— *bloody & raw

life’s getting real busy, and i’m too overwhelmed with work to keep up my threads. if you’d like to stay connected, add me on my discord at disco tits?#0759. i’m thinking of continuing lighter doses of writing on there because i’m very attached to the plots i’ve developed here :,) or just stick around for a chat. thank u for coming to my ted talk, thank u for a good run

a twenty-minute break in exchange for a page of writing? somi’s eyes squint playfully as she puckers her lips and looks at eunmi dubiously. of course she’s not going to force the girl to do more than she’s capable of, even though she has a feeling she could go another twenty minutes without a break. “okay, twenty minutes and more cupcakes but after that we have to finish the draft.”

she can’t help but to giggle out loud at eunmi’s newfound motivation inspiration as she whirls back toward her computer and begins to tap away at her keyboard. the enthusiasm is what somi finds so amusing, and it’s really cute the way the eunmi’s eyes seem to light up with purpose. she almost wants to peer over and read a few lines, but for artist’s privilege is a very real thing to her and even though eunmi may have been joking, somi takes it to heart. there are countless drafts that are sitting within the pages of countless notebooks littering her apartment that she isn’t quite ready to share with anyone yet. though, as an assignment, eunmi will have to at least show their professor. she’s sure the girl will allow her to read it over before-hand though, maybe another cupcake could incentivize that too.

somi returns to her own writing, letting her mind drift back to the flow of thoughts she’s original written down and by the time the steady tapping stops, she’s far into her third page and the words are appearing onto the screen like a steady flow of water through a stream. it takes a moment for somi to look up and a smile appears on her face, just as proud as eunmi is of her own accomplishment as she looks onto the other’s screen. eyes skim quickly over the words and she can tell it’s actually an impressive piece before pushing her own laptop away and sliding the chair out from under the table. 

“come on, it’s reward time!” she takes eunmi by the hand and leads her back to the display of cupcakes while they wait in line. “as promised, pick your poison and if you want coffee too.” it’s nice spoiling her friends, and there’s something really, really nice about the way eunmi smiles that makes her stare a little too long. 

she’s grinning a bold thing of lights as she picks herself up and out of the booth, following somi back to where the display is lined up. finding this little café has been her way to solidify what could only be called a certified university experience—the perfect study nook with treats and the low-dimmed lighting to match—and also way too indulgent, open-access to sweet treats that really were better suited to be doled out in moderation. ( you couldn’t win them all. ) eyes trailing the display case, she’s already checking off the ones she’s tried before, dead set on her mission to try all the flavors they had to offer including the seasonal and special ones. at somi’s following words, she turns back to her, that beaming smile dimming no less in its watts. try as she may, it rarely does in the girl’s company. “sweets and coffee? wow, you really must have missed me, huh.”

eunmi could very easily say she’d missed her. hell, she’d missed her too-small, overpriced apartment and the rowdy neighbors that came with it. ( the red haired one who always wore his hair in a braid must have willing short term memory loss, because she’d had to turn down his advances every single time they happened to be in the same vicinity for more than two minutes. what was a polite way of saying – i don’t like dicks, and i really don’t think i’d like yours in particular? ) being home reminded her all too much of lace that smelled like bleach, and it never failed to surprise her – how quickly she forgot how to fake a smile well every time she was away from home.

but now she’s back and away, and here eunmi’s free to return to her paths of dying her hair any which color she wants just so she can have the momentary satisfaction of seeing her parents’ blanche at the idea of their daughter coming home for another big gala or event with oddly colored hair. ( it got less satisfying with each new color, but she only had limited ammo – she would reap what she sowed. ) and, of course – not to mention the overindulgence she so fondly allotted to her need-to-have typical university experience. “hm, what about these ones?” she muses, gaze directed low to the lower shelf of the display case, pointing to some mixed berry concoction with buttercream frosting.

though eunmi will admit, as good of a sport she is about wanting her life to be any shade of normal -- - even cliché, she’ll take - -- sometimes she really does this there’s someone up there with the sole mission of having a laugh at her expense. because of course, of course her crusade of wanting the typical experience of young adulthood featuring the gay heart would be thoroughly dotted and splotched with the stubborn stain of unrequited love. ( everyone knew the age old story. girl liked girl. girl liked boy. boy got girl. girl moped and wrote many a mediocre songs about petulant heartbreak. )

and now, now good samaritan cyril was stuck behind the desk working on paper work that could be done no faster than it was being done at the current moment by his own very efficient hand. ( maybe pretty boy had a better ring to it than good samaritan -- ) now usually cyril would find the orderly and routine practice of filing paperwork at the end of a day quite calming, but it’s anything but with the man that’s sitting cuffed across from him. it’s like he can smell the entitlement coming off of him in waves. it burns his blood, but he knows his meticulous attention to detail for the paperwork is only going to go to waste the minute the rich kid gets daddy’s money to bail himself out. the system is broken, and that’s why he’s here – he reminds himself. he grips the pen a little tighter, releases the barest breaths of a sigh through his nose as he keeps on writing, the steady gaze settled pin-point on the paper in front of him.

