reiwaii

[reiwaii]

Amphetamine?

....yes?

[reiwaii]

pro tip: if your dad thing ever makes you stay in the house fuck shit up. turn human. fuck with his potions. let all the fucking ocean creatures into your house. turn your sisters into large golden fish. you’re five

[reiwaii]

Fuck Shit 

We got put on “Knowyourmeme” Truly we have lost this battle against hallomeme forever.

It was nice knowing all of you.

Rip in peace etc.

[reiwaii]

Dear anyone who is reading this,I’ve….been contemplating this one for a good while now. I beganwriting this at 8:30 pm on February 11th, 2015. I should probably introduce myself for anyone who...

[reiwaii]

Sincerely (Preview)

Title: Sincerely 

Pairing: Mark x Jackson

Genre: Let's just see where this goes...

Length: 2k ; Preview

A/N: I'm testing out a new style: letter format and 1st POV. I don't like it much, but I do feel like I work faster and better when I have less description to write down lmao...Something that took me 9 hours to write will take you an estimated 10 minutes to read, so I hope you enjoy it. 

January 1, 2012

Dear Jackson,

Happy New Year! Though I doubt this will get to you by then, and I'm the asshole who waited until the very day to start. It kind of sucks that I just had to up and move without such short notice, but I'm glad we can make this work. Even if I'm almost 1,000 miles away from you. (Do not cheat on me. I have people watching..)

Life back in sunny Cali is great, especially since I'm closer to my parents and siblings, who I've also grown to loathe. I guess it was nicer when the only form of communication we could maintain was phone and Skype calls. I mean, it's hard to fight when your screen view is freezing at the most awkward of times. Mom said hi, and to lay off the chocolate because you're getting a tad bit chunky (I second this) (just kidding). Dad said you should come visit soon, but don't stress over it. When you do, we can all go out for some good, real Chinese cuisine--which I myself haven't had in quite a long while.

University life is not at all as I read about. Where are the streakers? The wild Saturday night parties? The live-animal mascot that the rival school steals as a prank? The most fun I've had all semester was a short coffee outing with my Spanish study group. And by study group, I mean a group of nerds who don't even bother helping a know-nothing-especially-when-it-comes-to-other-languages like me, and socialize amongst themselves in their own, well knowledged world. Knowledged isn't even a word. I'm dropping out.

Funny story actually: One of my professors has the same name as you. It's really the only reason why I enjoy that class; other than this lone difference, he's a huge asshole. He drones on and on about topics irrelevant to the subject and gets angry when we fail his quizzes. Yes, Dr. Wang. I apologize for you not teaching us anything.

But enough about me. How much have you missed me since I left? Not too much, I hope. Though let's face it, what's a life without me? Pretty fucking lonely, I bet. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I bet the very night my flight took off, you threw a party with the boys, huh? Tell them I said hi, and to stay out of trouble, and to stay off of drugs, and to graduate.

And you, Jackson. Stay healthy, eat well, go to sleep before midnight, record all of the dramas you feel I'd enjoy, stay away from those nasty websites, don't go buying a ton of pets just become I'm not there, stop reading so many comic books, go outside for once in your bare life, make friends other than some teenagers, learn how to cook so we can stop ordering soy chicken every night, at least try to read a normal book or two, and remember I love you. A lot.

Hungry and Under knowledged, Mark

P.S.) Are you happy? I lasted the whole day without even thinking about alcohol, and I've got to say...I do not feel good about this. An entire year? How about 6 months, at the later half of the year...? I'm trying, but I can't just go hardcore-cold-turkey like you want, babe.

-

January 8, 2012

Dear Mark,

You're right, I didn't get your letter until the 7th. That's well off from New Year's day, but I'm forever grateful for the greeting. I am writing this while simultaneously catching up on Fairy Tail at 2 in the morning, so I'm pleased to say I will not be following half of the demands you've listed out for me.

Another thing you've also made yourself correct on is the fact that, yes, it is "pretty fucking lonely" without you here. No I did not throw a huge rager, but looking back after your words, I should have. No more will I be forced to sit through hours of cheesy television programs that all end the same way: death. No more will I be forced to try tofu, well everything. No more will I be forced to attend meetings with your friends and discuss things I do not know or people I do not care about or sip drinks I can't even pronounce the names of...I take it back; this is not lonely at all. I love it. Please stay in America, Mark.

Kunpimook is returning to Thailand before the school starts up again, but his exchange ends in only a few more months. Yugyeom's been accepted into an arts school in Gwangju, so he too will be leaving us soon. But losing your only two friends outside of your boyfriend is fine, I guess. I don't see the problems in being a recluse, and I am now starting to see why there are such a large number of them in Japan. Maybe we should move there, so I can be with people like me and avoid them at the same time.

Tell your folks I said hello, too, and tell your mother I take no offense to the weight comment. Of course, when you spend months in and out of hospitals at unpredictable times, you tend to spend every second you have out of that godforsaken place indulging in one of life's greatest pleasures: good food. Needless to say that while said good food still exists, I will not be cooking. Why? I don't see the point. For the same amount of money it'd take me to buy the ingredients for a dish, I will have boughten an even more delicious dish and with only a fraction of the labor--getting up, and calling Happy Go Lucky Chicken. However, if this remains a problem with you, you are always welcome to cook up some tofu burgers with tofu fries topped with tofu ketchup and tofu onions for your tofu self!

They're building a new grocery store across the street, so our neighbors were asked to leave for the construction site and were given a hefty compensation for it. So now, instead of going out to find a new home, they are traveling the world and quote "Making the world our personal address" unquote. We should do that too, right? Travel. When we are forehead deep in debts and bills, obviously, but still...it would be very fun.

Our friendly doctor-ologist says I'm fine, and will be for the foreseeable future, but I still need to stop in for monthly checks just in case he has no idea what he's talking about. I can't blame him, and I'm not sure if he's joking or not; this isn't a disease they've dealt with in the past, at least no often. Who knows how long I truly have left? Even if there's no huge risk, he's just buying me time. Oh well, might as well eat more chocolate while I'm still here.

Sincerely (like a normal human being ending a letter), Jackson

Post - They say it takes 21 days to break a habit, and I assume this is the same for an addiction (as much as you don't want to admit it). You will be fine. And trust me, after you stop for some time, you will see great improvement on your health.

-

January 17, 2012

Dear Jackson,

Oh, you ass. How do you expect me to keep a promise when you won't even do the same? This relationship is all give and take and I've pulled the short stick. Oh well, can't get too mad when you're so cute and chunky.

I'm home for the rest of the week to "grieve" for people I had no clue existed until a few hours ago. Apparently, two students and a professor crashed into the other on the way to campus and the results were, to say the most appropriate term, fiery. I found this out while getting dressed this morning, mind numb with the desire to rest and hair still dripping with near-scalding water (there you go, your sexy visual for the day). As soon as I read the next 4 days were not to be counted in attendance, I fell right back to sleep, naked and all. I did wake up 20 minutes later to go shopping, hence the book included in this package. I have no clue what the title is--the text is in Japanese--but the characters all have humongous eyes and no other facial features, and I figured it would be cool for your studies. But if you don't like it, or can't read it, send it back; the bookstore here has a 30-day return policy.

