#this is one of the funniest k trips i've ever read

[wannaeatramyeon]

HOWWW DO U WRITE SO FAST AND SO WELL I LITERALLY TAKE WEEKS TO WRITE ANYTHING WORTHWHILE YET U ARE ABLE TO CHURN THESE THINGS OUT IN A HEARTBEAT ITS SO IMPRESSIVE

this time could u maybe do jake kim with a childhood friends!lover? im just imagining him with someone whose dad is also from the pre-generation, sorta like jerry (he can have a cameo we love that bad boy <3)

I'm pretty impulsive as a person... and when something grips me then. I need to do it. Luckily I don't have too much going on irl lmao so I have a lotta free time.

Jake Kim x Reader: Childhood friends

G/N.

"Smile when you're spoken to. Stay silent and out of sight when you're not."

It's important. You must follow these two pieces of instruction at all cost.

You nod when your dad reminds you again, squatting down to adjust your collar and your hair.

"Come on then, little one," he says, smiling softly. He doesn't hold his hand out as he usually does, leaving you to trail behind. Almost tripping over your shoelaces in an effort to keep up with his large strides.

.

.

Gapryong Kim's house is impressive, much more impressive than your apartment.

It's big and spacious. Ample room to run around and play. Your eye passes over the expensive breakable vases and severe decor, instead focusing on the long corridors and small nooks and crannies perfect for hiding.

You're shuffled off into a corner, not before being introduced to the owners, your dad's boss, first. You remember to smile and say hello back with full honorifics when Gapryong and Minseon greets you. Bowing at a full ninety degrees just like you had practised.

You find it hard not to fidget as you sit by the doorway. Bored and eyes occasionally falling closed at whatever is happening, not understanding the words or sentences as the adults talk in the centre of the room.

A gangly boy pokes his head around, holds out his hand, and you startle at his appearance. "Come on. This is boring, let's go."

Stay silent and out of sight. This counts, right?

You look over at your dad and find him observing you two. He gives you a small smile and a nod and you take this boy's hand.

.

.

His name is Jake Kim.

His name is Jake Kim and he's Gapryong's son. He walks the corridors with a quiet confidence and self assured stride. Hands behind his head and chewing his gum loudly.

He asks for your name and you tell him. He repeats it back to you with a grin and says it's cool, then digs in his pocket to offer you a stick of gum.

You spend hours in his bedroom together. Reading through comics and talking about nothing in particular as children often do. Only occasionally interrupted by adults bringing in drinks and snacks. Until the sun sinks and sunset oranges and reds filter through his window.

"It's amazing here!" you say, cheeks stuffed with hotteok and spraying crumbs everywhere.

Jake only shrugs.

.

.

You see Jake regularly after that.

You ask to tag along, and at first your dad is reluctant. You plead and whine and promise to be on your best behaviour and he gives in.

Gapryong and Minseon are always pleased to see you. Jake is even more so.

.

.

Jake is sullen and reserved around his parents but he smiles and laughs a lot with you.

He teases and jokes when it's just the two of you and you think he might be the funniest boy you've ever met.

You ask him who his favourite bands are and he doesn't know. When you tell him yours, he also doesn't know who they are. You gasp in shock and pull out your phone and headphones from your bag, pass him an earbud and listen to the sound of perky k-pop together.

"They're ok." Jake tells you with a grin, "I've heard better."

You give him a shove for that.

.

.

"Here," Jake gives you the last cookie and your greedy hands take it without a second thought.

He always gives you the last of everything. Watch you fervently fill your face in both disgust and awe.

"How do you eat so much!" he tries to give you a pinch, and you giggle, ducking out of the way. "You eat more than me!"

You smile, opening your mouth wide with half chewed food and he pretends to gag.

It never occurs to you how, whenever you visit, only your favourite snacks are served.

.

.

"This is Jerry,"

You look up at the boy next to Jake, and your neck seems to crane for a lifetime before finally resting on his face.

