one // shot

background stuff.

- born and raised on the island to politically and economically powerful parents. - to cut a long tale short, life has always been wonderful. but the monotony of his existence began to concern him when he discovered there was not a single flaw in anything he did - from his grades to his food.  - noeul grew to seek something uncontrollable, the risk, and the need for more. at age 21, he found gambling via acquaintances, and this was the turning point in his life. - the boy has been... crazy in relation to gambling. the stakes can never be high enough for him, to the point where he has no concern for his life or safety. money is never a problem. really jabami yumeko like, if i may say so. - his parents don't know about his gambling addiction (or if they do, they don't care as long as he doesn't tarnish the family's reputation), and he now considers gambling to be his profession. - what noeul does not know is that his parents are actually participating in all the cult activities he disapproves of. if you offer him with myth facts, he will laugh and dismiss them. - (TW DEATH) his biggest secret? the night in which he won a russian roulette gambling and shot his opponent in the chest, sending the guy into permanent coma. noeul feels no remorse and actually wishes for him to finally pass away. 

personality stuff.

- at first sight, you will notice a guy with a sparkling grin and handsome features. he wants to present himself as outgoing, approachable, and fun, which he really is. also very cunning and attentive, noticing a lot of little details most don’t. - he’s a walking red flag !!! actually an entire pole. boy doesn’t know what forming genuine bonds is. he doesn’t understand love nor genuine care. - he can make you feel as if you are the most important person in the world, yet he can also dump you in an instant. it really depends on his mood and he’s not sorry for it ...big rip - he is self-centered and does not disguise it. if he wants something, he will get it, yet if he dislikes something, he will abandon it. - when it comes to gambling, his normally affable demeanor immediately changes. he gets so immersed in it that he no longer recognizes any limits. he doesn't care whether he wins or loses as long as the risk gives him the excitement he's constantly seeking. - got lowkey father issues but don’t mention it to him because it’s embarrassing and he’s going to deny it. he detests being dependent on his father. - you'll never find him poorly dressed. given that he has always worn the best clothing since childhood, his fashion sense is impeccable, and he takes hygiene and skincare extremely seriously. - he does not think that anything supernatural is occurring around the island. he considers it to be child's play. regrettably, once he has made up his mind on anything, it is difficult to convince him otherwise. - his one real fear is boredom, and all he wants to do is have fun.

possible connections.

( ... )

“Yeah, I’d love to check it out. I think I read something about it on a trip advisor website before coming, actually.” Something how it occurs yearly, how tourism flourishes, etcetera. It’s not the main selling point to him, however. Minjun grasps the glass between his fingers, bringing the hem to his lips thereafter, taking a gentle sip. “Spooky, you say? Do you really believe in that? I mean, isn’t it a fake story for people like me — visitors? Or to scare little kids from wandering late at night. Ha… I might implement it, if I choose to write horror." 

Another sip, this time heavier —- despite the spotlight, he’s never learned how to be a sound drinker; mannerlessly and, perhaps, distasteful when one is made aware of the price of the liquor going down his throat. "Unless your mom tells you those stories as well, Noeul. Now that would be cute.”

“I never said that I believe in such ridiculous tales,” he corrects as a matter of fact. People drift out of the bar, men and women give in to the magnetism of human nature and couple off, leaving hand in hand, feet in clumsy unison. “Since decades, these rumors have circulated around the island. If you ask me, it's all just advertising nonsense to make this little location look intriguing to people like you.” Not that he means it in a bad way, nowhere near condescending. Noeul is just very aware of many things, including the silly little stories that are being whispered among the people on the island and eventually travel across the sea to spread throughout the rest of the country. 

“Oh, and don’t ever call me cute again.” 

With this, he takes the opportunity to shift the subject. Even though Noeul appreciates being the center of attention, having to speak about himself is a kind of attention he abhors. He chooses to devote his complete attention to his company for the evening, unable to suppress his smile as he watches Minjun swallow each sip. The waiter refills their glasses in response to a subtle hand gesture, ensuring that Minjun's glass is slightly fuller than Noeul's. Money opens the door for many things, including getting the bar staff to comply with his instructions. “Enough with the dull island talk, though. Aren't we here to have fun?” 