I am kinda upset about hearing our teenage birds are leaving the nest soon. It seems like only yesterday when Kun, in desperate need of escape from his host family, came knocking at our door because we're the youngest persons in our building. Then proceeded to come in without invitation, pick up my Xbox controller, and kick your ass mercilessly. Then, not even a week later, he decides to bring over a friend. Thank heavens we tamed the beast, or else we'd probably be running some sort of unlicensed after-school daycare by now.

But there sure are going to be a lot of memories to keep me satisfied until he returns to visit. Remember Christmas 2011, when Yugyeom ran away from home, straight to ours? He said his parents had angered him "for the last time", and for what? They gave him a knock-off brand of shoes. You laughed so hard, you ended up knocking over the jug of eggnog that I told you again and again to put away, and it spilled all over his new shoes. You stopped, but instead of the reaction we both expected, he breathed a very unsubtle sigh of relief, took them off and threw them away. We ended up going to a mall and purchasing him the real deal, while he tagged along, barefoot. Even to this day, I smiled whenever I think about this. What a loser, that boy.

There was a new addition to my study group; his name is Jaebum, but he insists on being called Jeff. Wonder who came up with that. He's majoring in film production, and the whole campus believes hes an absolute shoo-in for this year's student film contest (winner gets an early debut on the Big Screen--!) I asked if he was an abroad student, like Kunpimook, but he denied and bluntly informed me that it was the magic of rich parents. Nice.

I asked my Spanish teacher last weekend how one would say "I love you". He asked, "For what?" and I said, "My boyfriend." Then he asked, "You're gay?" and I replied, "Very happy, thank you, sir." and he laughed for a good minute before saying, "Te amo." but by then I had completely forgotten what I had inquired about before, so I asked, "What does that mean?" and he said, "I love you, dumb ass."

And I'm not sure how to use this in a sentence, but te amo. Te amo? Te amo.

What if I don't want to be a normal person? Mark

-

January 26, 2012

Dear Mark,

Thanks for the book, I appreciate it. The vocabulary is pretty basic, and I can easily guess the meanings of words I don't know within context, so it's the perfect study tool. But I'm highly disappointed and saddened to inform you that you've only sent me 2 volumes, and that's only 1/5 of the entire series--I found that out through a search. Nonetheless, I believe you tried, but I can't believe you'd skip school for such a shady reason! Mark Tuan, I know you're better than this! Trust me when I say, pal, that this will not slide easily with me. If someone doesn't call whoever's in charge of that place to report you soon, I will!

I am also saddened to inform you that Yugyeom has been admitted after being hit by a car and he isn't at fault. He will live, they assured me. The left side of his face is where most of the damage happened, but after a minor surgery and a few stitches, he looks just like he did before. I told him about your "knowledged" creation and he chuckled, the first time he's done anything but sulk all week. Since the accident, Kun has spent every free moment he has with Yugyeom, so I guess we see where his loyalty lies--haha. They said he should be out by the end of the month. Pray for him.

I had a "relapse scare" yesterday. I woke up at around 3 in the morning with a sharp, throbbing pain in my head, unable to breath or move, really, but it settled down after a few moments. Today, I dropped in and had a test done, but I couldn't even do most of what they asked; I was crying and trembling terribly. An hour later, the doctor said that my blood is still clean and the "invaders" remain at bay. I am to be placed on watch for the next few weeks, however, "just in case". I feel like that's the reasoning behind everything these days. People are too scared to come to me with the truth, even if they aren't too sure if it actually is the truth. I'm being treated like a baby, I swear. But, thinking about myself from their viewpoint, would I be able to handle it? I'm the same person who spent weeks locked up in his room after his "pet" spider died. Who knows what I'd do if the disease became active again?

On a brighter note, Kunpimook is considering moving back to Korea after his exchange ends, but he insists that it's not for us--or anything. He's a terrible liar. I told him that we'd be anticipating his permanent return, and he stated that he's going to move as far away from us as possible. Okay, sass mouth, is far away around the corner? Is far away in the apartment above? Is far away on our damn living room couch? He doesn't want to admit it, but we've become his international parents; which is good, I guess, considering neither of us can bear children.

The prescriptions are just now starting to kick in, and it's getting harder to write this without momentarily nodding off and trailing through the paper (excuse the extra pen marks, I'm writing this in a near unconscious state).

I love and miss you, probably.

Sincerely, Jackson

Post - If you don't stop with the lengthy sign offs...this isn't a forum, you don't need your own signature.

[Made new tags, will change others later] [Amphetamine has been removed from public on AFF, still available here. I have no clue how to continue it without my old files, and as of right now I do not feel like making the effort. Burn me.]

[reiwaii]

Amphetamine (Ch. 3)

Mark released a long, dramatic sigh, back and face in two different directions in relation to the slightly bent bat lying on the concrete. As if he were contemplating finishing the job. But before he could make up his mind, the boy with mint-coloured hair quickly kicked it farther away, eyes fixed on Mark. Cursing something in Chinese, he started walking towards the--still rolling--object.

"Yeah, well my arms hurt anyway." he retorted quietly, bending to pick up the bat and placing it on a nearby table. The attention in the room seemed to shift towards the bloodied boy on the floor, curled into the fetal position and body trembling with sobs.

For a while, nobody dared speak. Not when, in the same room, stood a man still heated from whatever act of physical damage he had just committed. It was only when the tension grew thick enough to choke on that somebody, Jinyoung, finally spoke up.

"Now, just what the hell is going on in here?" he asked. Yugyeom nodded, the action so minuscule you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't paying attention. A mischievous grin slowly grew across Mark's face, much to Mint Hair's obvious to disgust--who stood with arms crossed and expression showing enough shame for the both of them.

Uneasiness still lingered even when the back door broke open, and loud footsteps beating against the floors leading up to the group sounded. Yugyeom looked to find the jogging figure of another male. As he ran into the dim light, Yugyeom also noticed that he was carrying an armful ice cream. Jackson?

"Hey, guys? Do we have a freez-" he stumbled upon sight of, well, everything, ice cream hanging dangerously and no efforts made to save them.

Jackson looked around the room, taking in every detail, shock evident all over. It seemed to worsen when his eyes finally lied on the boy.

His eyes grew wider, "Is that," his hand rose, shaking, towards the boy, "Y-Youngjae?" Incredulously, his voice was breathy, shaking, displaying the most emotion out of them all.

The male's head turned, focus on Yugyeom. Before he could inquire of his identity, the boy—Youngjae-- gradually started to sit back up. Mark clapped, crouching next to him. Moments passed, the sole action between them being slow, shuddering breaths from Youngjae.

"And so," Mark started, quietly; the sudden gentleness providing a creepy feeling instead of warmth, "What have we learned today, class?" He shrugged and pouted, twisting his waist to face everyone in the room.

Youngjae mumbled out a reply, due to his injuries and crippling fear, to which the elder snapped back in his direction--playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking the other to repeat.

Jinyoung shifted uncomfortably on leg to leg, as if the display in front of him happened almost every week. Of that, Yugyeom was very sure to be accurate.

At this point, the bloodied boy had begun to tremble more violently, teeth chattering whenever he closed his mouth. He started to hiccup, eyes squeezing shut involuntarily as tears threatened to return. Mark slowly ran his hands down Youngjae's cheek...before snapping it against his jaw, the sound of impact echoing throughout.

