(& gravedigging)

• any target • churches in texas • abandoned 7/11’s • your bedroom at 5 am • hospitals at midnight • warehouses that smell like dust • lighthouses with lights that don’t work anymore • empty parking lots • ponds and lakes in suburban neighborhoods • rooftops in the early morning • inside a dark cabinet

• playgrounds at night • rest stops on highways • deep in the mountains

• early in the morning wherever it’s just snowed • trails by the highway just out of earshot of traffic • schools during breaks • those little beaches right next to ferry docks • bowling alleys

• unfamiliar McDonalds’s on long road trips • your friends living room once everybody but you is asleep • laundromats at midnight

• galeries in art museums that are empty except for you • the lighting section of home depot • stairwells • hospital waiting rooms • airports from midnight to 7am • bathrooms in small concert venues

• cemeteries • abandoned penitentiaries • hilltops at night in full moonlight • most of Japan • empty barns • marshes • really anywhere quiet at midnight, the air vibrates • old stones and henge • the ocean when it’s still quiet with fog over it • train tracks that go through the middle of the woods • bridges • ancient places • stands of old growth forest • the Eastern Sierras/high desert

• rabbit paths off hiking tails • trails between the main ski hills • winter twilight • back allies between houses • logging roads • dirt roads on fall evenings with leaves falling off the trees • libraries before closing • anyplace where it’s snowing before sunrise • the woods during a rainstorm

• roads covered with snow with trees on the sideways while snowflakes are falling out of the sky • train stations after 10 PM • outside, right before a massive storm • the woods just after twilight • the beach in winter • the bottom of swimming pools • empty beaches when its snowing

• back part of a library • late night empty streets • highways late at night • windy roads • windy roads at night when you can only see the immediate road • abandoned parking lots (office buildings, homes) • anywhere immediately after a really bad fight • little towns late at night when no ones awake and the only lights on are the street posts

• empty buses before sunrise/after sunset • being the only one outside in the early morning when its almost dark and you feel alone on earth • mountains with a big forest close to it • being alone in a spot in ikea • the lakeside anytime between 2 and 6 am • firework shows when you’re sitting on the grass • staring up at very tall buildings • the tram at a big airport • abandoned house by a lake

• being the only one downstairs on christmas   • stepping outside in the early morning when it has just snowed • when its dark and you see snowflakes falling down in the light of a lamppost on the lonely road • that one clear spot in the forest with trees surrounding it • a parked car in a snow/thunderstorm • corn fields with the wind blowing over them • malls when they’re about to close for the night • woods at twilight/dawn • being on a train after midnight • theme parks at night

• winding back roads with rolling fog • seeing “open” signs when its really foggy and cloudy • being in a train that was crowded when you got in and now its quiet, looking at the seats knowing that there were people sitting there moments ago and now they’re gone • hiking trails that have nobody on them • being alone in an elevator for a few minutes • looking down at the forest when you’re standing somewhere high and seeing the top of the trees with fog lingering over them • the ferry about to take off in the middle of the night • tree houses • empty seats on the late night train • 4-6 am on a winter morning

• the clouds/damp coming out of your mouth when its really cold in the morning • stepping out on an unfamiliar metro/train stop • greenhouses that have been left to grow alone • cemeteries in the middle of fields • biking/walking on the main road when its dark without cars • swamps with fog • hotel corridors in the middle of the night • anywhere where you can hear a train whistle in the distance but you can’t see it or know just how far away it is • foggy mornings in a meadow • that flickering streetlight • working offices at midnight

• abandoned amusement parks • mirrors in an airplane bathroom • being alone in a church • empty hotel lobbies • hearing trains off in the distance especially at night • snow falling down in general • being in a place thats supposed to have a lot of people but it doesn’t • long, dark hallways • the middle of a park when its snowing • playgrounds at night • work/school when you’re snowed in • caves • a field of power lines • being in a forest where there are train tracks not knowing if the train may even ever approach • bonfires