"You're huge!" You say, a little mean.

"Am not!" Jerry responds back to you, face flushing red. You give Jerry your half eaten snack as an apology and he accepts.

Jake grins, slinging his arm around the two of you, dragging you both out into the courtyard and away from the adults talking.

.

.

You sit shoulder to shoulder with Jake, Jerry on his other side. The house is filled with people dressed in black. Tears and sighs and subdued mutterings.

Jake doesn't cry today, neither does Minseon. He just stares at the portrait of his dad, not saying a word all day.

Your dad has smoked more today than you have ever seen in your life.

Eventually, when the alcohol is flowing and the adults get too rowdy, you sit with Jake in his bedroom. For hours and hours, just like the first time. Long after Jerry and most of the other adults have left. You hold him, tucking him into your side and he leans into your warmth.

His face is on your shoulder, so is a wetness. You don't say anything and keep holding him until your body is stiff and your knees hurt. You still don't move. You're there for as long as Jake needs you.

.

.

Jake's smile returns, after some time.

It doesn't quite feel the same though. You feel his childhood sweetness fading away and you don't know how to hold on to it.

.

.

There is a brief moment in time, during your friendship with Jake, where your growth spurt kicks in and you're taller than him.

You tiptoe and rest your elbow on his head. It's uncomfortable. He's still too tall, and you're not tall enough to make the pose work. Yet, you still do it every opportunity you get.

The opportunity does not last long.

Jake is gangly, grows ganglier still. He shoots up like bamboo and you think there's no stopping him.

You think he might be the tallest middle schooler in the world... until you see Jerry again and you think he is definitely the tallest middle schooler in the world.

.

.

Jake doesn't know when it hits him.

One day you're just you. His best friend that he has known forever. Goofy and silly. Snorts when they laugh, talks with their mouth full.

The next, your hair is shiny and your lashes are long. He thinks you smell nice and your smile makes him feel like he's dying in the best way possible.

Jerry catches him watching you and encourages him to confess.

Jake grimaces at the thought, at his transparency. His words come out indecipherable and muffled against his pillow.

Jerry doesn't say anything, just laments the fact he might be the third wheel forever.

.

.

It should be simple. Like you two becoming friends. Easy and uncomplicated.

Jake's natural charm is nowhere to be found. Having always been comfortable in his body, he now feels his legs are too long, his limbs too lanky around you. He stumbles over his feet more often than not. Finds himself tongue tied and red cheeked.

"What's wrong with you!" your hands grab onto his shirt, yanking him back upright as he trips for the third time in as many minutes.

.

.

Jake has always been cute. With his chubby cheeks and sharp eyes and kind smile.

Today, he tries out a wink on you (and you wonder where the hell he has picked that from), you can't help but think he's handsome too.

.

.

You and Jake still hang out frequently in his bedroom.

Minseon asks that he keeps the door open at all times, something she has never requested before, and you both burn crimson.

.

.

"Help me," Jake pouts, thrusting his school work at you. It's a Physics problem and he knows you suck at Physics.

You're both lying on your front on his bed, pressed at the shoulders.

"Burn it." You tell him and he laughs, sweeping all the books and stationery to the floor and turning onto his back.

"Sorry," you put down your phone and look at him. Has he always had those golden flecks in his eyes?

"Don't be." He sighs. "I think I'm gonna be held back a year."

"Aw Jake," You giggle, running your fingers through his hair, "You're definitely going to be the tallest in your class then."

He grabs your hand, stopping it mid-movement and rolls his eyes fondly. "You're a shit."

He doesn't let go. You forget how to breathe.

.

.

Jake has promised you ice cream, and you wait for him outside Gangseo Middle School.

He introduces you to Brad Lee and Jason Yoon and their eyes widen in recognition at your name.

"Oh, so that's-" Brad starts before receiving a sharp elbow in the stomach from Jason.

