After Dark 》Minsung

7 》The Kool-Aid Man Doesn't Knock

"This is why your favorite My Little Pony character is unironically Twilight Sparkle. Everyone knows Princess Cadance is the shit, you shhhhhhhh-tinky watermelon," Minho skillfully countered the attack.

Felix stared at him.

Minho blinked back.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, Minho found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Felix's car again. His jacket discarded in the backseat, his knees tucked up to his chest to conflict the seatbelt restricting his breathing like a poor attempt at a BDSM harness, his phone in his hands as he changed the song midway through playing purely for the entertainment of annoying the driver, giggling under his breath every time he did, and Felix as he talked over the dimmed speakers ranting about something that Minho didn't really know about but thought his brother was way too passionate of to interrupt him to ask what he was talking about again. He simply let him ramble, clearly frustrated (??) with whatever he was talking of, as he busied himself with his playlist.

And of course, checking his messages every few minutes. Clicking on the icon whenever his mind permitted him to. Ensuring he didn't miss a text from his favorite poison, the gradual addiction to that seductive person growing heavier in his heart over the last two weeks. Since they started their casual messages. Casual calls. Casual slips, dipping deep into the dangerous dredges of dopamine the smallest hint of that honeyed voice released in his head. That tone reverberating in his mind, fucking addicting in the soft noises he made, intoxicating with his words, his eyes, that beautiful waistline and perfect collarbones he'd jump off the edge of the world for.

And coming up disappointed when he realized that sweet taste of paradise hadn't sent anything for the last few days.

It's fine.

Minho turned his phone off. He slammed his forehead into the window.

He isn't dating me or anything, he can respond when he wants to.

With a small groan, Minho clicked the phone back on and checked again.

Soon enough, occupied with being high-key obsessive over his messages, listening to Felix as he tried to explain whatever he was talking about in more depth for Minho's simpleton monkey brain to understand and actively participate in, switching the playlist up from serious music to music only seen as memes and jokes, the vehicle pulled into an all too familiar parking lot. The building sitting at the edge of the steamed asphalt meadow, towering high above them as they entered the crisp neon of the evening air chilling around them. Minho crooned his neck up to the massive structure, quickly taking it in as his brother wandered around to grab his suit jacket uniform.

Here's the thing.

Felix worked at a casino.

Which, managed to be everything Minho hated about the world.

Cramped. Noisy.

Which, happened to be the exact things Felix loved about the world.

Crowds. Excitement.

The sense of living.

The sense of thriving in a world which wanted nothing more than to behead you. Boisterous laughter from the crowds they passed by in opposition to the tyrannical games their hands pulled again and again down to roll their chances. Silent contemplation from men in suits, in vacation shirts, in necklaces, in neckties, in riches, the cards they played gambling their minutes away to a hopeless dream. Singular fews who sat, rolling the roulette wheels with slammed hands on velvet tables as their family watched, witnessed their savings fly from their wallets. A confident cigar sitting between fingers, resting with the high rollers, the kings, the queens, as they won another thousand prizes to abscond with on their holiday hours.