• being in a different room than everyone else at a party • the woods on a night with a full moon • empty stables • empty metro stations that are usually crowded • gas stations on long mountain roads • the old part of a city when you’re the only one in the street • stadiums when a game or concert is over • entering a building with a really high ceiling • moonlight, anywhere

• empty tennis or baseball courts with limited lightning • times when you are transitioning from one phase to another • lodges in the snow • frozen water in the winter • a little lake in the middle of the forest • campus during summer • family gatherings • construction site after works have gone home • leaving a tent at midnight • lonely swings • overgrown fields • from twilight to dusk • farmland thats covered in the morning fog • suburban neighborhoods filled with tension and wind before a large summer thunderstorm • being at an abandoned place knowing that years ago at that exact same moment there were people • the feeling of being chased by someone/something • knowing you’re not alone in a certain place like a forest

SO TO SAY sehun’s shaking heart has her frazzled. how strange, the revelation, the switch in positions and the twist of it all—her heart churns in the most aching fashion, resonating with sympathy for the hurting man nestled on top of her. and so, she doesn’t want to go. 

it isn’t to say that pity has her arm twisted, that asha is only staying because the remaining good left in her heart — though applicable nonetheless, it is the sole sentiment of want that keeps her here. pressed under the heavy weight of oh sehun and his torment. it shouldn’t affect her, yet it does, she shouldn’t want it, yet she does. 

how is it that it is human instinct to shy from pain and yet she runs straight toward it? 

had it really made much of a difference that it wasn’t pain of her own? nor a stranger’s? but oh sehun who’d open his doors (arms, heart—she’d hope, but there’s never a definite answer) to her that has her so readily accepting of his pain. what made him special? over others, who’ve been far kinder (softer eyes—sehun had always looked at her with chagrin unique to his own). over herself, who’ve tasted heartbreak a million times over (but she’s never cared for herself, has she—wretched beyond saving, every heart and kiss asha collects now act only as palliatives to the aching soul). 

what separated sehun from the rest?

she figures she’d wouldn’t know, that though she held in her hands answers to everything—she’d never know. rather, knowing is not for girls like her, built with disarming smiles, rabbit hearts, and a penchant for breaking themselves over and over and over to fit into the mold of someone else’s. for love, girls like her would justify it like such. for love is something they’ve never known.

still, in the face of anguish and its chattering teeth, bony knees, asha would be a prisoner willing in exchange for mercy. in exchange for reprieve. not for her own, never for her own, (it’s too late for her, isn’t it?), but for others, for those deserving of happiness, asha had always figured that sehun was deserving, that despite tongue sharpened to tear down castles and eyes with proclivities of spotting frailty and fault in the soft of others, sehun had always been deserving.

( she sees it in the soft of his gums upon tasting sweet, in flickers of vulnerability under the crushing weight of his father. sehun is a budding flower, buffeted by the heartless cold of winter. and she is but an apple red, sick with slow rot from the inside out. ) 

“good.” soft, she can’t deny the way she breathes easy with the assurance. this is her acting blind, it is impulse built upon impulse that drove her to this, crossed unspoken barriers between roommates—friendships of man and woman—what would she have done if her rotted touch had once more laid another relationship to ruin? she hadn’t know much, after all, but to do this. to offer herself up to the raging beasts caged up in his chest cavity.

( all she had was herself—and if she’s to be completely honest, if sehun wanted it, he could have her. )

the groan draws a small smile, provokes a stirring beast in her chest that purrs complacently (she’s always been too easy to please—but asha supposes to see and hear sides of sehun that little could dream of has her foolishly smug). but she figures there’s a degree of pride in being useful, in that this was what she was good for and that the slow fade (but fading all the same) tension in his body was an indication of her doing something right. 

in that, this was enough. this was all he needed.

