100stroke

[100stroke]

"i kind of hate getting stood up."

it's a quiet comment, made in passing, and spoken so lightly that not even a bug on the wall could really hear him, almost ashamed to admit it.

minjae plays with the fabric of his jeans, fingers pulling at the neat hem until a string raises in the air, just slightly. his mouth opens, lips parting for a moment with the intent behind it being asking 'are you ever really busy?' — only as a matter of teasing, really, without a hint of venom, though an onlooker might have thought otherwise— albeit nothing really comes out except an exhale, knowing that he's currently at the mercy of shiyu's willingness to entertain him; and by extension, at the mercy of his own ability of entertaining her in return.

"it's better than what we have back at nuri. or, err. what we don't have. thing's fallen off, like a month ago, and no one really put it back up. but i also think that some papers were at least half a decade old. i don't think i've ever seen anyone use it." including minjae himself, including him both in the lineup of people who never bothered picking up a screw and a screwdriver, or people who actually used it for its intended purposes. "yours is, like, avant-garde, or something like that. it's giving journaling-core that is all over my fyp. don't ask."

he stares at shiyu, then her hand, the type of empty gaze in his eyes that shows he's trying to process what she even said in the first place; then a look that shoots her the unspoken i just sat down before he finally succumbs to the tempting wiggle of her fingers and ends up standing up and stretching. "it's gonna be much less suspicious if i'm walking around with you," he declares, the usual cardboxes or bags now missing as a point of defense as to why he's moving about the hallways. the implications, however, pass right above his head without him even noticing. "though i doubt she's there."

"Don't worry, then." Shiyu suggests with an expected lack of delicacy, shrugs off the concern as premature. Thirty minutes is nothing at a scale of sufficient size— she's thinking big picture, whatever suits the narrative at any given moment. "I'm sure you just got stood up— it happens."

This likely won't make Minjae feel better, but that wasn't the intent either. She skirts around the back of the couch, leans on her hip to perch on the armrest. Affable as ever despite the looming posture.

"I'll stick around, if you're staying. I'm not busy." She could be, but that doesn't really bear mentioning. Pages worth of sewing patterns strewn about the coffee table back in her room, folders cracked open and left exposed. Nothing she particularly wants to think about now, nowhere to want back to. "There's just—"

She gestures a wave of her towards the corkboard, dismissive. Papers pinned on top of each other, grocery lists and grievances. It's all a little Lutheran for her tastes, surely violates the communal sanctity of the building to lay it all out in the open. Some people are just temperamentally unfit for cohabitation.

"I don't know how anyone's supposed to keep up with that. I've been good though," All unbound confidence, just the slightest wry twist of her smile to suggest some awareness of the irony in this statement. And yet. "Not leaving my study dates stranded among the lost and found out in the commons, for example. You'd think people would pick up after themselves." Uncharitably imagining him sorted with the litter and abandoned chargers, though he's done very little to earn it from her. Whatever he might have done to warrant being taken out of circulation with Seolran is another matter. Not to say she isn't keen on finding out.

"Sure you don't want to go knock on her door?" She offers her own open palm in the space between them, wiggles her fingers most invitingly. "If she really isn't dead, maybe we can talk her back into whatever you were looking forward to."

[100stroke]

"i mean —" he cuts himself off, the weight of the realization settling in; it's a wild assumption thrown into the current, only to circle back and sink its teeth into him in the shape of the expression blooming across her face. mentally, minjae curses himself, then curses the reckless mouth of his that always outruns his better judgement. the smile stays stretched across his lips, stubborn and almost desperate, like it might somehow soften the blow of that brief awkwardness.

though, that smile eagerly turns into a sheepish laugh, gaze following the imaginary trail of her finger's movement, squinting when the sunlight peeks through thick leaves. it's really high up there, he notes to himself, stealing a quick glance at her arms. "how'd that happen anyway?"

although he doesn't really wait for an explanation, the duffel bag already sliding off his shoulder with a thud! —"it's just clothes, don't worry!" provided as an explanation, almost dismissive of her unvoiced, albeit possible concern as well as the content inside. "if your climbing is as good as your puns, you're never getting your ball back. so let me—"

a pause. he swallows, pats the tree trunk his hand is pressed against. "which isn't to say i think you're, like, incapable or weak or anything of that sort. i think you could climb just as well, too. we're totally equal. it's just that i'm —" then, he waves his free hand around, as if he's measuring her height, then bringing it down to the approximate height of imogen. chews on the inside on his cheek a little, even, "— my limbs are longer."