"We learned that you don't take my shit for your personal use." Mark emphasized every word with a light tap to Youngjae's jaw. The spectators at the doorway cringed, only two of whom used to Mark's strange, unpredictable mood swings, just not on this level.

Mark stood, "And to the fucking both of you," his finger wagging between Youngjae and a new individual, one who the mint-haired boy hadn't even noticed until he was pointed out.

"What did I tell you about working alone while also working under me? Especially with my strain too?" he said more to the man in the back than the one on the floor, an assumption made that it was all his doing. The mysterious male nodded, guilt sunken in from watching the one who held the least get punished the most.

Mark took a final look at both before sauntering out, mint hair following quickly after. The atmosphere seemed to clear up--and it might have been peaceful even--had it not been for Youngjae breaking down as soon as his attacker made his exit. Jinyoung sighed, eyes shut tight in annoyance.

"You should go follow Mark and Bambam, hm? I'll stay with," he nodded his head inside the room, "that one." Yugyeom muttered an okay before walking back down the hallway, long since losing sight of the rest. Only then did he have the time to actually observe his surroundings, the situation he’s brought himself into. The halls seemed almost too big for the building itself, cracks in the foundation allowing the unusually bright of day seep through. The walls were covered in strips of cardboard, covering most cracks, and mildew. It was a wonder how the police or public sanitation officers haven’t burned this place down to the ground for being a literal threat to the city.

Yugyeom stopped; noises came from another area, though from where he stood, he couldn't tell where.

Somebody tapped on his shoulder.

"State your name and business, pal." A familiar voice demanded, tone harder than the steel walls surrounding them.

Yugyeom swallowed, "Um, Kim Yugyeom. I don't know."

There was silence before the voice chuckled, projecting anything but friendliness, "You don't know?" The youngest heard the fabric rustle of a jacket before slightly turning his head. Something in the man's hand caught what little light the building provided.

A gun?

The man had already tackled and brought the gun to Yugyeom's head before he could even find time to scream, or react, or think about doing either. They struggled against each other, Yugyeom more focused on making as much noise as he could--with his kicking on any surface his legs could reach--to attract attention. Any attention.

"Damn it. Again?" Another voice announced its presence. It was Jinyoung, helping Youngjae back to wherever the rest had gone off to. He propped his pay upon the wall and pried the man off of Yugyeom.

"Jackson."

Jackson? Ice cream Jackson?

"I'm sorry. He's um...a little out there. He doesn't really trust strangers, could potentially cause severe injuries to anyone who poses a threat to him."

Jinyoung paused, helping the latter up before continuing, "He's probably the only person as crazy, if not crazier than, our leader. Mood swings like an amusement park ride…But he's really loyal too so..." he pats Jackson's back, who puts up the fakest smile possible, "I guess he can stay."

"Oh," Yugyeom laughed, nervously, "That's okay."

Jackson started dusting the concrete dust from his jacket, "You still haven't told me who you are and why you're here."

"I'm doing...delivery?"

"New mule." Jinyoung explained.

Jackson grunted, continuing down the hall, no apologies had or planned to be exchanged. There was a peculiar stench in the air, like burning sulfur and expired milk. Smoke wafted the halls, having no effects on the more experienced males, but Yugyeom’s nose and throat. As they neared the end, the smell--only faint before--grew stronger. Yugyeom brought his hand to his nose in attempt to block it out.

Jackson scoffed, a perfect mixture of amusement and sarcasm. “Get used to it.” He jeered, “You saw what happened in there to Youngjae. Weaklings get cut, literally.”

His cold words of harsh intent sent chills down the youngest; mind growing as stiff as his body hoped to be. Before he could reply, Jackson had pushed open a heavy-looking door, revealing a dimly lit room. His vision was further impaired by the thick sheet of smoke and his thoughts fuzzy from the nauseating smell.

“The hell were you guys?” a deep voice sounded from a far corner. Slurred. Heavy with some substance.

Jinyoung sighed, putting on a half-assed show of faux disappointment. “Mark,” he walked closer to the corner, “lives by a motto that might just be the very complete opposite of Never get high on your own supply.”

A figured emerged suddenly from the grey, holding a metal object and a cheesy grin. It limped towards the two.

“High off his rockers.”

Mark snorted, his neck barely able to support his head as it swung to Yugyeom, who now stood silent, unaware of what to do in this situation.

“Mule!” Mark shouted, throwing the metal object up, watching as it hit the hard concrete with a screech.

“Glad to see you, buddy.” His breathe smelled of burning leaves and baby powder. Yugyeom watched as the eldest walked further and threw his weight onto him for support. After a while of shifting and settling himself, he lifted his head towards the youngest. Mark looked way different from the man he witnessed earlier, with the bat, and all the rage in his eyes set to the eerily calm background of his expression. Now, as he was so intoxicated it was a struggle to stand up straight, he seemed friendlier— or, as friendly as an empathetic dealer could be. Less likely to beat the poor boy into a pulp at any given moment, in his own will.

He started to relax, thinking as the worst part of his day was far behind, though expecting anything less than sun and rainbows ahead.

Suddenly, as if sensing the declining dread in the room, Mark jolted up, the clumsy being only seconds earlier lost in an instant. His glassy eyes started to cloud, and Yugyeom could see his dark brown irises obfuscate even in through the fog.

He reached out his hand, stroking Yugyeom’s cheek slowly as he did with Youngjae.

“Well, if you’re to work with the largest trade in Korea,” he started, using the same gentle voice as before, “you’re going to have to learn a few…lessons. Now class, shall we start?”

[reiwaii]

CAN'T BELIEVE I FOUND THIS SO LATE OMFG THIS IS AMAZING THANK YOU SO MUCH

Author: milktuan (AFF) Genre: drama ; drugtrafficking!au Rating: PG15 (MAN I’M SO BAD WITH THIS but i think it will turn nc17 later on) Pairing: YugBam (the tags only said that much, but the story doesn’t reveal it yet) Summary/Description:

When you’re out in a world where even the tiniest...

[reiwaii]

Weed Spaghetti

It was only 3 in the morning when the dorms shook with the distressed cries of what seemed, to the peacefully resting members, like a cat being stabbed multiple times in the stomach.

But they all shuffled out to the living room, only to reveal the true source.

Mark, surrounded by crumpled tissues, snack bags and movie cases, was watching a drama.

He grabbed another tissue. “WHAT A BITCH!” he exclaimed, blowing into it for about three minutes before throwing the empty box into the trash.

"No. You’re the bitch.” the youngest, Yugyeom, mumbled before heading back to his room. The other five walked over to the couch.

Hey, they were free tomorrow anyway, so why not stay up late?

They sat in silence, words exchanged only through judging stares as the eldest member sobbed away. It wasn’t until Jinyoung expressed his need for food that the mood lightened.

"I’m hungry." he said, taking out his cell phone. "Who’s up for pizza?"

Jackson turned over, his movements knocking Cheetos and Cheerios crumbs from the cushions, “Who the hell delivers at 3am?”

"I know a guy."

"Isn’t that the same thing Kunpimook said before we almost got deported for illega-" Jackson’s speculation was cut short by a threatening look from the second maknae.