iseul spots her as she bounds his way, a mane of black hair and that curve of a smile he remembers so well. it’s foolish of him to even pretend to mask his intentions, or hers for that matter – these kind of pursuits in an industry like theirs aren’t worth it unless the commitment is solid, unless it’s deemed worth it. ( now iseul doesn’t know about the finality of it all, but he will deem it worth it in a swift breath. she made him smile, made his chest feel light on the days it weighed down too much in ways he was so familiar – that was enough for him. )

he’d first stumbled upon and loosened a heavily knotted mess of a case on something of an innocent accident. his client had given him express instructions on finding proof of a cheating husband – a run of the mill request, he’d come to learn over the months of being a PI; he almost liked the domesticity of it all over larger things like secret paramilitary units, and other parts of his shadowed past – though, the case had quickly evolved into something more complex when inquiring into said husband’s hidden hours had led him into the thick of an arms dealer of a well-connected, intercontinental crime ring. unsurprisingly, the discovery had been far closer to the kind of work his skill set was actually trained to be used for – but without the backup and resources of the government behind him, jaeo knew better than to try and be a one-manned vigilante trying to take the ring down.

so, he’d done what was clearly obvious – and contacted the local authorities with all he had found. he had anticipated a few thorough days of questioning as they drained him of all the intel he had before dismissal came around, though those supposed few days had stretched into a suspended, unofficial working partnership with the force. once they had found out of his background and come across the same high clearance files that he once had after his time with the army ended, they had seem all to eager to keep jaeo around to work as something of a liaison, perhaps just a witness on call. jaeo didn’t mind -- - it was a well curated way to flirt back with a life he had once known all too well, while still maintaining the new-found comforts of his own domestic life. ( he had an apartment he came home to frequently now, a grocery store where the clerks often recognized him; he was settled in a way he never had had the chance to be ever before. )

if there’s one thing of the whole situation that he isn’t as settled on as the whole haul of it, perhaps, it’s one certain police officer. jaeo hasn’t been able to quite pin it down, but he senses a sort of brimming air of annoyance in the man any time they happen to cross paths – which tends to be a lot, given he’s the head officer in the case, and jaeo is the liaison. he senses it even now, sat across the other’s desk as he is. he’s not a suspect in questioning, but one could be fooled with the way he’s being directed.

「 @inceputuri 」

TAE JIN, he thinks. you need to step the fuck up, my guy.

Keep reading

work is long, arduous -- - but it settles against geun like the feel of rayon. ( a second skin, though one he’s consciously aware of – one of choice. ) there’s a different kind of numbing that takes to his mind these days, one that’s a lot calmer, a lot anchored than the one he once knew. the fact that it comes out of his own volition holds its weight in gold for geun; it makes the days more bearable, makes the work seem like purpose rather than deigned fate. it’s wonders how a mind learns to trick itself.

regardless, he’s made good work on making habit of stepping out of his studio for at least an hour each day. perhaps he had trusted himself a bit too much before giving himself such a delineated requirement – because if left to his own devices, he would see sunrise and sunset within those four walls he’d had painted the lightest colors of a budding beige. usually, that allotted one hour was drowned out in a walk by the park the building of his studio overlooked. it was beautiful in a subtle way, the peace of curated visions in the middle of a concrete jungle exploring its identity in the name of the arts district. today, however, he’d opted for something a little more out of the ordinary – a drink, of all things.

geun can’t say he’s been anything more than a social drinker since the days of his figurative cleanse. he forced his hand of it, took away the alcohol and the drugs that had made his skin numb to the gaze it was subjected to day in and out, made life feel like a reel in passage rather than rusted cage it truly had been. but once his recovery and replenishment had found him, feather soft – bleached clean, he often thought of himself; washed anew – he had returned to his vices, with moderation in mind. ( the substances had never been the problem at hand – they had been nothing but a reflection of the ways in which his mind was forgetting how the folds of his own skin, the slopes of his own face felt under his own two hands. )

so though his venture to this bar is unconventional, it isn’t unheard of to be made in his own sole company. it’s a dimly lit scene that he enters to, eyes finding a corner spot that looks comfortable enough to be his for the night. and he’s decided on it up until he spots the taper of a familiar back ahead of him, one he knows in passing ( --and substance, it seems; there’s something about the man that always seems open-hearted, chest bare and teeth bared about him ). perhaps the change of pace has inspired him to keep up this new rhythm he’s set for himself, because he finds himself approaching the bar counter where jin is slouched.

