AMOURIEN

⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀the whole appeal of lurking is opening the stream, letting it run in the background, reading the chat every now and then and chiming in if something catches the eye ... no expectation to contribute, no pressure to be entertaining. after spending enough evenings calling rotations, tracking utility and talking nonstop during scrimmages, silence actually starts to feel like a luxury. tonight though, silence gives way to a few idle comments from shohei, surprisingly enough. nothing substantial, however : a remark about the game graphics, a dry observation when the other person on screen playing spends an inordinate amount of time deciding where to place a pot of plant even though he has never played this game himself — the kind of messages and interaction that don't really demand a response but only just fill the space. but then somewhere down the lane his username is getting noticed, eyes flicking to the chat as it speeds up all at once ... ah. probably should've seen that one coming from miles away after overestimating how unrecognizable he'd be able to pass by.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he watches the girl — nagyeong, he'd committed the name to memory after lurking for longer than planned and trying to find more about her online to not much avail — glance over, visibly trying to figure out what everyone's making a fuss about before her eyes finally land on his name. the corners of his mouth lift instantly, more bashful than anything, while warmth creeps up his ears and thank god for the late hours where no one is there to chime through the convenience store's door to bother him. he finds it oddly ... considerate — the way her first instinct isn't to question why he's here but to make sure he doesn't feel unwelcome, even though the chat's reaction does elicit a quiet laugh from him. without thinking too hard about it, he rests his hands on the keyboard.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 💬 › @tnkshohei ] sorry

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 💬 › @tnkshohei ] didn't mean to derail your stream 😅

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀eyes stare at the message for a second and it's almost deleted before sending, but then he's deciding that would somehow make things more awkward. the apology is honest, though — he came here to watch, not become the topic of conversation. his eyes drift back to the game as she resumes the gameplay, a customer walking in asking for a book suggestion, and shohei watches her deliberate over it with surprising seriousness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 💬 › @tnkshohei ] you're putting more thought into this than i put into irl conversations

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 💬 › @tnkshohei ] i respect it honestly

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 💬 › @tnkshohei ] it's rlly not everyday someone asks for a epic fantasy book with a whopping 700 pages

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the messages sit there for a while as he hopes the conversation naturally shifts back towards the game because he'd much rather comment on whatever tangent nagyeong goes off over what book to recommend and what color to pain the outside walls of the shop than have people focusing on him. after a few minutes, he leans back in the uncomfortable swivel chair where he's sat behind the counter.

she   can't   quite   track   the   flow   of   commentary   once   she   returns   her   attention   to   the   game,   but   his   apology   precedes   most   of   it.   "   you   didn't   derail   it,   "   she   promises,   searching   her   bookshelves   for   the   completely   non-romantic   play   requested   of   her.   she   squints   at   the   avatar   of   the   requestor,   trying   to   hazard   a   guess   as   to   how   old   this   girl   is   supposed   to   be.   "   does   she   look   like   an   adult   to   you   all?   i   mean   ...   she's   wearing   overalls.   which   isn't   exclusively   indicative   of   adolescence,   but   paired   with   her   requesting   non-romance   ...   i'm   not   recommending   titus   andronicus   until   i   know   how   old   she   is.   "

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[   💬   ›   @mlikteas   ]   acting   like   titus   andronicus   is   going   to   be   an   option   is   sending   me ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[   💬   ›   @wolfieblues   ]   OK   WE   GET   IT   YOU   GUYS   ACTUALLY   READ.   JUST   RECOMMEND   HAMLET.

the   chat   gets   a   laugh   out   of   her.   she   lets   the   chat   flow   without   much   input   from   herself   for   a   while,   though   every   now   and   again,   she'll   peek   at   it   to   see   what's   being   said.   thankfully,   they've   more   or   less   moved   on   from   the   topic   of   tnkshohei.   which   ...   she'd   be   lying   if   she   said   she   isn't   housing   her   own   curiosity   over   it.   if   there's   ever   a   chart   of   streamers,   their   names   are   never   on   the   same   list   or   anywhere   near   each   other   ⎯   though   it's   inevitable   that   their   followings   have   an   overlap.   she   wonders   if   that's   what's   brought   him   here:   her   name   thrown   into   his   chat   at   some   point,   a   random   subscriber   mentioning   her   while   he's   exploring   more   exciting   lands   than   the   vending   cart   bookshop   she's   decidedly   devoting   far   too   much   attention   to.

no,   but   seriously.   700   pages?

her   eyes   shift   to   the   chat   just   as   he   comments   on   the   same   thing   and   she   finds   herself   huffing   out   laughter   as   she   checks   the   page   count   on   the   books   she   has   left.   "   isn't   that,   like.   a   weirdly   specific   page   count?   i   wonder   if   the   priory   of   the   orange   tree   counts   as   an   epic   ...   ?   "

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[   💬   ›   @mlikteas   ]   first   of   all,   no.   and   again:   it's   not   going   to   be   an   option.   pls.