The dim lighting of the establishment seems to gather in shadows and highlights on his features, gleaming over his nose, his plush lips, before it dulls under his eyebrows in the darkest of colors—his eyes. He has his chin propped up on his hand and is slowly observing Minjun's face, as if he is calculating or attempting to decipher whatever is concealed in the depths of his eyes. He does neither. “I propose a little game to commence the night. It’s pretty easy, too.”  

( ... )

In accordance with his supposed morals, this should be a point of contention. What would his mother think of him? Even speaking with a man with an addiction to illegal gambling simply for something small of his own desires would be too egregious for her to ignore. He is well aware it can only come to be under their unique circumstances. He promised not to say a word, and turn a blind eye to the high-stakes poker game tucked in the backroom of his favorite bar. The promise, in some way, unwillingly binds him to this man named Noeul.

“There are no other decent importers on the island for the quality of whiskey associating with you brings to me. But… I can survive without a bottle for the next few years. Can you go without making a bet for a few hours?” He pauses, setting the golf club against the synthetic ground. “Bets do usually involve material pleasures, right? And if they don’t, then the reward is just the selfish joy of winning. Satisfaction to get the upper hand on the person on the other side, feeling correct and lucky. Maybe you can’t see it because you have a problem.”

Noeul looks on with raised eyebrows, tries to decode his reaction: should he laugh? Should he stand up and leave? Sense, it seems, has rushed out of the room, has left him with Hangyeol and daft words meant to describe him and deconstruct his intentions. Hangyeol acts as if he knows him, though it is clear he remains entirely clueless, perhaps even misguided on Noeul’s real nature. It is always simple for others to point fingers and pass judgment. It's always easier to just see what they want to see than to go deeper and see beyond the foolish little cage they're trapped in. 

Not that Noeul cares; regardless of what Hangyeol thinks of him, Noeul's countenance is characterized by an amused, almost puerile grin. “Interesting. Really. You claim I have a problem? That’s interesting.” he sing-songs each syllable, lets each letter roll of his tongue in a near provocative way, as though he’s mocking, as though he’s doing nothing. Noeul is a little of everything in a single breath; a little playful and a little wicked; a little annoyed and a little challenged. A pause ensues and tugs at his lips, gives them shape, gives them a curve; Noeul has the audacity to actually smile. 

“And precisely what do you do, Hangyeol?” A beat. “Do you, with your oh so perfect morals, not engage in selfish satisfaction? Using me as leverage for it by always having me provide you with whiskey? You could have easily said no back then.” Here, he leans in closer, invading the man's personal space with his silly, wry laugh, his face now only inches away from Hangyeol’s. 

He’s not gazing, he’s not staring; he’s simply looking straight into Hangyeol’s eyes, unafraid and unrestrained, as if he tries to read him, to unearth a secret, except he’s not doing either. “But alas, you did not. You got yourself involved in this. In silly little material pleasures you always satisfy yourself with. You claim you could quit but you don't. Now tell me again that I am the only one who enjoys selfish pleasure; tell me that I am the only one who enjoys having the upper hand.” 

gswharang!​

( ... )

“If I told you to get the fuck out, would you even do it, or would you laugh and pretend like I’m joking?” Harang doesn’t expect an answer, that much is reflected in his voice. The thing about Noeul that had always been both equal parts intriguing and rage-inducing was that he was brought up in the sort of economically free environment where he just expects to get his way. That was how Harang always saw it, at least. Maybe his vantage point has grown jaded. It drove him, at times, to vindictive lengths. Trying to find ways he could deny him. To see what would happen, to see how much he could stand, for how long. 

“At least go wash your face.” Harang says it with a quiet resignation, because even if Noeul tells him that he would leave, he’s not so sure he believes it. Not so sure he won’t get a string of texts pulling for pity, trying to work him into going back on it. Bending at emotions until Noeul can tie them up the way he likes. Harang hates that. He’d rather just let him stay.

He doesn’t deny it because Noeul knows it’s true; any glimmer of hope has been obliterated as a direct result of the manner in which he was brought up. He has no recollection of ever having to hold out hope for anything; he was always provided with whatever he desired in the blink of an eye. But, perhaps, Noeul does not to some degree allow himself to hope for anything because if he does, expectations may follow, and expectations may result in disappointment. He is inexperienced and unwilling to deal with any of these emotions. But he doesn't say anything, letting Harang do all the talking instead. 