“—no, i’m a hundred percent serious.” eunmi says, words a little muffled from the big sip she’s taken of the now lukewarm pho in the long plastic bowl in her hands. “come on, i’m a fast learner!” eyes a little wide, she really tries her very best to sell her case. she’s been spending the last half hour trying to get her very skilled, wrestling captain not-girlfriend to teach her a few moves. it’s only fair. this has to be one of the benefits included in the whole friends with benefits deal. or…whatever it was, they had. eunmi tried not to think too hard about it, and suzy made her laugh too much to really harp on it too much.

another bite taken in a very not ladylike manner—there it is, that visual of her mother and her world-famous huffs—turning back to tune in to what’s playing on the tv in front of them for a bare minute. “i mean, we can start with the basic stuff. i should have something to pull out of my arsenal in case i get in a street fight, or something.” gaze now squarely back on suzy’s, the grin that takes her to lips blooms wide and bright, another fuzzy toe coming to poke smooth skin as she tried her very best to sell the idea that she would be getting into any tussles at all.

                           was he challenging her ?      ❛  i fear trying to show you would be a lost cause , kid.    ❜  the vixen taunts .  normally , she doesn’t engage her customers . she has girls to do that as the loud neon colors illuminate the club.  sultry songs playing in the background as girls are on stage  ; entertaining .      ❛  unless you’re paying for the girls .  don’t take up their time .   ❜  her green eyes fall upon one of her workers ; a  girl that was all giggle for free. now amaranthine wasn’t strict with her girls nor boys .  but it was the      busiest    night of the week and the girl that had been giggling away with the man in front of her already had her time bought. well then that was another story .     ❛   especially distract them from their client .   ❜  she adds , a   subtle    motion of her head tells the beauty behind the bunny mask to scram .  

it’s a surprisingly common practice that transcends time and space. or perhaps, not so surprising at all given that if there is one thing that survives every shade of humanity it is the human desire of pleasure. ( carnal -- - they call it. ) if it weren’t for the words he encases in paper journals folded in leather, saros would not know exactly how many worlds he’s spanned that echo of a similar scene, of similar masks of people, of her.

time was never meant to be something challenged, yet he did -- - often it led to more secrets unanswered than it did answer, but he was nothing else but a beholder of it.

there had been a few modals that he’d traveled over where she had remained the centerpiece. he passes the test of time because he holds a key—man made, emboldened from a future where the dogma and divinity lost their appeal for something man-made—and it’s not often that he comes across others that do. when he does, it’s understandable that his curiosity piques.

when his time comes ( finally, he may dare say ) there will be no statues, no plaques in his memory nor many comrades grieving the loss. all that will be left is a casket of ashes and his medals. when he’d first come to after they’d saved his life… miles had supposed he was at peace with the idea. he didn’t need roses, nor a eulogy fit for a king – he’d done his duty, what more was left? its only now that kiri has catapulted head first into his life, entangling his roots with miles’ that he wonders… worries what would be left for kiri. ‘cause its not just himself he watches out for, nothing more than a bundle of nerves and flurry when kiri’s away. he’d be a shadow, a memory – and that, he couldn’t bear any more than being left in the great ‘what if’ of the afterlife without him. and suddenly, all at once, he’s not so at peace with it after all.

worrying the same about someone else, uncertain whether you’d be able to reach out and touch them again, sure does that to you. miles knows that all too well now – the sheer thought of it, despite kiri being only meters away now, is too hard a pill to swallow. he’d rather not swallow it at all. despite living, breathing, in space… existence had always been a mediocre achievement. the days of eagerness to please and curiosity finding itself in his eyes had long passed – dulled by death, he might say. now he simply… exists. he’d survived enough, fought adequately, and for what?

for him. for kiri – the boy who could gaze at the same cluster of stars ten times over and still have the same flooded awe in his eyes, who would laugh every time he used the food rehydration machine and grin all the way up to his eyes when he got fresh pears and a tub of olives for the first time. find yourself a man who looks at me the way kiri looks at the stars, he’d think to himself after their first few classes together. now he thinks back to it now, he laughs – there was seldom a day that kiri hadn’t looked at him like that. at least he knows it now.

