Systemism

Hyeonwoo (2.2 [Yechan])

Yechan walked toward the convenience store, his eyes scanning the familiar street. Outside, sitting on a low wall near the entrance, were his crew members—all dressed in matching black tracksuits. It was hard to miss them. The contrast between the clean lines of their clothes and the casual way they ate their snacks made them stand out as an odd but tight-knit family.

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As Yechan approached the group, his gaze naturally landed on Bae Ji-Woong first. Ji-Woong's shining green eyes caught the sunlight in a way that made them almost seem to glow, but they were half-hidden behind the messy brown hair that hung loosely over his face. He was hunched over a bowl of instant noodles, slurping them up with the same enthusiasm as someone starved for days. The air around him carried the faint scent of miso broth, and with each bite, the noodles disappeared faster than Yechan thought possible.

Bae Ji-Woong: 170 cm, 62 kg
[B, C, B, B, C] 

For a moment, Yechan stopped in his tracks, silently observing the scene. The rhythmic sound of Ji-Woong's eating, punctuated by the occasional clink of chopsticks against the bowl, seemed to fill the otherwise quiet street. His crew, as always, was fully immersed in their worlds, and in some strange way, this normalcy brought a small, fleeting sense of comfort.

Ji-Woong's eyes flickered up briefly from his bowl, catching Yechan's gaze. There was a glint there, mischievous yet casual like he had been expecting him the whole time.

Ji-Woong: "Yechan," 

Ji-Woong said around a mouthful of noodles, his voice carrying that lazy nonchalance he was known for. He gestured to the food with his chopsticks. 

Ji-Woong: "You want some? It's good. But, you know... everything tastes better when it's free."

He flashed a grin, his lips curling upward in that signature smirk that never seemed to reach his eyes. It wasn't a real invitation—it was more like a reflex, the kind of offer Ji-Woong threw out because he felt he should, not because he cared if Yechan said yes or no. The way he balanced between seeming generous and self-serving had always been a delicate game for Ji-Woong.

Yechan looked at the bowl for a second before shaking his head, his hands slipping into his pockets, the movement smooth and deliberate.

Yechan: "I'll pass." 

His words were quiet, devoid of any warmth or humour, just like the man himself. 

Yechan: "Not in the mood."

There was a moment of silence as Ji-Woong's eyes narrowed slightly, searching Yechan's face for something—anything—that might explain his answer. But as always, Yechan's expression remained unreadable, his features a mask of cool indifference.

Ji-Woong shrugged, already losing interest, his attention snapping back to the last bits of food in his bowl. He tilted it slightly, making sure to scoop up every last piece.

Ji-Woong: "Suit yourself," he muttered, barely glancing up. He twirled the chopsticks idly between his fingers, more out of habit than necessity.

Ji-Woong: "Though, if you ever change your mind..." 

He trailed off, a sly grin creeping back onto his face.

Ji-Woong: "You know I'm all about the deals."

The words hung between them, casual on the surface but loaded with the subtle layers that always came with Ji-Woong. It wasn't just about food—nothing with him ever was. Yechan had learned over time that Ji-Woong's offer of anything, even something as simple as noodles, came with unspoken strings attached. It was never malicious, just... opportunistic. Ji-Woong had a way of moving through life like a scavenger, picking up what he could, giving just enough to seem generous, but always with an eye on the bottom line.