"   i   don't   know   if   i   have   the   patience   for   a   bookstore,   either,   "   she   hums,   eventually   selecting   here   be   dragons.   she   takes   the   break   in   clientele   to   restock   her   shelves.   she's   running   awfully   low   on   children's   books,   despite   not   having   gotten   that   many   kids   as   customers.   "   it   sounds   like   it'd   be   a   relaxing   job,   but   then   i   think   about   how   public-facing   it   is.   customer   service   is   already   a   hard   sell   for   me,   but   readers   tend   to   be   ...   picky.   pretentious,   at   worst.   and   i'm   still   not   sold   on   this   plant   being   here.   i'm   so   distracted,   let   me   fix   that.   "

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[   💬   ›   @wshmelck   ]   are   you   ignoring   us   for   a   boy ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[   💬   ›   @wshmelck   ]   are   we   in   the   cuck   chair

"   ...   is   it   too   late   to   change   the   color   palette,   do   you   think? "

His words reached her as though they had traveled across an ocean before finding her, muffled beneath the frantic pounding of her own heart. i can live with that. The sentence echoed inside her until it no longer sounded like an answer, but a verdict, a final page turned before she'd even finished reading the story they had spent years writing together. For one suspended heartbeat, the world forgot how to breathe. The chorus of crickets dissolved into distant static, fireflies blurred into smears of gold through the tears clouding her vision. Beyond the forest, summer carried on as though nothing had changed. The warm breeze still wandered through the trees, flowers folded beneath the weight of dusk, and somewhere children laughed without knowing that, tucked away inside an old treehouse, an ending was quietly unfolding. Summer had always felt endless with him, it had been the season of stolen afternoons, lingering sunsets, and promises neither of them had realized were fragile ... but perhaps endings had always belonged to summer — the brightest things, after all, were often the first to fade.

Then he stepped back... just once. It wasn't enough to place him beyond her reach, yet it stretched farther than any distance either of them had ever crossed. Somewhere between where he'd been moments ago and where he stood now, every tomorrow she'd quietly imagined unraveled; the tiny apartment filled with sleepy sunday mornings, coffee brewed too early because he always woke first, his hand finding hers without thinking, growing old together until their scars became stories instead of fears. She had never spoken those dreams aloud and just kept them tucked safely inside her heart, believing there would always be time. but now they slipped through her fingers before she'd ever had the chance to hold them. Then he asked her to hate him. a hollow, breathless laugh escaped as the corners of her lips twitched into something that broke before it could become a smile. " you really think it's that easy ? " she whispered, tears spilling faster than she could wipe them away. " you think I can wake up tomorrow and just... hate you? " She slowly shook her head, her voice cracking.

His phone then rang again. Another call and another reminder that life refused to wait for broken hearts. Her gaze drifted toward the glowing screen before finding him once more, lingering there with quiet desperation as she committed every detail to memory. The redness gathered around his eyes; the same eyes she'd always teased and complimented being far too warm to belong to someone as mischievous as him. The trembling of his lips, the very lips she'd greeted every morning with sleepy kisses simply because she loved hearing him grumble before smiling anyway. The tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes until they could no longer be held back. It struck her then that love had never been made of grand gestures. It had been built from ordinary things: shared coffees left forgotten on the table, teasing remarks exchanged across quiet mornings, lingering glances that said more than words ever could, the relief that washed over her every time he answered her call after hours of worrying. She had lived with sleepless nights, unanswered messages, and the constant fear that every goodbye might become their last and somewhere along the way, he had stopped becoming a part of her life and quietly become the shape of it. How was she supposed to stop loving someone who had become as natural as breathing?

the   sob   that   jumped   from   his   throat   was   a   pathetic   thing   ⎯   cracking   in   the   middle,   hitching   his   breath,   sharp   and   high-pitched   ⎯   and   unthinkably   selfish.   it   felt   like   a   failing,   somehow,   to   hold   this   grief   in   his   throat,   as   if   the   life   and   death   of   their   relationship   hadn't   been   in   the   power   of   his   tongue.   knowing   that   didn't   stop   his   vision   from   blurring   out,   the   shape   of   her   wet   and   hazy,   her   outline   already   a   memory   before   she'd   even   hit   the   door.

