Here's Where it's Wrong
pg // onew/taemin // ~500 w
-- inspired by a scene from why stop now.
The reason why Jinki has to practice his piece for his audition-- by drumming his fingers on his knees, as opposed to a piano-- in the dealer's poorly ventilated living room is because his mom can't get into rehab lest she dirties her urine with drugs.
The drug dealer, he goes by Tommy, but Jinki has seen him in school with his ripped pants and blonde hair, hands pocketed from sight. In school, they called him Taemin.
"What is that?" Tommy is calloused and young and a little flimsy around the edges. He crosses his legs and points at Jinki's hands. "Is that a nervous tick?"
Jinki's hands freeze. "No. I have an audition later."
"You a singer?"
Jinki makes a noise lodged at the base of his throat. He clears it down, "Pianist."
"You have an audition for piano school?"
When Tommy says it like that, the university that holds all of Jinki's dreams loses its grace. As though it were a school meant for students who wanted to build pianos, never play them. "Sure."
"That explains the tie." Tommy puffs a cigarette from the side of his lips.
"It also explains why I'm in a hurry."
"Cocaine won't calm your nerves."
"It's not for me. It's for my mother." It used to pain Jinki to say it: My mother is a crack head. People were evil is why. People made him ashamed of his mother.
"Who's your mother?"
The woman who couldn't come down here herself because she still owes you money. "That's neither here nor there. Let's just make this transaction happen so that I may be on my way."
"Well, shit." Tommy coughs through his exhale of smoke. "Don't get all fancy on me now." He stands up, corners a dresser and pulls out a drawer. Who keeps drugs in such a haphazardly placed storage? "How much do you need?"
Jinki takes out what's left of his allowance, rolled up in a rubber band. "However much this gets me."
Tommy kills his cigarette on the ashen surface of the dresser, drags himself over and takes the money. He uncoils the rubber band, wears it on his wrist while he counts, black lining the underside of the tips of his nails as so meticulously and uselessly observed by Jinki. Tommy whistles by the time he's done counting. "You want your mother to get this high?"
"It's a long story."
"Maybe we can smoke a joint and you can tell me about it."
Jinki is positive that he's joking. Still, though, "I'd rather go to my audition as sober as possible, thanks."
"Suit yourself." Tommy replies with a half smirk and comes back with a bag of white powder.
Jinki reaches for it immediately, gets on his feet just to make clear that he has no intentions of dawdling through a murky attempt at small talk. "Thank you. I'll let myself out." Jinki pockets the drugs and plays his piece in his mind.
"Good luck with your audition." Tommy gets the door for Jinki anyways. "You'll probably make it. Your tie looks lucky."
Jinki doesn't even know what to say to that. He walks out, head down.
"I'll see you Monday, Jinki." Even without seeing the smile on Tommy's face, Jinki knows it's there. He hears it, imagines it, dreads it.
But when he turns around, all he's faced with is the door.
*masterficlist | tumblr | *new* twitter | comment here to be added
-- i didn't make it to jinki's bday! FAIL.
still. belated happy birthday fic for onew.
may your thighs prosper and your fail
expand and your jeans grow impossibly
tighter. i love you.
-- inspired by a scene from why stop now.
The reason why Jinki has to practice his piece for his audition-- by drumming his fingers on his knees, as opposed to a piano-- in the dealer's poorly ventilated living room is because his mom can't get into rehab lest she dirties her urine with drugs.
The drug dealer, he goes by Tommy, but Jinki has seen him in school with his ripped pants and blonde hair, hands pocketed from sight. In school, they called him Taemin.
"What is that?" Tommy is calloused and young and a little flimsy around the edges. He crosses his legs and points at Jinki's hands. "Is that a nervous tick?"
Jinki's hands freeze. "No. I have an audition later."
"You a singer?"
Jinki makes a noise lodged at the base of his throat. He clears it down, "Pianist."
"You have an audition for piano school?"
When Tommy says it like that, the university that holds all of Jinki's dreams loses its grace. As though it were a school meant for students who wanted to build pianos, never play them. "Sure."
"That explains the tie." Tommy puffs a cigarette from the side of his lips.
"It also explains why I'm in a hurry."
"Cocaine won't calm your nerves."
"It's not for me. It's for my mother." It used to pain Jinki to say it: My mother is a crack head. People were evil is why. People made him ashamed of his mother.
"Who's your mother?"
The woman who couldn't come down here herself because she still owes you money. "That's neither here nor there. Let's just make this transaction happen so that I may be on my way."
"Well, shit." Tommy coughs through his exhale of smoke. "Don't get all fancy on me now." He stands up, corners a dresser and pulls out a drawer. Who keeps drugs in such a haphazardly placed storage? "How much do you need?"
Jinki takes out what's left of his allowance, rolled up in a rubber band. "However much this gets me."
Tommy kills his cigarette on the ashen surface of the dresser, drags himself over and takes the money. He uncoils the rubber band, wears it on his wrist while he counts, black lining the underside of the tips of his nails as so meticulously and uselessly observed by Jinki. Tommy whistles by the time he's done counting. "You want your mother to get this high?"
"It's a long story."
"Maybe we can smoke a joint and you can tell me about it."
Jinki is positive that he's joking. Still, though, "I'd rather go to my audition as sober as possible, thanks."
"Suit yourself." Tommy replies with a half smirk and comes back with a bag of white powder.
Jinki reaches for it immediately, gets on his feet just to make clear that he has no intentions of dawdling through a murky attempt at small talk. "Thank you. I'll let myself out." Jinki pockets the drugs and plays his piece in his mind.
"Good luck with your audition." Tommy gets the door for Jinki anyways. "You'll probably make it. Your tie looks lucky."
Jinki doesn't even know what to say to that. He walks out, head down.
"I'll see you Monday, Jinki." Even without seeing the smile on Tommy's face, Jinki knows it's there. He hears it, imagines it, dreads it.
But when he turns around, all he's faced with is the door.
*masterficlist | tumblr | *new* twitter | comment here to be added
-- i didn't make it to jinki's bday! FAIL.
still. belated happy birthday fic for onew.
may your thighs prosper and your fail
expand and your jeans grow impossibly
tighter. i love you.