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theblueintheday2015-09-27 07:18 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-09-27 07:18 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] Montréal
First words from Debauched Butterfly.
This is inspired by a @bts_twt photo of Yoongi and I honestly don't know who, with Darth Vader and crystal skull(?) masks on.
I called this story Montréal because I felt like it. :P
The world is an interesting place, Yoongi thinks as he looks aroung the club, lights flashing red, violet, blue as they reflect around the surface of the mask he's wearing, a mistake he realizes now, but the crystal skull mask had seemed pretty cool when Jimin had held it out, or at least a better option than Chewbacca. . .
but now the dull buzzing in his head no longer seems like the effect of a few drinks, and more like the beginning of a full out migraine. And, of course, Jimin is nowhere in sight.
"You can't let him go by myself!" Namjoon had said, "What if he get kidnapped? Or someone slips something in his drink?" Yoongi had rolled his eyes but reluctantly taken off his headphones and changed into something that didn't look like he had, in fact, stayed up in it all night.
But, of course, Jimin has to cooperate if Yoongi is supposed to be looking out for him, and in the moment when Yoongi gets distracted by the bartender, who has the gall to I.D. him even though he hasn't been I.D.ed in years, Yoongi muttering under his breath as he searches through his pockets for his drivers licence, the bartender growing more and more suspicious by the second, Jimin vanishes from sight. And his Darth Vader mask, that Yoongi had thought would be so easy to pick out of a crowd, actually fades into the shadows and flashing lights and he can't find Jimin at all.
I'm going to wring your neck, Yoongi mutters under his breath, eyes roving the floor, blinking when he gets an eyeful of green laserlight and the staggers back when someone almost elbows his face—and that's enough. Yoongi has officially had enough. Jimin can get kidnapped for all he cares.
He doesn't really want Jimin to get kidnapped.
He's just about to—he's not sure what actually. Tell the DJ to announce over the speakers that he, Yoongi, has lost a sophomore dance undergrad with a Darth Vader mask on and too much tequila in his stomach? Yoongi is spared the embarassment of asking when he spots a familiar mask turning away in the dark, strobe light flashing on and off so that everthing seems to be happing in stop-motion as Yoongi lunges forward, grabbing Jimin by the arm and dragging him off to the bathroom, around the corner where the noise of the EDM is mufflied, only the bass rumbling through his chest like the tremours of an approaching earthquake, and the light is thankfully just a plain florescent tube; Yoongi turns to tell Jimin off and—
either Jimin grew a foot in the last two hours, or Yoongi has the wrong person. Yoongji freezes, his grasp on not-Jimin's wrist loosening as his hand drops back to his side and not-Jimin raises his other hand, pulls the mask off.
Not-Jimin is ridicuously good-looking, Yoongi thinks with a kind of sickening punch to the gut. He also looks exactly like a certain grad student he's seen around, once in a while, bent over a table in the library or talking to the head of the music department or—
"Umm," not-Jimin says, "I'm Kim Seokjin. You are?"
"Min Yoongi," Yoongi says automatically, before kicking himself mentally because he still has the mask on and, until he opened his mouth, no one would have ever been able to pin the blame on him.
Seokjin looks thoughtful, and if he didn't look strangely nice—stop it right there, Yoongi, he probably just looks nice, after all, he gets along with the head of the music department—Yoongi would think he was getting ready to call for security.
"Are you friends with Namjoon?" Seokjin finally asks, just when Yoongi is about to make a break for it; there have to bee other Min Yoongi's at his univeristy, right?—
"I—what?" Yoongi blinks. "Yeah. . .?"
"I think he mentioned you before," Seokjin continues, as though he's fighting past a couple of drinks to dig down into the recesses of his memory, "You've done some work under the name Sugar?"
"Suga," Yoongi corrects him, and finaly pulls off the mask, because if Seokjin knows Namjoon then he's busted either way, and the mask is bloody uncomforable. He blinks, running his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair; it's hot down here, and he still can't get used to the texture of the strands between his fingers, since he went blond.
Seokjin isn't saying anything, and it's kind of strange, the silence between them stretching, a bubble in the muffled chaos that surrounds their momentary bubble. He looks up, in case Seokjin has decided to call security after all, but Seokjin is just staring at him, the Darth Vader mask tight in his grasp.
