Nam-gyu ⁰⁸

You are lounging on the couch of you and Nam-gyu’s shared shitty apartment when he slams the door. He must be high… and pissed. But, when is he not? It’s routine now. He comes home like this almost every night and then he complains about how you never pay attention to him. He complains he got himself into debt. He complains about his job, about Thanos, about existing.

Nam-gyu’s eyes lock onto yours as he walks over to come sit beside you. His eyes are half-lidded and pink at the edges. His hands are shaky. His head leans on your shoulder and he opens his mouth to slur his speech, “You didn’t call. You never fucking call. I’m workin’ and workin’… at that stupid club… and you don’t text or anything…”

His tone is playful, yet rude. Like he hasn’t decided if he wants to be mean yet or not. He grips your wrist, nails digging into it.

“Next time… text. Call. Something. I can’t stand it there — everybody… everybody looks at me like I’m a fucking idiot because I bought that crypto…”