Something about hearing his voice is reminding of the many nights they spent together in this way. It’s soothing in a strange, twisted sense. It causes him to suddenly become aware of far too many things, including feelings he has been trying not to get in contact with. Something he believed to be buried deep, somewhere nowhere available. Still, there’s something simple about being here. Not plain, but easy and it makes him feel placid, calm. He hates it ... he thinks. 

He recognizes he still has Harang on his mind; he recognizes that he still loves to rile him up, to stir, to trigger, all with a neat choice of words, effortless, prompting the same reactions from his past lover in a way he’s used to; as if Noeul and Harang are two chemicals that have to react, no matter how small the interaction, no matter how subtle the brushing. He thinks that maybe their meetings will always leave the faintest of bruises somewhere inside him, somewhat painful but present; a marking that runs deeper than tangibility. And he isn’t sure if it’s the pain of his body, or his thoughts, the moon above, maybe Harang himself, but Noeul can’t seem to look away when he diverts his attention from the window back to the laying man. 

“I can find attention anywhere I want, you’re absolutely right,” he’s grinning a little, dried lips curved in a softened line, plush, genuine. “but it’s not your attention. It’s different. I don’t know.” Normally, Noeul would have made a joke about objectification, or a quip about flirting, maybe even spew out a fact about either or both—but leave it to him to do something different just when he’s almost at the point of being figured out.

You don’t need to understand because I don’t understand it either. 

After a short while, he gets up and walks to the bathroom, where he actually does what he was told to do and washes his face; he has been feeling filthy and nasty, and he feels awful for the blood stains he's left on his way in, too. This is odd. This is all sorts of odd. It's not like him to feel bad for anything, much alone for anybody else. Maybe the beatings that he took did something to his state of mind. Maybe he just needs rest. Maybe— “You’re going to catch a cold down there.” 

( ... )

it's been years since he had seen noeul. the last time was when the younger was in highschool and he was a student at the university. but even with how much time had been passed, it was hard to forget noeul's remarkable and handsome features. the doctor raised a brow. was this local the kind of place he believed it was? dark, illegal and dangerous? and what was the younger doing here?

his gut feeling irked him to walk forward and check up on the other because friendship was friendship. even after a year long pause. "noeul-ah, what are you doing here? you are such a nice and handsome guy, why are yoh at a place like this?"

Starter for @gswnoeul !

Excitement smudged his night into a long blur of faded colors, muffled words, stretched out syllables; the thud of his heart narrated each scene until he was exiting one of the establishments he frequented weekly by now, the edge of a moon hanging above him, wallet filled with more money than he entered. 

Encountering a familiar face in the depths of the darkness was something he didn’t take into account. 

Jun’s face appeared before him and Noeul stood there, silent at first, expressive eyes blinking, mildly confused, somewhat amused, a mixture of emotions that was hard to explain. This was all really theatrical—he wanted to laugh. Instead he reached one hand into the back pocket of his black denim pants and plucked out his cellphone. 

“I should ask you the same question - what are you doing in this area? Doesn't quite go with your angelic, good-boy image, does it?” Noeul responded with lips woven into a gentle line that revealed little and conveyed much less. He did not consider Jun to be a friend, but rather an acquaintance who had been in his life longer than he liked. He placed the blame on his father. 

( ... )

He laid back, eyes on the streaks of light as they travelled across the night sky. Colourful, brilliant, brighter than the stars and mesmerizingly beautiful. “An annual festival, is it?” A single line of gold exploded into multiples, forming a floral-like shape and had him sitting up again to get a better look. Would his camera be able to adequately capture this? “Does it look the same every year?” Yiming decided he could try and aimed his lenses carefully towards the sky. “If that’s the case, you must be bored. For me, it’s the very second time I am seeing fireworks.” And the first time was so long ago that he was struggling to keep bits and pieces of the memory. But he did remember that he was very happy. 