"... a kitten? what?" she looks at him in utter perplexity, like what he's just suggested is a total impossibility. she mirrors his stance, hands planted on her hips as she looks up at him. man, tall dude was an apt nickname, wasn't it? what were his parents feeding him as a kid? she shakes her head, clearing her mind of visions of broccoli and celery that her parents had always insisted would make her taller (spoiler alert: did not work!). "are you the type of guy that has one of those kitschy posters that says 'hang in there!' and has a picture of a kitten hanging from a branch?" she mulls it over for a moment, even goes so far as stroking her chin for extra effect. "i can see it. wouldn't have expected it, but i can still see it."

gaze turns back to the tree, pointing up at some of the higher branches and the ball wedged juuuust right between them. "unfortunately, we're not recreating your poster today. i got my ball stuck up there. my lucky ball. this is, like, totally catastrophic." she pauses, smile creeping onto her features at the unintended pun. "catastrophic. cat. kitten— you get it." she flicks her wrist in dismissal.

"please say you'll help me." she looks to him with pleading eyes. "i just need a boost... and a cushion to fall on if i slip. you're so swole though, you won't even feel a thing if i do!" suuuuper convincing, she knows.

[100stroke]

Song : Sexy Love

Artist : T-ara

Album : Mirage

[100stroke]

@​m_nj__00 just posted.

[100stroke]

it's not that he's afraid of shiyu — or women — in particular, but more along the line that his nervous system is not used to anything other than the eternal chaos that brews within the walls of nuri hall, be it the middle of the day with sun blazing through the windows, or two a.m. in what should be the dead of the night. the quiet is more unnerving than calm, having him thread the line with nervousness rather than tranquility, and his response is only natural. still, minjae's shoulders relax, and the sigh that passes between his lips is one of pure relief, though there is a grimace that follows thereafter, purely fueled by the mild attack that is shiyu's comment.

his step is slow, eyes fixed on the board, even as he finds a seat of his own, noting that the couch is much nicer than what they have. when he finally looks at her, he gives her a sort of twitching smile that betrays his inner workings; cogs of his inner thought, whether to lie or be honest, spinning fast in the moment. not like she won't read through him, anyway.

"i was meant to meet up with seolran," he decides on telling the truth, gaze falling down to the smartwatch on his wrist. tongue clicks against his cheek, and minjae sighs again. "about... thirty minutes ago. i hope she's okay. she doesn't really tend to go awol like that, but i'm trying not to worry." and that is about it for him coming across as a wet puppy hiding away from the rain, because when he finally meets her eyes, the glimmer that is in his gaze matches hers.

"i'm kind of bored now, though. is there anything fun to do around here, or is the content of —" he points, "—the epitome of entertainment?"

From anyone else, the fists drawn might have thrown her off her game. It just happens that this specific pair, though usually gloved and padded, has been hoisted against her in more neutral settings in the recent past, the Geum gym whenever she can be bothered to show up on Thursday evenings. The shock value has been utterly diminished. Shiyu just grins.

"I do like it." She admits, without so much as cursory resistance to the accusation— like there'd be any point denying it. "If you could see your face just now, you'd get it."

Wide eyed in a way she rarely gets to see him, all the stock of him rigid. Perhaps it's some holdover from having fewer kids her own age about in the time when teasing was a little more socially acceptable, but that's not a line of thought she intends to follow any further. Shiyu slides into the seat beside him, familiar to a fault.

"So, what are you doing?" It occurs to her to ask, mirroring his crossed arm posture, eyes narrowed in a performative squint. As if she'd mind. "Came over on your own?"

She's not doing anything better, really. Haunting the place with some idea to impose herself where the opportunity might arise, limbs all itching from a day spent mostly indoors catching up on sewing work, nobody responding to her texts in an acceptable time frame. Thank providence for Jang Minjae, a sitting duck square in her scope.

[100stroke]

contrary to popular belief — instituted by none other than himself — jang minjae is human; feeling what others feel and experiencing all the same hardships like anyone else on the campus grounds walking to their 7am class where the teacher will spend an hour reading ten-year-old powerpoint slides before lazily dismissing them free. the fact that he endures it all with a straight posture and a smile glued to his face is only an additional skill, honed since the early days of learning division of fractions and trying to cut his swimming speed down by half a minute.

he laughs it off, memory of middle and high school passing by his mind in fleeting images and fragmented scenarios, further cut short by the pressure against his arm. a pause in steps, widening of eyes, and then a gasp that's too grand for the motion it responds to. "ouch," he mouths, raising a hand to rub gently against skin where she hit him. then, a pout. "wow, you're strong. do you secretly light weights behind everyone's backs? you can admit it, i won't tell anyone — and, oh. have you considered signing up for the boxing club?"

it's a short walk, thankfully, although he doesn't get to list her all the flavours of shakes that await them as a prize, nor the flavors that once were. "ladies first," he signals, pushing the doors open. the strong gust of ac-ed air greets them. "i wouldn't ever promise you something that hasn't been tested, jiahn. who do you take me for?

