⠀⠀⠀■ ■ ■⠀⠀⠀apreciada, a private museum where every exhibition preserves tiny fragments of appreciation, lovingly curated for the wandering hearts who leave warmth in their wake. each keepsake is catalogued with patient hands by the curator, soso ( twenty - three, she / her ) &. arranged in the early mornings of the brt / gmt - 3 timezone before opening hours. do not wander into the gallery archives without first reading the guidelines.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀entrance is strictly denied to visitors who are under the age of twenty, write taboo / dead dove do not eat topics, classify as smut - only / krp writers, or use ai. only enter the museum if you genuinely plan on interacting. viewing and reading discretion is advised as relics of mature themes are preserved here.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀this blog may mention⠀⠀&.⠀⠀explore topics such as alcohol usage, drug usage, blood, family trauma, mild violence⠀⠀&.⠀⠀nsfw. i will only be writing smut / suggestive content with mutuals under a read more⠀⠀;⠀⠀the interaction may fade to black if preferred. topics such as detailed / graphic violence, age gaps wider than + 5 years with muses over the age of 28⠀⠀&.⠀⠀pregnancy will only be written if discussed beforehand.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀my formatting consists of medium gifs, double spacing⠀⠀&.⠀⠀ small text. i am willing to switch formats to better accomodate my partner's wish / preference. please, use whichever format you prefer⠀⠀&.⠀⠀is best for you⠀⠀;⠀⠀but i do ask that you do not use spacing any bigger than four⠀⠀&.⠀⠀gif icons when interacting with me.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀for a proper list containing faceclaims i am selective with⠀⠀&.⠀⠀strictly banned faces, please refer to this list. standard rule of no faceclaims under the age of twenty - one, faceclaims who wish to not be used⠀⠀&.⠀⠀deceased faceclaims also apply.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀i am willing to write any dynamic, whether romantic, platonic or even familial⠀⠀;⠀⠀i am always open to plotting bonds, but i am also alright with just jumping directly into a thread / ask meme⠀⠀&.⠀⠀winging it as we go. bonds are a two - way street for me, so if i realize my partner is not putting equal effort into it, the bond⠀⠀&.⠀⠀all threads related to them will be dropped with no further notice.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀open starters will always be considered open to new replies regardless of how old they are. i also love responding to ask memes as they give me lots of muse⠀⠀&.⠀⠀my inbox is always open for them ! ask memes are always posted on a separte text post of their own in favor of giving room for my partners to turn them into proper threads if they wish to.
⠀⠀✦⠀⠀i am considerably new to indie rping⠀⠀&.⠀⠀this is a hobby to me, not a job. this blog was created with the intention to be a lighthearted⠀⠀&.⠀⠀fun writing space for me⠀⠀&.⠀⠀my writing partners. my first language is not english, therefore grammar mistakes are bound to happen. if you wish to address something, please message me privately. do not involve me in drama of any kind.
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realized that second option is a bit too extreme. as annoying as it is because i know this is my bazillionth time doing it, i'll just follow everyone from my new blog ! no threads dropped or anything i just need a clean slate for reasons
" i'm not talking about how it happened, " donghan cuts in before she can circle back into the same argument, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavier than the irritation that had been carrying him since the crash. " i'm talking about the fact that my car's totaled. that's it. " whether the steering had failed or not almost feels beside the point now. the car is still wrapped around itself in the middle of the road, neither of them is going anywhere, and his arm has somehow found new ways to hurt every time he breathes. it isn't even his car, which somehow makes the whole thing worse. someone else owned it, and now it looked like little more than a pile of twisted metal beneath the streetlights. with an impatient roll of his eyes, he finally gives up on the argument altogether, choosing silence instead as she steps away to make the call. his gaze follows her without really meaning to, then drifts back to the wreckage. donghan catches bits and pieces of the conversation, enough to understand that someone is on the way and that she'd told them one of them was injured. of course she had.
when she returns, his attention lifts from the pavement just long enough to meet hers. " hurt? " a scoff escapes him. " i'm great. " the words leave his mouth with all the confidence he can muster, and, as though his body suddenly feels the need to support the lie, he pushes himself forward to stand. he regrets it immediately. the movement sends a sharp, blinding pain shooting through his arm, forcing every muscle in his face to tense before he can hide it. his jaw locks, a quiet hiss slipping through his teeth as his good hand instinctively grabs his arm, holding it closer against his side. for a long second he simply stands there, glaring at absolutely nothing before letting out a slow, irritated sigh. " must've messed up my arm. that's all. " he says it with far more confidence than he actually feels. deep down, he is almost certain the problem is bigger than that, but admitting it out loud somehow feels worse than the pain itself.