The topic was dropped and Noeul felt relieved. He sighed up at the sky, wondered how many stars pulsed with life beyond the thin sheet of light that covered the island, though it wasn’t particularly interesting, didn’t evoke emotions; it was simply a way to clear his head, to finally let the thoughts of possible feelings unwind, loosen, slither out and fit in the spaces between stars.

For a moment he felt calm enough to breathe deeply, to let his shoulders relax, to let his posture slacken. His back adjusted as he laid down on the blanket, found his eyes closing, his lips parting to let his breaths whistle through. Things were very simple for a small moment. Three, two, one. Fireworks, noise, Yiming’s voice, senses he all took in but never once opened his eyes. 

The view above was nothing he hadn't seen before, nothing that changed with each passing year since the event occurred. 

( ... )

miri wasn’t sure how long noeul had planned on staying but surely he had no reason to kick around when she was gone. and she didn’t plan on letting him out of the chicken and beer that she was owed for having to put up with him for the majority of her work day. tugging on her oversized jacket, she appears beside him. 

“hey. you ready to go?”  

The day trudges on in a placid pace, quickened by the unusual joy that litters Noeul’s heart. Perhaps it is his own childhood that weaves an unexpected affinity for kids, although he never questions it. Each smile makes him melt and each pair of eyes that he sees light up glimmers back on his own. Even when Miri is her usual bossy self, he pushes through, only aware of the grins he is scattering onto the group of children, each so bright, each so distinct. 

He meets up with Miri by the end of the shift, hair a little more messy and his clothes nowhere near as cleanly ironed as they were by the start of his visit. “Always ready for a good drinking session.” he grins. “The usual place as always?” The restaurant in question is only down the street, and Noeul doesn’t await her response when he begins to walk, expecting her to follow. 

There’s no animosity between them, nothing that brings them together except a mutual place, except the promise of food. But he fears that one wrong move can prove disastrous and send their budding acquaintanceship reeling towards having to deal with more of her overly bossy attitude in private, too. “How did you end up becoming a daycare worker?” it’s simple curiosity; a sideway glance thrown at her. “Not that you’re doing a bad job at it. Just–you know, your attitude is a bit too much sometimes.” 

( ... )

Harang’s vindictive in the way where he hopes that’ll hurt. But most of what he learned from Noeul when he was dating him was that he didn’t care too much about anyone but himself when it all came to a finish. It leaves Harang feeling twisted, his insides all wrung out and dry, wondering if he’s just learned to chase after people who like to pretend at caring, or if he just grew too crooked in the end. Misses at cues required for it. 

“Well impulsively drag yourself to the hospital next time, then.” the words are all rushed out in a sigh, and Harang lays himself out long against the floor instead of facing his company. The ceiling’s bland, but at least it’s predictable. Doesn’t make him want to start a fist fight he likely can’t finish. 

“What are you hoping for here, Noeul?”

He inhales in deep, and all he smells is spilled tea and sage.

All he can feel and perceive is relief. The way in which it arrives is overpowering, but he embraces it, enjoys Harang's poisonous tone spreading through the air, the pettiness in a voice that soars into his ears, a sound carrying words he has long anticipated hearing. Despite two years of no communication, he is happy to see that Harang's behavior toward him has not changed at all. As unpleasant as it may be, the familiarity conveys a strange and fuzzy sense of comfort, of calmness, as if he’s woken up in the past, a time he can predict and react accordingly. 

He’s crazy for feeling this way, maybe, he knows. And yet, Noeul almost laughs out loud at the irony of the situation. 

Harang speaks about a failed relationship and fails to mention all the times he’s been the very reason for the fighting; Noeul can easily bring up a bunch of counterarguments, remembers the dates of some of the more intense discussions they had, too. But, quite frankly, he can’t be bothered to muster up enough energy and participate in this little push and pull Harang always performs with such outstanding skill. Noeul nurtures the idea of avoidance over confrontation, which is the hardest thing to translate into words and actions. Because it’s always been like that—one wrong move and it can light an entire fire. 

Noeul doesn’t want a war, at least not right now. 

“You say I never cared, yet you still have all the vinyl records I got you.” he retorts after catching sight of the presents he gave him back then, blood-dried lips capturing a softened smile; it is delicate, genuine, worn and weak. There is more truth to it than any of his other expressions, even if Harang’s eyes are glued to the ceiling above.