"Nevermind. Call the guy."

Jaebum perked up. “No….I want to hear this.”

Jackson laughed nervously, sweat already beginning to bead at his forehead and armpits, “Just a little legal trouble you know haha boys will be boys.”

It was then that Yugyeom emerged from his room, “LITTLE LEGAL TROUBLE? HYUNG, THEY ALMOST CAUSED AN INTERNATIONAL CRISIS.”

Kunpimook turned towards the younger, “But who’s idea was it to involve the president’s granddaughter??”

"YOURS."

"Oh, yeah."

"Pizza’s here!" Jinyoung jumped and raced towards the door. However, what the man was holding was not a pizza box, but a bag. Jinyoung took the bag and closed the door.

"That’s not pizza." Jaebum informed, as if nobody else in the room was already quite aware of this.

"It’s weed." Jinyoung grinned.

Youngjae groaned, “You said we were eating piiiiizzaaaaaa!”

"Nobody delivers at 3am." Jaebum spoke, once again, of an obvious fact. An interjection that would’ve been useful way before.

"Yeah well," Jinyoung reached in the drawers, pulling out more weed and papers. Jaebum wondered how, as many times as he’s cleaned inside those drawers, he’d miss those.

"I had four bags…" Jinyoung mumbled, removing the contents over again.

Jaebum froze.

"Maybe I already smoked it…."

He gulped.

"Maybe I didn’t buy it?"

The spaghetti.

Jaebum groaned, running his hands through his hair, “Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Oh my shit.”

"What’s wrong?" Jackson inquired as the leader stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He threw open the fridge door, grabbed a pot, and slammed it onto the counter.

"Are you okay?" Jinyoung was still bent over the marijuana and papers.

"I used it."

"Used what?"

"The weed."

They all fell silent. Jinyoung slowly rose, eyes squeezed tight in a look more of “What the actual fuck?” than anger.

"I couldn’t find our usual oregano so I found that and thought it was like…foreign spices."

"WHO ARE YOU? PAULA DEEN? YOU’RE JUST GONNA USE ANY OLD SPICE OR HERB OR STICK THAT YOU COME ACROSS?"

"I didn-"

"YOU DIDN’T KNOW? WEED LOOKS NOTHING LIKE OREGANO. OH, YOU FUCKING NERD."

The six boys reached forward to restrain the angry male, who was very passionate on what happened and whom was with his marijuana.

"Look," Mark spoke up, voice still raw from the sobbing episode, "Is there some way he could make up for this without……like….death?"

"HE GOTTA PAY ME BACK."

Jaebum sighed in relief, reaching on the counter for his conveniently placed wallet. “How much?”

"$400."

"FOR ONE BAG?"

"WELL LIFE AIN’T CHEAP EITHER, BITCH."

"Woah woah woah, calm down." Mark nodded towards the maknaes standing wide eyed at the dispute. Jinyoung shook himself out of the members’ grips, walking slowly towards the painfully confused leader.

"Sell it."

"Sell what?"

"THE SPAGHETTI."

Jaebum gasped, sell his spaghetti? The spaghetti that he slaved over for 4 hours just to get it perfect? The mother of all Italian dishes? THE FOOD GOD HIMSELF BLESSED WITH HIS OWN HANDS? HIS SPAGHETTI?

Now, normally this kind of suggestion would result in a stern lecture and a slap on the wrist, but when the consequence of refusal was a 6-foot below ground nap, he easily gave in.

The next day, they all left the dorms and journeyed towards the JYPE building. Just on time, 2PM was walking out towards the vans.

"HEEEEY! 2PM SUNBAENIIIIIIMS! ARE YOU GUYS HUNGRY?!" Youngjae jumped, his arms waving to get their attention.

"Who the hell is that?" Taecyeon leaned forward, whispering to Junho.

He shrugged, “Some dance group or something.”

They approached the boys, who carried a small backpack each. Youngjae shimmied out and opened the pack, producing a plastic baggy of noodles.

"The fuck is that?"

"New boy scout product?"

"It’s spaghetti." Jaebum said. They all turned towards him. Because they knew.

"Why is it in a bag, is what I want to know."

"You can’t carry a pot in this."

"Oh shut the hell up Jaebum."

Nichkhun sighed, obviously bored with this exchange, he removed his wallet from his pocket.

Jaebum thrusted a bag towards them, “That’ll be $400.”

Nichkhun dropped the wallet, “WHO THE FUCK PAYS FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS ON A SNACK BAG OF DRIED OUT NASTY SPAGHETTI?”

"This spaghetti," Jaebum threw his pack to the ground, "Might be the best damn thing your undeserving, mortal mouth has ever tasted."

Jaebum takes great pride in his spaghetti.

But 2PM scoffed, picking up the wallet and walking away. “These Boy Scouts are getting more and more aggressive by the year.” Chansung murmured.

"What do we do now?" Jackson asked, "You KNOW I cannot go back to jail. Not after last time."

Yugyeom nodded vigorously, for he was in the same boat.

"I have an idea." Kunpimook stroked his hairless chin, the appearance more of a supervillian than a friend trying to raise $400 for weed fees.

"No." Jackson backed away, holding his hands to his front. "No. NO. I can’t risk this Kunpimook."

"Oh, yes you will. Or I guess I could just call me guy and tell him that you were the one wh-“

"Fine."

[reiwaii]

Amphetamine (Ch. 1)

'Weak' was synonymous with Yugyeom. Whenever the meer mention of his name was heard, one could always expect a comment about his age to follow shortly after. There were a lot of things people said he couldn't do, because he was young; because he was weak.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t one for rebellion either. Studious and polite, when the outside was so clean, nobody even bothered looking in. He didn’t see any reason in it as well. Say what you want, he’d think to himself, it doesn’t affect me in the slightest.

And for the most part, it really did not. He’d grown used to being picked over and taken care of. Even as he grew and neared graduation, others still viewed him as some sort of helpless kindergartener. Naturally, it irritated him, only things were to the point where—if he did want to prove his maturity—he didn’t know how.

School day. Another long one complete with mandatory after-school study. It neared 10pm before he was finally released and by then the sun had already taken rest, forcing him to take the streets where at least half of the street lights functioned properly.

The night was quiet, the sound of Yugyeom’s shoes echoing off of worn-down brick buildings. Crowds straggled and broke off, and eventually the streets were empty. Though the silence was surprisingly relaxing, the atmosphere felt tense, bordering on unnerving. It was probably a quarter past, and as he walked, he wondered if his house has always been this far away.

"God, my legs hurt." he mumbled, releasing his backpack strap to rub one of his thighs. He felt the temperature drop as he walked along, surroundings became familiar and the uneasy feeling that once hung over began to fade.

Psst. Yugyeom stopped, swinging his body to find the source of the sound. The streets were still barren, save for a few midnight strollers that passed every couple of minutes. It was unusual for anyone to attempt conversation with a stranger, much less the variable high school student. He quickened his pace; home was just around the corner.

Then, the sound came again. Psst! It was closer this time, as if it were right behind him. He turned only to find miles and miles of road, sidewalks void of life. Again. Suddenly, a figure stepped out into the streetlights. From a distance, the shadows engulfed his frame and the only thing to be seen were a pair of light blue sneakers.