silence settles over them once again, no longer as sharp as before, only interrupted by the distant sounds of a city that continues moving without them. donghan keeps his eyes ahead for another moment before speaking again, quieter this time, almost absentmindedly. " for what it's worth... i know you can drive. " there is no apology attached to the admission and no attempt to explain everything he had thrown at her minutes earlier. he simply states it because denying it would be ridiculous. after another glance toward what used to be her car, one corner of his mouth twitches into the faintest shadow of a grin. " i hope you're not expecting me to pay for that. i'd have to start selling drugs... or my kidney. " the joke is delivered so naturally that it almost sounds rehearsed, though the pulse of pain running through his arm quickly reminds him he is in no position to be making jokes about losing body parts. he exhales through his nose and looks back down the empty road. " are they taking us to the hospital? " he asks, already sounding annoyed by the possibility. " because that's really not how i wanted to spend the rest of my night. "
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀jieun only watches as he cuts her off, the words dying somewhere in the back of throat before they ever have the chance to become another argument. of course he talks about what is left and not how it happened — what is left being twisted metal, two ruined cars and an arm he's pretending isn't hanging together by sheer stubborness. the racer notices the way donghan's face changes before he can smooth it over when he pushes himself upright — the tight pull around his eyes and the sharp inhale through his teeth ; there's an attempt at hiding it with the same reckless pride he drives with. idiot. ❛ you don't have to prove anything, ❜ the words leave before she's able to think better of them, ❛ you stood up ⸺ congratulations ! sit the fuck back down before you make whatever you did to your arm worse. ❜ she folds her arms, more to keep herself from reaching out than because of the irritation.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀then the admission comes — i know you can drive — and for a second, jieun simply looks at him because that almost catches her off guard more than the crash itself. the corner of her mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close enough to resemble a shit - eating grin before she reins it back in. ❛ took you long enough. you ... drive well too ⸺ usually. ❜ usually, he doesn't end up folded in a guardrail beside her. there's no victory in saying the words that come slower, as though she has to pry them loose, and no smug satisfaction ; just weary acknowledgement slipped between the remnants of adrenaline and the growing exhaustion. ❛ yeah, yeah ⸺ i wasn't really counting on you to, to begin with. ❜ his joke earns an exhale that borders on a laugh, despite herself. a beat passes, ❛ besides, i don't think your kidney would cover it ... maybe half the wheels. ❜ it's an attempt at a terrible, humorous comment herself now — deliberately so — and somehow it eases the weight pressing against the quiet for a moment. but then he inquires about the hospital, and she gives him a tired, flat look. ❛ you can argue with the paramedics if you'd prefer being left in some dumpster instead. i already told them one of us is injured. ❜ a shrug, ❛ didn't tell them which one, though. ❜ the faintest hint of mischief flickers across her expression before it disappears again, quickly replaced by something more thoughtful as distant sirens begin to weave through the silence between them, growing louder and closer.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀blue and red light spills across the ruined pavement in uneven flickering, washing over shattered glass and bent steel until the entire street seems to breathe with it. jieun exhales slowly, eyes lingering on the wreckage for one last moment before shifting back to donghan. the ambulance rolls to a stop, doors swinging open as hurried footsteps echo against the pavement, voices carrying toward them through the flashing lights. the woman straightens almost instinctively, stepping aside just to make enough room — though attention doesn't quite leave him even as the night's momentum begins to carry them somewhere neither of them had planned to end up.
