𝙿𝙷𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙾𝙼 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈.

ceruleous is the determined gaze that     night     comes as a sole witness to,     alabastrine moon    ‘gainst stygian sky-mirror, tight embrace with cocked fists; venture forth to     disarray,     mysterious sleep that which is cannibalised by the abstruse of    hers.

          ❝  you    don’t    have to hide  –     not here.  ❞       / @eflurescence​ .

      “I’m not.” The requisite audacity to openly lie claimed the remainder of her courage, though that had meant nothing, pseudo as it already was. “I wish you’d stop! Leave me alone!” She rises with the exclamation, trembling nearly, gaze adopting the inconsistency, shallow water the moon-epitome wades, encroaching like death. Her fingers are clenched unto asphyxiation, whitening flesh, a living ghost in the night, clinging as though it were an alien corporeality. “I spent so long,” something swelling deep inside, “I spent so long ...  and you ...  abandoned me! You left me!” Her pivot is expedited by desperation, scouring earth for anything, a meager stick weaponized by her clutching palms. “Stay there, Diana! Don’t come any closer to me. I mean it.” Her lips sputter, proverbial bastion almost shattering, though she persists, grounding herself, exchanging weakness: a cycle of falsehoods. 

“Oh, I don’t curse much either, I don’t know why I did. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I was just- saying, you know.” Attempting to shake off the wave of embarrassment that hits him, sister’s scolding voice echoing in his head, he maintains their eye-contact. “I just meant that we can do as we’d like now. My guardians were strict, too. I was just…” He pauses, hesitant for a moment before forging on, attempting to choose his words carefully. “… a bit of a rebel, for a while. We both grew up in a rather specific environment, I just happened to, well… resist it, initially.” Junho’s smile is a display of practiced ease, cup lifted to his lips as he moves to another topic. “Can I ask how come you’re really looking to bond right now? It’s hard to talk about that kind of stuff openly at the ceremony.”

      Her appetency sated, elation is a smile most lambent, proudly and undisguised. She partakes with a kind advertence (easy willingness), bread apportioned, a complementary sip, pink lips’ relishing patter, silence —  it was good! “I think the drink makes it even better, actually,” confirmatory nod, “so thank you.” Her smile persists, albeit transitional, softer with a reflective amicability, canted head indicating her own consideration. “I would say that I am probably ...  Reliant on caffeine, actually. I tend to try and sleep early so I can keep a good schedule.” Her laughter is chaste, almost flustered. “Though, I’m certain it doesn’t do anything. I always end up exhausted and trying to compensate for that exhaustion.” Her tut, body reclining its back to the bench as she slouches in concession, swelling to deflate with the sputtered puff of a sigh, furrowed brow. “It probably means I’m stressed then, right?” Her gaze to him, inquisitive and with a hopeful sincerity. “I hope not. I really hate being stressed. I do.”

      She does. “It’s my fault, though. I think I’m trying to tackle too many things at once, or rather ...  I know that I am.” Her laughter again, meager and enough to jostle her, shoulders rising but the effort is utterly meek, retreating to what somberness unknowingly built itself insidiously. “It feels like ...  Mm, my life was kind of going somewhere for a moment?” Her head easing again, hands lifted as if to navigate her mind. “It was going well ... going well ...  And then, suddenly, I was completely and absolutely derailed. Everything that I had put together ended up ...” Her lips pursing as they huff the vibrato of another inane sigh, looking to him again. 

      “Sort of ...  dismantled? Like there’d been some linchpin keeping it all together, you know? I knew what it was —  know what it is. The linchpin, I mean. I just didn’t expect that ...” Discomfort is a painful shift, a weight she tries instead to swallow, finding it ultimately inhospitable. “I didn’t expect ...  that ...  I wouldn’t ...  have it? Keeping it all together.” Hands enclosing upon each other in a little sweep, audible clasp as her fingers interlock before her. “So when it broke,” fingers dividing as cued, “I wasn’t ready. I had to start piecing it back together on my own and honestly?” Her eyes returning to him again, widened as though stretched by her incredulous smile. “I have no idea what I’m doing! None at all. It’s actually terrible! I feel entirely stranded!” She’s laughing again, though her mental playground felt more like a tormenting bully, jabs and quips she forces herself to endure lest they destroy her. 

