branches of white light

[ahn bo hyun— 35 — he/him] Introducing YANG EUN. Word on the street is they are a DINER OWNER, having been around for 3 YEARS. Though they are PUSHY and STUBBORN, they can also be OPEN-MINDED and HUMOROUS. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.

Open Starter

Location: Gotham Hall Gala

Ryleigh loved charity events, especially high profile ones. When all the important people of the city lined up to open their pockets and try to assuage the guilt from all the dirty little secrets that were hidden away in their closets. It was events like this that were the bread and butter of Ryleigh’s job. It was a comfortable and familiar mask for Ryleigh to slide on clothes worth more than some people’s income and make herself hidden on the edges of the crowd. Her ears perked up to listen as conversations passed. She sipped from her champagne glass, not looking to get drunk but to fit in with those around her. Ryleigh honed in on one particularly interesting conversation, some politician or another talking in hushed whispers about a recent vacation.  Ryleigh moved away from the table she had been hugging for most of the night, to try and follow when she bumped into someone. Her mostly full champagne sloshed out of the high stemmed flute glass and onto her dress, possibly onto the other person’s clothes as well. 

Anger rose up in Ryleigh’s throat as she lost her prey, losing sight of him in the crowd. Embarrassment burned at the back of her neck and she flushed slightly red at her own clumsiness.  She cleared her throat as she looked down at her dress, trying to assess the damage. “You really aught to be more careful” She snipped before looking up to figure out who she had bumped into.

Everything, and he meant everything, was far too immaculate and grandiose for any level of comfort to be found. Eun wanted to, for a lack of a better term, very much crawl out of his skin. But he managed to hold onto some sort of composure; one full of clammy hands and stumbling speech. Still, it’s more than he originally imaged himself being capable of. 

The only consistent in the night thus far was how untouched flute in his hands. He held onto the damn thing like it was the sole anchor to the waking world. And, no, the irony didn’t escape him. To depend on the one thing he swore off of rubbed salt in all the wrong wounds. But what else was he supposed to do with his hands? 

location: fundraiser gala @ gotham hall. OPEN TO ALL

At this point, Jin is fairly certain that he’s dissociating. The eye contact is there, and he makes sure to nod occasionally, eyebrows slightly furrowed to feign interest. The man ( always, somehow, a man ) prattles on something about Beeple; he can make out Mad Dog Jones before he decides he’s had quite enough and he begins looking past the man he’s supposed to be in conversation in. Then, like he’s just recognized someone in the crowd that he hasn’t seen in a million years, he waves at the person and apologizes. “Sorry, wow. Old friend - do you mind if I -?” And before either of them can say another word, Jin moves towards them, taking them by their arms. 

“Sorry,” he keeps his voice low, pulling his new company away and walking towards - anywhere else. “I’m honestly a little tired of talking about NFTs. Keep me company? Five minutes tops.” 

Christ was he way out of his element. Everything was so immaculately prim and proper that he felt akin to a bull in a china shop. One wrong move and things would come avalanching down. 

Maybe he should have doubled his meds beforehand. 

A flute of champagne remained untouched in his clammy hand. Make no mistake — he hasn’t broken his streak, but what was he to do when offered one right after entry? Say no? Swallowing his own tongue sounded like an easier feat. 

* & 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒 — 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀 .

.

     Another plan that backfired. He had a new pack of cigarettes with the man’s name on it if he wanted them, but he didn’t usually carry bags of tea in his pocket – and he most definitely wasn’t singing in public. “It’s gonna give you nightmares,” Alan warned him, hand sticking into his pocket and digging out one cigarette for each. “I was kicked out of choir in high school.” he stressed. And his family had never let him live that down.

.

     “Hey, man,” confusion and disgust alike morphed his expression as the other blurted out his never-ending stream of thogughts. Breathe and relax were, in fact, the next three words that would have rolled off Alan’s tongue had Eun not specifically warned him against it, so instead he simply shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “I’d offer to help but you don’t want my hands in your batter.” A pause. “So to speak.” He couldn’t hear it but there was probably some double meaning hidden in there. “Have some tea, I don’t know. Or do you want a smoke? Or a lullaby?”

location: j&j’s diner closed to @antiscicns​

By anyone’s standards, J&J’s is just one of many other small diners just like it scattered all over New York. But every time he steps in through the entrance, the familiar squeak of the door and light chime greeting him, it’s like he’s that young, lost boy again, hopelessly looking for a place to call home and rest his eyes for a moment. But he also knows that the one person he’s desperate to see just one more time isn’t here anymore. Taking a small breath in, he looks up and offers a weak wave at Eun instead. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be open today - new years and all.” He greets him, holding out a small gift for the other man to take. He should feel familiar to him, just as the diner does, but it’s still strange and he shifts slightly in his discomfort. “It’s just - it’s a vase. I saw it and it reminded me of  - you know. So.” 

He turns his head for a moment to look at his usual booth - empty. “Just some coffee, please. And if you’re not too busy, feel free to join me.” 

Another year came and went with just a family of two and a half.

With Seollal just around the corner, he’s been plagued with the manner of which respect should be paid. Displaying something grand never sat right with him. So many others clamored to compare whose layout was bigger, better than others solely for bragging rights. It always left a sour taste in his mouth. His father was but a simple man. Never one to ask for more than that was needed. Besides, his mother didn’t have the time to fly in and he didn’t have the heart to leave just yet. 

