✈　❛ nightclub

@❛ youngho seo。 despite the harmless jokes that riddled from his tongue, changmin was anything but pieced together. his gaze hollows, thankful for the lack of lighting in the alleyway that prevents the private investigator from registering the heartbreak visible across his countenance. however, his voice betrays him as his debonair voice carries brief discrepancies in pitch. "youngho," he begins, lifting his hand thoroughly soaked by the rain to brush his fist against his eyes. "are you... the e reported in this area?" he asks, making a desperate attempt to conceal his wavering voice behind a forced cough.

the officer extends a hand forward as the other was occupied with the brim of his hat, hanging in front of his mien to obscure any viable angle youngho had to catching a glimpse of emotion flickering across changmin's face. "i won't arrest you. just--how about we get inside? maybe my car?" he adds, dismissive towards youngho's seemingly brash outburst.

@❛ changmin shim。 kneeling in front of complete stranger with the rain pouring down heavy, being drenched in all things horribly wrong. not the proudest moment for a man who usually stood high and mighty with self confidence. so when he is caught red–handed, and a little red–mouthed, by someone whose respect he desperately yearns for there is simply no helping those feelings of defeat. from the very moment he hears changmin’s voice boom with stark authority and the lights blinding glazed hazelnut eyes there are aches at the pit of his stomach, piercing daggers of shame deep within. before he can even be ushered up to stand by the officer, the stranger is already dashing off in escape and struggling to keep his pants up.

“you still owe me, er!” the words reverberate into the midnight air, echoing off each and every raindrop that pummels hard onto the concrete just beneath their feet. in an inebriated rage does youngho spin around and collect an empty soju bottle that had been left behind, far too set aflame with the hateful passions of a vengeance to pay any mind to the officer’s concern. as the nameless swain ran off down the back alley and into the shadows, youngho reeled back his arm and with as much might as humanly possible sent the soju bottle flying like a football across a field. his target is barely missed by the heels and the bottle shatters into pieces. “! why’d you have to do that?” aggressions now turn on the man who so happened to waltz into the equation, shoving the other a few steps back as his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. he felt ashamed, embarrassed, crushed by the fact that he’d fallen so far off the deep end. and there changmin was playing witness to it all.

@❛ youngho seo。 the officer lifts his head from his cruiser window, having fallen asleep for an enumerate period of time. he smacks his lips a few times upon being woken by his next assignment on patrol. "another damn e..." officer shim admits in demur, flicking on his lights and sirens in an attempt to draw the sleepy outskirts of his patrol area out of slumber alongside him. the alternating shades of vibrant blue and red flash across his dashboard, the screen having yet to illuminate itself with a response from youngho. the officer's gaze hardens as the sleep ebs away from his eyes as worries about the private eye's wellbeing echo around his mind.

by the time officer shim arrived at the nightclub, rain was beginning to fall and collect on the bustling nighttime streets. due to the constricted parking, he was forced to park a few blocks away, then make his best efforts at running in the rain. "the report said behind the nightclub, huh?" he muses as he approaches the suspected area with a flashlight to lighten only a few inches ahead of him due to the rain. hardly able to see in the unlit back alley, changmin approaches until he makes out two figures in position. "police!" he shouts over the growing intensity of the rain, yet his flashlight haplessly illuminates youngho's mien, lips currently occupied with another nameless man's length.

the flashlight remains unmoving as the officer mangles with the inital shock. "a-are you... alright? god, i swear, i'll kill that guy--" he growls, stooping to youngho's level as he ushers him to stand properly. "come on, youngho--i can't believe you'd s as small as that."

regressing, that's the direction that chanyeol has chosen to take. there's no other way. it's the environment in which he thrives best, the place in which he can do the least amount of harm to anyone. at least, to anyone who doesn't deserve it. because the only one who does truly deserve it, is him, and no one else but him. there is no one to blame but himself. everything, it's always his fault and he's sick of all the casualties that continue to fall around him- their suffering and pain evident in their eyes, purely because he's the culprit of such emotional affliction. he's done so well until now to hide the hideous truth that lies dormant, but now its presence is much more cognizant, rearing its grotesque nature, preying at every given moment of the slightest vulnerability. he can't keep up- he can't stop it, her cold, deceased hands at his neck, her eyes- her face- all the traits they share, haunting him.

distractions, distractions- chanyeol desperately seeks one, he needs them. one that's just as relentless as he is, without a soul, purely guided by all things gratifying- euphoria. a hedonist at best, that's what he needs. it's the fix to the mangled, mauled person he exists to be. the perfect fix, the perfect world- the utopia to dystopian ethics and practices that have taken place. heavily drunken, chanyeol sways towards the dance floor, searching for someone to take the pain that resides, away, from him.