the silence is greeted like both fond friend and simple stranger. common place with his superiors, doctors, his ex when the time had come… but never kiri. no, there was no place for that between them ( and rarely did kiri lack anything to say… ). it hangs over him like a shadow, unwelcome and looming, clinging to whatever remains of his soul no doubt. kiri doesn’t deserve this, from miles anyway. and miles doesn’t have the right to allow his own upset to swallow him whole. still, it does so, scraping away wherever it can at what tethers him to the ground. despite all their misgivings, its a new territory and miles isn’t sure he likes it much. they’d stayed through so much, he couldn’t, can’t, let this tear them even further apart. despite better judgement he holds kiri’s gaze, full lips folding in on one another, pleading to hold back the dissatisfied sigh that clings to his throat. he can’t take his words back, can’t neatly fold them up and tuck them away; pretend his unhappiness with the situation is wrapped in a pretty little bow.

he supposes it ironic that the pieces fit together now, taking a panic, relatively small in terms of repercussions but mountainous in his chest.. for the realisation to hit him like a thunder storm. so rarely did he allow himself to think the words let alone say it out loud in the dark when sleep alludes him and he resorts to mumbling to himself… that it feels alien, but all the same, not at all. and now,he’s left to wonder if even kiri had put it all together sooner than he had. they’d spent so long teaching one another along the way that he’d never had the time to even try and say it. maybe someone would miss him when his time had come after all ( let alone have such a hold on his heart the way kiri does ). he ponders on considering it, offering into the silence the next time kiri stays – ‘cause he’s a feeling he can’t ignore it now. not anymore. “ what ? kiri.. of course i was. ” the admission lands quietly, gently, more so than he’s used to. left with blinkers on from previous tragedy, he’d never hazard the idea it might’ve been misplaced.

seldom does he find it, but miles wishes the lights were off. wishes he could hide his misplaced burden of worry and let his head drop in shame. no, he doesn’t deserve an ounce of kiri’s gentleness - still, he lulls against the touch, allowing his gaze to reach kiri’s own. what did he do to deserve this? “ engine failure… you’re going to be the death of me. ” its offered with a scoff but its all he permits ; falling prey to kiri’s ineffable gentle, gentle touch ( pulling at his heart strings, like it often did ). if it wasn’t complete kiri nature to joke in the face of adversity, he doesn’t know what is.

the plaguing guilt only weighs heavier when he can only watch kiri sink between his legs. he’d never known such kindness before kiri… he didn’t earn it at all. a solitary hand, calloused and strong tentatively captures kiri’s cheek, cupping it as if he’s so gentle, he might break. he supposes his chest can spill his secrets, twoing and froing between pacing and as calm as his best days. perhaps kiri got him better than he’d thought. “ n-no, i know that. ” lies bleed through his teeth, its never too late to back track, a sigh taking its place. “ do you promise ? i.. don’t want to think about it again. ”

he might’ve stood a chance of coming out relatively unscathed, with a daring reprieve from worry like that. he might’ve, if he hadn’t lost at the first hurdle, wind pulling itself from his chest, hues left blinking down toward him, toward home. if he were treading water already, miles is barely keeping above it now. “ maybe. what makes you say that ? ” if kiri could joke, so can miles, letting a lopsided grin reach the corners of his mouth. “ better not. think i’ve got rather fond of you being around all the time. ” still, he doesn’t look away despite the itch to do so, thumb circling at the corner of kiri’s chin. “ no cool tricks unless you’re with me. how about that ? ”

he’s afforded this luxury, he knows. kiri knows he was born unto a world where they had the infinite of space to claim as their own, humanity in itself -- - boundless. ( he went to the exhibits whenever the center had them, the ones that recounted life on earth as it had once been; it was standard curriculum in the colonies to be taught some modicum of their history – his curiosity had filled in the gaps to the rest of the questions he’d had. ) kiri had always thought the world was too big, the space the stars took in his chest too wide to ever make room for anyone else at all. and he was neither a martyr not a saint, well acquainted with bodily pleasures and the lovely fruit of simple human contact & company -- - but he had viewed it as a logistical detail to take care of. something of a chore, a tending to; he thought of his own desire as something akin to hunger, thirst, and the need for sleep. ( just perhaps not as frequent, though kiri had his runs of what could only be considered all too constant deviancy. )

and really, he wishes he could claim that the origin of their story was dramatized -- - kiri wishes he could say that the way miles had entered his life and made a home of it was something he elaborated pompously, laved with a romantic tongue. but the truth of the matter is, it was not. it is not. miles was the love of his life, and that was just the simple truth of it -- - one that kiri was willing to accept. because if he could accept infinite galaxies, the birth and death of the stars, a boundless forever – he could accept the truth he knew all too well in how it sat in his chest.

