* GIRL / GEM.

to say that soojung and seora weren’t enamored with each other would be an understatement. often times seora found herself craving the comfort that soojung brought with her, a familiar warmth that was difficult for her to find in anyone else. 

now, in no way had the female ever harbored a crush on her precious friend. but, they had such an unbreakable bond, seora would do damn near anything to make her happy. if she ever asked, seora would even go to the lengths of high treason- the girl meant that much to her. 

in fact, when seora felt the threads of her mind breaking, when she could no longer patch together her sanity, she sought out the girl. 

as she was now. 

she found herself resting in the garden’s gazebo, a cup of tea on the table long forgotten about. “dearest, go fetch soojung for me.” her words are spoken softly, addressed to her maid before she turns her attention back to the serene pond. 

she needed a distraction. something to bring some sort of order in her mind of calamity. and soojung would do just that for her. 

@dalsoojung​ 

in retrospect, the sunset is only beautiful because it reminds her of eomma, basking in the glory that is the hues of soft pink. but the sunset in joseon remains the longest, cocooning her with the gossamer chrysalis that is the memories of her late mother. she’s in the midst of sitting on the porch of her house alongside her maids when her presence is requested by seora. and so, she rises onto her feet to walk towards the palace.

it isn’t a long walk; the proximity in which her house is located makes it convenient for her and seora to meet up whenever they feel like doing so. both seora and her have been friends for so long that at this point, seora is aware of all her worries, and vice versa. and she believes that it’s a friendship that she will always treasure, down to the casket if needed be. her arrival is a routine, and she heads to where the gazebo is, joining seora.

she sits there like a lily, a water flower, floating on the surface of the drink in muted pastel colors, her posture and situation entirely contained and serene– so serene he wonders if she has shifted from a girl of breath and control to a girl of stone and ice, all rigid edges and airless lungs. her words are less than interested but polite enough to warrant his eyes, refocus his attention, re-align his determination of this, their coupling, their shared space atop this boat, the way the ocean flutters and droops against the wood, against his skin, against his heart. he feels almost as a cheater does at the gambling dens, somehow sniveling, somehow conniving, plotting against the fabric of the universe as though he might have far more control than he actually does in this situation. their father’s have come to this deal, not them. not them.

he stays standing for a long moment, blinking down at her resolute form, the petals of her gown, her sleeves, the way her shoulders bend out from the curve-line of her neck, her eyes reflecting the sky yawning high above them, and he wonders what will happen to her after he’s killed the monarchy, after he’s shattered the country’s stability. what will they do with her if they believe her to be guilty of consorting with him, simply based on principle or adjacency? what will they do if they don’t care that she’s innocent? toss her into the water on after him, so both their corpses can meet again at the bottom of the sea, salt-stained and aquamarine? will they let her renounce him? remarry? would he care– could he grow to care by then?

“you speak in a riddle.” his head tilts slightly, the line of his jaw growing pronounced. “is being out on a boat a new experience for you? or just being near the water? why then do you say it’s been a while?” after a pause, he chuckles, turning away from her for a moment before nodding once, his teeth clenching together for a moment. “i was a good officer– i’m not so sure about it anymore. a good sailor perhaps.” he looks again down to her, only a glance, only a moment, only a breath. “a decent sea dog, as they’d say. but it’s been a while since i was an officer, in any official capacity, though i appreciate the flattery.” which is a lie of course, because if there’s anything that sets his hackles on end, that curls the hems of his fingernails, that rings alarms in his ears, red flashing, bells chiming, it’s a kind word or two. “have you known any other officers to compare to, my lady?” now he’s just giving her a hard time.