"like the mandatory gym classes in high school," she agrees, and she does thank every deity out there that they had done this voluntarily and, like he said, could quit. considering that they're not here for a reason that matters, she's glad that he's agreed that they should give it up.

though, that being said, she might not mind doing this again on a less warm day.

she could probably be convinced.

his wheeze does surprise her though, and she glances at him in mild surprise, eyebrows raised. "you good?" she asks, playful and it actually amuses her greatly that he seems to be suffering as much as she is right now. of course, she's not used to any type of exercise at all aside from lugging tables across campus but. it's a little reassuring, she won't lie, that he's as affected as she is. it makes him feel more human to her.

instead of saying anything, she pats his arm in her amusement, a way of comforting him and reassuring him that his image in her mind wasn't too tarnished. or something like that.

"wait, no way," jiahn gasps at his words, eyes widening slightly. "that feels too bougie does it not?" she asks, tilting her head slightly to the side like a dog trying to understand something from a forty five degree angle. "okay ... maybe i trust you about the taste then. maybe."

[100stroke]

"you can thank my mom and dad for that, by the way," he titters, tongue bit between his teeth as a supplementary to the overly cheesy meal that is his behavior. his eyes narrow into a squint, hands clasping together, somewhere between a prayer and a notion of thankfulness toward his ancestors. conceitedness he plays into, and though there is an internal feeling that invokes cringe within him, he pushes through, savioring the act to the best of his abilities — thank seolran for all the free acting classes transforming him into the next worldwide star. "i think i take after my mom more. everyone says i have her lips and smile. which, come on," he points to himself then, "i do have a nice smile. should i trademark it?"

he continues leaning into this carelessness, fueled by the knowledge he gets under her skin and knowing that she plays into it, too. call it courtesy of having three younger sisters, or the fact he's simply like that: knowing which buttons to press for the perfect tune of the situation. a chameleon or a charmer, really depends on the perspective alone.

he surrenders to agatha then, watching and obeying her as she lightly pushes him around, as if his limbs were made out of stuffing and fabric. his breath catches in his throat as if any slight movement might shatter what they share in this moment — a fragile thing, like a house of cards barely holding together under the weight of it all; their situation dramatized to its maximum, like most things are, when it comes to minjae taking things seriously.

he scoffs. a minute passes, seemingly as long as a year.

he can't do it anymore.

"okay," he gasps, stumbling out of his seat and crouching next to her instead, eyes and hands greedy — a whine — "show it to me, agatha."

agatha trains for this. she doesn't practice her smile in front of the mirror for it to be cracked just by anyone- not even jang minjae of all people and he’s tested her patience so many times that there’s no way she’ll be put off by him now. not when her pride is on the line and defeat is unacceptable. so instead she very calmly reach for a sketching pencil and pad of paper from one of the easels to place them on her lap.

“my presence wouldn’t have made a difference, not when you’re there to sweep everyone off their feet,” she says, her tone blasé.

just how many times has she deflected jang minjae’s words, letting them go in one ear and out the other? too many to count, she stopped after he left the art club yet he continue to pester her whenever she comes in for their scheduled meeting. sometimes agatha thinks that jang minaje isn’t real. that he isn’t a student dedicating his time to class or other extra curriculars. sometimes agatha thinks that he was plopped right in of front of her to truly test her limits.

“woah there grandpa, are you sure you don’t need to get a massage instead?” she lets out a chuckle at his stretching and resists the urge to roll her eyes as he settles into a pose in front of her. agatha makes a disgusted face at the mere thought of seeing even his ankle and shudders right in front of him. “please, like anyone would pay to see that. but no, this pose won’t do.”

she kicks his feet to get him to cross his legs by the ankle like someone proper, places his left hand to settle on his hip while the other rests on his forehead like a lady in distress.

“beautiful. hold this pose until i’m done, hm?”

agatha picks up the pencil again and starts her sketch. she’s not usually someone who participated in anything art related for the art club and just handle all their admin tasks but for jang minjae to piss off, she’ll gladly oblige as slowly as she possibly can. if he wanted her draw him like a french boy, he might as well play the part.

maybe this short break isn’t so bad after all.

[100stroke]

he drops the rolled-up bills into the jar with a wink to the guys —something clearly meant to say put it on rain check, but ends up feeling more cheesy than clever.

"it's so unfair," he whines, turning his gaze toward the surrounding booths. he scans the crowd: people laughing and mingling, barely noticing that one volunteer slips away, and probably forgetting this whole thing by the next week, before shifting his focus back to phoenix. "i mean, isn't this basically exploitation? our clubs should be getting funding either way. it's part of… student life. anyway, the walk's short."

and indeed it is short. before they know it, the sound of giggles and cheek kisses fades into a different kind of crowd: neon wigs and elaborate costumes. cosplay, he guesses, though he has no idea which characters they're supposed to be. "can't believe it's packed here too," he mutters, pushing through with a bit too much force, led by the scent of fresh pastries, then nodding at the narrow gap between him and someone with their back turned, a plastic... sword strapped across it. "c'mon, we're squeezing in and out."