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀the rain, a proper summer downpour, starts pattering outside just as they leave the highway. within minutes the windshield is flooded with water, the wipers working twice as hard just to keep up, while headlights from the opposite lane dissolve into hazy streaks of white befofre disappearing altogether, the road narrowing into little more than two dark lines cutting through the storm. eunji shifts in the passenger seat. she hadn't wanted to ride with daniel — not because he has done anything wrong, but quite the opposite, really. his company is actually easy in the peculiar way one becomes after years of being interviewed for a living. comfortable with silence, comfortable with conversation, never demanding either. but it just feels wrong. wedding planners are supposed to coordinate transportation, not become part of it. ❛ i still think this is ridiculous. your fiancée should be the one trapped in a car with you during a thunderstorm, ❜ it's said lightly while she watches raindrops race one another down the window, a small smile tugging at her mouth before she's sighing through it. ❛ but instead that's become my job, somehow. ❜ evey tasting, fitting, rehearsal ... somehow, every empty space beside daniel has quietly become hers to occupy : the florists assume she is the bride, the caterers ask whether she has any allergies. the kind woman at today's suit fitting had smiled at the two of them whilst saying that it's lovely they're doing all of this together. daniel hadn't corrected her, and neither had eunji — and now here they are. driving through the middle of nowhere after another appointment his actual fiancée couldn't be bothered to attend.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the rain hammers the roof outside while the heater hums quietly inside, and the woman watches the blurry countryside pass in silence before glancing sideways. ❛ if i were pretending to marry someone i'd at least show up for the cake samplings. ❜ it's an offhand comment, light with the intention to just fill in the space because the quietness was swallowing at her — but the words have barely left her mouth when the car gives a sudden violent shudder. daniel's hands tighten on the steering wheel from the corner of her peripheral vision, and the sound of the engine coughing twice reaches her ears. the dashboard lights up, one warning icon turning into another then several all at once. ❛ oh. that's ... probably not good. ❜ an understatement. the engine loses its steady rhythm, the car slowing despite itself as the man guides it. rain lashes against the windows so fiercely now she can barely make out the trees beyond them, and the vehicle eventually rolls to an uneven stop. the endless percussion of rain against metal rings between them — agonizing, there only to make things worse, and eunji stares through the windshield for a long moment before letting out a incredulous laugh. ❛ this is usually the part where you reveal actors also have to take mandatory roadside assistance classes alongside acting ones ... y'know. ❜ there's an attempt at joking, turning the unbelievable situation into something a bit more humorous, but she ends up sounding and looking more nervous than intended as the words come out, grip tightening around the stretch of her seatbelt momentarily. another glance out at the empty road — no passing cars, no building, just the two of them. still. as always. ❛ like ⸺ you certainly don't have the face of someone who has ever gotten his hands dirty while fixing his car on his own, but you surely got the emergency equipment to fix it in your trunk still. right ? ❜
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the cold had never truly left her. it lingered beneath her skin the moment the blades touched the ice, settling into her bones with a familiarity she had once believed was gone forever. weeks had passed since estela had stepped back into the rink, weeks of aching muscles, bruises blooming across her legs, and the frustrating realization that returning was nothing like picking up where she had left off. every jump demanded more than it used to, every spin reminded her of the years stolen by a scandal that had swallowed everything she had built with relentless determination. there were moments when it felt as though she had to introduce herself to the ice all over again, earning back its trust one glide at a time. and yet, once the music filled the empty arena, none of it seemed to matter. her body remembered what her mind insisted she had forgotten. instinct took over where confidence still hesitated, each movement flowing naturally into the next until the rink, the empty seats, the walls and the lights disappeared entirely. for a few precious minutes there was no audience to judge her, no headlines, no whispers trailing behind her name. there was only the sound of steel carving across the ice and the quiet certainty that somewhere beneath everything she had lost, this version of herself had been waiting patiently to be found again.
by the time the music faded, her lungs burned pleasantly and a thin sheen of sweat clung to the back of her neck despite the cold. she came to a slow stop, chest rising and falling as reality settled around her once more, replacing the roaring applause her mind still knew how to imagine with the deafening silence of an empty rink. there was no crowd waiting on the other side of the boards, no bouquets tossed onto the ice, only her reflection following her across the glass as she stepped off the rink and reached for her water bottle. had barely twisted the cap open when a voice drifted through the quiet. familiar enough that something inside her responded before she could think. there had been a time when entire afternoons disappeared into conversations carried by that voice, when she waited impatiently for the phone to ring because she already knew who would be on the other end. until, one day, the calls stopped. life had carried them in different directions, leaving behind nothing but memories that had grown softer with the passing years. memories she had never quite managed to let go of.
estela turned almost absentmindedly, only for the rest of the world to pause with her. for a heartbeat she simply stood there, water bottle still in her hand, a small smile appearing before she even realized it had. the traces of the boy she remembered had begin to fade, replaced by a man she was certain she would have recognized anywhere. time had changed him in all the expected ways, but somehow his presence still carried something achingly familiar. “ siwan. ” his name escaped more like a breath than a greeting, warm with disbelief rather than surprise. she let out a quiet laugh when he mentioned how long it had been. “ yeah... it's been a while. ” her attention dropped to the bottle in her hands, suddenly finding the cap far more interesting than meeting his eyes for too long. “ so... you heard i started skating again? ” a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. a few articles had begun circulating after news of her return leaked to the press, and considering the work he had chosen, it wasn't difficult to guess how the information had reached him.
