving. It reminds you that you’re alone even when you have someone. Because that’s part of being human, right?” he says lowly, acidity entwined with every syllable. “Knowing that you’re alone. That you will always be alone. And it’s a ing tragedy, you know. I don’t remember it, when I woke up and realized this “– he gestures to the expansive room, to the awards aligned along the eastern wall and the mantel place void of photographs – “ is fleeting. Meaningless. One day it’ll all vanish and I’ll go with it and nobody will remember me or care for that matter.”

His diatribe concluded, he waits for the others commentary. He expects more probing, to be scrutinized down to the marrow. But it does not come. There is only silence. In a span of hearts neither speaks, and he becomes anxious and irate, restless and must move from his spot to keep himself from making another admission of weakness. He feels jittery and uncomfortable, discontent in the human suit he’d been stuffed into and unable to catch his breath. Suffocated. He considers ending the session here and now, sending Howard on his way and distracted himself from the stodgy thoughts that lumbers aimlessly through the corridors of his conscious.

Howard’s riposte is unwelcomed. “You’re lonely.”

@hyunwoo k。 [ᆯ/ᆯ]

[ intermission ]

Her lips are saturated with alcohol. Bourbon and whiskey, the saccharine aftertaste of a martini and flavored lip-gloss; mangos and peach. Her hands are clumsy from intoxication, draped over his hips and waist, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to the soft flesh of his stomach. His head is heavy with fog, vision blurred and hearing deafened by the loud, pulsating stream of music that vibrates his teeth. She turns, back to chest, hips swaying slowly, and he stares down at her; this nameless girl whose hair smelled of coconuts and skin was drenched with perspiration. And he is suddenly, inexplicitly, unwilling to be near her. He cannot stomach her sugary perfume or the multitude of bodies swarming him. He feels hot, sickly.

He leaves her in a sea of gyrating, scintillate bodies, brushing away insistent hands that try to draw him back into the mass of oscillate limbs and bare flesh. He manages to find his through the throng of lingering parties and into the bathroom. The dark neon lighting causes spots of white to flash before him, and he pitches forward.
The pints of liquor circulate through his system, unforgiving and he can taste rising bile in his throat; or perhaps he’d thrown up at some point and couldn’t recall where or when. Lurching toward the basin, he turns on the tap and splashes his face with cold water in hopes of sobering himself up.

It was futile of course. He’d been drinking since that afternoon; his liver was shot to hell and his body was breaking at the seams. Edward snorts, the sound catching the notice of a shaggy haired man who had been in engrossed in a conversation with a club-goer. A flicker of recognition enters his eyes. “Hey,” he says loudly over the music streaming into the industrial bathroom. “Hey. I know you.”

“No photographs,” Edward blurts out, the response ingrained into his brain and he tips it off with a low grin and near hysterical laugh. “Or autographs. Sorry.”

“No, man, I don’t want one of them,” assured the man, stepping away from the wall to saunter over. “I just wanted to say hi, yeah? Not every day I meet a celeb. ‘specially at a place like the Red Zone.”

“Oh, ‘kay. Sure. Hi.” Waving in the direction of the man dismissively, Edward stared at his reflection with crooked grin. Bloodshot eyes, lips drying and cracked, dark hair disheveled. He looks wrecked, unhinged and damn near tears if the telltale tingling in the corners of his eyes was any indication. He pushes himself away from the washing station with the intention to return to the main scene, grab another drink, another distraction with supple and full lips that’ll say all the right things. He doesn’t get very far. Maybe it was all the booze in him, maybe it was just plain, stupid desperation to forget the day he’s been having, but he finds himself stuffed into the last stall of the bathroom with the man who’s name he’d never gotten.

He’s talking to him in a hushed voice, trying to soothe his apprehension, making honey-sweet promises of a good time and placing tablets in his mouth. His breath is stale, stagnant with aged beer and cheap mints. His beard scratches roughly against Edward’s cheek and jaw as they kiss. Edward swallows the offered pills, not because he wants to but because they were there and he didn’t have the foresight to push the other man away. His eyes are heavy, vision darkening at the corners and his breathing is shallow but he feels /alive/.

“Good?’ asked the man in a gruff voice, panting lecherously against his neck.

“Good.”

But is it a stripper club

✔ — ᴏᴘᴇɴ。