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ⋅✯⋅ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓 down with the swimming team’s booth but he’s heard a bit of this and that. Now judging from Minjae’s reaction, it might have been chaotic. “Honestly, this whole thing?” Phoenix gestures towards the tent. “I have to admit it’s quite something. I’ve never done this before but I’m a sucker for new experiences so here I am.” He almost chuckles in self-pity. 

Phoenix picks at the button of his denim jacket before shifting his gaze to his dear visitor once more. “Hmm. It’s cash only but for you, we can make anything happen.” He clicks his tongue and gives Minjae a quick wink before straightening up to throw his hands up in the air at the invitation. “Hell yeah!” 

It didn’t take him long to inform the rest of the guys that he’ll be back later, swiftly slipping out from behind the booth and huddling next to the other. “What do you mean the anime club made pastries? And why do they get to do something fun and we’re the ones stuck here puckering our lips for four hours? What do they take us for?” Feigning anger, he shakes his fist but all he really does at the end is let out a sheepish chuckle. “Okay, I need something to cool off. Lead the way, mate.” ⁺₊

[100stroke]

"it's implied," he emphasizes, looking her over, before he tilts his head backwards, closes his eyes, hand held over his heart as if it were to give out any second. "things left unsaid but there, obvious to those who wish to listen. i can't believe you'd do that. i trusted you…"

a joke, of course, as he gently lifts her foot onto his thigh. "it's gonna fall off any second, sohee. oh my god. i need a surgery saw, like, right now," he mutters, rotating her ankle slightly with careful fingers. "does this hurt? you definitely rolled it but nothing seems broken. you've got some swelling here, classic ankle sprain." he glances up at her. "that's what you get for walking in heels on shitty grass." there's no malice to it, just slight teasing. "i'm gonna be your leg for the rest of the day, okay? but when you come home — cold compress. do you have… an ice pack? not directly on skin, though, wrap it in a towel. i don't want you to get a frost bite on top of everything."

and then minjae focuses on the heels again.

he's never really understood fashion — or anything leaning towards artistic expression. to him, comfortable shoes, sports shorts and a plain t-shirt from uniqlo have always been the peak of expression. throw on a baseball cap if he's feeling like accessorizing, purposefully mismatched socks if he's feeling quirky and lazy about doing laundry.

the straps, ribbons and satin escape him.

"sometimes i stumble on my own feet, no shoes included," he comments, runs a hand through his hair. then — "hey. it's actually not a lifestyle. it's energy, duh," he says, all seriousness forced into facial muscles to prevent him from smiling. "have you ever seen a short gu… person, but they walk with a swagger of a tall person? exactly. you don't need —" he points, "these for it. just the vibes."

“i never said they were stinky!” sohee fires back, eyebrows furrowing with sudden distrust. “why did you bring it up? is there secretly something really wrong with your toes?” she eyes him, suddenly suspicious, like he’s just revealed a secret only the guilty would invent. the dramatics do little to disguise her actual discomfort, with her knee drawn up, heel barely grazing the grass, she winces as it throbs in a dull, rhythmic beat, not unbearable but sharp enough to ruin the adrenaline of it all. 

with a sigh, sohee tips her head back, eyes flicking to him as he sinks down beside her, tone softening just slightly in response to the shift in his. she hesitates for a second when he asks, then finally lifts her foot a bit closer toward him in silent permission. “you can look, just don’t touch anything that looks like it might fall off.”

watching him from the corner of the eye, she attempts to remain serious as he goes all quiet and focused, a little too intense for someone poking at a potential sprain. “you look like you’re about to perform surgery,” she mumbles in a bantering tone. “are you gonna cut it off if it’s broken?” there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh at her own bad joke.

her eyes roll playfully at the comments about her unusual footwear, “what? what if they are for daily wear? god forbid a girl loves inconvenient shoes...” a beat. then, more honest. “they’re just for the outfit.” she adds, defeated. “i don’t think i can commit to the tall lifestyle, it’s just not for me. props to you.”

[100stroke]

all he requires is a singular response, a positive reinforcement that tells him that the road he's taking with heedful steps is the one he can step further into, losing himself in the process, and the movement of reiko's lips alongside his is all the confirmation that he has sought after and more. everything except this moment is unimportant, so small and negligible, while his hands are moving down her throat, over her shoulders, the bare skin of her arms. they move to her sides, fingers tentatively rubbing against the hem of her shirt, tips brushing under and reaching higher, the heat underneath them electrifying.

it's as if she has been crafted from the quiet longing in his bones that has lain dormant before her for far too long, hiding in the broad daylight, where sane mind is too scared to dare linger or tread, just as he was shaped to slip into the curve of her body. she is the forbidden fruit of his desire, a desire that has boiled within him unaddressed, demanding and demanding and demanding — a relentless pounding against simple glass wall, too fragile to withstand the force it's subjected to. and all that it has taken is something as tender as a kiss for it all to crumble.

he doesn't say anything. his lips are wet and hot and unoccupied, and his tongue licks over his lower lip when there is a distinct lack of her on them, as if to revel in her taste that remains as the aftermath; the liquor, the lip gloss, all undeniably reiko. and all, undeniably, what he wants more of; this greed he has tapped into is almost sickening and jang minjae doesn't want to shy away from it, at least not tonight.