"Oh," Seokjin says, the vowel falling from his lips and bouncing across the floor. Yoongi isn't sure what he's supposed to say, so he shrugs up at Seokjin, grinning to hopefully release the strange tension, about to ask if he's seen Jimin because why not, when Seokjin continues.
"Namjoon forgot to say you were hot," he says, and then immediately flushes a particularily luscious shade of pink that leaves Yoongi flustered.
"Umm," he says, eloquently.
"There you are!" Jimin couldn't have possibly picked worse timing, careening around the corner, unsteady on far-too-much-tequila legs as he slams into Yoongi who promptly overbalances, because Jimin might work out in his spare time but Yoongi actually has work to do, and falls into Seokjin who lets out a superised "oomph" as all the air leaves his lungs.
Yoongi is feeling pretty winded as well, gasping as Jimin clumsily regains his footing, none the worse for wear.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going with Taehyung!" he says brightly, before swaying back around the corner, leaving Seokjin and Yoongi tangled up against the wall. If Yoongi had been embarassed before, that was nothing compared to how he feels right now, plastered along the length of Seokjin who's staring down at him, his face full of—
curiosity? Yoongi blinks. The bass is thrumming through the ground, the music from the speakers building and buiding, reaching a fever pitch—
"I think I'm going to kiss you," Seokjin says, and Yoongi finds himself nodding, a sharp jerk of the chin as the beat drops and soft lips fold over his slightly open mouth.
When they pull apart there's something in Seokjin's face, something that looks a little like wonder, and Yoongi runs his tongue over his lips, tastes the residual sweetness of Seokjin's mouth.
Seokjin opens his mouth to—there's a buzzing somewhere between them, and Seokjin reaches down to pull a phone out of his pocket, flipping the pink screen open and sighing at what's written on the screen.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he mumbles into the phone, and Yoongi's heart sinks though he's not even sure why; he doesn't even really know Seokjin and yet. . .he feels Seokjin press a slip of paper into his hands before pushing gently past him, smiling apologetically as he turns the corner, leaving Yoongji alone in the hallway outside the bathrooms, the sound of someone throwing up the contents of their stomach into a toilet loud and clear. He looks down at paper in his hand.
0■0-■■■-■■■■
Call me.
This is inspired by a @bts_twt photo of Yoongi and I honestly don't know who, with Darth Vader and crystal skull(?) masks on.
I called this story Montréal because I felt like it. :P
The world is an interesting place, Yoongi thinks as he looks aroung the club, lights flashing red, violet, blue as they reflect around the surface of the mask he's wearing, a mistake he realizes now, but the crystal skull mask had seemed pretty cool when Jimin had held it out, or at least a better option than Chewbacca. . .
but now the dull buzzing in his head no longer seems like the effect of a few drinks, and more like the beginning of a full out migraine. And, of course, Jimin is nowhere in sight.
"You can't let him go by myself!" Namjoon had said, "What if he get kidnapped? Or someone slips something in his drink?" Yoongi had rolled his eyes but reluctantly taken off his headphones and changed into something that didn't look like he had, in fact, stayed up in it all night.
But, of course, Jimin has to cooperate if Yoongi is supposed to be looking out for him, and in the moment when Yoongi gets distracted by the bartender, who has the gall to I.D. him even though he hasn't been I.D.ed in years, Yoongi muttering under his breath as he searches through his pockets for his drivers licence, the bartender growing more and more suspicious by the second, Jimin vanishes from sight. And his Darth Vader mask, that Yoongi had thought would be so easy to pick out of a crowd, actually fades into the shadows and flashing lights and he can't find Jimin at all.
I'm going to wring your neck, Yoongi mutters under his breath, eyes roving the floor, blinking when he gets an eyeful of green laserlight and the staggers back when someone almost elbows his face—and that's enough. Yoongi has officially had enough. Jimin can get kidnapped for all he cares.
He doesn't really want Jimin to get kidnapped.
