𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 | PJM. JJK✔

the date

When we arrive back in Seoul, it is a late afternoon, and I am swiftly pulled outside, forced to commit to a three kilometer walk in the direction of Itaewon.

We have drinks at a bar, but unlike my usual drinking partners, I don't think this boy expects the alcohol to loosen me up or change me, and I like that. He seems okay with my silence. Okay with me. He pours me a shot-glass despite the fact that I am clearly the elder, and we drink until he is so far gone he can barely sit on his chair.

"I'am the s-ssea an no-nobody owns me!" He declares loudly, pointing a wobbly finger into the air. "Do you- do you know who said that, misser Jeon?" He leans over, nearly crawling across the table.

I scratch the back of my head. "I can't say I do, no."

"Pippi Longstocking!" The man yells like fireworks, his voice cracking adorably as he slides off his chair for the third time that evening.

I decide to bring him home, and carry him on my back through the city. He weighs less than a feather.

"Hey, missser Jeon?" He slurs, sensually rubbing his lips against the shell of my ear. "You're not a stalker, are you?"

I smirk at the way he titliates me. "You do know you talked to me first, right?"

"Oh please!" He yells loudly, causing some people on the street to glance in our direction. "Thass the oldess trick'in the s-stalker book..."

"The stalker book," I repeat. "There's a stalker book?"

"Mhm..."

"I should probably read that then."

The mean frosty wind makes my eyes tear, but the rest of my body feels far from cold. The boy on my back begins to hum a song with a smooth tenor voice that makes my stomach heavy. I am not surprised to hear that he can sing, but I am startled by how beautiful it sounds when his ariose tone blends in with the wind.

I guess he would have been an idol in a different life. Or maybe he was. Maybe he is.

"If you~ if you~" he whispers into my ear, his hot breath falling against my skin. "If you're struggling like I am, can't we make things a little easier?~"

When we arrive at his apartment, he clamps himself tighter to my body and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

"Mister Jeon," he purrs, the smell of Soju laced into his breath intoxicating my mind even further. "Would you like to come inside and have another drink with me?"

I become quiet and stare at the ground.

He sees my lack of verbal communication as a refusal, and rushes to climb off my back, landing on his unsteady feet. "S-sorry, I'm sorry, you probably have a life, or a wife, or a boyfriend, or a dog," he grabs his head to keep it from spinning. "Sorry... I've taken enough of your time," he apologizes again with a groan.

"No," I say calmly, looking him the eyes with a smile I hoped would set him at ease. "Don't worry. I have no one."

_

"You can sit down," he says as he floats through his apartment, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from a glass cabinet full of different kinds of hard liquor.

He pours us both a drink, and then drops himself next to me on his couch.

He is wearing a purple knitted sweater that hangs just loosely enough around his smaller frame to expose his collar bones, and I force myself to keep my eyes on his face.

"Do you want me to call you hyung or oppa?"

I gulp harshly and flutter my eyes in shock, but then he laughs at me, and I appear to have been fooled.