"and you're beautiful," he quips, purposeful, chasing the feeling of her mouth against his again. "can you blame me?"

when she moves, he almost whines like a yard-bound dog begging his owner for a fragment of affection, then follows behind her towards the bar with the same energy. his hands are glued to her waist, as if breaking apart would mean that the morning comes, alongside every inevitable regret that will wash over them both.

"just the soju — for us both," he addresses the person who happens to be at the bar, without considering if they're assigned to drinks-handling duty. in his peripheral, he sees a (ridiculously) hot pink inflatable couch, and in that moment, his knees buckle underneath the weight of everything that's transpired. he leans in, brushing a kiss just beneath her ear, his voice low, "don't take too long."

jang minjae is a stupid, stubborn kind of constant. the kind that circles back even when he shouldn't, although she doesn't ask. he's always been like that: dependable in ways that frustrate her, gentle in moments that shouldn't warrant that kind of softness. tonight is no different. he stays, even as the night frays at the edges. despite her evasions and brittle kind of pride, unsure of what to do with someone who never leaves when things fall apart.

so reiko lets herself be kissed.

no second guessing, no sharp edges to catch on. just the soft give of her lips meeting his, caught somewhere between instinct and impulse. the railing is at her spine, cool against the stretch of skin where the top has ridden up, but it's a dull, distant thing compared to the warmth from the press of his chest against hers. his taste is sweet and clumsy, all heat and hungry with the sting of almosts that remained idle for too long.

fingers move without thought. they skim the line of his arms, rise slowly over the slope of his shoulders, until they've threaded into his hair. reiko draws him close with a kind of familiarity that shouldn't exist, tilting her head to meet him in the middle. she kisses him like she's trying to forget: the wasted time, the half-swallowed apologies, the splintered thought that maybe she'd been more trouble than worth tonight. her lips part in answer, not quite surrender as much as permission. somewhere in the middle of it, minjae anchors her in the way he always, somehow, does.

her breath catches when she pulls away, not by hesitation but to draw in air that suddenly feels too thin. laughter folds at the edge of her exhale, small and startled. she rests her forehead against his cheek, eyes narrowed just slightly, before it slips out dry and familiar, "you're ridiculous, jang minjae." there's the faintest curve to her lips, a flicker of fondness she rarely lets stay. and for once, she doesn't bother chasing it off.

then, she leans in again, slower this time, and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. it lands warmer than intention, blurred around the seams of what she'd never admit out loud. "come on," she murmurs, barely pulling back, words warm against his jaw. "i need another drink if i'm going to keep pretending i'm not mad at you."

but still, she lingers close, tethered by the same liquor laced gravity that's held her all night. her hands don't fall away. there's something greedy in the way she stays, as if leaving this closeness too soon might undo whatever fragile thing they've sewn back together. if they never make it to the makeshift bar, she thinks, it wouldn't be the worst thing. pretending was easy with him. easier than walking away, and much easier than telling the truth.

[100stroke]

minjae doesn't necessarily have a summer playlist customized per vibes or trending music for each individual year, rather being the type to have one massive playlist into which he adds everything he likes. below i will be listing some new additions to the mass-playlist, as well as citing songs he's added over the years.

RADIO SILENCE / Dragon Pony starting off strong with a brand new one. while he relates to the melancholic lyrics to an extent, it's a lid he doesn't want to open and look deep within him to address it. however, the song makes it to his summer playlist mostly because he enjoys their music overall and five songs from their latest ep just wasn't enough. had a reminder turned on on his phone and all, dropped everything when the mv released so he can put his earbuds in, listen + leave a like + leave a comment + stream on apple music.

MOMMAE / Jay Park an unfortunate staple of his playlist's repeats, be it 2015 when he really shouldn't be listening or staring at the family computer desktop when he's home alone, mouth agape, or a decade later when it's blasting in his ears as he's doing his daily morning runs. and yes, he listens to it in the mornings. best way to start the day. it's his version of hypebeast music

GNARLY / Katseye courtesy of lee minseong because otherwise he never would listen to this song in the first place, let alone listen to it enough that it crawls under his skin and remains lodged there, lyrics recited at the top of his lungs even when you wake him up in the middle of night. he says it's some type of witchcraft that's been woven into the song, because he often finds himself typing the six letters into his apple music search without even realizing it and pressing play. and pressing loop !

SKIN / Dijon a very much dedicated one (the audience boos) and a look into the genre of music minjae enjoys on a hot summer night when the sun sets over the han river while he sits on the grass, rethinking everything relating to its subject of dedication. big on r&b, actually how he practiced english back in the day - even ran a blog with (very literal) song translations into kr that's since been long deleted.

