⚘ ㅤrooftop。

@♡ yoongi m。 There’s never been a want, never been that itching need coupling with lost dignity, lust for the moment, desire for anything other than the crippling addiction to feeling a soul dying in his hold. Never for anything living, breathing, moving. The want always came with the after: afterlife, after corruption. It’s why he thinks this place is a joke, making contracts, promises for care, for sips and partnerships. It’s why his gaze never falls on anyone more than once, why his time is spent lazing against the railing of the rooftop ring, gazing out into the garden’s maze, listening to the distant laughter of ‘babies’ and ‘daddies’. He’s so lost in himself that he doesn’t even register there’s someone else there — not that the person takes to greet him, acknowledge him— and when he turns, all air seemingly leaves him. Never has he felt want for anything living, other than now. In his wildest dreams, he can never pluck such a creation from his imagination and being them to fruition. Jongin feels as though his knees are going to give, stricken with an overwhelming urge to sit, to talk, to be *gentle*. His gaze hones in on the thread, snapped without second thought, and he feels a kindred spirit with it: wrapped around such a pretty little finger, able to be snapped with any given moment. It doesn’t stop him, though. Doesn’t bring him to hault as these very human emotions well in his throat, asphyxiation drowning in the cusp of this stranger’s hold. Jongin steps forward, actually stumbles, in hind sight, and comes to rest on the couch before him. He’s even more ethereal in full view. His nose is small, and his pout is natural, boredom oozing from every motion. Jongin must look stupid gawking like this, but even he is not natural with these feelings. A gaze once so cold, warming like the embers stoked in a fire, held captive by this very insignificant — but the actual opposite — of a man before him. “You look troubled,” And he’s actually concerned, because he doesn’t like the sour face on him, doesn’t like the idea of him in such a state. All Jongin knows, though, are demands. He demands his attention, his hand, he’s going to demand his soul. If only he knew that this would be a challenge in itself: the learning curve is set, and it’s set to Min Yoongi.

@♥ jongin k。 The clink of ice was a soft disturbance of the serene air, quietly melting into the noises of rustling winds and tittering birds, the noises of the city below filtering up sluggishly into a solid sound of life. The glare of the sun glints off his silver rings as he lazily trailed his fingers through the air above him, tracing patterns only he could see. Sweetness of his drink still clings to his lips, the second of two drinks he had swiped from the parlor before making his way up to the rooftop here. The only place he could be alone without the chatter of others surrounding him. It was probably counterproductive considering what he was here for, here to search for a companion. If he was to have any hope of that, he should probably be advertising himself like many of the others he had passed on his way in. But Yoongi had quickly grown bored of being around the crowds of people, steadfastly ignoring or straight out muttering curses at those unlucky enough to approach the man. He understood why they would, considering his slight stature and clothing. But the impassive look on his face wasn't very inviting. Once again he wondered why he was come here. His fingers absently traced through the holes in the fishnets flat over his stomach, catching on a stray thread that he ended up twining around his finger. He was bored. He was exceedingly bored in general, the world's colors dimming as his high wore off. And what had seemed like a great plan when he was stumbling out of a club off his , was now looking like a giant waste of time. After too many years of it, Yoongi wasn't looking to be some 's pretty little pet. And his acerbic tongue warded off any intruders of his space. It wasn't like any of these people were looking for someone like him anyways. He dimly wondered how long he'd be able to stay here before they kicked him out for not himself out to a chosen suitor. He'd still be broke, but he could probably get a night or two of comfortable resting before leaving, he decided. What a joke his life had become, he chuckled bitterly to himself, snapping the twine around his finger and letting it drop to the floor. Though if he was being fair, it'd been heading in that direction before he even left his home. A mess of insipid and jejune puzzle pieces that never fit into the picture of happiness. Instead, this picture; boredom, stretched languidly and regally across a chair. Boredom, who was his only companion tonight.

♡ yukhei w。 6 minutes ago Reply
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