“ i was... very much. ” she admitted without hesitation, glancing briefly toward the empty sheet of ice behind her before lowering herself onto the bench to begin loosening the laces of one skate. “ i didn't realize how much i could miss it until i came back. it's strange... for so long i convinced myself i was done with this, and now i can't seem to stay away. ” she laughed quietly to herself before lifting her eyes to him again. “ but what about you? how have you been? are you still working at the newspaper? ” there was a small pause, her fingers slowing against the knot of the lace. “ i kept waiting for you to call me after that day... but i never heard from you again. ” her voice remained gentle, without accusation, carrying only the honesty of something that had lingered longer than she ever admitted aloud. she offered him another small smile, one that tried much harder than it should have to pretend everything was exactly as it ought to be. “ where were you working? ”
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀he almost answers her first question ... almost. so ... you heard i started skating again ? the words arrive lightly, carried by the same familiar faint smile she always seemed to wear when she was trying to make something easier than it really was even back then — easier for him and for herself. the instinct is to say yes, to let the conversation follow the obvious path. instead, siwan shakes his head. ❛ not exactly ⸺ i was ... nearby. ❜ not a lie, at all. his voice is quiet enough that it doesn't disturb the stillness settling back over the rink, mouth curving into a sheepish smile as the explanation continues to flow⸺ ❛ i ... i realized i'd spent a long time thinking i should come see you someday, so i finally stopped making excuses. ❜ head bobs in a punctuating, affirming nod that is to convince him more than the skater. it's embarrassingly simple once said aloud — no assignment, no deadline, no editor ... just a decision that somehow took years to make. the journalist watches estela glance back at the ice as she speaks about missing it, about convincing herself she was finished only to discover she can't stay away, and he doesn't interrupt. doesn't nod too early, nor rushes to tell her he understands. has made a career out of watching people search for the right words because he believes some things deserve the time they take, after all.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀eyes drift to the skate the woman is unlacing, fingers slowing against the knot. ❛ you look ... ❜ a brief pause. not stronger, not happier — neither feels quite right. ❛ ... comfortable. it just looks like you're not trying to prove anything anymore. ❜ the final choice of word and everything that follows after surprises even him, though it all comes more with a tone of question laced within its edges than intended. when the feeling that the commentary might've landed in a direction it wasn't supposed to, he echoes with an apologetic glance at estela and a quiet i could be wrong — because he often is, which explains the underlying question within the words that were supposed to just be an observation. the silence that follows it not awkward, just familiar ; then she asks about him, and the quietness is broken with a quiet breath that escapes his nose. ❛ oh ⸺ i'm still there. i don't think anyone expected me to last this long, frankly. ❜ a small laugh. not even he himself expected. can still remember what some of the older reporters would say — too quiet, too gentle, too interested in feelings ... as though empathy and journalism were somehow opposites. ❛ they eventually stopped trying to convince me to ask different questions. likely realized athletes kept talking to me anyway. ❜ shoulders lift in a small shrug, a trace of amusement in his voice. most days, the work is still work — long hours, cold press rooms, stories squeeed into deadlines that rarely leave room for everything he wishes people would read. nowadays he doesn't really mind as much as he thought he would back then.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀then her fingers stop moving altogether, her words settling somewhere beneath his ribs before he has a chance to prepare for them. of all the questions one imagined she might ask or all the things she might say⸺ ❛ i ... know. i should have. ❜ the admission comes almost immediately. no excuses, no attempt to soften it. he digs his nails absentmindedly into the palms of his hand. ❛ there were a lot of times i picked up my phone, but i'd start thinking about what to say to you and everything just sounded ... wrong. ❜ too much time had passed. rehearsing to say hi, it's been six months turned into it's been a year, which eventually molded into i know we haven't spoken since everything happened in his head. the silence had only become heavier the longer he carried it. when he finally glances back at her, there isn't any attempt to hide behind self - deprecation, however ; just honesty. ❛ i wasn't avoiding you, really. i think i was ... afraid me reaching out would only remind you of a part of your life you were trying to leave behind. ❜ his gaze shifts briefly toward the empty rink. ❛ wasn't sure if hearing from me would feel comforting or if it'd feel like just another reporter trying to pester you. ❜ a faint smile touches the corner of his mouth, and he lets the sentence fade there.