PYTHON / Got7 a winter addition. not big on k-pop in general aside to listening what's mainstream here and there. got7 is the exception however and entirety of winter heptagon is added to his most repeated songs of 2025. if you're his friend you've probably had to listen to him being excited about the album before it dropped and then had to listen to his excitement and had to listen to the album and give opinions. he waited too long for them to return. jackson might have been an early celebrity crush and he will proudly admit it still is

GUESS / charli xcx featuring Billie Eilish a summer addition wouldn't additioning if it didn't have charli. good song to get drunk to and completely lose your mind at the club, sweaty and surrounded by people too close to your body. he also likes the obscenity of the lyrics. it's the jay-park-in-formative-years influence

[100stroke]

his face lights up with the type of childish vigor that's only equivalent to winning the first prize at the local fair; the ones which everyone knows are rigged to hell and back, yet you still manage to become triumphant in the end, much to the stand owner's disapproval, taking home the one item everyone's been eyeing the whole month. except to him it's just the possibility of winning against her, and getting the upper hand at picking his representative toon. much less grandiose than anything an onlooker could guess.

in the corner of his eyes, he catches the rising numbers. it draws a smirk on his lips, though he tries to hide it; a downplay of his cruelty — all in good spirit, obviously.

"the loser must admit the winner with 'mister or miss greatest of all times and / or the most talented ever' for the next three days and nothing else. and owes a sundae today," he adds it with his smirk turning into a full fledged grin, teeth flashing even in the dimmed light of the gaming room, like he's come up with the most brilliant idea of his entire life. the prospect of it fills him with a giddy feeling, only because he knows how much it will simply be horrible for her pride, knowing how he would feel, same competitiveness running through his veins — though the prospect of him being the loser never actually crosses his mind as a possibility, blinded by all of this hubris. "ready? three, two, one —"

a gulp. he laughs, his determination far from frayed from the first loss, "don't get too confident, dani."

dani would like to think that jang minjae gets it. he doesn't.

sure, he’s an athlete, so she can respect the grind. the innate drive to win, to be the best, she understands. she’s seen the michael phelps documentaries, follows katie ledecky on instagram, and like anyone with a brain, she tuned in to the 2024 olympics just to watch ledecky obliterate the 1500 freestyle final. but that’s swimming. that’s its own beast. in dani’s world, it’s apples and oranges. you don’t compare son heungmin to an olympic backstroker, not even in a video game.

and maybe this is where dani really is built different, because even with a controller in her hands, she feels it—the same pinprick tightness that clamps down on her chest on the field. the urgency. the all-or-nothing.

she fucking hates rock-paper-scissors.

not because it’s silly — because it’s unfair. there’s no strategy, no way to earn the win. it’s pure, dumb luck. and it is absolutely, painstakingly important to her that she wins this round. and because earlier, she’d already lost a scrimmage to jinyoung. and god, the way he’d smiled after slipping past her in the final play had ruined her entire afternoon. smug bastard. damn him for being twenty something centimeters taller, for those legs that can always get to the ball a split-second faster.

so losing once was bad enough. losing twice in a day? not an option. not even a consideration. "fine," she breathes, jaw tight as she cracks her neck one way, then the other like she’s stepping into a title match. her hand comes up beside him in a closed fist, knuckles pale with tension. her apple watch flashes at the edge of her vision, betraying a heart rate that’s already spiking like this is the world cup final. "what's the punishment for the loser?"

[100stroke]

duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a half-empty water bottle held in hand, he walks with a look of someone deeply set on their mission, though whether he's headed to the gym or fleeing from it is anyone's guess. the determination across his face can go either way: maybe he's about to throw himself into a brutal session without realizing how much it's gonna hurt his already tired body, or maybe he's already done and running on leftover fumes, just trying to make it without collapsing. either way, jang minjae looks like someone teetering on the edge where even the pavement seems soft enough to nap on, and the idea of his couch might as well be unreachable heaven.

minjae's not fully unaware of his surroundings, despite the zombie-like state of his brain. he, well, sees her waving — in response, does a little point at himself as if he were asking are you talking to me? — before taking out his earbud and walking over to her in a rush.

"hey," tentatively, with an eyebrow raised not out of confusion but the simplest form of curiosity, hands resting against his hips. he looks around, looking over the trees like they'll provide some sort of an addition to her question, green treetops rustling under a gentle breeze. however, there is nothing, and he looks at her again. "i think the last time i climbed a tree was when i was like eight." deadpan, almost; then silence, as if he's confirming if his memory is right. in reality, he's listening. then — "is there a ... kitten up there? i don't really... hear anything."

operation: volleyball rescue imogen recruits minaje ( @100stroke ) to help retrieve her ball

yep. that was definitely stuck up there, wasn't it?

imogen stood underneath the tree, hands on her hips, as she peered up at the volleyball currently lodged into the crook of one of the tallest branches. huh. how was she going to get that down? the thought of just going out and buying a new one had briefly crossed her mind (it was probably about time, honestly. the thing was beaten up from being her designated punching bag— ball?) but she never liked giving up on things.

