ㅤ𝞋𝞎 ۪

minjun   presses   his   lips   together   when   wonho   places the   extra   layer   over   his   shoulders.   the   cold   has   been   relentless   all   evening   ,   sinking   its   teeth   into   him   little   by   little   ,   burrowing   beneath   skin   and   muscle. yet   the   moment   the   fabric   settles   over   him   ,   carrying   traces   of   wonho's   lingering   heat   ,   his   muscles   soften.   

for   a   moment   ,   he   wonders   if   staying   is   a   mistake.   he   considers   refusing   ,   but   the   thought   dies   almost   immediately.   it   always   does   because   when   it   comes   to   wonho   ,   minjun   has   NEVER   been   particularly   talented   at   walking   away. there   is   something   humiliating   about   recognizing   that   in   himself   ,   about   understanding   that   some   part   of   him   still   circles   wonho   with   the   same   loyalty   of   a   dog   returning   to   the   hand   that   once   pushed   it   away.   

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enjoy the show (feat. future)

muse a and muse b were once the epitome of passion and chaos, their relationship a whirlwind of love. but as the spotlight grew brighter, so did the shadows of their personal demons. muse a, chasing fame and validation, began to lose themselves in the allure of the stage, while muse b grappled with the emotional toll of their partner’s descent. their love became a performance, each argument a scene, each reconciliation another encore. now, as muse a stands alone under the glaring lights, they wonder if muse b is watching from the wings, silently mourning the person they once knew, or simply enjoying the show.

given up on me

muse a is spiralling — nights blur into mornings with empty bottles and unanswered calls. they know they’re unreliable, dishonest, and emotionally distant, yet they crave connection, pleading for someone to care even as they push them away. muse b has stood by them, offering support and understanding, but the weight of muse a’s self destruction becomes too much. when muse b finally walks away, muse a is left in the silence, confronting the reality of their actions. they question why they can’t find peace, why they sabotage every good thing, and whether they ’re beyond saving. in the stillness, muse a realizes they’ve not only lost muse b but also themselves.

niagara falls

muse a and muse b shared a fleeting yet intense connection, their time together marked by passion and unspoken emotions. years later, muse a finds themselves in a moment of reflection, reminiscing about the nights they spent with muse b, the laughter, the intimacy, and the dreams they once shared. the memories flood back like the powerful currents of niagara falls, overwhelming and unrelenting. muse a realizes that despite the passage of time, the feelings remain, and the longing for what was lost persists. they grapple with the question: can they find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain as memories in each other’s past?

the abyss (feat. lana del rey)

muse a is slowly sinking — haunted by old wounds they never named and reckless mistakes they keep repeating. muse b has always been the steady one — quiet, thoughtful, the light muse a clings to when the darkness creeps in. but even they’re growing tired, holding onto someone who seems more in love with the pain than with healing. every night feels like a final act — soft apologies, broken promises, and kisses that taste like regret. they both know they’re standing on the edge of something dangerous, but neither wants to be the one to let go first. maybe love brought them here. maybe it’s just the abyss, and they’ve mistaken the fall for flight.

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❝   okay   ,   but   i'm   not   gonna   kiss   you   after   that.   i   don't   like   kisses   that   taste   like   grass.   ❞    the   joke   leaves   jaekyung's   lips   accompanied   by   an   exaggerated   nose   scrunch    ,   an   expression   of   displeasure   so   unconvincing   that   it's   betrayed   by   the   playful   curve   of   his   smile.  

by   the   time   theo   returns   ,   jaekyung   has   already   gathered   his   belongings.   his   phone   disappears   into   his   pocket   ,   his   glasses   are   tucked   away.   the   scarf   hangs   loosely   around   his   neck   until   they   finally   step   outside   and   the   autumn   air   greets   them   with   cold   fingers.

❝    mhm.      i   did.    ❞    minho reaches   past   him   to   flick   on   the   bathroom   light.   the   room   is   immediately   flooded   with   harsh   white   brightness.    ❝    sit   down.   ❞    he   says   ,   pointing   toward   the   toilet   before   turning   his   attention   to   the   drawers.      he   searches   through   half-empty   containers   and   forgotten   supplies   ,   hoping   to   find   something   useful.   in   the   end   ,   he   manages   to   gather   up   a   few   sterile   gauze   pads   ,   iodine   ,   and   saline   solution.  

minho   never   claimed   to   be   good   at   patching   people   up.   if   anything   ,   he   had   considerably   more   experience   being   the   reason   somebody   needed   first   aid   in   the   first   place.   still   ,   he   wasn't   completely   hopeless.   his   sister   was   a   nurse   ,   and   he'd   spent   enough   years   lingering   around   her   while   she   studied   ,   practiced   ,   and   complained   about   patients   to   absorb   a   thing   or   two   through   sheer   exposure.

when   he   finally   turns   around   ,   the   sight   that   greets   him   makes   something   uncomfortable   shift   beneath   his   ribs   because   under   the   bathroom   light   ,   marco   looks   worse.

the   bruising   is   already   beginning   to   settle   beneath   his   skin.   every   mark   feels   impossibly   vivid   now   that   minho   is   looking   at   it   without   adrenaline   clouding   his   judgment.   ❝   shit . . .   ❞   the   word   slips   out   before   he   can   stop   it.   his   hand   finds   marco's   chin   automatically   ,   tilting   his   head   slightly   to   get   a   better   look.   ❝   i   really   went   too   far.   ❞    

˗ˏˋ·.·★ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞: Lenora Ayrs. 30 year old photo-journalist with interest on war and its horrors.