      “I have no idea what I’m doing at all. I just think that this is what ...  she’d want me to do.” She blinks, stretched gaze reassessing her own words as she spoke them. “Not to say that I don’t want to do it. I clearly want to. I would never go into something as intense and as permanent as this based on anything else, of course! I just meant I wouldn’t have seen this as the next step had she not been there. The linchpin.” Her eyes retreat hurriedly, scrutinizing the ground. “That is not a person but an object, which is also not gendered. Yes. That. Very much that.” A very weak simper, toothy and particularly fearful. “Sorry. I ramble and I also am, well, apparently very talkative, so I end up veering the conversation.” Her shaky laughter. Please shut up.

      “Here you are.” A circumspect arrangement, chrysanthemums a consecrate adornment, encircling her mother’s outlasting memory. Her finger lingering atop the colorless petal, tucking it in, a blanket for the earth. “I’m late, I know! Don’t say it.” Her hand rising, a manmade bastion repelling her (deserved) lecture. “I have an excuse. Actually, if you must know, I have a lot of excuses.” A blink, her head shaking furiously. “No! Not excuses like that. I meant, mm ...  Valid reasons, you know? I’m late but you’ll be happy with why because the reasons are fair and understandable.”

“You’re nervous.” It’s spoken lightly, punctuated by laughter as he moves to sit down, carefully handing one of the coffee cups to the witch beside him. “Dangerously so, even. You can relax, you know, it’s just us.” There’s a tentative touch to his words; the familiar hoping for the more informal meeting to be a far less tense ordeal than their first encounter. Reminded of what had caught his attention the first time, he laughs again, wiggling his fingers where they’re curled around his coffee cup, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Kind of feels like we’re even now, too. Difference is I can actually say ‘fuck, ow’ without onlookers losing their minds. … Right?”

      “I don’t ...” She provides a very, very puzzled audit, gaze a keen unbeliever, brow quirked, skepticism a slowing enfeeblement. “I don’t think that helps ... In the way you’re probably imagining it does, not to be rude ...” A quick add-on, salvaging. “We are in fact —  hopefully, still —  bonding and I have once again caused bodily harm, although unintentionally. Again. Anyway, anyone would be nervous.” A nod. “However! I am prepared this time. As you’ll soon come to see, forethought is my forte.” She rewards herself a celebratory smirk, commending her wordplay. Nobody else was going to. 

      Her satchel sits beside her, idled and undone, gloved hands dredging up utter miscellany. She didn’t think she was going to need the bandages, truly. Just coincidence, happenstance that they’d been thrown in that leather abysm, disarrayed among numerous candies, wire-cords, charging ports, pens, napkins, a notepad and finally: towelettes. A small maelstrom sat between them. She is horrified and partially (extremely) ashamed. She has chosen to overlook it. Progress. “Here!” Two white-blue packets she’d delicately unsealed, his wrist managed with the same care, freeing his hand’s grip and splaying his fingers for a gentle and meticulous wipe-over. 

      Ah, yes ...  Personal boundaries ...  They reoccur to her then, screamingly. “Like nothing had ever happened, ever at all, because it didn’t. Please forget absolutely everything that happened up until now.” She declutters as she rambles, scurrying, pausing with an ogling fondness (celebrity photo: cute and unattainable, tucked into her coat), returning to earth, scurrying again. She takes her drink eagerly, fingers entwining a desperate clutch, cup raised in gratitude, scrambling to speak. 