she could probably knock it out of place if she had another ball, but she didn't have one... not right now, at least. she could've easily hopped on over to the gym and snagged a ball from the team's stash (captain privileges), but... what if it fell out while she was gone? what if someone else knocked it down? what if a squirrel mistook it for a giant nut and took it back to their den? (alright, that last one was ridiculous, but imogen didn't like to completely write off any possibilities). nope. she had to climb this tree herself: right here, right now. she just needed a little boost.

foot taps impatiently, eyes shifting throughout the quad, sizing up her potential 'volunteers.' meh... they're too short. she's wearing heels. they're... juggling? wait, huh? she's about to forget the volleyball entirely and go investigate that more when a tall figure appears in the corner of her eye.

"hey!" she calls out, waving a hand in his direction, "— you! tall dude!" she jumps, trying to catch his attention, smiling when it seems like he's headed her way. "hi!" she doesn't know him, but she's smiling brightly like she's just met an old friend— all part of the plan to rope him into her shenanigans. "you wouldn't happen to know anything about climbing trees, would you?" she pauses for a beat. "would you like to find out? right now?"

[100stroke]

m_nj__00 added to his story. m_nj__00 added to his story.

[100stroke]

he knows the swimming pool like the back of his hand. every break of sunlight on the chlorinated surface, the flicker of overhead fluorescent lights, the way water splashes when someone dives in — it's all second nature by now. and not just the water. the people too. not that he’s out here being a full-on-creep, but when you spend most of your non-classroom life inside yeonhwa's pool, you start recognizing faces whether you mean to or not. the overconfident first-timers who show up puffed up with pride, then vanish after one rough session of cold water biting their skin. the regulars who push themselves, not perfect but showing up anyway.

hayun being one of them. minjae's noticed her, quietly, always from a distance. not in a weird way — just... careful. he knows it's not really his place to push anyone, even if it's a topic they conserved about; his job is to keep an eye out, be there if someone suddenly and out of nowhere forgets how to float, though it's unlikely to happen, knowing her.

he ends up sitting on starting block #3, after watching her finish a lap, legs hanging just over the water like a makeshift stop sign — rude, but he doesn't really intend to be obnoxious by shouting across the pool while others are there too.

"hey," he says with a small smile, one kneel, then, pulled close to his chest. "you shouldn't have said you're just okay at swimming. your stroke's kinda insane."

taking a dip || open.

there's something serene about the water still for hayun. she sat on the edge of the pool deck, legs dangling into the water carefree. it coaxes her to recall memories of junior swimming courses, how she fell in love with the coolness and protection the water seemed to free her mind of. it had been years since she dove or did the forward breast stroke competitively, but hayn's interest is piqued as she remains calmly minding her own business.

there's almost a fear to approach getting back in but with the sweltering heat, hayun has felt she has no choice. pulling her swimming cap over her hair, she tucks it in neatly, making sure each stray hair is completely under wraps. within seconds, hayun is then securing her goggles on her face, fixating them so she can have the perfect vision while she swims. there's a long moment of silence despite her other fellow campus mates enjoying their pool activates all around her. it's almost intimidating and the thought even reminds her of her estranged brother whom she loves dearly but cannot bring to his senses. "i guess there's no better time than today." she whispers, mostly to herself, uncertain if anyone heard her. not that it mattered, hayun was happy and not the type to pick beef with people.

inhaling slowly through her lips, she huffs out a large breath before taking a sharp inhale. as she plunges into the pool, the familiarity of the water brings comfort to hayun and her busy mind as of late. with her second year under wraps, all she could hope for was the best as she continues her journey at yeonhwa. water engulfs her, her stroke beneath the surface still clean as if she's never stopped swimming in the first place. then, she's practicing her favorite stroke of them all: the butterfly stroke. hayun's composure is clear, she's meant for the water despite her fears. today wasn't about reliving old glory days, it was simply to find relaxation in an activity she used to adore.

[100stroke]

it's not his first time at the b612 building.

he's been here plenty of times before — dropping off or picking up costumes for agatha, or hailing jiahn's latest money-making hobby to whichever market stall she's decided to rent for that week. put those muscles to use, minjae, not just decoration. so he's familiar with the building, or at least familiar enough to follow directions from door room to front door and then back again.

and today — well. he wouldn't say he's been stood up because he likes to think positively. maybe something urgent came up, maybe there's a message waiting to be sent that will explain everything, and he'll just reply with a simple don't worry i hope you're okay. but for now, he's parked himself in the living area, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the cork-board like it holds all answers to his what ifs. with how much is pinned to it, he's surprised it's still clinging onto the wall.

then — a hand taps his shoulder.

his heart jumps, nearly jumping out of the bounds of his chest. maybe even takes off three years of his lifespan. he spins around with his arms halfway raised like he’s about to enter a bar fight, clearly doing too much, only to come face-to-face with a very smug-looking shiyu.