"Sorry Ma'am!" Ma'am?!

Jason gives you a bow, tells you it's nice to finally meet you and drags Brad away.

.

.

"What have you told them about me?"

Jake is shifty. Fidgety. He avoids your eyes and concentrates on his cone of ice-cream. Pretends he doesn't hear you even as you lean into his space.

"Jake Kim, I know you haven't suddenly gone deaf."

A bubble of laughter escapes his throat. He still doesn't say anything.

"Fine," You click your tongue in annoyance. "Be like that."

.

.

"I told them I like you." Jake catches you off guard a few weeks later. When you're lying on his floor watching a video on your phone, hand inside a bag of potato chips.

"Huh?"

"Brad and Jason," Jake rubs the back of his neck, "I told them that I like you."

Wait, what?!

You catch a glimpse of yourself in his full length mirror. You hair unbrushed and unwashed, dressed in your favourite, most comfortable thread bare outfit, potato chip crumbs around your mouth and down your front.

The most bizarre question grips you. "Even right now?"

Jake frowns, looks at you as if you're stupid. "Yeah?"

"Oh." It feels like a realisation, even though it's not. Not really. Not with the way you two are around each other.

You don't look at Jake as you return his affection, telling him you like him too, shy and cheeks flushed.

His response mirrors yours, "Oh."

You chance a peek at him and he looks as red as you feel. You don't think you've ever seen Jake blush before. It's deeply endearing and you sear the image into your heart forever.

"What now then?" you ask. Because if you both like each other then...

Jake plops down next to you, giving you a shrug accompanied with the sweetest smile you have ever seen. He takes your hand, greasy and food stained and all, and interwines your fingers together.

"I dunno. I should take you out on a proper date."

You nod, but it doesn't matter.

You look at your hand in his, think about taking his hand for the first time all those years ago and realise you've been each other's since the beginning.

[avialaeandapidae]

Got my days wrong and ended up alone in a room with my boss and the President of Ireland while I was on ketamine.

Thread by @shockproofbeats

Right, this was when I was eighteen so don't judge me too harshly. Or if you think drugs are cool and I'm a legend, fill your boots. Anyway, at the time I was working through college in Dublin with bar shifts at [redacted] music venue.

One day I get a call on my day off. Way the gig worked, you'd either get Fri or Sat off. This week it was Fri, happy days. My manager, let's call her Dympna, pipes up on the phone: "So, when you come in this evening, just a few things to remember". I'm like, hold on Dympz, I'm off this eve, jog on. She corrects me. "Remember I said you could get all of Saturday off if you just worked 2 hours tonight?".

And of course THEN, I did suddenly remember, she'd said it to me as I was leaving the building and my conscious work brain was doing somersaults to get out of the place. She could have told me I was to have my foreskin tattooed with a harpoon and I would have given her a smile, thumbs up, and a flurry of yeps to get out of the place. I was eighteen. On minimum wage, and - bear in mind this is really saying something - my absolute minimum effort. So, I'm bang to rights and I say "yeaaah, of course, sorry just got my days mixed up, I'll be there no problem" and she says, "this evening will be fine, just the head of the [redacted] and some VIPs, few hours then you can take off".

All good. Except for the one thing. At that very moment, I was in a mate's house on Dame St, relaxing with (I thought) nothing to do for the evening.

Now you have to remember that, before dabbing and fortnite, kids used "drugs" to get high and I was, occasionally, adjacent to them. I was a fairly sheltered kid before college, and didn't even drink til I was well into my late teens, never smoked even. I was very green.

So too, coincidentally, was the homebrew ketamine that said pal was making IN HIS OVEN when I arrived. My pal had gotten it in liquid form and, for some reason, it had been dyed green - he has subsequently told me he thought it was a St Patrick's Day promotion, and I've always thought it a charming entrepreneurial flourish on the part of his enterprising ketamine wholesaler. (Ketamine wholesalers are often vets, and the stuff originally for cats. People always say horse tranquiliser, either to make it sound more sordid or more badass, but ketamine is used on many animals, and vets have more use for cat tranqs than horses. Not quite as sexy is it?)