Lips thin as the words ricochet in his brain, their finality making his stomach churn, and it takes considerable effort not to flinch away from her. “Is that all this is to you? Play pretend?” Hurt shines clear as day in black eyes and his tone of voice, questions rolling off his tongue slower than usual. It’s not at all how Takashi envisioned the night going and now he’s not sure what to do with himself, eyes roaming the room but never lingering on the woman in front of him, grip on his wine glass visibly tighter than before. “Well, you did a great job. It was all very convincing.”
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀❛ i ... i didn't mean it like that ⸺ i know that's how it sounded, but that's not what i meant at all. ❜ fingers find the stem of her wine glass, holding on tightly simply to keep from wringing her hands. the model dares to risk a glance toward takashi, only to look away immediately when she notices the hurt on his face. it's easier to stare into the wine than at what she's done. ❛ it's not play pretending about you or about us, it's ⸺ pretending that the rest of the world doesn't exist. that people don't ... make assumptions, that they don't drag other people into things that should've stayed ... mine. ❜ a faint, nervous smile flickers across her lips before disappearing and she shakes her head, frustrated by how clumsy every attempt at an explanation sounds. how is she supposed to explain something she's barely admitted to herself ? ❛ you probably think i'm making excuses, ❜ a brittle laugh escapes her, the last few words barely rising above a whisper⸺ ❛ i just don't want my name to become a weight you have to carry too. ❜
⠀⠀⠀■ ■ ■⠀⠀⠀the museum is pleased to introduce you to its most recent exhibition, the thread tracker, in exhibit as of july 27th. if you notice a keepsake has gone by amiss, please contact the curator directly.
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀hand lifts to wave briefly from across the place, spotting the other exactly where they'd said they'd be and taking a moment to work up the courage before actually walking over. ❛ ... hi ⸺ sorry if i kept you waiting. ❜ he offers a small, nervous smile. ❛ it's ... it's kind of weird seeing you outside of a blurry videocall. ❜
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀the crowd thins by degrees, carried away on the high of blood and cheap victories — someone laughs too loudly near the exit, another fighter counts his winnings with stained fingers while the locker room settles into the familiar rhythm that always follows a night like this : metal lockers slamming shut, muttered complaints over fresh bruises, tape peeling from swollen knuckles ... mason barely pays any of it any mind. his lip stings where it's split open again — nothing new — as he hisses through teeth whilst pressing a towel against it, catching own reflection in the scratched mirror opposed battered figure shortly after and snorting. the now - stained crimson fabric is dropped onto the bench, and calloused fingers reach beneath it for personal belongings, dragging it out and turning it over expecting it to be his duffel bag before the stetched initials near the handle catch his eye. surely not his. L. M. — of course, lucas. a laugh escapes heavy chest before he can stop it. for one fleeting, immature second that isn't of the fighter's usual nature at all, the idea is almost too good to pass up : let the prince of pirouettes panic for a while, see how long it takes him to realize he walked off with the wrong bag ... maybe he'd show up at rehearsal tomorrow with hand wraps instead of ballet shoes. serves him right for mouthing off before every match.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and curiosity wins, as it always does. the zipper gives way with a quiet rasp and, surprisingly even to oneself, the grin that previously painted mason's features falters almost immediately. there's no expensive gear, no pristine practice clothes that scream privileged little academy darling — just ... things. a pair of ballet slippers, the satin dulled from wear, seemingly not professionally repaired, either. hand - sewn, again and again, judging by the uneven threads. beside them lies a bottle of painkillers, almost empty ; a neatly folded change of clothes, a protein bar that's long past its expiration date. nothing remarkable nor luxurious, everything looking used until it can't be used anymore. then an envelope shoved further