( don’t offer more, asha. you’ll break us. )

but for once it is sehun that upsets the balance. for once it is him that pulls her closer still, long fingers sliding over her cheek. and asha is breathless as she watches, eyes half lidded, watches and notes closed eyes and shaky breaths, counts long lashes fluttering, slight quivers in his lip—all this she takes in with an overwhelming sort of bafflement (so to say, the idea of sehun initiating anything had never crossed her mind) till their lips meet.

and her mind is blank. and her heart soars.

here, we witness asha’s brand of selfishness. what it was that made her rot from inside out in the first place. why her fingers are tainted black and no matter how gentle a touch ends with the same result. here, she wants—a flicker of greed that strengths into waves, pushing and pulling in tune with the thrumming of her heart—nothing else but this. here, sehun’s turmoil, ache and all, takes a backseat in the face of the wanting heart—its hunger for a suitable calmative. 

she doesn’t think, fingers pressing into his nape, shifting beneath her roommate’s broad figure, cheeks flush and heart singing. she doesn’t even dare to breath, lips pressing back into his in the sweetest of kisses—as sweet as she muster.

in the seconds that this transpires, her mind struggles to keep up with her racing heart, struggles to find some sort of clarity that spells this to be a bad idea. but hadn’t she wanted this? hadn’t she always asked for this (be it from him or another)? hadn’t sehun wanted this as well?

( but did he really? )

apprehension has her breaking contact, shy eyes fixing on parted lips before she dares to lock gazes with the male hovering over her (sehun’s gaze has always been intense, has always left a part of her trembling for more), teeth torturing her lower lip. it isn’t the right way to go about it, asha knows, logically, she knows. but she hadn’t been a logical woman for years now, hadn’t found logic the best form of action that came to her. no, instead, she’s a woman weak to humanity’s wants and needs, weak to emotions and sentiments. weak, at this moment, to oh sehun.

“ten minutes,” she blurts, exhaling quietly while her eyes find his lips once more, arm encircling him pull tighter, unwilling to let him go. her free hand pulls back to cradle his jaw, gentle in her touch, fondness that seeps through the way her thumb flicks over his jaw. all this, yet asha can’t seem to shake the bit of guilt that surfaces, guilt she willfully shoves to the back of her head (out of sight, out of mind)—completely mesmerized by sehun, his distance, his lips, the shared breath between them.

she wants more.

“okay?” asha asks as if he understands, but it didn’t matter if he didn’t. hand guiding his lips back to hers, she dares to dip a foot in  and hopes to god oh sehun wouldn’t deny them both the pleasure of drowning in it. if only for a short while.

the heart is hurting. it has crashed, stumbled and pulverised upon the bare two decades of oh sehun’s existence. there was only so much pressure he could take before the ivory cage of his ribcage would collapse and his heartbeat would falter. for putting up walls, brick by brick, a titanium wall -- anything to brace himself with the slight puncture of this mortal god’s heart. 

once an artery is struck, a small cut -- and a hot, red, pulsing blood would spill in suit with some form, some creature of love so vulnerable, so fragile to let loose. and so, perhaps, the safest semblance of security is to keep the thundering heart from such turmoil. 

to avoid his father, who lets his heart race in double time, the muscle of this red organ tearing into his chest. 

to avoid asha yang, who lets his heart skip beats wildly, his breathing hitched with some tug of want, of yearn, tugging at his heartstrings.

-- and his eyes flutter open as his heart flutters faster. asha yang in her beauty, in her kindness and in her open heart does he find these white sheets and his jarring heart set alight. (is this the song his beating heart sings in the graze of their noses and breathes they share?) 

but she had existed with so much comfort, of softness, of kindness, of warmth and a slight taste of underserving heaven. for his lips, his tongue, touched with the teasing taste of something his crude mouth and putrid hands should not have. (”good”, yes, good. all is good you’re good, you’re sweet, heavenly -- his heart thinks, his mind buzzing on the high upon his lips.)

in his white sheets and her beneath, feels like some dream. a fantasy suspended in his mind so deliciously. 