His body straightens slowly, escaping the restraints of his laying position. He thinks to stretch but the idea is too bothersome, too hard to execute with the heaviness of his injured limbs; he considers removing the bloodied, torn, and ragged t-shirt, but lacks the energy to do so. “I never hope for anything,” Because hoping requires a certain amount of confidence and trust in another person, something he can’t allow himself to do. It never ends well. 

“I just like being here. I always did.” His response is ambiguous, concealing the most profound thoughts he cannot bring himself to disclose. The hurting of his body is enough to cope with; he would like to avoid emotional vulnerability. But he is aware that this is one of the primary reasons their relationship ended: he was never able to open up fully to the person he considered his universe. When he looks at Harang now, he no longer knows what to think.  

( ... )

“and oh, let me go tell haru first—” and as she’s taking off her apron, she notices haru is in the middle of entertaining some customers and decides maybe she’d just tell her when she gets back later. instead she ends up telling byungho about it and promises she won’t take long and that she’d come back soon, so at least one of them knows.

namra saunters to where noeul is standing at, as if leaving work for a short break; one that she gives to her own self, apparently. “okay, so where are we going again?” she gives him a bashful smile. “and how’s the grilled squid? have you tried it? you can be honest with me though. i know putting my love in it doesn’t make it any better.”

Her cheeriness is rampant and ruthless as it dominates the area around her. It makes the air that surrounds her vibrate with joyous intensity—Noeul can’t help but smile. There’s this constant carefree flair around Namra and it has always fascinated him how a person can be the very definition of personified sunshine. 

“I think you’re giving yourself too little credit,” he tells when he takes the grilled squid she’s prepared for him. “It looks fantastic and smells pleasant. I have no doubt that it will taste as nice as it looks.” Despite sounding clichéd and maybe excessive, his statement is accompanied with a boyish grin that gives it a feeling of concise sincerity rather than sleazy sweet talk. 

A split-second later, it's not the squid he's holding that catches his eye; it's the familiar people working at the booth. He hasn't anticipated seeing Byungho here with the squids, but he assumes that the island is tiny and the entertainment options are limited. There is little time to ponder, no more seconds to consider it, since Namra is soon by his side, and he returns his attention to her extremely beautiful face. 

“I was thinking we could go and view the little trinkets they sell nearby. It reminds me of when we did that back in high school, and I remember how enthusiastic you always were about the little dolphin charms.” He says this as they walk, and he does not take a piece of the grilled squid until he shares his idea. Surprisingly, it doesn’t taste as horrible as he actually anticipated. “It’s delicious, by the way. Your love definitely is coming through.” 

Noeul grins, thinking that Namra’s presence is a warm fabric he likes to clothe himself with, always tepid, light, coaxes his steps to lighten, to shed any heaviness somewhere else. Even when the path they are taking is very reminiscent to the past, Noeul feels a similar feeling take over; calmness—as though it is spreading, like water, filling every niche, every hole. Not that he can complain, not that he wants to. This calmness is something that has taken a long absence and is finally returning with her right here. 

( ... )

A few feet in front of him, he watched a young couple playfully grab squid from the enclosure at the edge of the water, the girl wiggling away in laughter as her boyfriend tried to convince her to kiss the squid in his hands. By their side, a mother helped her child reach their hand into the clear water, voice soft. He felt his hands twitch. For a moment, he wished he could join them. His face turned downward in a frown, eyes glancing at his own shaky hands. 

He had thought he had gotten over that kind of wishful thinking. He thought he was alone, when he felt an arm brush against his own. 

There was something awfully daunting about this event. It wasn’t just the pure, unadulterated happiness it brought. There was a tinge of nostalgia that laced with it and whispered into his ears stories of the past—before his life had sped up and was flooded with responsibilities and other, deeper, darker turns he had taken in regards of how he had chosen to be as a person. 

The grilled squid in his hand brought memories of walking around with his nanny as a child, and the way she’d have him indulge in anything his heart desired. Memories—they flashed and glimmered, romanticized by the time that had passed. 

It’d been fun, but those times were long over and Noeul had come to the conclusion they’d never return, either. 

