#myzme zen

[spamdemc]

Had lots of fun designing this cover for a fan fiction book ♥️

for some reason the quality dropped as soon as I sent it to my phone 🤨

[crowdedchatroom]

the most dangerous game (for the world’s biggest virgins) | Chapter One

the first fic posted on this blog! i posted a few mysme fics on my main blog since they were for zines, but since this one is sort of its own thing, i’d figure i’d make use of this silly little sideblog.

the idea of there being a chapter 2 is a little questionable, but we’ll see how it goes.

AO3 | writing commissions | main blog.

                                                            0

They meet over coffee. Jumin sits quietly in his chair, reading a book, and Zen sits across from him, impatiently drumming his fingers on the table.

“Stop that,” says Jumin, not lifting his eyes from his book. “I find it annoying.”

Near immediately, Zen counters with, “I find you annoying.”

“The feeling is quite mutual.”

They sit in silence for a few more moments, and Zen begins to get a little irritated. “Why am I here?” he asks.

“I wanted to have a chat with you,” says Jumin, and he pauses, “I never thought I would say that sentence in earnest. It’s an interesting change.”

Zen would probably make a snappy comeback, if he weren’t already so done with Jumin. “Then why have we just been sitting here, not talking for—” he looks up at the clock by the front counter, and MC waves happily at him. He waves back, then turns back to Jumin, “five minutes.”

“I wasn’t in a rush,” says Jumin, “and I figured now was as good a time as any to conduct a little experiment and see how long it took for the silence to get to you. That’s the thing about children, you know?” He lifts his head to meet Zen’s eyes. “They can’t stand boredom.”

He looks back down at his book, and Zen briefly ponders if his career could survive the inevitable controversy he would face for murdering the man in front of him. And Jumin is quiet for a few moments longer, giving Zen plenty of time to think, until he opens his mouth once again.

“So,” Jumin says, “What are we?”

There are a few blissful moments where Zen is only attempting to process those stupid, terrible words coming from Jumin’s stupid, terrible mouth. Not that Zen thinks about Jumin’s mouth at all, ever—shut up.

When he does manage to process said terrible words, it’s as if Jumin has poured water directly onto Zen’s motherboard in an attempt to kill him dead. If it were possible to short-circuit in real life, Zen would surely be doing so.

“What are we?” he manages.

Jumin turns a page in his book. “I believe that’s what I said, yes.”

Zen shakes his head, “We aren’t anything. We don’t have anything to do with each other.”

“I see,” says Jumin, “I assumed that was the case. I just wanted to clarify.”

More silence. Zen continues drumming his fingers on the table, now in the midst of developing a distinct rhythm. To be in this situation, he thinks, is surely the universe’s retribution for all his sins. Which ones? That is yet to be figured out. He begins to replay the interaction in his head, and something bothers him.

Jumin assumed that was the case? What does that mean?

Of course, there’s the obvious interpretation—which is that Jumin took the events of last weekend and deduced that they were the product of a lot of drinking between both parties. Then there’s the explanation Zen falls on, which is that Jumin thinks he’s some kind of commitment-phobic playboy. An astrological leap, to be sure.

And who is Jumin to make this assumption of Zen, who is totally dedicated to anything he puts his mind to— including relationships, thank you very much. Jumin, on the other hand, has probably walked through all of his relationships with indifference, letting them pass as quickly as they arrived. Last weekend probably didn’t even mean anything to him. In fact, that’s probably Jumin’s every weekend, and Zen is one of many—

In the midst of Zen’s spiral, Jumin speaks again, “You can dismiss yourself. I’m waiting on a cup of coffee.”

“—I’m not some kind of playboy, for your information!” exclaims Zen. Jumin looks up at him.

“I see,” he says, “Now, I’m not sure what logical leap you’ve been privately making over there, but rest assured, whatever you think I think of you is absolutely true.”

He’s messing with Zen, now.

“I mean, what do you want us to be?” says Zen, and Jumin seems to think about it for a few seconds.

“I’m impartial,” he says, “I think we have very little compatibility as ‘friends,’” he lifts his hands from his book to put ‘friends’ in air quotes, “so a relationship seems a bit hasty, but I didn’t know if you were the sort of person to care about that sort of thing, so I asked.”