and she says ten minutes and his body rejoices in elation for their extended intimacies. 

she says ten minutes and he finds himself tasting her more and more. her arms and dainty fingers enticing him to have a better taste. pushing him to her, sehun is unable to fathom if the heart is racing or if it is even beating, for the flavour of her sweet lips. asha yang always accommodating, always too loving, always too saccharine sweet in her grins and now in the taste of her lips. 

and he has always had a sweet tooth. 

but this taste of hers grows on him like some rabid addiction (oh no, oh sehun, what about this heart of yours?) kissing her with no conscience, kissing her as their noses press into each other’s faces with conviction, with need and in their fragility. with conviction that they hold onto, that fools their ten minutes with confidence and assurance that this is okay -- that their heart will be fine. with need as their insides, their chests, their stomachs, that crave for the softness and the touch of want. (lips pressed, tongues dancing, his hands gliding up her waist.) with fragility as their heart trembles for them in caution, as they tremble knowingly into the unknown just for the hit of a sweet kiss. 

this was not their first time, lips to lips, intimate. but surely was their first time like this -- 

so heated, so passioned. 

(oh how he prays this exists as not one-sided.)

“okay.” -- his dangerous acceptance as he dives in further to sedate his now primal, his now hungry self. yang sua, what have you done? with this boy so torn, with his bricks, his composure loose. with hsi heart open for you to step on with your pretty shoes and spit on with the pretty purse of your lips. 

59apothecary:

               @archaistes​ // fckn… reborn

in the winter chill, what she wants most is comfort, in arms outstretched, in hearts welcoming; an ache that hadn’t changed in the slightest since she was young, asha yang had always spelled to be this kind of simple. as always, she craved warmth (love), alabaster skin stretched over bleached bone, hollowness is a constant, an insistent itch she can’t seem to scratch no matter how deep she reaches in to claw at her insides. 

till recently, she thinks she’s found a remedy in dating, the embodiment of all things cuffing season stands for, asha dated till she could date no more—could handle no more (heartbreak, anything soft has long been plucked from the warmth of her chest, leaving jagged edges she throws layers and layers of fabricated sanguine in desperate attempts to cover her faults—she’s always had too much, too many; that’s why they all leave).

but now, now, she figures, she could chance the frigid winter alone. she figures romance is a tired term, a withered sentiment she can no longer keep by her side to warm her insides. she figures she couldn’t survive another heartbreak as desolate as her last.

her roommate, newer and kinder than last, strives to set her on a healthier path, one that has asha on her own two feet, depending on no one but her own (and she tries, she does, but when attempts fail and nights grow lonely, gavin’s bed (arms and all) welcomes her with solace asha need not seek anywhere else). 

and before she’s known it, months has past.  months without a lover, without charming smiles and gentle touches that has her heart racing. months with a crushing sort settled on her chest that eventually dissipated into a faint dull tinge. 

months later, she thinks she’s gotten over it. 

but life is funny—fate is predetermined, red strings entangled and pulled, inescapable no matter how hard she tries—it didn’t matter if it had been months or years, for better or for worse, she’s bound to run into oh sehun again.

luckily, this time, they manage to settle on a means of friendship, no matter how shaky.

but it was ever so easy to fall into step with past habits, ever so easy to care for the shakespearian boy with bitter rotted hands once again—too much, she has always cared too much about oh sehun. so when time winter rolled around, it was as if nothing had changed, as if they hadn’t spent months apart, as if sehun’s brilliance in his articulation with crudeness hadn’t torn her apart and left her crying on a curb just months prior. 

by the time christmas eve comes by, asha is standing at his doorstep hour to midnight, cheeks flushed, arms weighed down by presents and hot food. technically, she hasn’t a logical reason to be here—sehun had asked, but obligations had kept her from spending christmas eve with him. yet her thoughts are never far, even surrounded by friends and peers in a christmas party; thoughts of her former roommate easily surfaces, and in the face of asha’s happiness lies guilt, lies worry over a man she knows surely shouldn’t be spending the holiday alone—so before she knew it, she had been on her way, out of her shared flat with nothing but dinner (she’s sure, sure as the snow falling outside, he hasn’t eaten) and his gift.

