Chapter Text
"We're moving," was the single, sudden forewarning you got before your parents decided to pack everyfuckingthing up and move them to a neighborhood a gajillion miles away.
Yes, you were being dramatic. No, you did not care.
When you arrived, you were expecting it to be rare, blissful silence, like the car ride there. Instead you got screaming fits right outside your parents' new apartment, drawing nosy aunties' heads their way, and angry alcoholic old men shouting at them to shut the fuck up and take their arguing elsewhere.
Tired of your immature parents' cat fights, you decided to ditch the poor moving crew who seemed like they'd soon bleed out from their ears.
The destination you set your mind on was a rundown old arcade at the end of the street, a dingy stale smell and buzzing dim lights greeting you when you enter, along with a lazy "welcome," from the employee behind the register. Perfect.
You crack you knuckles and pick a fighting game thing where it seemed like someone was on the other side of you, to have some competition. You were about to see what this neighborhood was made up of.
Of course, being the cool and awesome girl you are, you win, apparently beating the other player's long standing high record or whatever. Seems like this neighborhood sucks ass.
Soon, you hear a rustling noise from the other side. You assumed they were standing up to take a peek at the person that beat their high record, which, since you're cool and awesome (totally objective), you've done a lot of, so you're used to.
What you weren't used to, though — or rather, you weren't expecting — was the other player's face suddenly just an inch shy of yours, lazily bended over, their glasses reflecting the buzzy dim arcade light. They were so close you could smell them: a hint of an earthy musk underneath an overwhelming cigarette smell that invaded your nostrils.
You very audibly yelp a, "what the fuck," jumping back from your seat and landing on your ass. In reaction to that, the apparently a guy laughs and straightens himself up, and you could see that he was pretty tall with his long ass legs, especially from where you were — on the ground. You couldn't see his face yet, though, covered by the thick bulky glasses he had on.
"Didn't expect the person beating me to be a fucking pussy," he cackles, grinning down at you.
You stand up, pride slightly wounded but otherwise unharmed — the carpeting was plush enough. You dust the non-existent dirt off of your shorts, glaring daggers at the guy in neon bright orange windbreakers. Now you could see his face. He's... you wanted to say hideous, but that would be a lie. You conclude that he is very ominous looking. Like a nightmare waiting to haunt you to death.
"Ever heard of personal space?" You huff annoyedly. You internally wondered if he had some kind of super power because he was fast.
"Personal space is a propaganda by the government to keep the people segregated," he deadpanned dryly, pushing his glasses up with one finger, looking and sounding like a total nerd.
You are both in awe and disbelief at his seemingly wide vocabularity, and his poker face falters because apparently you're bad at hiding your thoughts.
"What? Don't get the big words? Need me to look them up for you?" He coos mockingly.
"Just amazed you even know them, much less use them in a sentence."
"I see you have the shitty tendency to judge a book based on the cover."
"You don't know me," you snort, crossing your arms together, then adding, "and, not my fault you dress like a wannabe gangster."
"Ouch?" He grins, taking a long stride, closing the distance between you.
He looks down at you with equal amounts of curiosity and amusement, and says, "Never seen you around before."
"Maybe you need to get around more."
He chuckles at that. He sure does laugh a lot, you think. You also think his laugh is cute, but you will not be anouncing that, even in the comfort of your own mind, for the sake of your fragile ego.
"I'm Seongje. Geum Seongje." He announces, all smug smiles.
"Good to know!" You chirp sarcastically, then promptly turn around to bolt for the back entrance. You were not interested in getting to know the local delinquent looking guy, and you presumed your parents have probably already started to notice your disappearance.
He stops you though, grabbing you by the collar of your already stretched cardigan.
"Rude. Tell me yours before I shake you up for some ID." He threatens. He manages to sound serious but goofy at the same time, which is stupidly impressive.
"Fuck are you, security?" You grumble, turning around and grabbing his wrist to pry him off of you, brows knitted together at how strong of a hold he had on you poor cardigan.
"Yeah. I guard this neighborhood."
"Good boy!" You smile sinisterly, pinching the inner side of his wrist since he's not budging, which garners you the same sinister smile, if not creepier and evil-er. What a delightful asshole.
"Fucking tell me already," he sighs, voice growing bored.
"Ugh, why do you wanna know so bad? To creep on me?"
"What gave me away?" He deadpans. He's still not budging.
You tell him your name, albeit reluctantly. "Now fuck off."
He respects the sass and backs off, releasing the death grip he had on your beloved white cardigan.