( miles taught him how to love; miles taught him how to be a better man, every single day. and in a universe of infinites, this was a constant kiri could hold as his truth. )

lest not he be fooled, kiri knows there are days when miles thinks himself more inhuman than man, he knows there are stories of his past he still doesn’t know. kiri knows that regardless of how he knows the map of miles’ body with a kind of reverenced etched in memory, there are scars and bends that he has yes to write to memory -- - even if he is close. perhaps the uncertainty of it all would be frightening to some, but this is always where kiri has flourished best. the version of the man he’d been before he met miles might have thought a future wrought with one heart, one body to be one too bleak, but it’s too often that kiri catches himself tucked into the folds of miles’ body with his own gaze to the stars through that oddly oval shaped window in that room of his – looking to the stars and thinking for the first time, he feels like he has something to anchor him down even though his head will always belong to the stars. despite his bravado and his recklessness, he is still fallibly human. and well, kiri will admit, this bond between them is the most human thing about them, after all – regardless of whatever insistence miles takes upon just how much of his body is metal & steel, and whether that classifies him as some elevated cyborg or not.

his fear has never ruled his heart, but he’s gotten tastes of it in the few times they’ve been separated at moments crucial – when miles has been called away on a mission because he’s good, he’s the best of the fucking best. kiri’s belief in him spans stronger than his fear of fate, luck, the stars, but even he’s succumbed to the kind of fiery panic that sets bone-deep on seeing someone you love willingly rise up to volunteer their own head to be served on a metaphorical platter. ( as much as he adored the infinity of the void, kiri was no fool to it – the world they lived in now was a cold, cruel place when it could be. ) but he was lucky, he remained lucky -- - because at the best of it, it made for a few hours too indulgent on rough cotton sheets remapping spans of bodies and trading breaths ( --and ‘i love you’s’ threaded on their lips when the desperation has ebbed away long enough to soften their touches ) in the heat of desire, adrenaline high. and at the worst of it? well, at the worst of it -- - they were luck enough to never had have to find out. kiri intended on keeping it that way.

“i promise.” he says, the light taking to his eyes now that the weight to their words having faded now that the incident seems far behind them – spare the bandaged reminder of his arm. he leans forward from where he is, hands rubbing smooth down strong thighs as he leans in to place a peck of a kiss to a clothed chest. ( in fond gesture over anything else -- ) there’s a hint of an ache from where his knees have been hitting the cold tile, so kiri pulls himself up, wasting no time in settling himself on miles’ lap. it takes a bit of shuffling until he feels comfortable, a bit of a straddle and some adjustment -- - but he does it all with a grin, chest feeling lighter even with all that’s transpired. “there -- - you don’t have to think ‘bout it again. easy.”

miles is teasing, he hears it in the way his voice upticks – but that doesn’t stop kiri from taking it seriously enough to respond. he pretends to really think on it, a hum coming to lips pressed into a thin line. “mhm,” he says, emphasizes it with a honeyed tongue even as his gaze settles on miles, gentle. “—because no one has ever cared for me like you do.” he says, wraps his arms around his neck loosely, just enough to anchor him, give him a place to rest his gaze, settle the residual adrenaline bleeding from his bones. “and no one has believed in me like you do.” lips spelling truths he’s always known, kiri can’t remember if he’s ever said them out loud. ( but he says them now, feeling lulled by the way the moment ahs cocooned them, of how safe he feels – how content. ) “no one makes me want to be my best like you do.” the smile that takes to his lips isn’t coy, isn’t any bit of a teasing as much as it is something budding. “i…no one’s loved me like you do.” almost silent, confessional.

               who  was  she  to  be  telling  him  what  he  should  &  shouldn’t  be  doing  ?  his  mother  ?  if  anything  ,  this  woman  could  be  an  undercover  cop  trying  to  lure  him  in  and  he  still  wouldn’t let  up  .  ashton’s  choleric  behavior  continues  as  a  nasty  glare  is  thrown  her  way  ,  spitting  at  her  feet  .         ‘           fuck  off  ,  pipsqueak  .  your  parents  ever  teach  you  how  to  mind  your  own  business  ?           ’         before  he  can  continue  his  miniature  lecture  ,  a  strained  groan  sounds  from  the  back  of  his  throat  once  he  straightens  his  spine  ,  arm  visibly  tightening  around  his  midsection  when  the  pain  in  his  ribs  went  from  a  dull  ache  to  a  shooting  pain  .         ‘           i  ain’t  ──           ’         he pauses  ,  eyes  automatically  lowering  themselves  in  attempt  to  recollect  himself  before  uttering  again  .         ‘           i  ain’t  a  fuckin’  newbie  ,  kid  .  those  fuckers’ll  get  cooked  before  they  can  catch  try  me  ,  again  .           ’         

edria watches with a thinly veiled sort of amusement, unimpressed as she is – unperturbed even as he bites back at her with acidic words. his choice words would reign in territory she’d deem ‘interesting,’ if she could stop herself from rolling her eyes at them long enough. ( oh how they misread her, oh how she loved to claw them down from their pedestals -- - teeth bared. ) edria supposes, though, this one calls for some measure of civility just at the given matter of the fact that he’s like her. respect is always earned, but even her own barbed tongue takes a rest when it comes to her kind because she’s seen the worst of it -- and survived. “you aren’t a newbie and you’re causing a scene like this?” she replies, brows raising as she lets out a low whistle, arms crossing. “damn, you must be a raging idiot then, huh? what is it – you got some kind of a death wish, or somethin’ ?”

