Kim Jongin wasn’t sure what day of the week it was, he didn’t care, but the sky that afternoon was stained in faded pink, blazing orange streaked the horizon and an indiscernible hue somewhat between blue and violet completed the canvas. The sun was waving its hand for a farewell, casting pretty shadows before withdrawing its light. He was walking in the busy streets of Seoul, shoulders slumped and head dropped down, his gaze traced the ugly cracks on the pavement and whatever wisdom it held when he heard it. A soft longing whimper, he looked back.

Curious wide round eyes.

It only took one glance.

Jongin flipped.

He wanted that adorable fur of a dog at first glance. They shared a sustained eye contact, two connected gaze meeting halfway and in that, instant Jongin knew that the dog was for him. However, he was forced to look away; he hasted his steps back to his house because his pockets were empty. They have been for a while. He didn’t even know he wanted a dog, his survival depended on noodles and processed foods which were perniciously ebbing his body with toxins. He can’t possibly take another creature under his wing, he’d probably accidentally kill the dog in the process. He drowned himself in a Sherlock marathon but his struggle was futile, the pathetic look on the pup’s eyes lingered in his memory, no pain from hair-pulling or restrained scream could dissipate it. It was begging Jongin to open his arms so that they could live happily ever after. Not that Jongin was that ignorant to believe in the concept of forever. Forever is but an old joke that nobody laughed at. Jongin hardly believed in anything. But still, for the dog’s sake, he was willing to bend his principles by an inch. Or more. He resulted to contacting a friend who he had not seen for almost a year the following day. The sun was barely peaking from the horizon, threatening to bleed in vibrant orange when Jongin bombarded Sehun’s door, right hand curled into a determined fist.

This couldn’t wait until I’m awake enough to think clearly? Sehun asked, ruffling his bed hair in sheer annoyance when he learned the reason behind Jongin’s precipitous appearance. Jongin had the tendency to be impulsive; he needed someone to hold the rope for him, to keep him still, both in thoughts and actions.

no. Jongin was done waiting. He rummaged his house seeking for a non-existent saving. But who was he kidding? Money was fleeting, it was meant to be spent not hoarded. Jongin was in the process of reconsidering that notion as the sad look on the dog’s eyes crawled underneath his skin.

A smack would have landed in Jongin’s forehead, but the atmosphere reeked of tension thin enough to erupt with just the right amount of pressure. Begrudgingly, the male in his clad boxers and black wife beater went inside his home. He shoved the cash in Jongin’s face but not without making the other male swear to fill in his job for the day. Jongin, left with no other option, swore. He might be unemployed, standing on tiptoes under the fine line between heretical and downright psychopathic but his words are steadfast. His vows dig bone deep; he wished he could say the same to the male in front of him.

That was how he ended up as the owner of Monggu. Alas, his days spent in pure solitude by choice were to reach its conclusion. His bliss was cut short however as he received the address Sehun sent him. Sehun, the record holder of wrong timing, wrong choices if he didn’t know any better he’d think that making sure of Jongin’s unhappiness was his sole reason for existence. The desire to ditch was overpowering, not to mention the look that Monggu gave him when the fur ball sensed that his new owner was leaving him behind in an empty house. He locked the door behind him. Kim Jongin, he might not spell normalcy, but it didn’t made him automatically not trust-worthy. 

Sehun was dead, Jongin held into it like a mantra. Cautiously he slipped into the building, his steps were calculated, teeming with the intention of going through the job unnoticed. He took the breath that he was holding as the staff around him failed to notice his presence. He shouldn’t have. He should have held into that breath because an angry Chinese guy held him by the collar and yanked him into a room before he could curse at him. He then later found out that he was there to pile face paint to him, dress him up into a completely different person that he came in as.  Jongin was indomitable, he would grab a fistful of his obnoxious bleach hair and drown him in the Han River. The morning news would be filled with his pale corpse floating face down. He very much knew how Jongin despised working around people, let alone people working on his damn body. He was going to be a model, an underwear model at that. Oh Sehun wouldn’t live to see the day light tomorrow. Maybe not even his nighttime show if Jongin could make it out of the hellhole that Sehun dug out specifically for him. Hours of flashing lights and almost were translated as eternal torture in Jongin’s book. Attention suffocated him, fast-paced labor and mistranslated demands numbed his brain.

He wasn’t to set foot on the damned place again, he was violated. He has been stripped off the naivety he didn’t know he had. But alas the photographer trailed behind him as he was about to get dressed. He went down on his knees and begged him to stay, to take a permanent job rather than a replacement.  He couldn’t stop talking about the fire, the intensity, the fury in Jongin’s eyes. Jongin had no idea what the photographer was going on about. Was he referring to his death glare from hell? However, he quite liked the idea of someone kissing the ground he walked on. He was able to bend the knees of a renowned photographer by the virtue of his glare alone. And just like that Jongin said yes.

He took one last look at himself in the mirror, shedding off the vanity that that seeped in him like second skin. Despite the faint shade of kohl and pinkish stain on his lips that refused to be washed off, he could still recognize himself. He didn’t mull if he made a wise decision, he has Monggu to feed now anyway. He picked up his plain shirt sitting by the arm of a chair, the door busted open, and it made him jumped a little. It was natural to look at the intruder, words to lash out at the ready. It was however unnatural to find him rendered mute, well-practiced curse words unable to escape his lips.

Wide round eyes.

Pink plump lips.

Jongin flipped for the second time.

A/N

: Hellooooooooo! So another Kaisoo. Been thinking of this fic after finishing up getting even but then the Baek thing happened (also we were reviewing) and it changed the course of this fic completely, it was supposed to be more than one pairing. I'm not proud of myself for holding a bit of grudge againts Baek, i'm ashamed of it. Foolish me, its been months but i'm still an EXO fan so YeHet for that!!!

~~~~~~The anxiety of waiting for the result of the PNLE is killing me.

Hope you liked this chapter ^^

BTS is holding a concert in my country right now (dont know them really) when will Exo happen?

I do not have poster making skills so i requested on Good Heaven. I like it. Kyunggie does too.