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Let the record show that Jin Hyosang, university attendee of room D-26, does not respond amicably to being startled awake—if direct quote from roommate Kim Seokjin is anything to go by: “I pulled a prank on him once, threw a huge bucket of cold water on him while he slept… he threw my Mario collection out of the fourth story window. And that’s only because I wasn’t within reach.”
Direct communication between the two had not recommenced until three days later.
(Seokjin stayed behind during his brief questioning to state that no Mario’s had been killed from the fall, but three however, had been severely injured and are still in the process of recovering.)
So let it come as no surprise that when the shrill call of the fire alarm sounds through the halls of the dormitory, Hyosang finds himself with murderous intent flowing through his veins.
This intent is exacerbated by the following conditions:
1. It is three in the morning.
2. Tonight happens to be one of the coldest nights of the year.
3. Hyosang’s pajamas consist only of a tank top and thin track pants.
4. It is three in the motherfucking morning.
5. Three.
6. In the morning.
So as he stands in his sneakers, huddled dangerously close to a Kim Seokjin who is mostly still asleep on his feet, he conjures up about five to ten intricate plans, each full of merriment and wonder, on how exactly he is going to brutally murder the person responsible for this. The details, he thinks, are what really make his tactics shine.
He mumbles them aloud, possibly too loud, to the still sleeping Jin buried at his side.
He’ll start with fingers, he tells him. “Always the fingers first. Or the toes—toes work just as well. Appendages are key to a successful introduction. I’ll probably start with the pinky. Just crank it back—feel the little fucker break.”
Awake or no, Seokjin remains unfazed and is entirely accustomed to Hyosang’s brutally fantastical fantasies. That isn’t to say that they don’t concern him (they don’t), he just admires his imagination—likes to support him in his tirades, because some ideas, you just have to talk them out.
Not everyone is Seokjin, however, and this is made apparent by the astonished gaze being thrown in Hyosang’s general direction by a fellow member of the student body. He whistles, as if impressed.
“Whoa,” he exclaims when his attention is caught. “You really don’t hold anything back, huh?”
Hyosang thinks he might recognize this guy—looks familiar, possibly in his music theory class or something. He sneers in response, because a crime like this deserves absolutely no mercy. What a stupid inquiry.
The poor guy is shivering as he shuffles closer to resume conversation and Hyosang can’t help but cock an eyebrow in slight pity, as if his own teeth weren’t chattering helplessly. “Well,” and it occurs to him now that he should probably keep his homicide plans to a minimum in public areas, but now that he’s been heard by a functioning non-Mario loving freak, he might as well indulge. “You can’t say he doesn’t have it coming. He, she.” He corrects.
The guy laughs, loud, and it does something to Hyosang’s shoulders that makes him less tense despite the uncontrollable shaking. Jin huffs out a warm breath against the junction of his neck and shoulder. He sounds almost petulant.
Hyosang ignores him, but the guy doesn’t—glances slowly between the two of them and he knows already what he’s going to ask.
“Boyfriend?”
“God no. Roommate,” he shrugs, causing Seokjin to stir. “He’s hellishly sluggish this time of night. What’s your name? You look familiar.”
“Oh. Hunchul.”
“Ah,” his name doesn’t ring a bell so he moves on, gesturing to the building, “did some fuckhead just trip the alarm or what?”
“Uh,” his slight laughter is shaky—it really is cold, Hyosang is going numb, but thankfully it looks like they’ll be allowed back in soon. “Cooking incident, I heard. Set the kitchen mildly on fire. Nothin’ bad, set off the alarms though. ‘S gonna be fine.”
“What kind of dickhole cooks at three in the morning?” He growls, mood settling in all over again; although, it never really left. He adds about one more method of torment to his collection of plans before he keeps talking, deliriously sleepy and irreversibly pissed off. “I mean, what the fuck. I get it, this is college, but what kind of irresponsible idiot nearly burns the whole dorm down. Some of us were studying or fucking or some crazy thing like sleeping. Yeah, not actually a myth.”
At this point, they’re being allowed back in, and the three of them waste no time following the chaotic shuffle back into warm halls and private rooms. Hunchul laughs humorlessly as they reach the double doors. “Well,” he says, “I’ll be way more careful next time.”
“… Huh?”
“I didn’t get your name, but,” he pauses, and in the light his grin is five hundred shades of charming and Hyosang very positively wants to punch him in the face and furiously make out with him. “My room’s down the hall—D-18, if you want to tell me more about all those uh… colorful ways you plan to kill me.”
Hyosang freezes. Students push pass him and Seokjin is already gone.
“What. You mean—you—you? This is your fault?”
“Yeah man, sorry,” another grin that looks entirely too good on his face and Hyosang has come to the very swift conclusion that he definitely does not deserve those genes that his parents gave him. “Only not. See ya around?”
He backs away and in a few seconds he’s lost in the crowd and Hyosang cocks his head, slowly retreats back to his own room.
The way he sees it, Hunchul is just offensive in every fucking away possible—emphasis on fucking.
And he thinks, maybe, possibly, his thirteenth method (a wonderful number, he might add) of punishment may just include a plethora of just that. Fucking.
Yeah, he thinks.
Hunchul is going to pay.