it had been impulsive, stupid impulsive, but she was here. 

standing cold in front of his door, she is struck by anxiety (the pros, the cons, the volatile tendencies of his temper) despite the brashness of her actions, teeth worrying her lower lip. she has a million of what ifs—twice shy after the first, asha doesn’t think she could stomach another door slammed in her face—but only a glaring worry seems to settle in its distinction. 

the idea of sehun spending the holidays alone and hurting has her heart aching, heartstrings plucked and pulled taut—if anything, she’s always cared less of herself (she’s nothing now, her heart’s barren now), hasn’t she? and it’s with that, that she knocks on thrice (for luck) on the door.

“oppa-ya? it’s me.” she starts, voice raising a higher, peppier, octave. “open up!”

loneliness as a fickle thing, he can tell you that.

because not once in this season of giving, of this season of being together, did his heart cave in and his chest collapsed in the daunting stabbing thoughts of loneliness. such is a lie though, the vile bite of loneliness threatens to sink it’s jaws onto him. and sehun feels it stirring in his chest, a suspicion, a doubt that his facade would shatter at the very thought of such a lonely christmas. oh sehun, our scrooge. 

and the moment it did was when the wary eyes upon the christmas lights that a forlorn roommate, a desolate once something, a loving asha yang had strung up with him. 

and the wary eyes faltered, a hearty smile that expanded forever, gave a glimpse of forever. cajoling ideas of his white bedsheets months before and a searing cheek struck by his father. dancing lightly into a sullen chest for a moment of remembrance, a moment of tenderness, a kiss to the cheek a kiss to the lip, a kiss to the deepest part of souls that don’t know any better. 

but surely knew they wanted each other... 

-- if he had any notion of what loneliness cowered under, it was her undoubtedly, it was written int he stars, it was blatantly there displayed across his pale skin, etched in the ivory of his bones. 

you can only feel lonely when you think of those who make you feel whole (how cruel, he thinks.) 

he wished it didnt have to be the case, 

he wished it hadn’t been her too.

oh sehun says to himself (lies to himself rather), that december twenty-fourth was some decorated foolishness. though it was cold, thought it was a biting winter they had, he couldn’t bring himself to find a single flood of warmth. he lies to himself so that perhaps the cold doesn’t have a hold on him any longer, so the chill won’t freeze him over. 

but all is a lie. oh sehun, a brash man and a sour tongue for an exterior can’t give in, can’t lie to such a wanton, needing interior. 

on his knees looking for another forlorn affection of his (yaong, a kitten, apparently) to waver the hunger of a less than hearty christmas meal (of udon in soup) and an incessant emptying pool from his chest. his chest usually puffed, proud and pumped full with ego. 

a fool on his knees (might as well be begging for company) -- “yaong~” 

but like a christmas miracle, like a white angel in those white sheets he remembers her so vividly as, chest gripped in invisible holds of her hands, she arrives. in a knock of a door and a ringing voice -- she had sounded like a touch of warmth, a song to the ears such a melody. 

and she had him, nowadays it seems, awestruck. head still ducked below his shelves for his shy kitten, a small, slight electric buzz startles him. and perhaps he has forgotten about yaong momentarily. 

breathless now, on his feet, hand brushed through his hair -- for once in this dreary eve does his heart race and thump wildly and obnoxiously. his chest empty of breath, singing. 

it was nervousness, it was- and only for asha yang apparently. 