      “Thank you for this. I actually was going to suggest the café not too far from here. Isn’t that funny?” Her wallet would have found it absolutely hilarious, for sure. “I guess I don’t need to do that now, do I?” A wink. “Though, I did bring a little something. I hope you like it.” She means it sincerely, Tupperware beside them opened with an airy pop, baked bread within pushed towards the other. “It’s banana bread! My personal favorite.” She almost beams. “Second’s pumpkin. I’ll be sure to bring that next time, based on how you like this, which I hope you enjoy.” She doubts he wouldn’t, though that’s a wordless, unarticulated pride, reserved for the gentle simper teetering on the edges of her cheeks, impassioned.

With a meek wave, Kwangshik nods his head in acknowledgement to other male witch in the room. Their worlds were only starting to get smaller, it seemed and for once, he didn’t mind. And now with a male witch his own age, the dynamic should be interesting. “Yeah, you know.” he muses with a look of adoration of his own towards the familiar before shaking his head. “Nothing at all. Perhaps a break is needed then we can try again.” Kwangshik gives Areum a knowing grin. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

“Smooth. So smooth.” he snorts once they’re out of earshot, tutting at the younger witch’s antics. “Jungian archetypes, huh?”  The little white lie was understandable given the immoral experiment they’ve brought upon themselves. Any other witch would lose their minds over their ambitions. He couldn’t help but giggle at Areum’s excuse.

The real reason was behind a door down the hall of the bookshop, stacks of reading material Kwangshik had managed to collect to aid in their research. He quietly ushers her into the magical part of the shop while leaving the door cracked, waving at the chaotic yet organized mess around the room. “Let’s get cracking while the other two are busy, yes?”

@areumfey· @feyshinwon· @feyjunho·

      “Oh, Kwangshik! Did you really think so?” His words muster a seeable incitation, uniquely aplomb with a pride she settles amidst coyly, shoulder-shimmy, meager simper. “Well, you know ... ! Oh,” her immediate defeat, “sarcasm. Very nice. Thank you! I like to lie in front of my boyfriend, who is apparently good friends with the familiar I’m trying to bond with, who is apparently your boyfriend! I snore in my sleep, Kwangshik. Loudly. Shinwon was the one who had to tell me that. I lived in denial for ten years. Ten years.” She sounds like she could cry. She probably could. 

      “He could tell Junho that and then, this entire ceremony?” She drags her hand sideway across her throat. “And then everyone I’m friends with would know. Also, I panic!? I am an unnaturally very nervous person. I start talking ... and then I can’t stop ...  And then I can’t breathe ... Oh, no. It’s happening.” The aforesaid hand presses against her chest and over her heart, momentary solace. “Ah,” deep breath, “okay. None of that is going to happen. For sure. What will happen, however, are our mothers coming back from the dead! Let’s get to reading. Yes!” She celebrates prematurely, hands applauding her exclamation, yelling, realizing that she did yell. That everyone heard her. “Sorry!” Loud enough for the men out front to hear. “Sorry...” Soft enough to communicate she was really empathetic for her friend’s closer ears. “Let’s get to reading,” whispering now, trying to pet him, “yay...!”

No matter how much the witch wanted to relax, the tension of current events lingered in the air. Previously, he would’ve thought it a nuisance. He had no reason to fear for his life, no care for the werewolves that were honestly a pest to him in the city. Despite all of that, the moment there was an indication that Junho could possibly get hurt or get involved in this pack warfare, arose the drive to protect him.

The area had been quiet recently, save for the idle chatter between the two figures resting against the counter. Kwangshik had been just as startled as the familiar next to him, his body tensing and shooting straight up. It wasn’t until the two others were in sight, an audible sigh of relief elicited as he nods at Junho. The interaction between the two other men in the room has him quirk a brow in curiosity, before shooting a warm smile towards Areum.

“What brings you here today? You didn’t tell me you were coming in.” He looks between Areum and her supposed-boyfriend.