"whoa, hey," his voice finally comes through, past the lump in his throat in the shape of his heart. "i'm convinced you like doing this on purpose."

@entropicue

[100stroke]

minseong hasn't even finished his sentence when minjae's face begins to drain of color, slowly twisting into a pale, sickly shades. it only takes a couple of seconds for the weight of it all to hit, the scene playing out vividly and cruelly, even if his mind is seemingly blank. every word from the older man lands like a brick, each one stacking on top of the last, building something heavy and irreverisble on his consciousness. and then, it's a house of self-disappointment, solid and inescapable, and it's staring down at him with a formidable gaze. he can feel the ghost of swelling in his lips, fingers automatically brushing over them, as if to confirm the mess he's left behind.

"i really need to stop drinking, minseong," he says, words slipping out before he can manage to catch them, soaked in something desperate. he stis the haejangguk with a spoon like it's going to swirl and swirl and give him some kind of an answer, shoulders hunched forward as if it was possible to fold himself small enough to disappear into the bowl. he blows at the rising steam, takes a sip, barely registering the taste. and then minseong makes his comment about the gejang and tongues and minjae chokes, food catching in his throat like a cruel punishment. he coughs hard, hand flying to his mouth, eyes wide, in pure shock. he doesn't even remember her face, not a single detail about her — not her name, not how it started, how it ended. what kind of an asshole does that? is this really who jang minjae is?

and though his words and his mind are united in one thing, measured and reasonable — the obvious call, minjae's body moves in what is a direct betrayal of it. call it muscle memory, or the leftover chaos that alcohol carved into his system, but his hand reaches for the glass like it's second nature. the rim is sticky from where some of it spilled earlier, but he wraps his fingers around anyway. "you know i'm going for nationals," he mutters, the words tumbling out like some half-assed shield, even though he’s not sure if it means anything anymore; unsure of whether he's reminding minseong of his dreams, or if his words try to reach for that childish innocence within him and remind himself. his laugh is dry, more breath than sound. "i mean, how fucking worse can i get? i was such a sleaze to that girl, jesus. maybe you should be my therapist—" he downs it "—just finish me."

between minseong and minjae, there's almost no discerning where one idiot ends and the other begins. sharing the same waterlogged brain cell — now permanently pickled in soju and poor decisions — when one makes a bad choice, it’s basically tradition for the other to follow in blind, enthusiastic solidarity. minseong’s higher alcohol tolerance only makes things worse: he’s still lucid enough to encourage minjae’s nonsense, but just drunk enough not to stop him.

so when minjae launched into a passionate TED talk in front of a said yonsei girls — slurring about why corporate law was a scam (these two clearly spend way too much time together), how minjae would never sell his soul to capitalism, and how minseong was going to be the world’s greatest divorce lawyer (despite being corrected multiple times that he was aiming for constitutional law), minseong simply leaned back with his drink, nodded sagely, and let the disaster unfold.

"two girls," minseong echoes minjae's words with a nod that's all knowing; like the story wasn't a surprise to anybody. or like it wasn't a normal occurrence for the duo to end up in stupid predicaments that upon next morning recaps more enticing than sports news. "you seriously don’t remember? one of them got so wasted she disappeared for twenty minutes, and when we found her, she’d passed out cold in the bar bathroom. owner had to kick the door down like it was a hostage situation."

he pauses just long enough to grin — smug, slow, and sharp-edged. "black. out. li. ti. gay. shon. meth. ud. that’s how you say it, dumbass." a thick veil of steam shrouds his face as he peels open the plastic takeout lid and splits his wooden chopsticks. the comment about kissing comes like a fly ball to left field, but minseong decides to play along — re: lie — anyway. "holy shit dude, you went in on one of them full on." he hadn't. minjae had started dozing off on his chair and minseong had challenged one of the girls to see how many macaroni puffs they could each stack on minjae's head before he woke up. "you looked like how you do when you eat gejang the way you were slurping up that girl's tongue. you guys had the entire bar watching like it was a goddamn mukbang."

minseong scoops up a spoonful of haejangguk, blows on it once, then hisses as the scalding broth hits his tongue. "goddamn," he mutters, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut in satisfaction. "this shit's absolute fire."

not a moment is spared to mourn his fried incisive papilla before minseong is tearing through the kitchen cabinets for two shot glasses. he ignores minjae entirely, grabs the bottle, and pours two full shots — nearly spilling one over. "tell your captain to mind his goddamn business. if he kills you, i'll take him to court and sue him for being the world's biggest buzzkill. reiko and i can split your settlement." a delicate balancing act that he fails at, clear liquid spilling down his wrists as he scurries back from the kitchen across the room to force a shot into minjae's hands. "shut up about your military trauma and take this," he says, although he doesn't give the male any other choice. a clink of their glasses, minseong flashes minjae his one million dollar lawyer smile that says i’m the last person you want poking around in your brain. "you don't want me to be a therapist, minjae-ya. i'd just make it worse."