azazel.

( if we were plotting previously i would love to pick up where we left off i’m sorry for being mia T T -- i am about to pass out though so i will be getting to messaging those who responded to my discord plotcall tomorrow ♡ )

                                             – jeon aza as lydia deetz ( beetlejuice 1988 )

               “Live people ignore the strange and unusual,

( ☾ * w. @msudory )

it’s been a long night, and aza is ready to pack it up and head back to the dorms.

he’d been intending to leave as soon as the costume party began, but for some reason or other, there he was still, holding just a cup of water and standing back against the far wall in the dungeon. his expression is blank, stoic as always as he sips at his water and checks the time on his phone again. deciding that yes, he’s exceeded his daily amount of ‘outside time’ and it was an acceptable time for him to retreat into his hermit hole.

deciding to slink against the walls to avoid the throng of students in the crowded dungeon, he quickly realizes it may not have been the best idea as he trips over his long skirt in his platform boots. not a second later he collides with a body-- his hands flinging out instinctively to catch whoever just fell against him. “fuck-- sorry, you--” he cuts himself immediately as he finally looks down through his gelled bangs, blinking once at the sight of--

bunny ears. and a lot of skin. “uh. hey, sorry, are you okay?” he asks out of obligation, though, honestly he can make some deductions from the way the other student was stumbling and from the strong scent of alcohol. he keeps his hold on the other, grip light enough just to support him.

“... i refuse,” he states bluntly-- his eyes narrow suspiciously, but without malice and maybe even with a tiiiiiiny hint of amusement, “you poisoned me so i’m traumatized.”

          getting drunk and being blinded by a dozen of flashing, bright neon hues might happen to be atlas’ favorite night activity but he never expected this to happen during a club bonding session. there are probably more than twenty types of drunk personalities, atlas is the idiot that would do stupid things and say dumb shits that he would never do when he’s sober. and then there’s also the desire to kiss someone. thank god he has a high tolerance for alcohol though; it’s just dangerous and… disturbing, to go around kissing strangers. 

that’s just one of the many reasons why he decides to just have one simple glass cocktail instead of picking heavier drinks. as the president of the art club, atlas is basically responsible for everything and everyone so he’s just here as a watchman. the senior obviously feels quite petty, a little bit of disappointment is added, too, that he doesn’t get to throw his arms in the air in the middle of the dance floor like them. 

at least aza’s here to keep him company though it’s not promised that this is going to be as fun as the dance floor. well, how does he put this… ? atlas cherishes the art club in one way or another but aza and him aren’t that much close yet for the blonde to be throwing his arms around atlas, acting like a total blushing baby. years of being in the dating game have taught him how to take care of drunk girlfriends and boyfriends, even if they’re faking it, and atlas thinks he knows how to handle the “baby”. 

he doesn’t move, shoulder’s rather stiff. let’s admit it, this is motherfucking awkward. can’t believe this is actually happening to him right now. “it’s not going to be hot anymore if you stop snuggling with me. are you listening to me right now, aza?” atlas’ eyebrows slightly furrow as he looks down at the blonde but can’t quite see what kind of face he’s making, all thanks to the stupid bucket hat blocking his vision. 

“hey, do not get drunk right now.” instead of sounding furious, atlas is actually concerned. a useless command, by the way. “i don’t care if you need air, if you get drunk right now, i’m going to suffocate you.” 

‘stop snuggling’ is the first phrase that filters through aza’s brain and it immediately brings a frown to his lips-- sounds preposterous. the logic just doesn’t make any sense to aza, because he was already feeling hot before he started hugging the club president. he really, really, does not want to let go because leaning against someone else feels very nice and comfortable and that’s all aza wanted to feel at the moment.