his words spark an intrigue—go back, he says; something in her chest perks up, rears its head unabashed like it wants to say: you too? she doesn’t voice them though, states the obvious. “you’re hurt.” words blunt, she lets him process them in case he really is as slow as his anger seems to make him out to be. looking over her shoulder at the distant sound of sirens, she clucks her tongue, tilts her head as she brings her gaze back to him. “better clean up your mess fast, hotshot. looks like they’re onto you.” and she thinks about disappearing -- - rounding a corner with her tasks for the night completed, a part of the shadows, easily hidden in the blink of an eye.

but she pauses, relents. ( the heart she could never wear on her sleeve looks to him and sees MUTANT IN DANGER and it reminds her all too much of a younger girl she had once been, with only fear as her companion. ) damn her sentimentality.

haneuls only half as cultured as most of the people in the building. he couldn’t tell you the difference between a van gogh and monet, nor cabernet sauvignon or pinot noir ( though he does know they smell different, both equally as tasty ) – art did tend to catch his eye, none the less which is why it irks him that he can’t keep his eyes on the very art dotted across the walls rather than admire it all from afar. maybe if she was dressed in black he’d have stood at chance at letting her blend into the crowd rather than catching his eye like seagulls to fries at the beach near his apartment or magpies and shiny things in the stories he’d read in his childhood. a moth to a flame no less, and he’s surely going to get burnt if he carries on.

the irony isn’t lost – he can’t expose her without having everyone quick on her tail. she surely knows how hot a commodity she is in his department, the suspect on everyones lips and still she’s so bold as to show up – looking like that. she knew he’d be on her like a light. she had to. and he fell for it, hook line and sinker, right where she wants him – with attention on her, a distraction on her part, he doesn’t doubt. haneul can only hope that she doesn’t get her claws into something before she departs, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

he’d called her  magpie once – to his partner when they’d last sat down to discuss any updates. haneul, predictably, never has any. he can’t bring himself to offer his findings. it makes his chest hurt, despite having little towards a name and he doesn’t much know what to do with himself about it. nothing was as exciting as she was when he is hot on her tail. magpie is pretty, magpie is sneaky.

hands sit where they don’t belong but a softness settles in them, sitting just at the right spot that it dares to feel comfortable. like they belong there… and he can’t shake that. she looks she’s got a secret – he feels like he knows it, her gaze burning more than it had before. seldom did anyone let alone a woman make him hold his breath the way she could. she was the whiskey in his glass, the fire in his chest, what (for now) kept him clocking in at work… and haneul was just surviving. his own limbs deceiving him and tightening beneath her touch, brows furrowing at the sight of such a woman working her magic.

“ mmmhm, ” haneul huffs out, lips wonkily twisting into half a smile. “ something like that. ” thoughts running away with him, haneul never really stood a chance. especially with two left feet like his. “ how admirable, i’m curious though.. ” words trail but catch up with him. “ how on earth you got your foot in the door to begin with. ” no doubt she’s figured that all out already – it never hurt to ask. “ do you want to dance ? ”

sumi learned quite young how to be a mirror before being a person. sweet little girl got more food on her plate, sweet little got a gentle touch on the curve of a cheek – affection, the kind that would cocoon her, drive her greedy did she not assess it at an arm’s length. friendly misuk meant the other children didn’t snitch when she stole an extra loaf of bread, not if she pretended to care enough to share it with them. sad, little misuk was plain enough to not be a threat to beady-eyed, sharp-witted girls that wanted to leave just as bad as she did. ( but they did not hunger like her; it’s why she was here, and they were not. ) she spent so long being in shadows, that she wouldn’t recognize the curve of her own body in the dark. but it mattered not, because when she dressed in her silks and lined the lithe curve of her neck she was someone to behold. who that someone was didn’t matter -- -

she was anything they wanted her to be, and more; she was the girl of their dreams, the thief of their sleepless nights, she was a vision before she was a woman of her own. sometimes coming home at the end of the night felt a bit like taking off skin she’d worn too long, like emptying a husk until she was drowning in the softness of her sheets -- - is that why she liked silk on her bare skin? egyptian cotton for her bare sheets? a gentleness to combat the nothingness that echoed otherwise? - -- but she was used to the empty clamor of that ringing bell.

