Kunzite

male reader x fromis_9 Saerom

Tags: smut, au, feelings, struggling, fantasy, succy succy, song references

16k words

A part of you wonders if this all boils down to a matter of convenience.

Or maybe that’s all just a simple excuse.

—

You don’t think that you’re often perceived as one that dances with death. If anything, your life is so hopelessly mediocre there’s absolutely no potential associated risk with it, except for maybe a curious shoplifter.

And it bleeds into the way you do your accounting, seated at one of the tables outside, notepad flipped open, calculator by your side, tapping on it like it’s a game. It’s nearly two in the morning, at the time where the neighbourhood is deader than a graveyard -which means that this leather-clad lady has absolutely no business taking the seat opposite you with a huff of either exertion or annoyance- you’re not sure which.

And look, maybe in a different life you’d chance it, new experiences and all that, giving things and this girl a chance for her to mess up whatever she wants to mess up. But the truth of the matter is that there really isn’t much there, and anyone trying to create a situation at a convenience store of all places is just unprincipled, and likely very, very bored.

Your eyes barely even skirt over her black fishnets and platform boots. “Miss, we’re closed.”

Your fingers resume their methodical punching of faded buttons, still lazily processing one receipt after another. The girl doesn’t reply, doesn’t offer even the slightest acknowledgement, so you play it just like she does. You ignore her completely.

Your thoughts run a little idly as your hands move on near-full muscle memory. Maybe a delinquent. Maybe worse. You’re not sure exactly what type of person would be searching for a convenience store owner at two in the evening, and you’re not exactly sure there’s any way to brace yourself properly either, for something like this.

(And then again, it’s not like your life is worth much of anything, thrown into the middle of this narrative from despondent normalcy, prompted, one might say, to dance for trifles.)

So that’s how you look up, twenty minutes later, running a hand through your hair, shutting the notebook with a sense of finality, setting down your pen in the next moment. You blink, tired eyes strained, and finally bring your eyes up to meet hers. She waits patiently all this while.

There’s no soundtrack for this. Nothing in the empty void of two in the morning, the absence of any human interaction at all. Just her upturned eyes and evil grin.

“Well, don’t you have a wide smile,” you open, rubbing gently at your eyes with a wide yawn. Yeah, she’s a looker. Atypical, maybe, wide face and all, but her smile does get you a little. That soda can you’ve been nursing as you worked through your documents? A slight gust of wind causes it to shake and tremble, like a cold shudder.

“We are closed, by the way. If the first time wasn’t clear enough,” you say. Her smile widens, but it doesn’t prickle your brain in the flattering way. It feels like a hint, like her natural smile isn’t the one she’s using now to throw you off your balance- sweep you off your feet.

“Alright. I got it. Just lend me this seat for a few more moments, alright?” Her voice is light, airy, not quite a juxtaposition with her features (her dark leather jacket, maybe). She pulls her phone from her pocket, bringing it up to her face. You watch, a little dumbfounded by her boldness. You see her swipe up on her phone, type a couple messages, even curse slightly under her breath.

“Take a hint, will ya?” You say, fingernails tapping on the cool metal table.

“What? The lights are still on.”

“Yes, because I was cleaning. You’re not even a customer. Take a hike.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Let’s fix that problem then. You have soju?”

“Soju?” You frown. “At this ungodly-”

“-tsk.”

“-hour? What?”

“Do you have it or not? I’ll buy a bottle. Then I’m entitled to sit here, right?”

You blink. “No- no. I don’t have soju. No alcohol after midnight- It’s a rule here.”

The girl tilts her head to the left, watching you with a condescending look that doesn’t sit well. “And what heinous crimes am I going to commit with a bottle of soju? Smash someone’s face in?”

“I don’t care what you think you’re going to do, because you’re not doing it here. We’re closed. Please leave. Goodnight.”

And that should be it.

“I’ll let you have half the bottle,” she blurts.

“Huh?”

“I’ll split the bottle with you. My treat.”

“Sorry? Are you bribing me?”

“Yes, actually. Don’t act like you have anything better to do.”

“I do. Home is calling. My bed. Sleep?”

“Right, because you need your energy for this big day you’re having tomorrow, don’t you?”

You pause.

She tilts her head in the opposite direction. “You can spare a bottle. Come on.”

You blink, again. Not worth it. You finished your work. You should go. Then you slide your chair back and stand up. “One bottle.”

You cross past her, finally getting a somewhat decent look at what she’s wearing. Leather jacket over a black top, leather skirt with fishnets and a pair of obnoxiously tall platform boots. It looks good on her, you remark as you enter your store. She definitely looks like someone you should have turned away at the door. But, again… that sneaking feeling like she’d look better in something else.

She takes out her phone again, typing furiously to someone, and a part of you gets that temptation to figure out her story, to figure out what she’s really doing here, in the middle of the night. It’s kind of that unspoken fact that everyone knows, that those awake in these sleeping moments are always driven by their own special reason.

You return, setting that bottle down, dead center on the table, followed by two shot glasses that land with a loud clink, like you’re setting your bets at a casino. Her eyes are still glued to her phone screen, brow furrowed.

“Jesus, Jiheon…” you hear her mutter under her breath. You drop your butt to your seat, rubbing your chin inquisitively. You slide your chair back noisily, temporarily forgetting any concern about noise pollution. It grabs her attention.

“How much is it?”

You wave your hand in her general direction. “Just drink. And then get out of here.”

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“You sound like bad news.”

“Sound?”

“Nothing about what I’m seeing is improving my impression of you, so yes.”