deep into the bag catches his eye — plain, unmarked. thick enough with what he presumes is cash that it makes him pause, fingers hovering over it momentarily. he could look, wouldn't even take five seconds ... instead, he exhales sharply through his nose and pulls his hand back with a quiet⸺ ❛ not my business. ❜ and the words sound less convincing when spoken out loud. the final thing to catch the attention of curious gaze is a folded sheet tucked against the side pocket. a rehearsal schedule — columns of classes, conditioning sessions, private coaching, every hour mapped out with almost obsessive precision : morning, afternoon, evening. and then, after everything else ... nothing, blank space. mason doesn't need it written down to know what fills those empty hours : the ring, the bruises, the prize money.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his gaze drifts back to the patched slippers. had convinced himself for months that lucas fought because he got a kick out of proving a point. because apparently ballet wasn't enough of an ego boost. the pieces don't fit the picture he'd built anymore now. a sharp bang against the locker room door jerks him from the jumbled line of thoughts — footsteps, fast, echoing nearby. the bag is zipped shut on instinct and set back on the bench just as the footsteps close in. ❛ looking for this, ballet boy ? ❜ he hooks a thumb toward the duffel, expression settling into the familiar half - smirk reserved only for lucas that comes so much easier than whatever had crossed his mind moments ago. ❛ had me thinking for about three seconds that you knocked your head hard enough to forget how bags work. ❜ the joke lands flatter than expected. eyes flicker to the worn strap, then back to the opposite now standing near the doorframe — the heavy - heaving figure and the expression coating his face not going by amiss. ❛ i didn't touch anything, ❜ a beat. ❛ well ... i looked. that's all. ❜ mouth twists, not bothering to pretend otherwise.
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⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀❛ you're lucky i like your company more than i like winning ... at least right now. ❜ lets out an exaggerated sigh, the amused glint in his eyes making it clear there isn't any actual complaint however. ❛ 'cause i'm really starting to think you're distracting me on purpose. ❜
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀❛ i think my character ended up suspiciously looking like you. isn't that funny ? ❜ lips form a thin line, fully aware that there was actually nothing suspicious or humorous about it because deep down had actually intended on making it look exactly like the opposite from get go. terrible at being discreet. ❛ i only noticed it like ... now. after i hit confirm. must've been an accident ! ❜
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀the evening rush comes and goes in waves — a line at the register, empty aisles, rinse and repeat. shohei doesn't mind it, for it gives his hands something to do and something to focus on besides the clock hanging over the cigarette display that seems to stop moving whenever he glances at it. behind him, the automatic front doors slide open with their familiar chime and a quiet, low greeting of welcome leaves him on autopilot as he straightens a row of onigiri in the warmer, only looking up once the customer drifts farther into the store. familiar ... not because he knows their name or anything as personal as that, they just come here often enough that he recognizes the rhythm of it. always around the same time, always browsing longer than most customers, even if they leave with only one or two things. and when the boy returns to the register, the familiar face still hasn't checked out. he glances toward the freezer : still deciding, it seems ... or just killing time. his forearms rest lightly against the counter, waiting, and eventually their eyes meet ffrom opposite ends of the aisle. ❛ you're ... you're staring at those energy drinks like they personally offended you. ❜ deep voice carries easily through the otherwise empty store, words with no other hidden intention than to just fill in the silence with something that's not the pattering of the light rain outside and the humming of the soft drinks refrigerator. ❛ ... take your time, though. no rush. ❜ it's a simple courtesy, though it feels like the first real proper conversation they've had since they started crossing paths here.