˗ˏˋ·.·★ 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: You were my source for a story. We're getting coffee after my picture of your grandfather —and a retelling of his times of service— got published on the cover of Spyglass Magazine.

"I mean... I feel like a monster sometimes," Nora interlocked her fingers around the latte. It had a cute little heart on it, a frivolous little picture of love made ethereal foam. "Capitalizing on the pain of others... so I- I was thinking..." one shoulder raised, making it mean less than it did, "... what if, maybe, I gave you a portion of the royalties from the mag?"

❝    ¿sabes    qué    habría    dicho    mi    abuelo?    te    habría    preguntado    si    te    golpeaste    la    cabeza.    ❞    una    risa    breve    se    le    escapa    antes    de    negar    con    lentitud.    

piensa    en    el    viejo    sentado    frente    a    la    ventana    de    la    residencia    ,    con    las    manos    llenas    de    manchas    de    edad.    tenía    la    costumbre    de    restarle    importancia    a    todo    lo    que    había    sobrevivido    y    nunca    aceptaba    que    alguien    le    agradeciera ⸺    decía    que    la    guerra    estaba    llena    de    hombres    mejores    que    él    y    que    el    único    mérito    que    había    tenido    era    seguir    viviendo.    incluso    cuando    el    gobierno    le ofrecía    reconocimientos    ,    él    encontraba    una    excusa    para    no    presentarse.    

sook felt his heart rate speed up with anxiety when he heard footsteps approaching him and refused to look up from his drink, afraid is was that same guy or someone like him. the soft voice made him pause, it was so different from the loud, obnoxious voice from before so sook felt a bit safe enough to lift his eyes,"yeah...I remember you." sook said, trying to smile but failed.

"I just....didn't like his touch..." was all he mumbled for a moment after that, his eyes going back to his drink, watching a drop of condensation slide down the side. it sounds silly, but he hoped minwoo didn't think he was rude. he came here to make friends and when someone actually came up to him, he ran away, he felt like he was selfish but he really didn't feel right standing next to the guy.

minwoo's   lips   purse   at   sook's   words , taking   the   liberty   of   leaning   back   against   the   wall   beside   him.   their arms could brush against each other if they were closer   but he   has   a   feeling   sook   has   already   had   more   than   enough   people   invading   his   space   tonight. ❝    yeah   ,   i   saw   that.   ❞  his   gaze   drifts   briefly   toward   the   living   room   before   returning   to   sook.   ❝    that   was   fucked   up.   he   shouldn't   have   done   it.   i   don't   even   know   why   seungho   keeps   inviting   him.   nobody   really   likes   him   that   much.    ❞

then   minwoo   shakes   his   head.   ❝   you   don't   have   to   thank   me.    ❞   his   eyes   wander   across   the   room   again. ❝    honestly   ,   i   don't   think   most   people   here   even   know   what's   going   on   around   them.   if   they're   not   drunk   ,   they're   high.    ❞   he   lifts   his   chin   toward   the   center   of   the   room.   a   shirtless   guy   somehow   climbs   onto   a   table   and   makes   an   absolute   spectacle   of   himself   ,   arms   spread   dramatically   as   if   he   is   performing   for   thousands   rather   than   thirty   intoxicated   college   students.   after a few minutes , he   loses   his   balance ,   only   to   be   rewarded   with   a round of applause.   minwoo   lets   out   a   short   laugh.   ❝    i   doubt   someone   in   that   condition   would've   been   much   help.    ⸺ i   guess   we   got   lucky . . .   meeting   each   other   ,   i   mean.    ❞   a   soft   smile   tugs   at   his   lips.

minho   lets   out   a   scoff.   ❝  anyone else would have called or sent a message first. ❞   he   replies   ,   and   when   he   catches   the   curve   of   marco’s   mouth   ,   that   infuriating   smile   still   lingering   despite   the   blood   smeared   across   his   face   ,   he   reaches   over   and   punches   his   arm   lightly.   hard   enough   to   make   a   point.   guilt   has   already   begun   to   settle   heavily   in   his   chest   ,   sour   and   uncomfortable   ,   now   that   the   adrenaline   is   draining   away   and   leaving   behind   the   ugly   evidence   of   what   he   has   done.   ❝  don’t   smile !  i   could   have   beaten   you   to   death. ❞   he   grumbles   ,   frowning   as   his   gaze   flickers   over   the   bruises   already   blooming   beneath   the   blood.   yet   the   moment   marco’s   arms   slip   around   him   ,   minho   doesn’t   pull   away.   he   stays   exactly   where   he   is   ,   caught   in   the   circle   of   his   embrace   ,   breathing   hard   as   the   metallic   scent   of   fresh   blood   fills   his   lungs.   it   should   be   unpleasant   ,   and   it   should   make   him   pull   away.      instead   ,   he   stays. ❝  you   brought   it   on   yourself   , ❞   he   mutters.   his   eyes   roll   towards   the   ceiling   even   though   marco   can’t   see   it.   ❝ sure   ,   but   first   ,   we   need   to   clean   up   all   that   blood. ❞