God, he’s tired.  But tired in a way that seeped past the skin and well into the bones. Something that stretched thickly between the joints and muddled the mind into some messy pulp.

Briefly allowed respite between rushes, Eun let himself fall still for a moment. Just enough to have his face cradled in each hand. Both thumbs pressed gingerly at the eyes to help ease the burning tension that sat behind them. 

Then the bell rang.

“Welcome in—” The words jumped out on instinct and came to a halt when he saw who it was. A smile reached his lips, but he was quick to advert his gaze onto the gift as it’s taken and set atop the counter. “Got a good eye for stuff like that, huh?” There’s gratitude hidden in there somewhere, tucked between the exhaustion and hurt. But then a thought flickered to life and sparked some energy in him. “Oh, which reminds me—” Quickly, he disappeared into the backroom for a second. Some rummaging and.. “Would’ve forgotten to give this to you if you didn’t visit.” That’s a lie, he would’ve gone the extra mile to find Jin regardless — if not for himself, then for his father, at least.

Title: A Regular  Location: Eun’s Diner, a quiet lunch hour  For: Eun | @antiscicns​

They had been in and out of New York City for the better part of ten years, but often it was for a weekend, at most two weeks in one go. Then, they’d disappear for a couple of months, travel to another state, hitchhike and then ultimately find their way back. If it wasn’t for their Syndicate Sponsor, they’d be prepping to leave again, never wanting to stay in one place for too long. Already, they felt the nervous gnawing in their stomach that made them want to run until they were too tired to keep running. 

Yet, for the last three years, with every trip back to New York, they found themselves in a back booth at a familiar dinner, settling in with a barricade of menus blocking them to keep people from looking at them while they ate.

Now - they had been coming into the diner every day - at the same time - for lunch for the past month. They looked for the same booth. If it was open, they stayed. If it was taken, they left. They ordered the same chicken sandwich with a chocolate milkshake and a pile of french fries. They shared their meal with a furry friend that they kept tucked at their side.

Today was the same. No deviation. Except today, the diner was quiet, and the owner stood at the cash register. Lex stood awkwardly, and then skipped the hellos. “You’ll want to change the password for your point of sale machine – your IT people tell you that you need to keep the password so they can access it if you need help - but it leaves you vulnerable.” They hefted their bag. “Just - wanted to let you know.” 

What was there to say about the monotony of his day to day? Hardly one to deviate from routine, it doesn’t even occur just how repetitive his life had become. Wake up obscenely early, spend some time to look decent, bike to work in a hurry, stay there for way too long, be pushed out of his own establishment by the insistence of kind-hearted employees, bike blearily back home, pass out face first on the couch..

Rinse and repeat for the past three years and counting.

He was fine with that, though — content, really. Going from a life full of uncertainties to something stable was.. nice. Not exactly something he believed was achievable between the whorls of booze stunted decisions and leftover rakes from heated spats. But here he was, stationed comfortably at the register to tidy up an already neat space. 

Everything’s fine.

There’s fresh air in his lungs, sand between his toes, and clothes dry as bone. 

Everything will continue to be fine.

And yet the yearning scathed him with each reach of water. Deep blues capped in white foam — oh what he’d give to be rid of this fear. To be free among the lazy waves that stretched across the coast. 

“I’m a simple person,” he mused aloud in utter nonchalance, “anything happens, I cry. And not just the award winning single tear trick. Nah, I’m talking about two broken dams running down my face and a torrent of snot.” 

Pause for a stunted breath.

Eun would’ve snorted if he wasn’t in the midst of something tragic. Slowly, his head fell into his hands; heels of his palm pressed firmly against closed eyes. “You know how.. in cartoons there’s a scene where a scoop of ice cream falls out of the cone? Yeah, think of that but I somehow manifested it into reality. Double scoop Cherries Jubilee just.. splat, on the floor.” A suspiciously wet intake of breath was taken, but he cleared his throat shortly after. 

LOCATION: Somewhere in the Bronx, 12:18 AM.  OPEN TO: Anyone (it may work best for a civilian though). 

He was out late tonight, he was always out late. Blame it on the business he was in, Wells rarely got calls during the day. Only late in the night or early in the morning. He didn’t give a shit about the hours. Wells preferred the night. Less people out, less bullshit. 

Less but not completely free of it. The streets were full of stragglers; some returning from a night at the bar, others who made their homes on the streets. In the distance, he noticed a man lurking on a corner, muttering gibberish. He barely paid them any mind. As another person passed the corner man, heading towards Wells, the man began to trail them. From what Wells saw, they didn’t notice a thing. 

Wells was no good samaritan. He wasn’t a saint by any means. But he was somewhat decent, he had something of a conscious. As the person approach him, with the man still close by, Wells decided to intervene. 

He turned around as the passed each other, standing close besides them. “Walk with me,” Wells murmured, “You’re being followed.” 

Nothing screamed workaholic more than having his own employees urge him out of work at a ‘reasonable’ time. Eun could have argued to the moon and back but it still wouldn’t matter. Both the chef and server were adamant on just how frazzled he’s been looking as of late. Gaunt and with horribly non-couture eye bags, as one of them stated. So he left just a breath away from acting petulant.

Sort of — he might have kicked a pebble or two on the way home.