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀❛ wow ⸺ you answered way too fast. what, were you staring at your phone waiting for me ? ❜ it's jested instantly as the facetime call connects almost immediately after he dials. seojun leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing at the screen and a smile gives him away before the opposite on the other end even has the chance to reply. the room behind him is lit by the familiar wash of blue light from his monitors, league's client still open in the background and the post - game lobby long abandoned after what had started as one last game and somehow turned into four. his hand shifts in order to nudge his mouse absentmindedly, closing a pop - up without reading it and spinning lazily in his chair instead. ❛ you missed today's highlight, by the way. i got solo - killed by someone whose username was literally keyboardturnedoff. ❜ silence hangs for exactly a minute on the call, a dramatic pause as he props his chin on his hand and exhales loudly, just to add a bit more to the theatrics. his expression stays perfectly straight for all of three seconds before features break into a taunting grin. ❛ so ... say, on a scale of one to ten ⸺ how much did you miss me ? ❜ the question is delivered with the confidence of someone fully prepared to either hear ten or be told to get over himself — either answer would be entertaining to him, regardless. eyebrows lift in innocent expectation, though the grin still tugging at his lips ruins the act almost immediately. ❛ anything less than ten is a lie. you can be honest, y'know ⸺ this is a safe space ! i know you were counting down the seconds until i ended the stream. ❜
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀the apartment is unusually quiet — quiet in the way that comes after rain, when the pavement outside is still damp enough to reflect the streetlights and even the traffic seems reluctant to disturb it. hayun has one sock on, as the other has somehow vanished and she has long given up on searching for it after checking beneath the coffee table for the nth time. a quiet ugh, you win had echoed within the four walls then ... and she isn't entirely sure who she's conceding defeat to — the sock, the laundry, or the universe in general. the search had also been abandoned in favor of curling back into the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket over her legs as her switch wakes with a familiar chime. stardew valley greets her exactly where she'd suspended it, watering can in hand and crops patiently waiting. and that's how she spends the next few minutes, maybe half an hour, harvesting tomatoes that definitely don't need this much attention and rearranging flowers that looked perfectly fine before she decided, yet again, that they didn't. helping her brother decorate this exact apartment hadn't been this forgiving, much less cozy. move a chair, make sure everything looks cohesive, no plants because seojun can't take care of them — mind nearly goes on a whole tangent about the process, but a soft knock breaks through the concentration. she blinks, and it's followed by another one ; loud enough to make sure someone is actually home, ears listening through the lowered sound of her gaming console.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ that's ... weird. ❜ sibling isn't expecting anyone — or at least she doesn't think he is. body slips off the couch and feet pads towards the front door, pausing long enough to peer through the peephole and the crease between her brows only grows deeper when all that stares back is the vague outline of someone holding no package, much less wearing the familiar delivery uniform. well, that just explained absolutely nothing. after a moment's hesitation, she undoes the lock but leaves the chain on — against the advice she's been given by eldest bazillion times to not even do so much as that — to ease the door open enough to peek through the narrow gap. one eye, half her face : enough to be polite, enough so she doesn't get an earful later. ❛ hello ... um ⸺ if you're here to see my brother, he's not ... home right now. sorry ! ❜ a small apologetic smile flickers across her face, glancing instinctively toward the living room behind her before looking back through the gap. ❛ did he ... tell you to come over ? i'm not sure how long he's gonna be out ... d'you wanna leave a note for him ⸺ or wait, d'you wanna wait inside ? ❜
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The day was ruined the moment Nevaeh opened her eyes and realized she’d slept through her alarms. Everything after that is a blur: tripping over herself in her hurry to get the first clothes she could find on, no time for breakfast or coffee or checking her phone as she rushed out of the apartment shared with her brother, running as fast as her feet could carry her to class only to get so flustered over being late that she completely bombed her presentation. Feet drag on the ground as she walks now, looking like a zombie while meandering through campus, tired and stressed and wondering what to do with herself after such an unexpected, stupid failure. And then, because the universe hates her for some reason, it starts pouring. Everyone else seems prepared for this, a sea of colorful umbrellas unfurling around her almost in unison while Nevaeh has to hold her bag above her head as an impromptu shield for the half a minute it takes her to spot a coffee shop and sprint there.
Whatever. At least she can get herself a sweet treat as a reward for keeping her tears at bay… so far.
This place is new for her yet she lacks her usual enthusiasm to look around and admire the décor, simply staring at the back of the person in front of her until it’s her turn to order and she can get her syrupy coffee and a croissant. Others have had the same idea of waiting out the shit weather in here, it seems, the seats quickly filling with chattering students and, just as she’s wondering if she’ll have to sit with a stranger, she spots a familiar face in the crowd. Her reaction when she sees Haruto is always the same: a rush of pure giddiness, a flurry of butterflies unleashed in her stomach, the urge to go and be near him, even if she says nothing, loud and annoying in her mind. Then, just as quickly, come the nerves, crashing into her with all the force of a freight train. Does she look okay? With no time to spare in the morning, Nevaeh had put no effort in her appearance and, well, she’s not sure she wants to approach her…. friend’s friend while looking like a drowned rat. Debates it for a bit, standing still in the middle of the café, several people nearly running into her, before deciding that the idea of having to share a table with someone she doesn’t know on a day that’s already going so wrong is slightly more horrifying and letting her legs carry her over to where he’s sitting. “Haruto, hey! What are you up to?” A smile is forced on her face, friendly but tiny, quick to flicker out when their eyes meet and her stomach swoops, grateful that her hands are busy holding on to her drink and plate so she doesn’t immediately start fidgeting with her clothes. “You mind if I sit here? I won’t bother you, I promise, it’s just getting a bit… crowded.”
