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01 | selling your soul to gucci

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**Note: This story was originally written as a BTS fanfic that I've restructured into an original work**

- selling your soul to gucci

"You're crazy if you think you can afford Gucci with your empty bank account." Chan Bin tosses the luxury magazine back at Nolan, the roll of paper bouncing off the brunette's head and onto the table as the older boy picks up where he left off on wiping down the booths.

It's just the two of them remaining at Omelas Diner, the weather being a huge influence on the moods of their coworkers, who ditched the place the second the clock struck eight in the evening. The owner, Choi Chan Bin, however, likes to stay back and clean up after everyone, his good heart assuring them he needs to work off his old age. Unfortunately, Chan Bin is Nolan's roommate and only ride home, so the younger boy makes do with their schedules by staying back at the diner, sitting around until Chan Bin's done with wiping down everything.

It takes a while, but Nolan is grateful his roommate always drives him home — there's no way in hell he's going to ruin his hard-earned, expensive Gucci loafers in the rain this particular evening.

The skin between Nolan's eyebrows wrinkles as he flips open the worn-out pages of the Gucci catalogue, his lips weighed down by a frown as he so desperately desires to be wearing the designer brand on his body. Gucci is his weakness, his kryptonite, the reason why he's still broke despite working a whole spectrum of different jobs.

"Stop looking like your puppy died." His roommate sounds irritated, probably because of the rain. Bin's not too fond of the weird-smelling water that ruins the exterior of his restaurant, and he's quite the downer when it comes to Nolan's unhealthy obsession anyways.

"Hyung, I just have to pick up a few more shifts," Nolan counters, perching his chin on his palm as he slowly looks through the pages for the umpteenth time, his lips drooping even more when the once-strong smell of Gucci cologne fades with each page he turns.

"Don't overwork yourself, Nol." Bin grunts as he scrubs hard at the vintage vinyl seats. It makes an irritating squeaking noise, loud enough to hide the curse words Bin spouts out like a water fountain when he pops his back. Nolan merely ignores the older boy's antics, his attention more focused on his poor catalogue and current situation, though his other hand is lingering on his phone in his pocket just in case Chan Bin actually breaks his back.

The older boy rises from underneath the table, his expression one of pure contempt as he tosses the dirt-ridden rag back into its designated water bucket. "I seriously hate the children who don't know how to use utensils correctly." He rips off his obnoxious yellow gloves and sets them on his cleaning cart.

"Bin-hyung," the brunette pipes up, instantly gaining the attention of his elder. The idea Nolan has in his head is far-fetched, but it's the only way he can splurge on Gucci based on the calculations in his head. His mood takes a complete one-eighty, his frown flipping into a mischievous smile.

"No. You are not working here." The younger boy groans, his head falling from its perch and onto the table with a painful thud. There's no other way to even afford St. Laurent in his current situation — not even a decent item on sale from an off-brand seller.

It instantly drops his mood as he rests there on the table, pretending to sob in front of his hyung in an attempt to guilt-trip him. But before Bin can collapse under the pressure, the bell above the front door jingles and Nolan's quality acting comes to a halt.

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