@areumfey @feyshinwon @feyjunho

      “Yeah ...  I’d been so eager to get here that it slipped my mind, I guess.” She accepts her culpability shakily, smile debatable, its existence a hesitant teeter she decides best forgone. “I apologize. I kind of ...  mm, just wanted to be around everyone. Plus! I wanted to check out your new stock.” She flaunts a practiced glee. “I’m really into the Jungian archetypes right now and figured it’d be as good a time as any to start my deep-dive into psychology.” She flows well, happily and seamless. Her gaze charily precise, lingering on the storekeeper with a silent knowingness, confirmation besought in a wordless exchange of the actual truth. 

      “... Two birds, one stone, you know?” A wink, tenderer now, conversation transitioned. “This is my boyfriend, Shinwon. Shinwon, this is Kwangshik.” Her little simper, respect vowed by the dip her head takes towards the familiar. “I see everyone already knows you. I’ll consider myself fortunate, then.” Mannerly nod, smile intact, attention swimming on. “Kwangshik, could you help me with the books then? I only really need to know where I’m looking.”

      Perturbation is an insidious foe, purposive breaths its perfidious accomplice, both unifying a prison amidst the idle bench. She’s bound   —  the thought cues a meager giggle, defused into a despondent hum  —  by an inexplicable helplessness:  tradition’s dictation, defied by her own thoughts. It had been her idea to begin with, hadn’t it? “Why ... !? I don’t actually want to do this.” Her head tucked lowly, obfuscated by the browns of a multilayered coat, red scarf drawn around her in cheap masquerade. 

      “I don’t ... ! I actually do not.” Tiny mutter, arms crossing atop her chest. “I can’t. I have school.” An idea strikes like proverbial lightning. At her feet now, splayed hands beside her and narrating her tirade to the invisible and divisible pieces of her subconscious  —  talking to herself.

     “I still have to complete this semester! I’ll just say that. What can he say? ‘Seok Areum, you are blacklisted’.” Voice deepened, hilariously, by her own impersonation. “Blacklisted for pursuing my education!?” She’s arguing herself ... “I don’t think so! I’ll be more reputable, if anything.” Breathe. “A sophisticated woman. Intelligent and with her own priorities. Smart. Very smart. A sophisticated woman who is intelligent, with her own priorities and very smart. Yes. Plus, if I get hit by a car or something ...” A nod spared for her personal validation, though her verdict was immediately decried. 

      “No, no! I can’t do that.” Head shake! Her footing pressing itself with certainty. “I don’t want to do that, either ...  I want to do this. Beyond that, I need to do this.” There’s a great applause resounding throughout her mind. The public does not know that. “I have to. How bad can it be? He denies me, I leave. Life goes on. And I don’t care.” Yes! Another nod, lips ensouled by sudden confidence. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. I do not care!” 

      Though she’s betrayed again, her heel turning as she chants (to herself, still) and presenting before her the familiar in question. She would’ve thought the situation more salvageable had her arms not swung as she twirled, pivoting through her feigned apathy and colliding with him. “ —  Oh! I’m so sorry!” She thinks him a stranger initially, realizes his identity and dies inside. 

      “Oh!? It’s you. You’re here? I mean, you’re here. Of course. We arranged this spot and I was sitting here,” she sits promptly, “ —  I was sitting here, waiting. And not not caring. Though, if I was, it was because of a phone call that I had gotten. In my pocket.” She draws the device into her hand, wiggling it with her fingers. “My phone in my pocket. Because I hung up. And went back to waiting.” Voice much smaller, smiling timidly with teeth. “Hi.”

      Her steps are tentative, perhaps the entire route, cozied beside her lover though their intimacy is idiosyncratic with tension, unease a nauseating imbalance she steadies with hand-squeezes, subconsciously. “I know you agreed ...  But, still:  thank you, really, Shinwon. So much.” Thankfulness is a vestal peck and her own indulgent moment to recline her head atop his shoulder, reaffirmed by the frost of wintry, deep breaths. “This is it.” She navigates smilingly, hushed, store door creaking an opened chime and kept agape, genteel.

