UGH! / SOPE & VMIN.

TWENTY FOUR, OLD BUT FAMILIAR FACES.

the rain's cleared, and people walk about dressed just like that dr frank-n-furter and his motley crew of weirdos, fishnets and red lace and lingerie on both men and women, extreme overdramatic makeup and sparkling corsets and high heels that sink into the cloying mud — what a sight.

"oh wow," seokjin says with a grin, his arms around jeongguk and maxxie, using them as human crutches. "should've dressed up a bit more, hobi." he laughs.

"i look alright, piss off!" hoseok says indignantly, looking down at himself. he's in a black fishnet top that clings tightly to his toned chest, an unbuttoned black and red striped shirt, and tight black jeans. "it fits the theme, dunnit? i'm just not that camp, man, y'know me."

angel rolls his eyes, hands stuck in the pockets of his leather jacket. he's in the getup, tight leather shorts with thigh high fishnets revealing his mile-long legs, and yeah, it suits some people. "c'mon, let's go find chungha and the rip 'ems."

"i'm sorry, the fuckin' who?" jeongguk says, raising an eyebrow. his outfit isn't exactly fitting with the rocky horror theme, but seokjin has a fonder look in his eye when he looks at him ( hoseok can see that, plain as day ), so he isn't getting chastised; his hooded sweatshirt, leather jacket and jeans are pretty standard for him. angel sighs, gesturing for them to follow him.

"chungha is my mate, her girlfriend's band are the ones who managed to get us the spot. they're called rest in peace emily pankhurst? 's some feminist thing, i dunno."

"emmeline pankhurst started the suffrage movement in the UK, wonnit? she's the reason women can vote 'n all," maxxie says knowledgeably, and everyone gives him a weird look. "what? just 'cause i'm blonde donae mean i'm thick, like!"

"yeah, that's it," angel says, guiding them past tents where there's clothes, food, even drugs being sold, all sights and smells and crazy things, strung up in this usually empty field in buckinghamshire for the week. "they're pretty fuckin' good, actually. dawon's got vocals like a fuckin' goddess, and their drummer is a bloody genius."

"wait, dawon?" hoseok asks. that name is familiar, too fuckin' familiar.

"tha's my name, don' wear it out."

a girl in men's boots and striped black and white knee socks appears out of one of the tents, smoking a cigarette. her hair's shaved on one side and her makeup makes her look bruised, smoky and dark, but hoseok recognises her instantly. her eyes widen when they meet his.

"hoseok?"

"dawon?"

"where the fuck 'ave you been, you daft fuck!" she nearly bowls him over with her hug, still considerably shorter than him even in her boots. "oh my god, angel you fuckin' mug!" she turns to the irish boy, who looks as confused as the rest of the group. "why wouldnae you tell me that my brother was in your mate's band?"

"i didnae fucking know!" angel throws his hands up in the air frustratedly, but dawon just smiles, turning back to her brother. this is weird, this is all very weird; last time hoseok saw her was before he fled home for london, and she certainly wasn't in knee socks and leather jackets then, no siree, she would've been in a school uniform with the tie a little wonky and her shoes scuffed, hair neatly parted like the perfect fuckin' asian kid she and hoseok had been raised to be. now look at her; that skirt's short enough to give ma jung a heart attack.

"who're these cunts then?" dawon asks, elbowing her brother in the ribs. "don't just stare at me, fucker, introduce me, innit?"

"you grew up to be a right gobshite², didn't you?" hoseok counters, that semi-malicious sibling banter returning easily. "this is my band," he gestures to them. "that's seokjin, bassist, but he's out for the count today, so yoongi's substituting."