“coming!” an anxious shout resounds, chest searing almost to the door. hand brushed through his hair and licked lips, an anticipation, 

and she had appeared like an angel does in a dream, like a miracle, yellowing bright lights like a halcyon touching from above is asha yang. “why hello.” 

breathless. 

she makes a conscious effort, to not give in, into her desires. of wanting to be close, to share a touch, or maybe even share a chaste kiss (but she knows she shouldn’t think of something as intimate, and as dangerous as this). perhaps a touch on the skin would suffice, but really, who was she trying to fool? it wouldn’t be enough, and it would only drive her over the edge that she has voluntarily place herself on.

she thinks of a few excuses that would give her, and sehun enough reasons to be alone. something, anything, to get him into her office and play their cat and mouse game. all the while her mind spins its clockwork, jaehwa conversed, sneaking a tempting and alluring gaze to the other’s way through every golden chance she gets. 

all was well, until an idiot said something he shouldn’t have. “sehun, what happened to the girl you slept with the other day.”

jaehwa didn’t need to reassure herself, whether what she heard was right. the idiot was already stammering once he realize his mistake. and cue the tense silence that followed quickly and in that single second, her expression falters for a moment. evident, but ever fleeting. a moment of weakness was shown, and it would be enough for anyone who was paying enough attention on her, could tell that she was hurt by the revelation.

she should’ve known. she really should have. 

jaehwa had hoped for at least some sort of loyalty in this relationship she shared with sehun – but was she asking far too much when she had nothing to promise him in return? god be damned, for allowing herself to think that oh sehun was perhaps something special, and not like the rest.

looking at each other was an act of longing. he doesn’t understand how, or why, or how hard the eyes find it to tear from her. it wasn’t the eyes, it wasn’t how she looked at him, it was just the looking, the staring. the few moments in their hectic schedules they sparsely shared with each other to provide some hitch of flattery. 

eyes flirting, light batting lashes, heavy orbs. a fluttering flirtation. hesitant in their breaths, in the nature of their relationship. 

it was a choking distance. having their eyes as the most intimate course of their relationship (and to call it a relationship was far fetching). all that consisted of jaehwa and him was the intellectual stimulation and the burning attraction not one of them could act on. -- now was is shyness on his behalf? he doubts it, oh sehun in a previous night had dwindles between the thighs of another for the edges of his unsatisfied attractions to lay rest in hot warmth. 

and such commentary, jaehwa must ring from the devil. 

and the colleagues waffle away in their inconvenience and insubordination. 

“a lapse of misjudgement.” is all he should say, the vaguer the better but also -- foul dishonestly to a woman of splendour and intelligence rides at some possible guilt he harbours. “-- jaehwa.” it’s not what you think doesn’t cut it. oh sehun is anything but cliche himself. 

“but this, battle of ours to be what? colleagues? work friends? don’t you think that this alone just --” and hurt shouldn’t wear on a woman like her. he knows that at the very least. 

AMONGST THE MONTHS spent, head submerged under water, it is the palliative firmness of gavin’s touch that manages to coax her from the edge of bitter turmoil; pacify the demons, if you will. it isn’t to say that asha wasn’t troubled, that years of despondent heartbreak after heartbreak hadn’t forged stronger foundation to what asha yang was as a whole; in other words, she would not crumble, but it did not stop her heart—a needy organ thoughtlessly offered to any man who’d cast her a look long enough to be counted as affection—from falling into shambles.

as it turns out, she had mistakenly attempted to made a home out of the impossible. 

now, months later, there’s little to suffocate under with the amount of distractions her new roommate had so graciously piled up for her to keep busy. but yes, her heart still gnawed sour, ripped and corroded and unforgiving in the darkest of nights with the way it twinges, it beats loud in its ache, its defeat—the crippling fear of being alone. 