@❛ jia meng。 A simple tilt of the head, his coal irises full of humorous taunt, a wry one-sided tug of his lips is offered to his companion. There’s always a rush when trying to uncover the secrets behind an individual, picking apart one’s mind, and pouring over one’s word choice: there’s a thrill to be found in it. But whatever the other had on the assumption thing, he doesn’t comment on it further. He never liked being analyzed on anyway, and his words might give him away far more than he’d admit. Taekwoon shakes his head. “What, this? I like these places when things get too... monotonous. Call it a habit so I don’t die in this eternal prison I’ve been thrown in,” he motions a finger gun to his temple, those were the next words in an interval of seconds directed towards the latter, faintly dripping in malevolence when tumbling off his tongue, those which are guilty of viciously gnawing at the back of of his throat in search of mitigation. His figure reclines casually against the seat with his bored gaze unwavering. “You did get me curious though. Why the sudden interest? Doesn’t seem to me like you’re one to talk to strangers after all. Is this your stereotypical nice nature acting up or something?”

@❛ jia meng。 Acerbity befalls his expression in response to her proclamations. His mouth, already interlaced with fragments from a deeper bowel of hell, ticks visibly, but when the question is posed, he’s only replying in a stagnant, somber voice. “Because... they’re unreliable. Like emotions, they too, are ephemeral. Step on it and they break under the soles of your shoes. They are... more often than not, wrong on many occasions.” He pauses for God knows how long, but he is certain that it is long enough so the beast clawing at his throat may cease its restless attempt to escape—enough so deep breath may be exhaled through parted lips.

His gaze remained on the latter, silent and attentive on the eyes as the seducing lights of the above lamp kisses her porcelain features in too vibrant colors of daring gold. He must be dreaming. That pink lips she has no idea is silk and in the back of his head his collar feels too tight; because she's strikingly beautiful, her body perfectly proportioned in forbidden ways it seemed, and for a good second he imagines what her skin would taste like underneath his tongue. Now he understands where this impulse comes from, no—not from the abused high of Asenapine—because its weight ripples underneath, anchoring him on the ankles with another brand of gravity. It's become a tick in his otherwise organized infiltration of psyche that was more or less, tangled into the foundation of roughed down morals. “You could do that.. if you find it awfully enjoyable looking for a thrill that seems all too fleeting in this mundane world.” For a moment, he lets his own words sink in, still in the stillness, until eventually he closes the distance to lean onto her ear. “Just don’t make it a bad habit.”

@❛ jia meng。 The nicotine stains the interior of his lungs, curling and unfurling the tension in his shoulders that is as thick as regurgitating fumes, watching the world continue in its lethargy, he halts to intake a singular breath. Gradually, his mind stirred, focused; as coal-made orbs narrowed at his companion, she sounds kind, but the clench of his jaw is evidence of the effect of her character, presented in a manner that bordered dangerously upon irksome: it was like trying to recall some rare happiness in the shifting darkness. For all he knows, the universe may have brought them together just to shove it’s paradoxes in their faces, and the best response could manage is a gaze tinged with curiosity but rife with something playful. And perhaps a grimace trying to pass for a smile, in the way the corners of his lips curled up, an eyebrow arched. “Ah... I see... but what exactly leaves you under the impression that I needed to warm up?” comes his voice eventually after finding some semblance of coherence in his storming thoughts.

“You know... assumption is a dangerous mine field.”

[Damn, you’re too kind. Thank you]

@❛ jia meng。 Under the garish lights, the night drenches the primordial purposes with a savor for the delirious, and Taekwoon had been won’t to think. However, the persistent ringing in his ears rises to a rumble, and he can feel it all the way to the tips of his fingers. Even in the peak of the moment his thoughts is still muddied by the lathering, triggering traumas that collide against the forefront of his mind: creating a series of cacophonies.

He’s mad. For what, he doesn’t know exactly. For starters, he is a museum housing too many exhibits. Exhibit one: the collateral height of death doesn’t have any ramifications registered in his conscience. For ’s sake, there’s no shock there. Exhibit two: this is a lesson in gasps; keep the gun aimed to the temple (read: recent) just a while ago you were wiping the grime off your knuckles on your jeans—evidence—when you paint your bones like death, tear the world apart with your jaw and spell sorry with your blood like you mean it when no one is around. Have an instance in the dashboard lights, a chant as rancorous as ritualistic drowning, soul caught in the headlights... exhibit two is the worst, its voice filling his ears with abstract noises. Sometimes white.

And so that’s how he finds himself on a bench outside with the caress of the cool breeze under the moonlight. He sits there like a stillwater lake—alcohol runs underneath his skin—reflecting the bloodlessness of dry throats and empty eye-sockets, finding himself very much accompanied by a girl garbed in eccentricity. He looks at the stranger once, then busies himself with lighting the rolled up thrills that came from his chest pocket. There’s a tut on his tongue pulling at his jaw when he spoke, eyes still stationed upon the winding street in front of them. “It’s ing freezing.” He stops to wedge the bent ‘cigarette’ between his lips, breathing out the fumes after drawling the seconds. “You should dress warmly,”