"That’s a bold outfit choice." Yugyeom remarked quietly, out of place. The sneakers stepped forward, bringing the "wearer" into view. He was a young man, no more than 25, possibly. He wore a blue tracksuit complete with gold necklaces. Chains. Had he not been paying attention, he would have mistaken the smoke from the loosely kept cigarette in his teeth for winter breathe.

For a while, neither male said a word, eyes daring the other to actify confabulation. Yugyeom was positive that by now his parents would be worried by his atypical tardiness, but wouldn’t move at the (admittedly far-out) risk of the streetlight stranger carrying a firearm. And now was not a good time to, well, die. Not when he had this huge history test coming up.

"I have an offer that I am sure you will not refuse." the man spoke with a fitting voice, but none of which Yugyeom had expected. He started to back up, tiny step by tiny step, his eyes scanning the area for surveillance cameras of any kind.

"H-how," he squeaked, voice breaking due to well-placed fear—fear that he resisted to show on the exterior, "how are you so su-sure?"

"Oh, don’t be such a big man now." the older man chuckled, spitting the cigarette out and crushing it beneath the soles of his blue sneakers. He took a step forward, minimum effort to close the gap between the two.

"I know your type." the man started, "Baby faced, youngest in the family. Everyday it’s always ‘you, you, you’, right? It’s annoying, but you’d be damned if you complained and they stopped treating you like an angel."

Yugyeom’s eyes widened; how did he know? Is he a stalker? Family friend? He’s never seen him at any of the tthousand parties his parents throw every year. But he couldn’t question, for now—as he stood under the hard glare of this mysterious being—all he could do was nod.

The man continued, “But!” he raised his hands for emphasis. Yugyeom flinched. “You need some way, just some way, to prove that you’re a man now. That you can handle yourself. Maybe it’s for a girl, your parents, anyone for as many shits as I give. So, because of your…little background story there, I think I am about to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The younger male swallowed hard, it came down dry. It wasn’t sure whether or not he could decline said offer, but he had to admit that he made an excellent point.

He laughed, nervously, “Nothing illegal, is it?” The man came closer, a grin spread in place of an answer.

"Nothing too illegal….at least?"

"Very." sneaker man laughed. "Drug delivery, far and wide. An incredibly high risk of getting caught, but if you ever get arrested, at least you’ll have a helluva story to share with your grandkids." he seemed to think about this in a serious manner, "You could probably write a book about it. Hey, mention me in your dedication page."

Yugyeom contemplated laughter, even though it wasn’t so clear whether it was meant to be a joke. Sneaker man looked around before reaching deep in his pockets and removing a business card. There was no name or address, just a number of what he assumed to be a disposable cell.

"I don’t want to tell you just yet," the man spoke, as if confirming the suspicions in the younger male’s head, "because there’s always the chance that you might snitch to mommy and daddy. Turn me in. Can’t have that, now can we?"

The man flashed a smile before turning to leave, realization set on Yugyeom that it was the first time he’d ever seen his teeth. Straight and glistening in the streetlight, not what he’d expected from a person in the….drug business.

Drug business, he thought again, as reality came in and choked him into sense.

Nobody would have thought someone so young, someone like Yugyeom, would end up delivering heavy amounts of illegal baggage all over the country.

[reiwaii]