The man next to him appeared to be wearing the same solemn expression. Noeul momentarily pondered what kind of ghosts plagued his life, what type of circumstances had caused him to frown rather than smile at the joyous sight in front of him. “Here. It’s good.” he interrupted the silence between them by thrusting the food in front of the stranger’s face. 

Easy encouragement spilled into his expression, characterized by a sense of warmth in the way it dominated the curling of the corners of his eyes, the way in which he gazed. Noeul was not one to linger in his thoughts for too long, and something told him that the stranger was in dire need of some distraction, too. 

( ... )

He returned only a minute later and gestured for Noeul to follow him.

“You will get your debt settled today.” Yiming threw the words over his shoulder as they walked, rather briskly. “But I wouldn’t be celebrating.” His boss was a very difficult person, and he seemed to know Jeon Noeul’s father. “I’ll drive you to the destination, and if you are lucky, I will also be driving you to a nice private hospital tomorrow morning.”

The moment bled black, each minute spilling into the next, something of a blur, a rush, as though the seconds ticked by too fast for Noeul to notice. There was something about his words he could relate to, as though this very man in front of him was speaking right from the depths of his soul. It felt weird, it felt strange, and Noeul was grateful when Yiming was pulled away by the vibration of his cellphone. 

He was about to sit down when he was informed of the debt settlement taking place already. Noeul didn’t expect it to be over this fast. He was ready, mostly; he expected a storm, some beating he’d have to endure, though he would never wish for this: for chaos to come in the form of his father. 

After all, being born a Jeon taught many things to Noeul, especially the limits of being the one and only child of the household. He learned how to act under the veil of secrecy, how to move without being detected, how to live without his father noticing any of the illegal activities he was participating in. If he were to learn that his son was overseas, in China, surrounded by the shadiest individuals he had ever met and facing the largest debt he had ever incurred, it would have been the worst-case scenario, one Noeul never desired for it to occur. 

When he said he preferred prostitution to his father's face, he didn’t exaggerate.

It took two turns, three halls, and two sets of doors for Noeul to be guided outside, entering the vehicle he supposed belonged to Yiming. “So... do you have any details on what’s going to happen?” He broke the awkward quiet in an attempt to get information from the man driving the car. With any luck, Noeul was able to appeal to Yiming’s gentler side after catching a glimpse of his compassion and insight. 

( ... )

To be honest, any physical affection these days was difficult for him. The fact he could casually touch this gambler without feeling uncomfortable already meant something. “But this is probably all that I can give you.” If the other even wanted it. “Because you know, last time I allowed myself to care about someone, it cost me greatly. I don’t care to pay that price ever again.”

He watched as the quivers of human emotion ran through him, spread, taking him hostage under a bland normality. As Noeul listened, observed, his mind wandered, his gaze travelled. Once again, he let the seconds seep into minutes, blooming and withering. Although he decided to cut it shorter this time, opting to answer before any awkwardness could arise. If he had known Yiming would take such a simple joke so seriously, he would not have brought it up. 

“I really hope you aren't thinking it means we're soulmates or fated to be together,” he half-teased, his voice light, a tinkling in the somber air that threatened to obscure them. “As much as it flatters me to be some kind of exceptional case in your book, I'm not expecting anything from you.” 

His lips held up a ghost of a grin, subdued by the topic of discussion. After all, intimacy was always a tricky thing to discuss; one wrong word, and it spilled into the present, ruining whatever stability one managed to construct. Noeul was aware there were already very few individuals in his life with whom he felt somewhat at ease. He wasn't sure if he could call them friends; maybe they were close acquaintances or partners in crime, but Jeon Noeul was never adept at labeling the people in his life, anyway. 

Everyone simply had a certain function, and he liked to subtly influence their behaviors around him. He thought it was no different with Yiming and so far he was getting what he thought he’d get. 

“I think it’s wise to not care about people,” he continued, pause ensuing. His lips rubbed together, pursed, curved into a sloppy smile; his expression became just that, a surfacing of what he believed to be right in that moment, a painting brushed together by his thoughts. He became a canvas to inner thought, visceral emotions. “It requires a great deal of physical and mental energy. And to what end? For the possibility of disappointment or heartbreak. Certainly not worth the cost.”