ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕, Beomjun

012

Yeonjun, in perfect fashion of being awake early, turns on his speaker and blasts his music through the entire apartment (and possibly the whole complex too). He plays the air guitar to the rock song, dancing around his apartment as he perfects the bits and bobs for his and Beomgyu's weekend plans.

He plucks a red rose from the small bouquet he got (because they're red, another perfect association with the colour theme he promised Beomgyu they'd revisit) and places it between his teeth, pretending to be surrounded by dozens of adoring fans.

He dork dances all the to Beomgyu's bedroom door and throws it open.

For once, Beomgyu doesn't look agitated that he's been woken early morning instead of late noon like he'd prefer. Though it's obvious he's barely awake and depleted, too lazy to lift his head from his pillow. He stares at Yeonjun without shifting, a man paralysed by make-believe toxins rendering him immovable.

"Morning, Sunshine!" Yeonjun sing-songs, throwing the rose dramatically at Beomgyu as he takes it from his teeth.

He finishes his performance with another drawn-out riff from his invisible guitar, head banging to the music, before the song changes and he settles into his usual level of abnormal.

Beomgyu's face screws as the thornless rose smacks him in the face, creased brows causing lines on his forehead. Yeonjun's going to cause him an early onset of wrinkles with all of his performative acts he suffers through. Beomgyu thinks he should've majored in theatre (where he could find willing victims to sit through his theatrics), and that he deserves a headache for waking him up.

He lifts the rose from his face, staring at its grey stalk and its darker shade of silky petals. "Where the hell did you get this?"

"I bought it... obviously." Yeonjun laughs with a scoff, taking a seat on the edge of Beomgyu's bed. It dips under his weight and the movement the comfort of Beomgyu's foot. He grunts and shifts, a pout on his lips to express his bother.

"I wouldn't put it past you to steal it from a neighbour's bush," Beomgyu mumbles as he sits up. Still staring at the rose, he carelessly throws it on his nightstand, with the other collection of things scattered there, and faces Yeonjun.

Yeonjun's fond eyes cross over Beomgyu's features. His face is puffy from sleep and his eyes are open by a crack, no doubt blurry from just being woke. He stretches, arms lifting above his head and the soft bird's nest once considered hair before he drops them to his side.

"Who'd have the time for that?" Yeonjun questions, confusion present in the scrunching of his brows, forgetting Beomgyu doesn't know about the other eleven perfect roses tightly packed in a pretty bouquet.

Beomgyu tilts his head and squints, an unsaid question lingering in his mind. "I'm sure it's not that hard to find a rose, Yeonjun..."

Yeonjun's lips form a circle and he makes a noise of acknowledgement, shooting out of his seat and running out of the room without an explanation.

"Yeonjun!?" Beomgyu calls after him, mildly unsettled by his best friend's hyperactivity.

He hears his feet first, the fast pattering of quick steps getting closer, and then he sees Yeonjun with his small bouquet of roses. It rustles in his arms as he runs with a bounce in his step, a happy smile on his face. Beomgyu breathes out a fond laugh at the way Yeonjun's hair bounces with him.

"It's for the red theme. These are red, and don't worry about killing them because they're bound to die in a few days anyway," Yeonjun informs, dropping the bouquet in Beomgyu's arm before the younger has time to react.

Beomgyu's amusement is in the form of a nasal exhale. He can't tell whether it's sweet or morbid due to the fact Yeonjun decided it was necessary to include. He goes with the former since the fact was included because of his past despair about being unable to care for a plant.