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—if i can see, then how do i find him?
OCTOBER 10: KIM SEOKJIN
==
it's surprising how he still finds himself behind the smoothie bar counter, a polite smile on his face, while the dull concept of kim taehyung lingers in the back of his mind. seokjin hasn't bothered to street sing ever since that hat-stealing episode several days before; there just isn't a drive for him to follow.
because the only thing that's on his mind is taehyung—and finding him.
two hours after his afternoon shift ends, seokjin is finally back inside the dirty walls of the apartment he manages to afford (and it's not like the money comes through good terms; he's made countless bad decisions, but they all yield the cash he requires). the sun is tired, slipping below the horizon—and he is, too.
it's six o'clock. seokjin has one hour.
but in all honesty, he likes it. seokjin likes the adrenaline rush, the constant pressure of losing minutes faster than he can count. he likes it when namjoon can call his shitty, broken phone and ask, "hey, you free tomorrow? the group and i want to discuss stuff with you" and he won't feel completely out of place.
seokjin likes feeling useful for once, and not a burden.
so when the sun coughs its last ray of light into the coming evening, seokjin slips on the best clothes he has in a closet of scattered appearances, combs his hair, and exits the flat with a beating, terrified heart.
but maybe that terror is a drive in its own.
==
the establishment isn't as elaborate seokjin expects it to be—though that certainly helps to ease his wracked nerves.
it's a timid but decorative bar, with tinted glass and bottle lights; unsurprisingly, it fits namjoon's personality precisely (professional but hey, he's still young and abstract, isn't he?). there's a flat screen against the wall playing the news, some minor headline about a guy being shot in the shoulder, but seokjin doesn't pay attention to it. that kind of shit happens all the time in the city.
"kim," seokjin tells the name to the waitress at the door, mustering the sincerest smile he can pull off. "a reservation for five, yeah?"
"right this way, sir."
and there they are, hushed murmurs exchanging between four—perhaps lunatics, but seokjin could care less of what their titles are. namjoon looks up, grabbing the attention of his group, and beckons seokjin over.
"you showed up, huh, seokjin?" he gives a shit-eating grin. "and only half an hour late."
"fuck off, kim," seokjin retorts right back with a crazed laugh, sitting in the empty chair next to a quiet man in a navy blazer. the table is scattered with half-empty glasses and opened menus, but seokjin kind of appreciates the clutter—makes it seem realistic, and he sure as hell needs that consolation in this world of vehicle explosions and dead, walking boys. "i've got unmanageable hair."
