SHIRT:: hyunin

SOS

hyunjin pov

I'd sell my soul for grades of gold, and I'm pretty sure everyone is aware of that. The only problem—I procrastinate like I'm paid for it, and I know for a fact that I'll always be 'one of the best' but never 'the best'.

My math book falls from my grip after someone bumped into my shoulder, people like that get on my nerves. I hastily pick it up and walk ahead like nothing ever happened, my studies always get the best of me.

Though, my math book wasn't the only thing I dropped.

I'm 100% positive I lost my jaw at the sight. Some idiots picked a fight with Minho, it's not uncommon but it's definitely not a view I'd ever get used to.

Minho throws a punch, then a kick. His opponent then attempts to dodge, but ends up getting a low blow.

Minho giggles, as always.

"Hyung! What the hell?!" I run up to him pretending as if I'm not scared of his mood.

"Oh, Hyunjin." He chuckles lightheartedly and fans himself with his bruised hands, "You wanna walk home together?"

"Not with you looking like this, I'll get you cleaned up." I tug on his sleeve then rush to the nearest bathroom, I swear I could hear another amused giggle.

The door shuts behind Minho as he ran in after me, him proceeding to lean against the door.

Hyung is like an older brother to me, thats what it's always been like. I've known him ever since I've grown a sense of logic, he's my idea of platonic logic, as fresh as ever.

Our friendship is refreshing, polar opposites never get boring. He's unpredictable and outgoing, I'm quiet and an academic weapon, not the type people would think would have friends like Minho.

"Hyunjin, I find comfort in my sins." He blurts, blowing off a scab on his knuckle. "Is that weird?"

I rinse his wound, then reply, "Never, I do too."

My eyes dart down to the evident blood stain on his shirt, it looks like Minho just got out of a murder scene. "You look as if you find comfort in murder."

"It seems comforting but disturbing, I'd love to have to describe me, though." He snickers and wraps his wound. "I'd walk up to satan and challenge him to a murder fest."

"Can't believe I'm friends with the human equivalent of satan." I stifle a laugh and try to rid the blood on his uniform.

"Well, you kind of are, deal with it."

"Kind of?" We both chuckle, looking up to each other for a minute before I sigh.

"Being 'kind of' friends with you sounds like a hassle, I feel bad for anyone who is."

"Tell that to Seungmin, the new guy in photography."

"No thank you," The stain finally seems less noticeable, more like a ketchup stain rather than a blood stain. "I'm too scared to approach people."

"Too scared to approach people but you're still popular and you still know everyone? Totally believable." Minho yanks the shirt out of my hands and fixes his collar. "It should be fine now, no one really cares."

"But it's not clean-"

He scoffs. "Give it up, clean freak."

🪷

"Hey Chan."

"Yo, Hyunjin." he replies.

Chan is my closest friend at the bar, I'm not sure if he's close enough for me to consider a friend, but I'm introverted, if he talks to me then that's enough for me to consider him as a friend.

"Pass me the whiskey." I slide over a bottle of botched up water to him and he pours it into a few glasses like a pro. The liquid sloshes a bit before sitting neatly into the glass, and Chan stares at me almost concerned as I struggle to open a bottle of soju. "You've been working here for how long, and you struggle to open soju?"

"A year surely isn't that long," he snatches the bottle out of my hands.

"It's long enough to know how to open a bottle of soju, isn't it?" he downs a bit of soju with a satisfying gulp.

"Maybe I'm just a slow learner."

"Quite odd coming from you—someone who pretty much only studies until it's time for your illegal job." Chan chuckles and puts away the soju in a shelf filled with more types of alcohol than I could ever count as an Asian nerd.

"It'll only be illegal until next year, 18's not that far."

"It's far enough to get this entire place fined for having you—" we both have a bit of wine in an overly expensive glass he picked out for us whilst speaking. "—you're a jewel, but you're still not exactly there yet."

"17, 18, same thing. The police ain't gonna barge in here and charge a random 17 year old just because they help out at a bar and bottom out for money."

"You make it sound like sarcasm." Chan sighs. He gestures for me to take another sip, to which I gladly do.

I shrug.

"Here's to underage drinking!" I put my glass up and Chan giggles like a proud dad. "Raise your glass you old hag."

"Proudly, but not for your reason."

Our glasses collide with a relieving clink, and just like that, all my sums of over-thinking along with every single problem I've faced today disappears.

Only—

—that's temporary.