“And what does that mean?” says Zen, tone accusatory, though this whole interaction has been pretty accusatory in general. They’re an accusatory pair.

“Well, I had reason to consider either possibility,” says Jumin, “You seemed to be trying very hard to forget the whole ordeal, but at the same time you did agree to meet me here, which I doubt would happen if you were completely uninterested.”

“It’s not hard to be uninterested in you,” says Zen.

“And yet you’re still sitting here,” retorts Jumin.

“You’re a dick,” says Zen, “and you’re really not funny at all. Or interesting. Or nice.”

“I see,” says Jumin.

“It just makes me so, ugh, to think that I—that you—that we—” says Zen, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Jumin is sitting across for him, observing him curiously.

“So you’ve been thinking about it?” says Jumin, and if Zen didn’t know any better, he’d say that there was a smile forming on his stupid, terrible face. Just awful. The worst. “If it makes you feel better, it was ‘only a kiss.’ Of course, I suppose that comfort depends on how much you value a kiss.”

“If it was with you, not at all,” tries Zen. Jumin nods.

“Same here,” says Jumin, “It was, as Lucien or Yoosung would say, ‘wack.’”

Zen’s brain is short-circuiting again. “Did you just say ‘wack?’”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to expand my vocabulary to something more current, in order to appear less stiff,” says Jumin, a man who is sitting in a coffee shop in a full suit. Had it been any other day, Zen is certain that said suit would be covered in pale cat hair. “Why are you still sitting here?”

“Why are you?”

“I believe I mentioned that I was waiting on a coffee?”

“Maybe I’m also waiting on a coffee.”

“I think that you’d have to order one in order to wait for it.”

“Die,” says Zen, “I just—nevermind your assumptions of me, what is this whole situation supposed to say about you, Jumin Han?” He tries to say Jumin’s name as if that were an insult in itself. Jumin merely raises an eyebrow.

“That I don’t feel we’re compatible?” he says.

“No! It’s that you’re a playboy!”

“A playboy?”

“A playboy!”

Jumin seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose, from a certain perspective, it could look that way,” he says. “That said, I consider myself quite conservative with my sensuality.”

Hearing Jumin refer to his sensuality in conversation is quite possibly the worst thing Zen has ever heard. Instead of abruptly vomiting, however, he stands his ground. His very thin, shaky ground. “Well you aren’t! And it’s weird that you’re pretending to be all professional about this situation and trying to say that I don’t value a kiss or whatever. You���you’re weird!”

“Perhaps,” Jumin places his book down on the table, “we would benefit from a reevaluation of the incident. As I recall, it was you who leaned in for the kiss, Zen.”

“Oh, fuck you! That’s not what this is about and you know it—” Zen begins, fully prepared to go into a tirade about how he was drunk and how Jumin was being weirdly cool and how the moment was a particularly bizarre exception, as far as romance goes, but Jumin is just… looking at him. “What?” he says, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m thinking,” Jumin says, and there is the briefest moment of blissful silence before he says, “I don’t find you unattractive,” and Zen once again feels as though he has just been shot.

“I’m sorry, what\—”

“As insufferable as your personality is, you are fairly handsome, and I was fairly drunk at the time,” says Jumin, “and so when you leaned in for the kiss, I was receptive.”

“God. Why are you doing this? Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m merely analyzing the events of last weekend in order to paint a clearer picture of my character, since you insist I fit some kind of ‘playboy’ stereotype,” says Jumin. “Now, I will admit that my decision to introduce tongue to the kiss was very questionable, however—”

“Stop! Stop! I get it! You can stop now!”

“Zen, you are making a scene,” Jumin appears serious at first, before a slight curve appears at the corner of his lips, and he blows some air out of his nose. “Though, I suppose that’s natural for an actor.”

“You’re not funny,” Zen says. God. Thinking about that night is—

(kind of hot)

—awful. What was he thinking? He has to live with the fact that Jumin’s tongue has been in his mouth forever now. This is a travesty.

“Zen,” says Jumin. “Was it such an unpleasant experience for you? Because if so, I—” he stops for a second, as if truly hesitant to say anything further, “I… am sorry.”

He’s apologizing. Holy shit. Zen just got an apology. Out of Jumin.

“What was that?”