      “Hey, guys.” A subtle nod, friendly easygoingness, finger-wave to the other couple. “Sorry ...  I was in a rush to get over here, so I forgot to send a text message. I thought about sending it on the way over but  —   ah!” She cedes reluctantly, sighing. “Everything that’s going on has me scatterbrained and nervous. What are we supposed to do ... ?” Volume low, question mostly rhetorical, her answer wordless and in the hands of Shinwon, their fingers squeezing again. She attempts another smile.

      “You guys are doing okay though, right?”

“of course you’re not paying for it,” there’s no time to lose as he hastens to interrupt her, “within reason.” unlike some of his friends and colleagues, his pockets were limitless, not. but after their duration of knowing of one another since practically youth, blossoming into his preteen-age years, this is a known fact. “i’ll indulge you, since you seem so keen on this flower project of yours.” surely, it was not a project to call his own, barely being able to tell camellia from hibiscus if not for the necessity of their petals in some concoctions. “it is my place, yes, but a place i am alright with looking plain. less for people to steal and rummage through.” rattling off excuses that didn’t mean much, it’s honestly just that shinwon has never given the topic the time of day.

areum has a way with words, behaviour similar to wine, with a bit of whine.  thought it has been many moons since his tongue has tasted such liquor, he cannot forget the effects of such a toxin. no, he’s not comparing areum to such a poison, but there’s a certain way about her that he could simply get drunk off being around her. an addictive personality. so of course, shinwon gives in. “alright, alright, hush, we shall do it together. i won’t let you suffer alone.” he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling whilst patting at his pockets to ensure his wallet is present. to add to the conversation about flora - something he has zero expertise in, he cannot help but be enchanted by the blue tone of some petals. “tell me your opinion on this, blue flowers - manmade to be such a colour. worthwhile or do you prefer something more natural in nature?” many a blue flower were inked to be such a tone, but shinwon couldn’t help but be drawn. he cannot help but wonder why, when violets and reds were genuine and less manufactured.

now that he ponders on it, shinwon is positive his last interaction with flowers (from gifting them to the persons in his life who deserved them of course) was at his mother’s home. it would be a nice reminder, blossoms purchased with areum that also lent itself as a reminder of home. areum did have a point. “come, which one draws to you the most? is one in particular calling your name?” 

      His amenability is propitiative enough to assuage her, implacability mostly ersatz, though, he knew that, certainly ...  “Oh? Are you ... trying to make me happy, Shinwon?” She only razzes, perceptibly amiable, feigning a kind of analytical thoughtfulness, skepticism. “Is it because you want to ...  or is it because I asked you to? Or, mm ... Ah —   I guess that doesn’t matter, huh? I am getting what I want.” A wink and a shrug, her nonverbal stalemate. “Okay, okay ...  I’ll stop complaining. Just this once, though.” 

      It is a moment she smilingly ensouled, aggrandized in her mind with an inarticulable resplendence she’d dreamt for its specific adornment. No less than what her heart swore they deserved, an ungraspable daydream conceived in the belly of her ogling surrealism. Just something to name what it was to be held by him, doted on, a transcendental affection ...  She’s lucky. She’s reclined into him, huddled, infallible, cozied to silent nonchalance and gradual, due consideration. “First ...  I want to say that you were clearly lying! How can you tell me that you’re okay with something being drab and then immediately pick out blue flowers?” She pushes her elbow into him, too light to even be a force, amused, in the way that scintillates her entirety, reaffirms her bliss as sincerity, resurfacing with a hum. “I never knew that wasn’t a natural color, though ...  I feel oddly deceived.” Her lips purse, locked in a ruminative trance and exhaling a sputtered breath. “Mm ...  They’re nice. I do like that color. I still want to try and find chrysanthemums though.”