but she was not so much victim as she was willing predator. when no shade of your body was your own forever, there was a kind of freedom to your steps. that’s why when sumi played, she played like a reckless gambler with nothing but a life’s savings to lose, she played with the wind-thrown recklessness of a junkie looking for a rush. ( but she was beautiful, a vision – so she got away with it, and would till kingdom come. )

and well, she’d make no pretenses in claiming how he’d caught her eye. him in his pursuit of valor, in the way he looked like this city had made a home in him as much as he’d made a home in it. she wanted him strung along her fingers, a marionette to a puppeteer – but he so delightfully surprised her so, acted with autonomy and a clever tongue even if there was something so righteously honest to the fall of his step. she could read him, easily so -- - but she couldn’t predict him, and it made her heady with it more than she would admit.  

“i’d love to dance. thought you’d never ask.” sumi replies, avoids his previous question with the grace of a tightrope walker even as she threads her fingers with his own, warm. turning on her heel, she guides them to the part of the hall that’s more open – turns around to face him and falls into step, place. she doesn’t speak, doesn’t indulge him until she’s got a hand in his hand, another on the firm curve of a shoulder.

“i got in because i wanted to.” she replies, an easy hum even as her gaze travels to the faces around them. ( it would be a mistake to think her only built on the pillars of her restlessness – magpie watches close, magpie watches sharp; magpie leaves with gems for teeth. ) “—and i don’t like being denied of what i want.” sumi lets her gaze match his again, something sparkling in it like the truth in her words isn’t allowed to be pinned down. “you’ve been so silent on your end, haneul – i was starting to get bored. it’s always good to keep things interesting, isn’t it?”

JIHU finds himself admiring her, she is both cautious and reckless. whether this will help or hinder him remains to be seen. an unusual contradiction. because she grabs attention with the way she looks, in her makeup and her clothes. jihu knows this is for no one but herself, but she has to be aware of the eyes it will catch, the heads it will turn. and at the same time invisibility is at her fingers, one quick fade into nothingness and if she truly wanted to she could never be seen again by the likes of anyone. but she was purposefully choosing to stand out to those around her. jihu didn’t know what to make of this. he didn’t know what to make of her, but it’d be a lie to say he wasn’t intrigued, pulled forward by the mystery she was presenting him. wondering if she’d ever answer any question he had or if she’d find joy in leaving him in the dark forever.

he doesn’t think she will indulge him. that she will be difficult because she’s been that way so far. but she doesn’t argue. she doesn’t scoff or roll her eyes or do all the things jihu has come to expect of her. in only knowing her for these few minutes he has mapped the road of this exchange carefully in his head. she is driving in the brush throwing the middle finger to his map, daring him to catch up. jihu smiles at that. “thanks.” his eyebrow raises at the change in drinks. jihu suspects he looks like he can’t handle his alcohol. she wouldn’t be wrong. the metabolizing and changing of his cells makes him more susceptible. he is a newborn every time he shifts into someone different. and depending on how long he’s worn his current face, alcohol seeps into his system like a drunk or takes rapid-fire shots to have any kind of effect on him. he’d drink it without complaint, but whatever has gone unsaid is not lost on him.

jihu watches her offer up nothing in exchange for what he tells her. but his eyes travel the length of her body. reading what he can of her limited movements. she doesn’t seem on the verge of leaping to kill him. she’s focused on her drink as they’re set down in front of him. she slides his over, and he picks it up, taking a long sip. “a trick?” jihu doesn’t hide the mock hurt on his face. the indignance in his voice. as if she owed him something more than what she’d seen. but maybe she’d seen it already. he was an anomaly but only to humans. they both had their own abilities and were probably both attracted to people who were the same. “just about, yes. i’ve been everyone from famous idols to presidents depending on what the situation calls for.” he doesn’t like to brag but it’s exactly what he finds himself doing.

jihu takes another sip of the drink in front of him. the warmth of the alcohol burning in his chest as he considers her questions. being matter of fact would suit them both here. no need to play coy with her. jihu knew she wouldn’t like it. “you can call me jihu. i’m…well i’m a thief. though i prefer the term artist.” jihu swirls his cup, watches the liquid spin and spin and slosh onto the already dirty bar top. it doesn’t stop the bartender from glaring at him. he tries to mop it up with his index finger. his hands grow sticky. “i know who you are because i needed to. i’m looking for you because i need you. well, need your skills. doesn’t matter how i know or who i know. just know you’ve made some enemies. and if you want to stop running from them i know a way you can do that. i mean, we both know i have my ways. it’s not that hard.”