Something

A duo. That's what they've been for as long as they've known each other. Best friends forever, a team. Since middle school, they've been shaped in the model of each other, both boys having parents who shared similar dreams and desires for their sons. Of course, it all worked out for a couple of years, when it was easy to control the life--and the works of which--of your own child. And then they split. Personality-wise. Mark stayed on the track his parents layed out; getting good grades, maintaining proper behaviour both in public and private. Jackson strayed; he started slacking off in grades and health, picking fights, smoking. While the boys remained friends outside of the school, during school Mark felt more at place with his other overachieving friends. Whereas Jackson found comfort alone in abandoned classrooms, his sole companion a cheap pack of cigarettes in is back pocket. Mark would often talk to Jackson about his rather odd way of living, though conversations on such were always short and one-sided. Though anyone would eventually get tired of the nagging Jackson had to face on a seemingly daily basis, with his friend it was different. Of course he would raise his worries, but he never pressed. Nor did he wave it around like a flag for the sympathy of others. But eventually, even their time together after school grew shorter and shorter until the only meeting they could manage was a slight head nod at the entrance, before they moved onto individual activities. Then, Jackson started showing up for classes less and less, much to concern of his teachers, parents and--mostly--Mark. Nonetheless, Mark remained a slate for which the younger male could write his woes and erase when he was done. But that was simply what their relationship boiled down to. No more pizza lunches and renting movies only to neglect for something more exciting. No more weekend sleepovers. Just Jackson coming over to complain and leaving without even so much as inquiring about the elder's day. Mark was okay with this, surprisingly, seeing it as a good deed of a sort to help out his troubled friend. Then, Jackson started getting worse. Staying out late at night and sneaking through the back door, or not returning home at all. He branched out of schoolyard gangs, upgrading to ones in his neighborhood. Older members, severe crimes and matching consequences. Now, whenever Jackson didn't show for school or come home at night, everyone scrambled, thinking the worst. Naturally, Mark's family saw it as time to cut ties between the boys, much to the relief of Mark, though he would never say this out loud. A part of him, yes, was tired of having to care for somebody who brushed off advice when given. He knew Jackson wasn't going to get better, or try towards it. Why should he stay? Why should he drag himself down for the impossible? But saying this out loud would mean he accepts that he's leaving his best friend. As the weeks went on, Jackson grew even more distant. He took risks without considering the outcomes; dabbled in drugs, underage drinking. As hard as he tried not to care, the anger towards the younger male's carelessness slowly pushed him away, covering what little attachment he had. I have a life now, he thought, graduation is coming up and I'm going to a really, really good college. And what is he going to do with his life? He laughed, an uneasy feeling swelled within his being. Well, what was Jackson going to do? Live on the streets, possibly. Sell drugs, his body, or both. He shuddered, this wasn't a life anybody deserved. But when the one you're trying to help believes he doesn't need it, what more can you do, right? Right? There has to be something. Sighing, he kicked his feet against his desk, sending his office chair back towards his window. His back pressed onto the glass created large shadows around his room, moonlight peeking through negative space. Once more, he turned in his chair to face the window. Across the street, he was a figure slumped over the railing of a house. He knew exactly who it was and why he was there. He recalled the brief conversation they had when he'd first discovered a similar sight. He was walking home from after school volunteer work when he found Jackson beating tiredly against the painted wood of his own house door, head down against the sun. "What happened to your key?" Mark stopped, leaning on the stair rails. Jackson paused only to look up and scoff at the older male before returning his attention to the concrete. "If you must know," he started, tone dripping with misplaced annoyance, "they changed the lock while I was at school a week ago. Since then, I've just arrived home at the same time as them to get in. Today, I guess, I'm not so lucky." he sighed heavily before adding: "They won't even call me 'son' anymore." Mark stumbled back, caught completely off-guard by his comment. He no longer knew what to say, nor did he know what to do, for anything. So he left. Backing away slowly while Jackson saw better entertainment in knocking on the door to an empty house. Which is exactly what he was doing now. Only, his parents were home, fully aware that their son was out there...in the cold... There has to be something. Anything. He stood and walked to his desk, searching around textbooks and papers for his cellphone. Once found, he opened the telephone app and long pressed one; still #1 on his speed dial, as it's been since middle school. The phone rang several times, each second dragging on into eternity. Was his phone dead? Had he lost it? Both seemed pretty likely and much more pleasant compared to other thoughts he had. He lowered the phone, positioning his thumb over end before he heard the click and mumbled greeting of the man across the street. "Hello?" He hurriedly placed the phone to his ear, "Jackson!" No voices or sounds came from the other end, and for a moment Mark had thought the call dropped. "What do you want?" there it was again, his tired, slow tone soon replaced with all-too-familiar annoyance. But Mark didn't want to fight, not now. "I- um...where are you right now?" he asked, as if he wasn't already aware of the current situation. "Home." "Are you...inside your house?" "Why?" Mark sighed, this wasn't going to be easy and he knew this. There was no longer such a thing as "easy" with Jackson anymore. "Because I'm worried." The younger boy scoffed, and Mark could hear his eyes roll even through the phone, "You weren't so worried last week." "...Talk to me, Jackson." "I have nothing to say." Mark couldn't help but sit and watch as the offense he held towards Jackson's distance, "asshole-ish" attitude take over. He knew that whatever he was about to say next would leave a mess in their relationship that would take years to clean. "Not worried? Jackson, I worry about you day in and out. If you're safe, if you're healthy...You don't how many tests I've failed due to my mind being so clouded with worry that I couldn-" "Don't blame your shit on me." "You're missing the point." "Then get to it." Jackson's patience has always been a bomb lit from both ends, ticking away faster than others. Mark slowly lowered himself onto his bed, already prepared for the argument about to ensue, "I'm saying that I'm here for you." "Here for me? Here for me?!" Jackson exclaimed with faux-amazement. Mark could hear the selection of curse words swirling through the boy's head, and for a while, the line was silent once again. "You don't listen. You nod your head while every word I say--every single word--goes right by you unnoticed. Empty acknowledgment. What's happened to you? What's happened to us, Mark? "You...I thought you would stay with me, that you would understand...I only came to you so much because I learned a long time ago that I can't trust just anybody. I thought you were different, Mark. "But I should've known better, huh? Should've known by the way my parents spoke so high of you, a boy who isn't even related to us by marriage or blood. 'Why couldn't you have grown up like Mark?' 'Why aren't you thinking of college like Mark?' Mark this, Mark that, I'm so-so sick of it. "But I still trusted and loved you like the brother I thought you were, the brother you swore to be. But I see now that you've abandoned me just like my real family, only you weren't so open about it. Thanks for that, at least." The line clicked, signaling the end of the call. Mark reached up and slowly brushed away tears he didn't even know came loose. As much as he hated to admit it, Jackson was right. He'd been so caught up in how he handled his own life, his own problems, that he never really took notice in the one who trusted him the most. He twirled the phone around in his hands, contemplating on whether it was a good idea to call again. But trying was better than waiting it out. He called Jackson and, as expected, received his voicemail instead. "This is um...this is Mark. Please call me when you hear this. As soon as. As soon as you hear this you have to--please just...call me." he hung up, deciding that was as good of a note as ever to end the night. The next morning, the first thing he could think to do was look out the window. To his relief, Jackson no longer sat out on the steps. He lazily continued with his morning, planning on visiting when sun peeked above the clouds to warm the chilled air. He bounded across the street, unusually "jumpy" for a man who was about to visit a person whom he just fought with. He knocked on the door, summoning all of the control he had left not to do so too hard. Jackson's mother, cooking bowl in hand, answered smiling. "Mark, you're here!" she set the bowl on the doorside table and undid the back of her apron, preparing to sit down with him and talk. But Mark wasn't here for that, he's never really been here for that, anyway. "No, Mrs. Wang. Is Jackson here, by any chance?" he craned his neck to peer around the corner into the living room, but the house seemed quiet and empty minus his mother. Jackson's mother sighed, refastening her apron and returning the bowl to her hands. The warm feelings and motherly attitude seemed to vanish. "He's not here." "What?" Mark looked on, puzzled. Jackson's mother didn't even glance back at the man at the doorway, so he saw this as a signal to leave. He turned, closed the door, and walked back down the stairs. No, he wasn't particularly worried; since when was Jackson ever home for long? Knowing him, he might've left first thing in the morning to go out with his group of "friends". So, Mark raced around town, checking almost every alleyway and abandoned building or garage. The places Jackson visited the most, before and after his "change". Morning turned into evening and soon the sun set into night, without so much as a sign to the whereabouts of his friend. And Mark was worried, but there was always the possibility that he had left town, or even the state knowing Jackson. He decided to go back home and just look out of his window until he saw Jackson return. As he made his way back to his house, his phone started ringing in his back pocket. Mark took it out to observe--he didn't recognize the number, nor did he have any idea who it might be. Jackson always called by cell, but maybe he got a new number? So he answered. The line was silent at first, but then came a voice that he knew did not and would never belong to anyone he knew, "Hello, a patient here has given us this number as a contact number. Is this Mr. Tuan?" Patient? "Yes. But who gave you my number?" "Mr. Jackson Wang." He knew it, the answer, before the man even replied. He just didn't want to believe it was right until then. "What-what happened?" his voice was panicked, a million different possibilities in his mind. Did he get shot? Car accident? Heart problems from drug use? His phone almost slipped for his sweaty hands as he waited anxiously for the man's answer. "Attempted suicide. Luckily, a passerby called us before it was too late." and he rambled on, but Mark didn't hear; right after the first sentence he had shoved his phone back into his pocket--without even bothering to hang up--and was already running towards the ER. It was right outside the area, a 5 minute walk from where he last stood, but it seemed like a year before he arrived. Pushing through the door, with sights set on the front desk, he hurriedly gave his name, and Jackson's, to the lady. "Relation to the patient?" Mark froze, completely unprepared for this, or any question. "Brother." She printed out a tag and handed it to Mark, "Visiting is over in 20 minutes so make it fast." He nodded, turning down the corridor until he reached Jackson's room. What if it was bad? He stopped before entering the room. What if Jackson wasn't ready to see him? Mark sure as hell was not. He stood, head pressed against the door. Doctors and nurses walked past, throwing brief glances of sympathy before going on to their work. Minutes clicked away and he knew that he didn't have much time to begin with. So he opened the door, slowly at first, soon speeding up to get inside and get it over with. The man in the bed carefully turned his head, nodding it slightly as a greeting. His arm was entirely bandaged, as was half of his face. His neck encased in a tall brace as to limit any movement during healing. Mark moved cautiously towards him, neither one looking away from the other. He sat next to the bed, and as silence grew louder and more uncomfortable, focused on the miscellaneous items in the room instead. He noticed that, while the tables on either side of the bed were mostly empty, there were crumpled, wallet-sized pictures on both. One of his parents and a younger Jackson playing at the park, the a candid shot other of them both playing video games. Both pictures were from a happier time, one the two boys longed to return to but knew better than to try. "Have you seen them?" Mark cleared his throat, in an attempt to make the atmosphere less awkward. Jackson slowly shook his head, wincing in pain with every turn. "Can you talk?" Mark's voice grew shaky as he mentally scolded himself for asking yet another, stupid question. "Yes," Jackson stopped, closing his eyes and taking in huge breathes before continuing, "but it hurts." Breathe. "A lot." Mark nodded understandingly. It was, at this, best to enjoy each other's company in quiet rather than forced conversation. Jackson drummed his fingers against the bedsheets to the beat of the monitors while Mark paid more attention to the clock. He had about 8 minutes, at the most. And that's how it was for the remaining time. As a nurse peeked in and told Mark what he already knew; that it was time to go. He bent down, placing his arms around the boy in the best hug he could do, his hand on Jackson's forehead smoothing down the stray hairs. Jackson's lips inched up into a smile, a small one, but a smile all the same. As much as they wanted to stay in this position, there was always tomorrow. Mark stood and turned away to the door, pausing only to take one last look at the slow-breathing, already sleeping male on the bed. "Bà mā..." Jackson mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the sheet. Mom and dad. As he twisted and turned, the few tears on his cheek caught light and glistened. Mark sighed; now he had a new mission: Somehow convince his parents to visit, even if for only a few minutes. He could've waited until morning, sure. Maybe then he would've had better control over his thoughts, his words, his temper. But there he stood again, on the doorstep of Jackson's house, only this time it seemed a lot less inviting. It was 9pm, so he knew they were up and had no excuse not to answer. He knocked twice and waited. But nobody came. So he did it again, and still nobody came. It wasn't until the fourth time around when he'd finally heard the lock click and the door opened. It was Jackson's father this time, who smiled, seeming relieved that he wasn't, well, Jackson. But then the smile faded, for the look on Mark's face told him that he was not here for a friendly visit. "He's in the hospital." "Now, Mark. You and I both know that if Jackson wants to be a grown man, he has to deal with these things on hi-" "He tried to commit suicide." Mark's voice started to rise. The look of disinterest never seemed tp leave the father's face, much to Mark's disgust. After a few moments of nothing but staring and heavy breathing, Jackson's father sighed and closed the door. Surprisingly, Mark hadn't done a single thing to stop him. Instead he sat defeated against the stair rails, running his hands through his now atrocious sight of hair, trying to contain the tears that dared come out now. He sighed, "He really wants to see you guys. I was the sole contact because he must've been too scared to put you down but...he really does want to see you." He rested his head on the metal. Suddenly, the door opened once more, revealing the face of the father. "Fine." he grunted before closing. And they did. Every day for about a week. And it didn't automatically heal the relationship they had, but it still did wonders. And the weeks went by as Jackson started getting better, doing better. Released on watch, he stopped doing what was done before and stared leading a better life. The two boys would return to how they were, but it would take time and careful handling. There has to be something. And there was.