           ( what i’m saying is: yes, it still hurts.            —if that’s what you wanted to know. )

however there is naught in fixating on the sordid past, not when she’s climbed and clawed till fingertips raw her way out and into normalcy—a sort of domestication sought in the arms and apartment of a stranger’s in order to survive. contentment, for once in quite a while, easily strikes her as she stands, doing little else but picking up groceries for the week.

if it’s like this, like this, she’d gladly live the rest of her life out like such.

of course, no such luck, no such thing as salvation for god’s unloved, a soul washed in sin—no, asha should have expected it ( as always, too good to be true ) and yet here she stands, caught in headlights by a smothering gaze, spine frigid with tension unknown in months.

oh sehun.

here, her heart pounds. a beat of hurt and another of ire, red hot that pulsates beneath fair skin and within river-like veins. how quickly his appearance unsettles her, in fact, threatens to do more than just that. but it’s expected, his presence in her life marks a lesson asha would never forget, one that has her torturing her lower lip between teeth for a lack of better things to do — sharpened words pool at the back of her tongue, desperate to be put to use.

but instead she makes a move to turn, mentally chiding herself to at least find some semblance of a grip, a bit of pride and dignity — oh sehun hasn’t been worth it since the day he kicked her out.

he hadn’t known how alone the drawing months were till he saw her. 

and so sehun wished he hadn’t seen her at all, ever again. 

she looks the same and he figures he doesn’t quite like that. oh sehun doesn't want to see her doing good, wearing that jumping heart so happily, with her pretty lips stretched she always happy.

who was he in the presence of asha yang? just a bitter tang to the mouth? an incomplete sentence to her, an unfinished lapse of misjudgement. they were not supposed to embed themselves into their frayed lives. 

he’d like to think -- then again, oh sehun, secular and divine, also falls prey to self deceit. 

“asha...”

not to be a figure of hurt, not to be desiccated by the blithering repeats and dances of breakfast, winter nights and an obtrusive father that wretches his lungs. not to be strung and hung over by the neck for a woman he once knew who appeared as an angel to his bloodshot eyes. 

do not let her strike you in the heart, she is supposed to have her blood curdled and tripping for love. asha yang will not be the downfall of this propped and manicured caricature of perfection you now live. after all this time oh sehun, do you crave for discord? for her disruption in her idiotic words and foolish hearts?

through the surface of a porcelain canvas pricks the incessant airflow, child of a previous deluge and merged by the forces of nature as the young male stands by the entrance of a building, embraced by the chilling arms of autumn’s making its astonishing entrance through the gates of mother nature’s heart, presenting the scientific matter of tips affected by the drop of temperature where rough finger pads are seized by the lack of warmth. it is a fitting weather, pleasant even, at least for him.

long hasn’t gone by since an unexpected collision between mirrors occurred, gracing hazel pair of hues with the sight of another being, coated by resemblance of his own shapes of features however little did it unleash about the differences to be set – it was true that they were alike in a matter of visuals, yet never had similar looks been deemed so disparate. thomas came across sehun at some point, both lead by the strings into an entangled world of immersive artistry, a writer and a photographer, connoiseurs of a deeper meaning behind letters and shapes other beings are stripped of the right to envision – it is a privilege for the minority, for founders of true devotion and passion towards a more than just a like of work.

for the matter of deeper understanding of art shared between the visual entities, the young male had grown somewhat attached to the older, read: pestering the latter through a vicious mean. it happens to be amusing. entangled by lithe fingers is found the flat figure of a mobile phone, engraved by digitals to a sensitive flat of glass with the purpose of writing out a set of virtual messages, after all, the long, black coat enveloping his figure by the height of his knees does not count as a shield from the slicing breeze shooting through the streets. 