jihu is taken abac. almost angy. doesn’t she see him? who he is? was she even listening? his gaze holds hers and he fights off the implication. “i’m not hitting on you.” he tries not to sound rude about it. but his voice is dry and exasperated as if she’s insulted him. as if he’s too god to even consider it. but he’s so thrown off he doesn’t know how to respond. “i work for an organization. for people like you. me. for people who have powers. mutants, and vampires and well…different.” his voice is low, conspiratorial. and he leans in to make sure that she hears him. “and we both know what you can do. so i’d like you to do it for us. and those people you’re trying to outrun? because you’ve uh, made some choices. we would take care of that. in exchange. there are perks too. whatever you want or need.”

the whiskey goes down easy, cuts only a little with the chaser mixed in it. she’s glad to have finally gotten that drink, might far more at ease as she turns her attention more fully to him. body tilted, her eyes narrow as he speaks, though not in anything other than curiosity. she doesn’t mean to stare, but she does tilt her head – an openness to the way she assesses him, like she doesn’t quite know how to hide her intentions, for better or worse. ( it’s always been like that – she’s never been much good at defenses of the kind; at the facilities, they always knew the truth. they knew her inside out, had her mapped down to scratched notes on a paper and a formula that they couldn’t get right on a shelf. and once she got out, well – there was no need to learn how to hide her intentions when she could simply…hide. a blink, and edria was gone, a whisper in the wind. ) “is this your real face?” she asks, the words coming across blunt like dulled nails on a surface. she wonders if he’ll answer her honestly -- - she wonders if he’ll answer her at all. it’s not her place to ask, but if she knew her way around niceties and platitudes, maybe she’d be somewhere by now.

briefly, before she can wrangle her mind from the wandering it takes -- - it flits to another world, and wonders what had led him here. it’s clear to tell they come from different worlds, if not from the way they dress, then from the way they carry themselves. edria’s never been particularly ashamed of what she comes from, simply because there isn’t much that she comes from at all. the only thing she’s ever called her own is this body and the tattooed numbers still etched at the nape of her neck. ( there’s a reason why she’ll only ever wear her hair long. ) she wonders who he’d been before they whittled him down into this clear lined box that said MUTANT on it, she wonders who he would’ve been had they not taken all he was and flattened it into something to hate.

or maybe she was projecting. a shift to the set of her lips, she lets her gaze drop from his and takes a long few sips of her whiskey.

it's easy to see the way she perks up as he continues, his line of work catching her attention. her spine straightens despite the corners it wishes to be dulled on, something gleaming in her eyes. a thief, did he say? his words echo in her ears, get stuck somewhere on repeat – a loop. If you want to stop running -- - she can’t help the way her gaze draws back up to his a little too quick; if she could see it, she’d probably hate the rounded corners of it, the vulnerability in it that’s reminiscent of someone who was tired of running. ( she’d been running since before she could remember -- - some days edria didn’t remember who she was when she wasn’t running at all. ) it’s gone as swiftly as it comes, masked behind something more nonchalant, hidden behind another pull from her glass – hitting bottom. she flags down the bartender, raises her cup silently to ask for another, and swallows past the thickness in his throat as he keeps speaking.

edria thinks she can hear something indignant in his tone at her insinuation, though it doesn’t lay on her skin long enough to irk her at what he was insinuating in return. she supposes she could have the mind to feel offended, but she can’t be bothered. ( something about how -- - it was hard to assert her self-worth on things like bodily attraction when there were more basic things for her to rest that on like: survival, food, to see another day. ) everything he says -- it sounds too good to be true, and edria’s sure that it is. there’s nothing free in this world, least of all for the likes of them.

it rubs her wrong, the way his lips shape around the choices he says she’s made. and of all the hills to die on, edria almost considers this the one -- - it finally gets to her, the aloofness he inserts between them, words pouring down at her like he’s up above somewhere, and her down below. she’s made choices to survive and she’d make them time and time again, she doesn’t need this coming from anyone, even if it was a supposedly charitable mutant looking for her to clean up his messes. or his boss’s messes. that’s what this was about after all, wasn’t it? she looks straight ahead, the fall of raven hair covering the way her jaw steels as she stops herself from snapping at him. she takes another sip from her newly refilled glass, that burning in her gut that comes to build when her anger takes to rising—it’s a protective measure, an instinct that keeps her alive because anger feels more powerful than fear—bubbling, even as she wishes it down. she tells herself to forget the uppity bullshit and focus on the gain. he’s offering her somewhere to belong to so she’s not so much a free agent waiting to be picked off, he’s offering her a magic out to all the skeletons in her closet.