“I’m not going to say it again, especially since I was not initially responsible for the incident.” Holy shit. Jumin seems flustered. This is hilarious. And kind of adorable. Or, not adorable—Zen definitely did not refer to Jumin as adorable, but it’s like… well, it’s something, and Zen is all about it.

“No, no, say it! You can’t backpedal.”

“I am,” Jumin sighs, “sorry for making you uncomfortable, if that was the case.”

“Oh, that’s good. I could get used to that.”

“That is an inherently weird statement to make, Zen. I believe you were arguing the point that I was ‘weird,’ earlier, and that only serves as incriminating evidence to your own ‘weirdness.” Jumin is turning a bit pink. “Where’s my coffee? Could you leave? I’d like to drink my coffee in peace.”

“It looks like it’s gonna take a while,” says Zen, “in the meantime, let’s review another point: you find me attractive?”

“Do not get me started, because I seem to remember that your hands certainly found themselves in some interesting places that evening, and—”

“Okay, okay! Point made!” Zen interjects. A few seconds pass, and he lets out a confession. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I just thought your apology was really funny.”

“I am going to kill you. I have the money to do so cleanly and without any trace to myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” says Zen, dismissive. “So, we’re agreed? We’re forgetting about the whole thing?”

Jumin nods. “It would be a service to the both of us. I mean, just imagine it. If we dated.”

Zen says, “Not possible.”

Jumin adds, “Completely incomprehensible.”

“Disgusting.”

“Terrible.”

“The worst.”

More silence. Extremely, wildly uncomfortable silence. The kind of silence that only occurs between parties with an it’s complicated status on social media.

Zen tries not to think about the kiss, but, well, it’s not like he’s kissed that many people in his life—and Jumin happened to be much more skilled than expected, and it’s hard not to think about that. Zen has barely ever kissed another person with tongue in his life, but Jumin was a total natural. A real team player.

And, well, he isn’t hideous. Kind of the opposite. There’s a reason this guy also models, Zen supposes. A cursory glance to Jumin only serves to confirm this. Sure, he’s pretentious and repulsive, but he does really pull that suit off. His hair looks soft (it is soft. Zen remembers, because one of his hands ran through it when they kissed. The other hand was kind of preoccupied with things below the waist, but whatever. Not relevant, right now) and his skin is immaculate.

“It would be kind of funny,” says Zen, talking before thinking. “If we dated, that is.”

“Oh, it would be hilarious.”

“Maybe we’d do it for, like, a trial run. You know, if I can tolerate you for a month, then you have to pay me some ridiculous amount of money.”

“That wouldn’t be much of a challenge at all. I’m very tolerable. And what would I get if you lost?”

“I have no idea. Maybe I’d have to do something stupid, like babysit Elizabeth or something—”

“Deal.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh?

“For real?” Zen says, incredulous. “You’d make this stupid bet on the off chance that I would have to watch your stupid cat?”

“Yes, absolutely. It would be hilarious.”

“Well,” says Zen, thinking about his impending sum of money and definitely not thinking about Jumin’s tongue in his mouth, “Then we have a deal.”

“Certainly. We’ll need to work out the details a bit later, perhaps in a written contract—”

“I am not doing a fifty shades style contract with you.”

Jumin shakes his head. “Nothing like that. This would merely cover the terms of the wager, in order to ensure equal chances of winning for both parties. My affinities are none of your business”

“Um, I think they’re totally my business. I’m your trial-run boyfriend.”

This banter would probably go on forever, if not for the sudden presence of Jaehee, who clears her throat. Zen instantly jumps in his seat.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, instantaneously. Jaehee looks at him with some unholy combination of grief and amusement.

“Long enough,” she says, before turning to Jumin. “You ordered coffee?”

This, Zen thinks, is going to bite him in the ass.

[im-an-otomess]

We all know the theory of Seven being in love with you in every route,

But do you know what’s also sad

Maybe even sadder

Yoosung’s inability to cope with Rika’s death in every route

It’s unhealthy

It’s heartbreaking to watch

It’s not a theory but a fact

The RFA shrugs it off because they think he’s immature

The fandom shrugs it off and focuses on his funny bias towards V

I woke up in cold sweat realizing this in the middle of the night.

We don’t deserve Yoosung Kim.

[spamdemc]

Feels good making digital art after almost 4 yeas :)