for   as   long   as   he'd   known   jihye,   he'd   been   able   to   see   the   future   while   staring   at   her   in   the   present.   he'd   seen   car   rides   where   they   sipped   from   the   same   to-go   cup,   not   because   they   liked   the   same   coffee   but   because   he   liked   the   remnants   of   her.   playful   discussions   in   bed,   her   beneath   him,   above   him,   beside   him,   every   bit   of   him,   serious   conversations   forfeited   for   kisses,   touches,   disappearing   beneath   the   sheets   just   to   have   her   again.   screams   thrown   across   the   kitchen,   their   love   warped   into   something   vapid   and   vitriolic,   a   door   slammed,   a   car   that   never   got   the   chance   to   start   before   one   of   them   broke   down   and   apologized.   wrinkled   skin   peppered   with   kisses,   timeless   promises   that   what   they   had   extended   beyond   the   concept   of   youth   or   beauty   or   endless   tomorrows.

every   time   he   had   ever   looked   at   her,   up   close   or   from   afar,   he'd   always   seen   every   tomorrow   that   would   follow.   now   he   looked   at   her   and   every   tomorrow   became   a   yesterday,   the   future   flooded   with   past   tense   and   imaginative   phrasing.   what   they   had   been,   what   they   could've   been.

his   head   dropped,   chin   to   his   chest,   and   his   breath   stuttered   out   of   him,   the   grapple   for   calm   abandoned.   he'd   never   managed   to   look   cool   in   front   of   her;   not   for   a   second.

he   was   a   mess   ⎯   of   tears,   of   emotions,   of   time   turned   over   into   grief   and   goodbyes   ⎯   when   he   looked   back   at   her,   and   there   was   no   shame   in   letting   her   see.   she   could   hate   him   for   the   mess   that   he   was,   this   emotional   and   selfish   fucking   mess,   but   she   would   never   know   him   as   anyone   who'd   loved   her   with   less   than   all   he   had.   he   wouldn't   allow   that   the   be   the   memory   she   held   of   him.   each   word   she   spoke   drew   another   tear,   added   another   cut   to   his   resolve,   and   he   nodded   anyway.   "   good,   "   he   said.   "   if   you   stay   alive   to   hate   me,   that'll   be   heaven   for   me,   jihye.   i   couldn't   ask   you   for   anything   more   than   that.   "   because   if   she   loved   him,   then   she   would   wait.   she   would   look   for   him.   she'd   come   back   to   him.   and   even   if   every   inch   of   him   ached   for   the   future   that   pulled   them   back   together,   he'd   already   seen   that   future,   too.   he'd   seen   it   through   the   grief   of   his   coworkers   who   stepped   too   far   out   of   line,   in   the   victims   he'd   tracked   down   who   hadn't   paid   their   debts,   in   the   eyes   of   his   boss   when   yukhei   showed   up   late   one   too   many   times   ⎯   a   future   with   jihye   would   only   be   a   precursor   to   an   early   end,   and   he   couldn't.

he   wouldn't.

amourned

eri   &   oliver

apreciada

nagyeong   &   shohei

bearytender

sora   &   tbd

eunwviie

yukhei   &   jihye

gardenwalls

kris   &   tbd

gcholdtrops

seongbyeok   &   tbd

lemontang

starter   posted   on   icedmilks

lightsideofseoul

kris   &   teddy melanie   &   tbd

niziui

Jihye listened through the blur of tears, each of his words lodging somewhere deep beneath her ribs until breathing itself became an effort. You're all I care about. The confession should have been enough to soothe her, to quiet the panic clawing at her chest. Instead, it splintered her all over again. If she was everything to him... then why was he choosing a life without her? Jihye barely heard where her own words ended and his began. They spoke over one another in desperate fragments, pleas colliding with confessions until neither of them could truly listen. Their words tangled together, each trying so desperately to reach the other that they only seemed to drift further apart. every sentence they exchanged felt less like a conversation and more like two hearts breaking at the same time, unable to keep pace with one another.

His question lingered between them, heavy enough to silence everything else. Don't I get to choose how I lose you? For a long moment she simply stared, her tear-clouded gaze fixed on him as if the words had stolen her ability to think, then, instinct overpowered reason. Her fingers tightened desperately around his hands, holding them with the quiet determination of someone trying to stop the inevitable through touch alone. " You don't have to lose me then, " she cried, the words escaping louder than she intended, trembling beneath the weight of her desperation. She shook her head again and again, as though denying it could somehow undo the future he'd already chosen. " You're talking like I'm already gone. " Her voice cracked, every syllable splintering around the tears threatening to choke her. " I'm here... i'm still here. You don't have to lose me. We can stay by each other's side. We always said we would..." Outside the weathered walls of the treehouse, life refused to pause for their heartbreak. Children laughed somewhere down the street , a car rolled lazily past, leaves rustled overhead as the evening breeze wandered through the cracks in the old wood. The world carried on, blissfully unaware that, inside the small sanctuary they'd claimed as theirs, an entire future was quietly falling apart.