( SMS → 세훈 ) Sehun. ( SMS → 세훈 ) Sehun. ( SMS → 세훈 ) Sehun. ( SMS → 세훈 ) I’m waiting outside your building. Come down. ( SMS → 세훈 ) I’m gonna throw eggs at your door somehow if you don’t come down. ( SMS → 세훈 ) Not kidding. I’m waiting.

perhaps there is an understanding, mirror to mirror, a visage blurred line one more mature with a sharper jaw, another with a quicker eye and shutter. sehun wouldn’t call him a good friend but an acquaintance wouldn’t quite fit the picture either. 

loafers slip on and a hand through the follicles of his thick hair (dully noting for a cut) he finally looks to the incessant buzzing. child. 

patience is indeed a virtue, sehun is sure he has proclaimed such a saying numerous times towards the minuscule buzzing minds of others. fickle, he’d say about most. but isn’t there an attraction to mystery, the indefinite curiosity? the infinite possibilities and wonder of and image split just like you? the curve of the lids, shade of the rosy bottom lip correlates rather effortlessly. looking like a child though, like him years past -- acting reckless (looking reckless). 

to say the least, it held a figment of a dusty sprinkle of magic (if this creature oh sehun could believe in such ostentatious notions). 

(sms): thomas  

(sms): you little child stop that or i’ll shoot eggs into your skull, im not kidding

(sms): ever heard of being patience? mine is running out for you 

but respect doesn’t build in age, age surely doesn’t correlate to wisdom (his father, a prime example of such horrific breeds of age). a keen eye though, despite a foolish demeanour and boisterous messaging methods, respect is still borne (surprisingly enough). 

heels of his loafers clicking to the flooring tot he hallway, elevator doors slide open. if his phone rings repeatedly for another time, his phone flashing with the boyish thomas’ name he’ll ride the elevator back up. 

but of course his mindful promise of being so mindlessly cruel for no reason other than to jar the feelings of a photographer and have the writer gloat for a few short seconds isn’t quite worth it. 

elevator doors slide open, heels clicking again across the tiling. “yah--” 

(stop being mean will you? you wretched creature oh sehun.) 

There’s not exactly very many extravagant things in her life but that view changes once she inhabits this new world. She wonders about the trivial things people went about. Queuing up for the safeguard of one’s work — no different.

Why is it done in the form of a favor? She’d always thought the purpose of why it was established was to solve the problem with forgery. Protection to stand the test of time of their own. It’s useful for him, not any of the people who asks for it. So, why? There’s all these questions. All this brooding that keeps her on the young writer’s hook, line behind protesting for their turn. She didn’t have to ask for things, she gets them. So that was new, and whatever’s new piques her interest.

To say it was sarcasm that hardened her voice was unfitting. They begged for mercy, right at her feet. Her words were truth. This is a place where she gets to do it with its unspoiled feeling. But pitiful. Such an off-putting term that gets her raising an eyebrow, apart from the contempt within his retorts that was accusing.

“I’m not.” Get a clue. “I’m just as you are.”

She remains hidden for good reasons. There’s no one to look out for her here. There’s only so much she can do to continue masking her fear.

because surely, his does. 

because who is ‘jennie’? there is an infatuation with curiosity this meddling man has, his familiarity, friendliness even with the unfortunate concept of how curiosity killed the cat. there is an attraction, allure to an elusive nature to someone. -- he’d like to think ‘jennie’ was lying. 

after all, she says something like ‘just as you are’ with the double reassurance, pointing out that once again, she was ‘not’, she was just as he is. (now any commoner, let alone the spectacular vibrant brilliance could sniff out a little dancing facade of a lie!) 

“right, right.” he doesn’t give her the benefit of a single comforted thought. 

he pillages the mind, reaps and claws the fertile grounds he manages to walk past, spilling his flowing venom to seep into others. aggression in subtle hostilities, that was oh sehun. 

writer, gravedigger, certified creature of havoc (synonym of monster, but he wouldn't’ go there.) 

“a girl like you isn’t just like me, i’ll tell you that.” tepid blood, only rising to the occasion of this little jennie to pique with a secret to have his ears ringing. oh sehun’s arrogance proves as a repetitive act of hubris but there is something that rings in the divine air he carries that even smells peculiar in the air. 

our said jennie, with her words like a sharp whistle ringing through the air, liar liar. “for one, my mouth doesn’t spill fabrications, and girls like you --” 

and maybe, if he’d rile some flaming ego in his audacious talk, they’d make progress.