there’s irrevocable confidence that the man before her seems to retain, and she tries holding her breath for a second as she casts a look around her, realizing that she’s definitely just pledged her life into his hands. it’s almost risible, how an outing with her groom-to-be is perceived as an elegy, filled with suspicions. but that’s how she’s been raised, after all — she’s a carved blade, everything sharpened. she wonders if he can see it in her as he fixates his transient gaze onto her while her eyes avoid contacts, perusing the horizon as it slices the view into halves. wonders, for a mere second, if she is what he wants in a wife and vice versa. his hands seem calloused from sailing, it seems, she cannot be too sure, inferring information slowly through each miniscule friction between them.

at the comment on how she speaks in a riddle, she fights the urge to raise her eyebrows; this is the first time someone has blatantly pinpointed that. there’s siphoned pride that comes from it, how a man finds her words a conundrum. a token for her intellect, although she knows it’s a temporary bliss, for it might be naught but mere dreams. she looks at him, looks at his chin, jaw. locating the veins. she smiles indifferently. “do i?” she asks back. at least in this instance, there’s no other men that can listen to her talking back to her fiancé. “or do you simply think of it as such? i did not mean for anything to perplex. to answer your question, though, it is my first time on a boat… although it’s been a long time since i’ve been near the water. i used to visit the beach with my mother.” and if he’s heeded enough, he’d know how her mother met her demise.

starter for ​| @dalsoojung

jaejoong inhales deep, the salt from the sea reclaiming his lungs, reattaching to his ribs, his heart, his lips, the grains from an imagined beach latching onto his atmosphere and even though he’d known just how much he missed the ocean, missed the blue, missed the waves and the constant crashing, the constant roaring, he hadn’t realized just how bad his bones ached, how devastated his equilibrium had been. until this exact moment, until he stands here on the surf, tilts his head against the breeze, his ears pinned to the shifting, the calling, the luring music of the water he loves so well. his only true devotion.

he adores the water, adores it in a way he doesn’t know if he ever can with this breath of a girl, this slip of human in fine, gaudy dressings, her presence on the small boat a few feet away from him something of a comfort, something of an annoyance. he isn’t sure how to react to her yet, isn’t sure how to conceive her entirely, not since the moment his father had brought her to him, declared them for each other in a way that broach no argument, no hackling, no options. she is to be his wife and that’s final, that’s the end of it, nevermind that jaejoong’s heart only beats at the bottom of the ocean, nevermind that he doesn’t know how to look at a girl and not think of the devastations and atrocities he’s witnessed in the past year, under the tutelage and carnage of piracy out in the open blue.

he swallows his thoughts down and rearranges the sails for the fourth time, working them into just the right position, the bustling sounds of the port junction just beyond them, still in view but out of reach. he can see them all behind, men and women, boats and fishing cots, tiny shops and animals milling about. it’s not a beach, not his beach, not his horizon, but for the moment, it’ll have to do. “thank you,” he intones rather quietly, hoping their first outing together without chaperones won’t be too terribly awkward. “for coming out with me like this. i hope you don’t get seasick or anything.” he lets a small shine gleam in the corner of his face, almost amusement, almost playfulness.

thinks of it this way: the world is never a symmetry in which two sides retain the same level of forces — one of which always tips the balance, and in this case, men are the heavier on a scale. in this case, she’s the losing option for the country that executes a malpractice against women, while at the same time unable to contain the beasts of crimes in its stomach its viscera spilling out of the holes. she wishes that the world would swallow her whole to never spit her out since the conversation that maintained more silence than what she could bear. her father’s quiet often means more than his words. he’s a man of actions, and when he does something, he truly means it.

and so, he means the entirety of this arrangement. this is not a bouquet of floral twines that she can bend on the spines to create an alternative end result. there’s no exit door, no exit wound. just her, and him. there’s no chaperones, just the two of them in the spillage of disguised attempts at bonding. she didn’t request the entire guards to be lowered, so she believes that he might have. she doesn’t know the objective. and for the sake of everything good, he doesn’t know the personality. he might have been someone unsuitable for marriage, who knows. however, she’s resigned to fate the moment she vacated the chamber, leaving her father alone with a numbed jaw. and now, she’s here, with him, alone.