"Just moved?" He pushes.
"Yes." You sigh, wondering if he was being exhausting on purpose or if it was all natural.
"Was that so fucking hard?"
"I'm not supposed to tell anyone my real name," you grumble, lazily taking a seat at one of the car race games, because you decide your parents and their whole moving agenda can eat shit. They can pry your cold, dead body off of the arcade's plush carpets.
"Why?" He tilts his head, grinning amusedly.
"I'm a fairy. I'll evaporate into thin air." You deadpan.
He cackles loudly and takes the seat beside you, the same car race game. "S'okay, I'll keep it a secret."
"Too late. No mortal is supposed to know it."
"I'm not mortal either, though?"
"Oh, yeah, you're a rude fucking asshole."
The game starts, and you race against eachother, plus one npc guy.
You win again, and you goad about it to him as he stares at you with, suspiciously, amusement.
"Guess you ain't shit, pretty boy."
"Guess so." He admits, pretty easily, which only serves to heighten your suspicion. "But atleast I'm pretty."
"I'm prettier," you roll your eyes, standing up and marching over to the claw machines.
He follows suit, and you could swear you saw dog ears emerging out of that fluffy brown hair as he watched you attempting to outsmart the probably rigged claw machine.
"It's rigged," he confirms, as if to tell you your efforts are futile.
"Nothing is rigged if you're good," you argue stubbornly, and it's his turn to roll his eyes, though he's smirking, like he's waiting for your inevitable doom.
Which never came, because as you said, you're good.
"What the fuck?" He grins, snatching away the purple wolf plush you got from the machine. "How'd you do that? Witchcraft?"
"Told you. I'm a fairy. Machines don't stand a chance." You flip your hair behind your shoulder just to be smug, and he recoils when the strands hit him in the face.
"You fucker. You did that on purpose."
"You're the fucker." You insist, annoyed that his potty mouth is blubbering shit all over the place. "Your mouth reeks of crap. Stay the fuck away from me."
"Make me." He raises a brow, leaning into you, pressing against you. His chest is pressed against your back, his breath hot on your cheek.
You screech and elbow him in the stomach, then make a run for it through the back entrance, the sound of your loud, satisfied laughter giving you away.
Of course, he follows, along with a maniacal laughter to match yours.
You both arrive at a nearby convenience store at the same time, him scruffing you like you were some hissy wet cat — which, to be fair, you do act like one a fair lot. He definitely works out because you took off like a whole minute before he did, and he still caught up. You were certain you're fairly athletic, too, so it's not like you're slow.
"Uncle! Uncleuncleuncle—" he cuts you off, dragging you into the ice cream section by your white cardigan. You lose it and run again, though you don't get far, again. Damn. You really need to up your game on running.
"Stop fucking running. Pick something." He groans, dragging you back into the ice cream section by the wrist this time.
He places the cardigan on top of your head as you're bended over, hands on your knees, chest rising rapidly as your eyes scan over the wide selection of dessert.
"I want—" you huff, still out of breath, and he cackles, "—Pangpare."
"Boring." He yawns, then grabs two Pangpares.
"I just want one?" You tilt your head, and he nudges you along like the hostage you are.
"Other one's for me, idiot."
You shrug and let him pay for both, then you two peacefully sit down on the plastic chairs infront of the convenience store that creak when you sit on them, and peacefully eat your ice cream. Except you don't, because Seongje is a little shit and keeps stealing licks of your ice cream, even when his was perfectly fine — albeit neglected, the vanilla ice cream melting down his fingers. He didn't seem to mind.
"Fucking stop that," you laugh, pushing him away with your free hand.
He snickers with you and blocks your attempts of blocking him with his melted ice cream riddled hand—which is all sticky and disgusting.
"Ew," you snort, and he laughs even louder at your snorting. You ended up not finishing off your respective ice creams, too busy laughing yourselves dumb.
When your little laughter fit ends, you realize it's been hours since you abandoned you parents with the moving shit, and they've definitely noticed your absence.
"Oh, shit," you blanched as you check your phone, finding three missed calls from your dad. You glance up to see the sun is setting. What in the actual hell.
"I need to get going." You mutter, standing up too quick and getting dizzy from it. Seongje watches you panic in amusement.
"See ya."
"My apartment is just at the other end of this street! Number 403, by the way, if you wanna come visit or something. I'll beat your ass again." You stick your tongue out and runs away cackling like the menace Seongje rightfully pegged you to be.