Rose [Mashikyu]

- 2.

I'm going to try and write mostly in 3rd person from now on since I'm better at it :)))

This chap is nearly 2.8K words btw ooofff

——

[3RD Person's P.O.V.]

"Mashiho, are you ready to leave?"

"Give me two seconds, mom!" Mashiho called back, trying not to strain his voice too much as he threw on his favourite leather jacket.

His fingers subconsciously travelled to the hemming at the bottom of the jacket and end of the sleeves, he smiled fondly as he admired the stitching- something which seemed like such a distant memory.

Everything seemed faded- but he could piece together small fragments of that day two years ago, and was able to create a wonderful scene to live out in his mind whenever he would seek a form of comfort.

Himself and Yoshinori added the stitching to that jacket themselves- Yoshinori's mother passed away at a young age, so he often found himself doing his best to look after his ageing father and younger brother. That included cooking, cleaning- and of course, sewing.

Mashiho smiled, a small and breathy laugh coming out of his mouth as he remembered the numerous times he would mess up. Every time his friend tried to teach him a new technique he would constantly get it wrong- and, wow, why did he realise just now the patience his friend must have had with him to teach him how to master the craft?

"Mashiho, hurry up son!" He heard his father, and immediately his smile dropped, his hands weakly settling to his sides.

'Right,' he thought, 'this is my reality now.'

"Coming!" He shouted back, before exiting his room and walking straight out of the front door and into the car, not even bothering to spare his father or mother a glance.

He didn't want to look at them. He didn't want to look at them when they could easily pretend as if everything that happened the previous night ceased to exist.

Because, in Mashiho's mind, his father's words were like a broken record- they were never ending and forever tormenting him.

He didn't want to look at his father. He didn't want to smile at him. He just wanted to get that dinner over and done with, and then go home, sleep, and proceed to dream beautiful dreams about his life before Seoul.

———

"Junkyu, adjust your sweater- don't let it crease so much."

"Yes, mom." He sighed, hands gripping the woollen fabric and unrolling it. Junkyu and his mother had only been waiting for a small while inside the restaurant, which only had a few guests- those who were wealthy enough to eat at the place without the worry of pricing.

Junkyu hated going to places like that. What was the point? You get dressed into something fancy and uncomfortable, go, are forced to speak classily with no colloquial language unless you want the waiter to stare at you weirdly, oh, and you'll end up spending a shit ton of money for a bunch of food that you could have easily gotten from a different store, for a lower price and more comfortable atmosphere.

His eyes darted around the space, trying to spot anyone who would walk through the fancy ochre door, gilded with golden dragons for good fortune.

Bleached hair. His mom had told him about that the previous day- stating that her friend's son had bleached the ends of his hair to a faded blond colour.

He'd love to dye his hair, but apparently it would harm their reputation, so he wasn't allowed to do so.

It turns out that he didn't have to look, because the sound of the obnoxious enter bell had found his guests for him.