He's just about to—he's not sure what actually. Tell the DJ to announce over the speakers that he, Yoongi, has lost a sophomore dance undergrad with a Darth Vader mask on and too much tequila in his stomach? Yoongi is spared the embarassment of asking when he spots a familiar mask turning away in the dark, strobe light flashing on and off so that everthing seems to be happing in stop-motion as Yoongi lunges forward, grabbing Jimin by the arm and dragging him off to the bathroom, around the corner where the noise of the EDM is mufflied, only the bass rumbling through his chest like the tremours of an approaching earthquake, and the light is thankfully just a plain florescent tube; Yoongi turns to tell Jimin off and—
either Jimin grew a foot in the last two hours, or Yoongi has the wrong person. Yoongji freezes, his grasp on not-Jimin's wrist loosening as his hand drops back to his side and not-Jimin raises his other hand, pulls the mask off.
Not-Jimin is ridicuously good-looking, Yoongi thinks with a kind of sickening punch to the gut. He also looks exactly like a certain grad student he's seen around, once in a while, bent over a table in the library or talking to the head of the music department or—
"Umm," not-Jimin says, "I'm Kim Seokjin. You are?"
"Min Yoongi," Yoongi says automatically, before kicking himself mentally because he still has the mask on and, until he opened his mouth, no one would have ever been able to pin the blame on him.
Seokjin looks thoughtful, and if he didn't look strangely nice—stop it right there, Yoongi, he probably just looks nice, after all, he gets along with the head of the music department—Yoongi would think he was getting ready to call for security.
"Are you friends with Namjoon?" Seokjin finally asks, just when Yoongi is about to make a break for it; there have to bee other Min Yoongi's at his univeristy, right?—
"I—what?" Yoongi blinks. "Yeah. . .?"
"I think he mentioned you before," Seokjin continues, as though he's fighting past a couple of drinks to dig down into the recesses of his memory, "You've done some work under the name Sugar?"
"Suga," Yoongi corrects him, and finaly pulls off the mask, because if Seokjin knows Namjoon then he's busted either way, and the mask is bloody uncomforable. He blinks, running his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair; it's hot down here, and he still can't get used to the texture of the strands between his fingers, since he went blond.
Seokjin isn't saying anything, and it's kind of strange, the silence between them stretching, a bubble in the muffled chaos that surrounds their momentary bubble. He looks up, in case Seokjin has decided to call security after all, but Seokjin is just staring at him, the Darth Vader mask tight in his grasp.
"Oh," Seokjin says, the vowel falling from his lips and bouncing across the floor. Yoongi isn't sure what he's supposed to say, so he shrugs up at Seokjin, grinning to hopefully release the strange tension, about to ask if he's seen Jimin because why not, when Seokjin continues.
"Namjoon forgot to say you were hot," he says, and then immediately flushes a particularily luscious shade of pink that leaves Yoongi flustered.
"Umm," he says, eloquently.
"There you are!" Jimin couldn't have possibly picked worse timing, careening around the corner, unsteady on far-too-much-tequila legs as he slams into Yoongi who promptly overbalances, because Jimin might work out in his spare time but Yoongi actually has work to do, and falls into Seokjin who lets out a superised "oomph" as all the air leaves his lungs.
Yoongi is feeling pretty winded as well, gasping as Jimin clumsily regains his footing, none the worse for wear.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going with Taehyung!" he says brightly, before swaying back around the corner, leaving Seokjin and Yoongi tangled up against the wall. If Yoongi had been embarassed before, that was nothing compared to how he feels right now, plastered along the length of Seokjin who's staring down at him, his face full of—
curiosity? Yoongi blinks. The bass is thrumming through the ground, the music from the speakers building and buiding, reaching a fever pitch—
"I think I'm going to kiss you," Seokjin says, and Yoongi finds himself nodding, a sharp jerk of the chin as the beat drops and soft lips fold over his slightly open mouth.
When they pull apart there's something in Seokjin's face, something that looks a little like wonder, and Yoongi runs his tongue over his lips, tastes the residual sweetness of Seokjin's mouth.
Seokjin opens his mouth to—there's a buzzing somewhere between them, and Seokjin reaches down to pull a phone out of his pocket, flipping the pink screen open and sighing at what's written on the screen.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming," he mumbles into the phone, and Yoongi's heart sinks though he's not even sure why; he doesn't even really know Seokjin and yet. . .he feels Seokjin press a slip of paper into his hands before pushing gently past him, smiling apologetically as he turns the corner, leaving Yoongji alone in the hallway outside the bathrooms, the sound of someone throwing up the contents of their stomach into a toilet loud and clear. He looks down at paper in his hand.
0■0-■■■-■■■■
Call me.