Then his forehead found hers, the familiar touch unraveled what little resolve she had left. She closed her eyes instinctively, committing the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing, the closeness she'd once believed would last a lifetime to memory; as though some part of her already knew this might be the last time she'd ever hold him this way. And then he spoke again, I would marry you. the confession broke something that could never be pieced back together as a sob escaped her before she could hold it back, her shoulders trembling as fresh tears spilled freely down her cheeks. " then why..." she whispered, the question barely surviving the tightness in her throat. " why are you taking that future away from us ? " Her trembling hands rose to cradle his face, thumbs brushing beneath eyes already glistening with tears. " i knew your life was dangerous, " she admitted through uneven breaths. " i knew what loving you meant... and I chose you anyway. every single day, I chose you. "

where   it   ended   was   the   state   of   simplicity:   an   ultimatum   exchanged   for   a   decision   already   made.   every   sensory   detail   expanded   ⎯   the   world   in   his   ears,   every   goosebump   of   her   flesh   notable   beneath   his   fingertips,   the   residue   of   her   lip   gloss   and   earlier   drink   on   his   teeth,   his   tongue,   her   shampoo   a   scent   that   he'll   search   for   in   his   dreams   for   the   rest   of   his   life   ⎯   before   it   was   all   vacuumed   away   and   everything   filtered   in   slowly.

the   unsteady   pull   of   breath.   the   wet   rattle   of   lungs   on   the   verge   of   tears.   (   drown   or   dry   out   ⎯   they'd   chosen   to   drown,   the   both   of   them.   )   the   phone   vibrating   in   his   back   pocket.   the   scuttle   of   creatures   outside.   the   song   of   the   crickets.   fireflies.   somewhere   across   the   world,   there   might've   been   a   river.   a   waterfall.   a   butterfly   that'd   flapped   its   wings   at   the   right   moment   to   trigger   the   hurricane   that   pulled   them   under.

the   analogy   skewed.   an   etude   interrupted   by   a   body   of   water,   a   butterfly,   a   hurricane.   something   drowning,   something   dried   out.   a   messy   calamity   in   one   form   or   the   other.       either   way,   an   ending   is   an   ending.

his   tongue   traced   his   lips,   seeking   the   remnants   of   her:   the   stickiness   of   her   lip   gloss,   the   coffee   that   he   delivered   to   her   every   morning,   the   gum   that   he'd   once   stolen   right   from   her   tongue   just   to   elicit   a   disgusted   response.   he   looked   for   the   evidence   that   it   had   existed,   as   if   it   wasn't   still   staring   him   in   the   face.   her   questions   ricocheted   from   every   curve   of   his   skull,   threatening   to   draw   blood   or   tears   with   every   hit.   "   i   ⎯   "   his   words   stuck   in   his   throat,   cutting   him   off   long   before   she   did.   he   couldn't   get   his   tongue   to   work   when   her   tears   had   already   dried   him   out.

he'd   never   been   an   especially   brutal   person,   but   he'd   never   been   weak   either.   in   a   painful,   roundabout   way,   he   supposed   the   collapse   of   his   strength   at   the   sight   of   her   distress   was   as   good   a   sign   of   his   humanity   as   any.

what   made   it   simple   was   that   the   questions   ⎯   why   are   you   taking   that   future   from   us   and   would   you   be   able   to   live   with   that   ⎯   were,   in   essence,   the   exact   same.   they   were   questions   he'd   never   had   to   debate   in   the   first   place   because   the   answer   were   so   laughably   simple.

Jihye didn't understand his words at first. They reached her one by one, yet none of them seemed real, swallowed by the lingering warmth of his hands against her face and the ghost of the kiss he'd almost given her. His fingertips still rested so gently along her jaw, as though they were afraid to hurt her, while her lips continued to tingle from where his had only barely grazed them; close enough to promise everything, only to steal it away in the next breath. We can't do this anymore. The words echoed through the little treehouse until they became the only thing she could hear. The smile lingering on her lips unraveled, replaced by quiet disbelief as her eyes searched every inch of his face, desperately waiting for the familiar spark of mischief that always betrayed one of his jokes. " w-what are you saying? " she breathed, a nervous laugh slipping past trembling lips as she shook her head. " don't joke like this... it's not funny. " The laugh died almost as quickly as it came. There was no teasing grin waiting for her, no playful apology; only sorrow. The color slowly drained from her face as the truth settled like a stone in her chest, her lips parting soundlessly before a broken whisper finally escaped. " ...no. "

