vibes on me

｡:゜☆｡ ･ﾟﾟ･｡. SHE LIGHTS SIX CANDLES placed directly in front of them on the ground. “ you know what to do right?? if this goes wrong and we potentially allow a demon into this room?? ” staring at him in hopes to catch a glimpse of any hint of fear. “ we have to say this out loud– ” opening up the spell book, setting it down in front of them, pointing to the particular seance. “ demons sense fear, so don’t be a little bitch. ” taking the rest of the ingredients from her bag. “ ready, frosty?? ” taking a stick of cinnamon, snapping her fingers to light it on fire, enough for the smell to fill the room. she repeated the steps with sandalwood. “ we have to say this at the same, time, okay?? ” clearing her throat before hesitating to hold his hand. “ beloved unknown – spirit. we seek your guidance. we ask that you commune with us and move among us. ” — ( for @inatrcphy ) 

     he’s not really into summonings. it’s not his thing. it’s too much of a hassle. too many variables at place. he stutters during incantations. demons smell like sulfur and eggs. he’s allergic to candle wax. cinnamon makes him itchy. gunwoo could list a plethora of reasons (he did, mind you) and hyerim would have a counter for each and every one. or rather, maybe she didn’t care to begin with. regardless of the reason, gunwoo finds himself here, cross-legged across from the summer child, nose twitching at the stench of cinnamon. “no, what am i supposed to do?” his brow arches, watching the other carefully. how did he get here again? what black magic did hyerim cast to even convince him to do this? “mm, yeah.” but gunwoo supposes a part of him is curious. whether or not the seance would be any sort of success. so when the summer witch reaches for his hand, gunwoo doesn’t hesitate to take hers, eyes lowering to the book to chant the incantation. 

     and then, he waits.      and waits.

     “...s’that it?”

     it is sick. the latest dilemma gunwoo finds himself in. he isn’t a bad person. doesn’t consider himself the type to dance the lines between good and evil. in fact, gunwoo prefers to remain perfectly neutral. neither good or bad. righteous or evil. yet. yet. yet. he was here. bare from the neck down, nestled in a pastel duvet that neither belonged to him or his longtime girlfriend’s.

     yet, and this is far more important, the woman in his arms is not noh hyejin. not his girlfriend of five years. 

    in fact (and this gunwoo notes with the most uncomfortable twist in his gut), a quick glance over the prominent features peeking out from waves of black tresses revealed who it was exactly. worse than a stranger. worse than his worst enemy. 

    “minseo—” he cringes, shifting with the protest of his sore muscles and pounding in his head. “wake up—fuck.” his arms retreat from around her, hesitating before grasping a thin shoulder, shaking lightly. “minseo.”

     he is sick. that’s all there is to it. noh gunwoo, who lived life a neutral party. noh gunwoo, who pushed for a break at the first sign of instability. noh gunwoo, who valued his solitude, his privacy. noh gunwoo, slave to his inhibitions. more sinner than saint. 

      sick.

      his eyes hover over the bare of skin, noting each and every mark lining up her neck. this is sick.