Anyway, for want of a better idea, I took him up on his offer of a line of this thick, vaguely slightly clumpy bright green powder, knowing I had nothing else to do for the evening. Felt nothing. Had a tiny further bump 10 mins later. It was at this point that my phone rang.

FLASHBACK ENDS, WE'RE BACK IN THE ROOM. So I'm definitely sweating after the call, not like instant come-up, more worried ABOUT the come-up. Never done this in my life, I've no idea how it's going to feel. But, absent any other idea, I get my stuff together and head to work.

On way to work, starts kicking in. You know when the roof of your mouth starts politely folding your brain in half, and your chest flutters like a cathedral filled with bees? I was holding it together but knew if I stopped concentrating for one second, I would become time itself.

By the time I reach work (twenty mins later) I am sweating like microwaved bread, eyes on hinges, convinced my fingernails owe me money. I have an overwelming urge to yawn, just to get the memories out WHEN in comes Dympna with the rota for the evening.

D: Thanks again, know it's short- oh, you look a bit hot and bothered, did you run here ha?"

Me: Hmnnnnnyes, I did - the dids is"

D: OK, just you tonight and the top man, he's showing the President what's going on for the next while"

[one beat]

Me: Sorr din you sez de presddyen?" D: Yes, Mary McAleese is in to see this season's programme of events.

Me: Hmmnggg

D: All you need to do is stand in the corner and offer them drinks every fifteen minutes.

Me: Ahhh yesssshnshh

D: Maybe have a wash beforehand So the gig is this: Mary McAleese (the *original* MMA) was to go round this room upstairs which had upcoming acts for the season illustrated with photographs and programme notes. The director of [redacted] would walk her around and say "fricken great, Madge innit?" or whatever.

My role is pretty weird, I have to stand in the corner and then every 15 mins, INTERRUPT this live-wire pair to offer them drinks, which protocol dictates they must refuse. I have barely processed any of this before I'm grabbing a tray and heading upstairs.

The tray, btw, contains a white wine, a red wine, a G&T, a whiskey, a rum and coke and some mineral waters. Always found that mix weird. Imagine the President of Ireland seeing the rum and coke and going "oooooh nice one, ta - now tell me about this Latvian choir again".

Right now I can hold it together when stimulated, when the adrenaline and fear is keeping me just ticking over - I'm weird but with it.

Problem is, my job is now to stand silent and motionless in a room on my own until the President of Ireland arrives. Time passes on my own. Empires crumble and glaciers dissolve, stars die and oceans melt, out on the dusty planes of mother earth, hot bursts of young love gift the miracle of life; children are born, raised, stricken infirm and die of old age.

And then Mary McAleese walks in. By now, having been alone with my thoughts for the entire Cretaceous period, I am no longer mildly weird but deeply, extravagantly deranged. As the President of Ireland walks in, with my boss's boss's boss's boss, my first impulse is to greet them like I own the place. It would be rude, surely, to not acknowledge their presence? Out of order even. Best thing to do would obviously be to say "hello guys" like it's my home and I live there, in this big white room, where I stand in the corner, alone, holding a tray of drinks, like you do, at home.

Me: hello guys HELLO GUYS

Anyway, by the divine grace of the infant Christ, they somehow do not hear me say this, and begin their itinerary round the room. I clench my entire head and focus on not shouting across the room to let them know that they should always feel at home here in this room of ours.

I become extremely aware of my hands, and how I haven't felt them in a very long time. They're detuned to static , which would be worrying even if they weren't holding a tray of drinks filled with noise and judgement. I hold no faith or creed other than "do not drop these plz".