Her trembling hands rose instinctively, covering the ones still cradling her cheeks before curling around them as though she could stop him from pulling away if she just held on tightly enough. Her thumbs brushed across his knuckles in slow, desperate strokes, memorizing their warmth while tears gathered along her lashes until the world before her blurred. " no... don't say that," she whispered, her voice splintering under the weight of it. "not after everything... not after all this time together. " when he spoke about his business, about the danger that surrounded him, grief twisted painfully beneath her ribs. She shook her head through uneven breaths, refusing to accept the distance he was trying to force between them. " who cares if your business isn't safe? " she asked, emotion cracking through every word, tears filling her eyes. " didn't we promise we'd stay by each other's side no matter what happened?"

grief   worked   through   cycles   and   every   stage   showcased   itself   across   her   face,   scenes   from   a   grotesque   film   reel:   the   sharp   disbelief,   the   search   for   humor,   the   rocking   devastation,   and   the   abrupt   stop   at   denial.   he   kept   his   lips   tightened   into   a   line   as   she   spoke,   a   rejection,   a   plea,   an   ardent   statement,   another   plea.   his   eyes   traced   the   lines   of   her   face,   memorizing   how   each   one   deepened,   stretched,   twisting   around   the   heartbreak   that   she   refused   to   claim   as   her   own   even   as   it   cracked   through   her   voice.

"   i   care,   "   he   choked,   words   overlapping   hers   ⎯   

        and   for   a   minute,   that   was   all   it   was:   speaking   over   each   other,   dovetailing,   a   messy   etude   of   discordant   harmonies,   notes   falling   off   the   sheet:   

"   don't   say   who   cares,   that's   all   ⎯   that   is   all   i   care   about,   jihye.   you're   all   i   care   about.   "   buried   under   her   words,   shot   through   them,   an   argument   that   defied   timing,   communication   ran   thin   with   desperation.   "   i'm   ⎯   i   know   you   can   protect   yourself,   i   know,   but   ⎯   isn't   it   my   choice,   too?   don't   i   ⎯   "   her   words   at   their   end,   his   an   empty   beat   of   air   behind.   "   ⎯   get   to   choose   how   i   lose   you?   "   silence.   his   hands   in   hers,   hers   in   his.   he   couldn't   tell   anymore.   he   held   one,   she   held   the   other.   a   fight,   even   in   that.   even   with   tears   in   his   eyes   and   lungs   threatening   to   drown   or   dry   out.   "   isn't   that   my   choice?   "

the   walls   of   his   throat   closed   in   around   empty   space,   denying   him   air   ⎯   denying   him   the   chance   to   say   a   word   and   pry   the   bricks   from   his   own   foundation.   it   was...   a   lot.   the   knit   of   her   brows,   the   cup   of   her   palm   against   his   elbow,   the   way   her   voice   melted   down   into   something   softer,   something   he   could   hold   in   his   palm   without   breaking.   as   if   it'd   scare   him   less;   as   if   this   could   ever   be   any   easier.   he   tried   to   swallow   his   nerves   but   it   just   sent   tears   to   his   eyes.   he   dropped   his   gaze   from   hers,   letting   it   skate   the   bridge   of   her   nose,   the   divot   of   her   upper   lip,   the   centimeter   of   skin   where   her   gloss   ran   just   out   of   place,   smudged   from   the   intentional   collision   of   lips   in   the   car   ⎯   or   maybe   the   one   before   they   got   in   the   car,   or   the   one   when   he   first   greeted   her,   or   one   of   the   pecks   he'd   stolen   at   stoplights,   intersections,   in   front   of   that   café   they   frequented   just   to   giggle   every   time   the   barista   spelled   his   name   wrong   and   stammered   out   an   apology.

his   hands   came   to   cradle   her   jaw   without   him   thinking   twice   about   it,   head   tipping   down   to   erase   the   distance   between   his   mouth   and   hers,   fingertips   warm   with   the   prayer   that   one   more   kiss,   one   more   bid   for   time,   would   readjust   the   hands   of   fate.   he'd   been   a   man   starved   desperate   all   day   and   now   his   reckoning   sat   between   the   palms   of   his   hands   and   he   was   all   out   of   bids.   his   lips   moved   to   capture   hers,   but   only   succeeded   in   grazing   them.   intentional   miscalculations,   a   dying   rebuttal   against   a   decision   he'd   already   made.