[reiwaii]

just wonderful

[reiwaii]

just wonderful

[reiwaii]

just wonderful

[reiwaii]

[VIDEO] 140819 - 포엘의 프로모션 영상 4L's promotional video for KNATION Music Showcase 2014

[reiwaii]

Five Nights

"What’s up guys, it’s ya boy Mark here! Today, we’ve got a special survival horror game: Five Nights At Freddy’s. Now, I’ve been reading about it on the internet…" he rambled on into the camera, in a room, by himself. As he did every Friday night.

Strange, yes, but ever since he started doing “Let’s Play”s on YouTube, he saw it as anything but. He couldn’t handle horror games, or horror anything, but the feeling of bringing entertainment to others made up for the nights upon nights of sleepless pondering.

And hundreds of dollars spent on night lights.

"Okay! Let’s start." he moved his mouse down to new game. As the main intro ended and he was brought into his new environment for the next 5 nights, he started to explore.

"Woah…I can’t move." he laughed nervously. And he couldn’t. Forced to sit down for 6 whole hours and watch as robotic animals came for his death, with sole controls to lights, two doors, and cameras. Fun.

Yet, he kept his cool. He’s played billions of horror games in the past, some causing so much trauma that he’s had to sleep at his mother’s house for weeks. This was just another, slightly more unique, game. He switched from room to room with the cameras, checking periodically on the staged animals while keeping an eye on his power usage.

70% at 1am. Good? Possibly.

After 5 minutes, no activity had been made. While normally this would have been on great relief, the silence and inactive state of the animals played on his mental state; nothing was scarier.

Suddenly, the sound of fast metal clicks across the hallways floors sounded in his headphones. He jumped and quickly checked both sides of the empty room—damn these gaming headphones. They made everything seem so…real.

He checked the stage camera, but noticed that something was rather off. Instead of three, he only saw two. A cold sensation washed over his entire being as he positioned his fingers over the light and door buttons; this wasn’t good.

Things like this were never good.

He switched the cameras frantically as panic set in. No one was in the dining room, no one was in the hallways, there was no way to see into the kitchen. He turned it off, running his sweaty fingers through his equally sweaty hair. All of this tension on night 1? This was really unlike Mark.

Likewise, this game was unlike any other.

No longer able to form full sentences in his commentary, he just started to hum and sing, a last resort to restrain his loose mind. 10 minutes and all he’s seen so far were robot animals magically teleporting from room to room, but nowhere to close.

He started to calm down; maybe this game isn’t as har- his thoughts were cut short as an innocent hallway checked turned into something much…much more heart-stopping.

There was a duck staring right at him—through him almost— at the window. Fast reflexes sent his finger straight down on the door, lights flickering to check the location of the horrifying duck. Just as he was about to let out his long-held breath, the lights flickered once more to reveal the face of another animal to the right.

The rabbit was here.

With both doors jammed shut, the power usage was very high. The animals didn’t seem to be moving anytime soon either; he could tell that he was not going to survive his first night.

Laughing into his mic, he joked, “Guys, I think I’m just going to take early retirement.” the dark humor spewing at uncomfortably fast rates expressing just how “at peace" his mind really was.

“Why am I even working at this damn excuse for a CEC? I should’ve left after that first phone call. This is probably why I was hired so quickly; my qualifications are shit to none.”

19% at the start of 4am.

As he went through his camera rounds, he was relieved to see the last animal remained in his spot. “This one…” he chuckled, “This one is my favourite.” He rushed around, keeping one-sided conversation with his webcam, trying to preoccupy himself from the game—wondering if he had locked the front, back, and bedroom doors.

Suddenly, everything went black. He jumped, realizing that the one thing he had failed to check was the power. The power! As the clock faded away from the screen, the last time was 5am.

"One more hour!" he groaned, disappointed in his failure, all previous emotions forgotten. However, as he "sat" in the darkness, he saw that the end screen was taking a rather long to appear.

Had the game froze? He moved his mouse cursor across the screen, his character’s head followed along. No, it was good. “Was this game over? This is it?” the confusion in his voiced matched the lines pressed into his forehead. His fingers hovered over the ESC key, ready to press and end the video for the day.

Then it started. An eerie, twinkling sound, almost like a music box, played a disgustingly sweet version of Les Toreadors. The eyeballs glowing with every note outside of a door he no longer had control over.

“It was the bear?!” A noise emerged from his throat that even he was unsure of, almost like a mouse squeak, “Oh come on, I thought you were on my side!” As the music stopped abruptly, he slowly removed his headphones, knowing all well what was about to happen next.