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀haruto wasn't supposed to be here. well, not here specifically — the original plan had been to finish his morning lecture, grab lunch with xiaofeng and spend the afternoon in one of the engineering buildings polishing a report before band practice later in the evening. sensible and efficient as always, written down in the planner currently tucked inside his backpack, every hour neatly blocked out in black ink. then the drummer was texting ten minutes before lunch — teacher trapped me after class, don't wait — which left the blond wandering campus with an unexpected gap in his schedule and no particular desire to spend it in another study room. the weather had already been threatening rain all morning, thick gray clouds gathering overhead, and he'd ducked into the nearest café moreso out of convenience. had never been here before, not a personal fan of studying outside nor a caffeine enthusiast like his friends, but the place feels nice — and he tells himself he'll leave after one coffee, that turns into ordering a second cup when he realizes the rain isn't easing up anytime soon. his laptop sits open beside a notebook filled with equations and hastily scribbled diagrams, though productivity is a generous description of what's actually happening. every few minutes he solves part of a problem before getting distracted, watching rainwater race down the windowpane.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀really, engineering has a funny way of making him feel simultaneously extremely competent and incredibly stupid.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀eyes are staring daggers at the same line of calculations for what has to be the sixth time when someone says his name in the distance, and his attention lifts immediately from the notebook. for a second, he blinks — nevaeh, with hair damp from the downpour outside, strands plastered against her temples, and haruto is able to feel the stiffness to the smile she offers him even from afar. doesn't make any comment on it nor overthinks it — because there's no need to, really — as hands move to close his notebook and reach down to move his backpack onto the already crowded floor before she has to ask without any second thought. ❛ oh ⸺ yeah, of course ! i was just pretending to study, so you're actually rescuing me from that. ❜ the corner of his mouth tugs upward, just enough to make it clear he is actually glad for the new companion. ❛ ... are you alright, though ? you kinda got the looks of someone who's having a catastrophically bad tuesday. which i mean ⸺ valid, ❜ hands gesture vaguely for a moment, mainly encompassing the sudden rain outside that caught nearly everyone by surprise but also giving space for the woman to feel a bit more comfortable to chat away with him. the question is gentle, though, absent of insistence — but still, between the rain, the tiredness sitting hidden across her face and the way she'd been tightly holding onto her cup before sitting down, haruto has a feeling today hadn't exactly been kind to her. and somewhere in the very far corner of his mind, kumiko's words about nevaeh echo quietly. ❛ it's kinda comforting knowing i'm not the only one that takes the morning weather reports for granted, to be fair. ❜
❝ wait, really ?! ❞ easily impressed, but rare it was to find raven incredulous over something -- this one was truly for the books; warmed heart to know someone spent their time trying to demonstrate feelings for her in the yummiest way known by human kind. ❝ that's a relief, i thought i was overstepping for a second -- you do, like, like me, right ? like in a, should be my girlfriend type way, right ? i just want clarity. ❞ & of course beauty would still be confused, with way kaori spoke it felt slightly hard to tell where feelings lied. ❝ no way -- ! strawberry is my favorite flavor, too ! i think our first argument is on its way, how romantic ! ❞
⠀⠀⠀𓇢𓆸⠀⠀⠀body freezes for a heartbeat, question catching the brunette completely off guard. a faint flush spreads across her cheeks as gaze lowers, a quiet, nervous laugh escaping glossy lips. ❛ yeah ⸺ in my head i thought i was saying it without ... actually saying it. but i like you in the girlfriend way, yes. ❜ her voice is almost bashful, but the smile she can't quite suppress and the words that leave with surprising certainty give her away. shoulders relax a little after finally admitting it, though the blush lingering across features refuses to fade. ❛ wait, seriously ⸺ we have the same favorite ? see, i knew we were meant to be ! ❜ she shakes her head to herself, a beat passing. ❛ i mean ... i guess we'll have to settle it the fair way. whoever picks out the better bouquet gets the final saying ! ❜ a playful smile appears as kaori tilts her head ever so slightly, pretending to already think their future predicament over. eyes finally meet sarang's properly, her expression gentler now. ❛ though i'd end up giving you the strawberry ones either way. i'd like seeing you happy more than i'd miss the candy, honestly. ❜