Just when dropping everything seems to become less urgent, I realise it's time to go over and offer these motherfuckers some fucken drinks, let's get this party started wooooooo I begin walking over to them and I move so abruptly that the glasses clink and they turn to look at me.

I did this too fast.

Now I'm thinking wooooah slow down there martina hingis, so I self-correct to a much slower speed. Watching my breath, nice and casual, you got this buddy. Guys. GUYS. Now, I'm moving far too slow. I started at this speed and I'm to embarassed to change and now it's gonna take me like 5 mins to cross the room. They are watching me, frowning and sweaty, traversing the 5 foot between us like it's a wooden plank on the Crystal Maze. I'm moving so slow my legs are cramping. I think they're wondering why it's taking me so long. It's way harder than walking at normal speed. I'm shaking so the drinks are making noise again. For what feels like minutes.

Anyway, I offer them the drinks and they say no. Do this another two times - how long was this presentation anyway, is this what the President does all day? Give her a brochure and a carryout ffs - and they say no.

By the end, I've calmed down a bit in physical side (sweating, shaking) but I still feel completely batshit. At one point I clearly remember believing that my mind had escaped my body and was watching me hold the tray of drinks from the wallspace behind my head. Only out-of-body experience I've ever had.

At the very end, they do accept a drink. It was at this point she spoke to me. Just some inane pleasantries, to which I reply with some off-the-hook pablum about work and college, at which point she says;

"Oh, is that a Northern accent I detect?"

Dawgs, you know I'm down for the Nordie solidarity vibe, but this is the last thing I need right now. "Yeeerrrsh" I say, with a goalkeeper's glove in my mouth. She starts talking about her experience coming down to study here, how it can be a real scenic change, but the making of you if you keep your eyes open to new experiences.

I can tell she definitely means green ketamine. She's a lovely woman, and very open and generous with her time, giving me ample space to answer her questions which I mostly do with sheepish, one-or-two-word answers. Finally, she asks me if Dublin is everything I thought it wou-

Me: YES I LIKE IT I THINK IT'S GOOD

I'd been paying such fierce attention, I'd mis-timed my reply AND badly modulated my volume. She actually recoiled a little. I think the head of the venue actually stepped back and said "jesus!". Mary McAleese flinched for what seemed like half a second, then flashed her best your-mum's-sound-mate smile and replaced her white wine on my tray.

The boss man nodded at me, they walked out of the room and I waited a few seconds before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. So at this point I'm thinking, wellll, I'm definitely fired but this will one day make a great story on an Nazi-riddled microblogging platform.

I make my way to the staff area, wipe my sopping face and check my phone. I had only been in the room for 35 minutes. Dympna pads in all smiles, thanking me for my help at short notice. She sees that I'm a bit freaked and says, almost with a wink, "you could have told me you'd be like this, by the way" I'm thinking, of course, Dympna gets what's up, it's the service industry, people mistime their vibes, I bet this isn't the first time she's seen some-

"I had no idea you were such a huge fan of Mary McAleese"

I'm sorry what again was that did you mean The boss man had indeed related the events upstairs to Dympna, but rather than a frightened waif hepped up on cat tranqs, he'd seen a political nerd deeply, irretrievably starstruck by contact with the 8th President of the Irish Republic, Mary McAleese. Presumably a political nerd with a gland problem, and low-grade artritis in both legs, and a tendency to welcome people into their workspaces, but a political nerd all the same.

Me: Oh, yeah well, you know, it's embarassing. She's, just amazing.

And you know what, she kinda is. She was always very nice to me each of the subsequent times we met - me doling out the drinks, her asking me how Dublin was getting on, all the while the other staff eyeing me to see how I was dealing with such close contact with my hero. I'd gurn and fret, play up to it when she'd be coming in, "oh what am I like". I'd bat away suggestions I fancied her from the more ribald members of the changing room, and laugh along with the usual jibes, safe in the knowledge my nerdy affect had saved my bacon.

So take ketamine at work, it's great.

END.