"Well…" he whispered, his body still shaking as he stood to turn on every light he could find in his room. "That’s all for this video, guys! Subscribe, like, comment, do whatever…This has been Five Nights At Freddy’s.

"I will not be making a part two."

[reiwaii]

Vocatus

g: gen/ang

wc: 700

c: Markson

Another late night, another attempt to avoid inevitable arguments. Mark paced, window to front door, as if the speed of his anxious actions affected that of which his boyfriend came home. This wasn’t the first incident of the month, nor would it be the last, no matter how hard he wished.

Leaving as soon as he returned from work, only to return when the morning alarm went off, the nauseating stench of hard alcohol and fruity perfume heavy on his clothes. Problem, Mark thought, worry squeezing at his chest with every step. He has a problem. One that was going to be solved tonight, whether he liked it or not. His eyes flickered from the front door, then to the clock hanging loosely from the wall, each tick of its hands felt like a mocking laugh.

Calm down.

He heard the key locks click as a drunk, unstable Jackson attempted to open the door. Insert, Turn, Remove, Try turning locked door knob, Drop key, Repeat.Everyday without fail. As the key dropped to the concrete hall for what seemed like the hundredth time, Mark finally stood to open the door, anger boiling in the deep of his being but reason overpowered impulse.

"Jackson, you’re late." Mark stood in his younger partner’s path, arms crossed, both to express his disgust and hold himself back from pushing the latter back out into the hall.

Jackson smiled, thoughts jammed as an immediate effect of the endless shots he down that night. He threw his body at the elder, arms limp over his shoulders. Slowly, he lifted his head, a mischievous grin set across his face.

”And you’re beautiful.” he stood on his toes and kissed Mark lightly on the lips. It must’ve been a heavy night, the usual taste of alcohol seemed stronger. The younger male limped away to the kitchen, straight to the fridge, where he would produce can after can of cheap beer. Drinking and swinging madly at anything that stood near, he’d continue his binge until his brain shut down to avoid total failure.

But not tonight, not if Mark could help it.

He stood at near the thin strip of metal that marked the end of the living room carpet and the beginning of the tiled kitchen, the border between safety and the battlefield. The moment went by in a blur; before he knew it, he was at the sink popping and pouring the wretched poison down into the drains, ignoring the demands to stop and threats from the man beside him.

"Why do you care so much?" Mark asked quietly, all sounds falling silent.

"You know why. You know I have problems. You know I need some way to forget, even if for only one ni-"

Mark laughed, “One night? Nonsense. It’s every night. Every single night you march your ass into this house smelling like a crowded strip club, Jackson. I’ve had to cancel so many plans because I have to stay home and wait until dawn for you to return safely. It’s like I’m the only one putting effort into making this relationship work!”

”Only?” Jackson scoffed, offended for a reason he lacked, “I try just as hard as you.”

”When was the last time we talked?” the disappointment in his voice replaced with a sadness Jackson had never heard before. His defense weakened; Mark was right. The older male shot him a brief look, Exactly, it said.

"I think you need to go. Now." Mark walked slowly towards the apartment door, despite Jackson’s protests and pleads. He pushed it opened, gesturing with a free hand towards the hall. Out of his life.

”Ma-“

"Now."

Jackson moved out, stopping just long enough in the doorway to take a final look at the elder, before the latter shut the door. This was the end. Tears ran, danced at the edges of his chin before staining the material of his shirt. Through his hands, he watched the clock hanging loosely from the wall, each tick of its hands ringing like a mocking laugh.

[reiwaii]

Monopoly

g: gen/hum

wc: 800

c: ALL

"Alright," Jaebum slid into the front room, holding a building of boxes the others soon realized to be board games. It was that time of day again, when their leader saw it as his own duty to provide entertainment, no matter how boring or age-inappropriate his ideas were.

The members groaned, a mixture of their annoyance with the leader’s sudden need to disturb a peaceful quiet, and, out of all things, it had to be with board games! Yet when called, they obediently filed towards the table. The selection wasn’t only as bad as they expected, it was worse. As if Jaebum had failed to notice that this wasn’t the birthday party of a 5-year-old, but the gathering of grown men.

"I’m not doing this," Yugyeom cautiously reached over to pick a game up, holding it at a distance like one would a dirty tissue.

Jinyoung leaned forward, “Cherry Hunt? Oh, I am definitely too old for that.”

"We all are."

Jaebum raised his arms in a way of surrender, “I didn’t think I’d have to this so soon,” he stuck his hands at the bottom of the pile and pulled out a game, flaunting it like a new trophy.

"Mem..or..y?" Youngjae asked, stumbling over the English title. Jaebum sighed, tossing the box over his shoulder.

"Wrong one."

He rummaged throw the games once more, checking this time when he selected. Satisfied, he brought it out, holding it for all to see. Before they could complain again, Jaebum already had the game open and half of the pieces set up around it. As overturned as the situation was, it was to admit that it was amazing seeing their leader at peace and not stressing over choreography or composing. The least they could do was to not push his patience further. 

After a few minutes of shared thoughts and a quiet settlement, the members sat around the table, not nearly as enthusiastic as their leader. One quick game, right? They all thought. It would be over quickly and perhaps the high would last until their next dance practice, resulting in fun for all…

30 minutes into the game, more than half of the original players had left, storming off to their rooms after arguments or finally settling on an activity other than the one presented. The already dangerously high levels of tension seemed to break through the roof as Jaebum’s competitive nature took over. The remaining, Mark and Jinyoung, looked on in horror as the leader turned into a money-hungry, property monster. Absorbing the many insults and taunts thrown their way when forced to give up property or sent to jail, pretending not to notice when Jaebum “casually" reached over to set their pieces back when they neared him. Anything to end the game without any further problems.

Jinyoung, who’s movements seemed automatic as his mind became occupied with things more important than the game, collapsed onto the table with a final wave of intense boredom.

"How do you even win this game?!” he whined, kicking in a childish manner, a sight unusual from the normally professional entertainer. Mark shrugged tiredly, both heads turned to stare at Jaebum. 

"What? I don’t know either. Read the manual." his eyes never once leaving the stack of money that he was counting, and re-counting, almost the entire time. 

Upon the news, Mark perked up. This was it; the opportunity to end this torture with what little patience he had to keep. He reached sharply towards the box, flinging left over pieces and cards aside until he found the manual. In a practice of a sort, he pretended to read and study the instructions, small nods and mumbles of acknowledgment escaping him for the act. After a while, he threw the book up, a look of “surprise” growing across his face. The sudden activity causing Jinyoung to jump from his position on the table.

"You won!"

Jaebum looked towards the elder, confusion marking every inch, “What? What do you mean?”

"The uh..you won because t-the money and the property and..railroads…" Mark scrambled to think of an explanation, the thought of which had not come when scanning the manual. Abruptly, he stood and started packing the game back up, Jinyoung soon joining in when catching on. The duo congratulated Jaebum, who sat with a smug look on his face after belief of the elder’s lie, on his "win" and hurriedly shuffled out of the room.

"But wait!" Jaebum called to an empty front room, with everybody else going off to do what they please.

"Guys! I won!"