“’m listening,” he gets out, slowly-- and it’s not really a lie. “sort of.” aza is still somewhat  coherent, but his usually sharp reflexes are considerably muted, and he’s far more sluggish, lethargic. reluctantly, he pulls himself back but immediately regrets it, and so he remedies it by holding onto the sleeve of atlas’ shirt, forehead now resting on the elder’s shoulder. “it’s,” he pauses, using his other hand to rub at his eyes. he was dizzy and really fucking sleepy at this point. “it’s kind of too late,” he states truthfully. “please don’t suffocate me.”

aza finally lifts his head, blinking through his snow blonde bangs as his lips curl into a pout. he blinks a few times to get his eyesight to focus, and has the decency and sanity left to shrink back when he realizes how close atlas’ face is. he ends up pulling atlas with him though-- which startles him enough to let go and fall right back against atlas’ shoulder. “okay, okay--” he mutters, “’m sorry,” and he means it because there’s some part of him that is extremely embarrassed at this point.

“i’ll just, i’ll...” he starts as he, with difficulty, pulls himself up into a sitting position again, hat falling completely off at this point. “i will,” he tries again, stating each word slowly and clearly, “get some air,” he says triumphantly, patting atlas’ leg as if for emphasis.

*

prefect rounds for orion were usually boring - unless he ran into hyeon, that is. otherwise - boring. most students were either asleep, or knew to avoid him completely as he was known to take house points, but, there were those instances of surprise, like this one, for example. footsteps trail down the halls, echoing against stone as he heads to scape out the trophy room, per his usual route.

he’s halfway through opening the large door when he hears movement inside - hushed words that make him reach for his wand, and the eventual sound of what he finds to be … pens ? scattering across the floor, one particular pen hitting the toe of his boot. he stills as the other does as well, light from the corridor bleeding into the room now and showing him the outline of - aza. 

immediately orion feels something undistinguishable wash over him, lips pursing. he doesn’t speak at first, only reaches down to pick up the pen at his foot and hand it over. “ which is ? ” he questions finally, brow raised. “ you know you’re not supposed to be in here. ”  

“i wasn’t doing anything bad,” is the defensive beginning, he really doesn’t need to be reprimanded for losing more points. his hand is hesitant as he reaches out to grab the pen, careful not to brush fingers, with a low, mumbled ‘thank you.’ and his stature feels awkward, standing there with the older male waiting in front of him-- anticipating. shaking himself out of his shock, he quickly makes work of shoving his fallen sketchbook and the rest of his scattered belongings into his backpack, as he tries to get out his thoughts coherently.

he straightens up with a soft huff, bacpack now slung securely over his shoulder as he finally, finally meets orion’s eyes. unfortunately, aza’s brain refuses to work fast enough to come up with a convincing story ( but also knows full well that orion won’t buy it, anyway ). and so, he tells, mostly, the truth. “i just came here to think, or focus,” his voice is quiet but firm, and he finds his eyes wandering again-- unable to hold eye contact for long.

( ☾ * w. @msuatlas )

it’s rowdy, the music is loud, the air is humid from the amount of people and the fog ( ? ) machines, and all aza can focus on is the rainbow lights of the club lasers reflecting off of his glass of whatever he last ordered-- and also the fact that his cheeks are very, very warm. his blinking is slow, movements sluggish as he decides, no, he does not want anymore, and sets his cocktail back down onto the table.

normally, it’s not common to see aza out at functions like this, he usually just attends scheduled club meetings and goes on his merry way. however, after just complaining to his beloved sister about having very few friends and not meeting anyone interesting-- when he was asked to join the art club outing he decided ‘yeah sure, why not.’ except, he’d accidentally drank just a little past his limit and he vaguely remembers why he normally declines. but it’s far too late now, and as he distantly hears the other club members talking about dancing, or heading to the bar, or going to a dorm to drink more-- it’s already starting.

“it” is aza’s drunken need for affection. suddenly, he’s hyper aware of the presence next to him, and he lets himself drop his head onto the unfortunate soul sitting beside him, which happens to be atlas jeong-- and it’s not that aza has anything against him, rather, he respected him and found him rather cool if not a little intimidating-- but as blunt and unafraid as he may be, he was still hesitant around the elder toseong student. so, he had no idea if he was crossing any boundaries, but in hsi current state the thought didn’t even cross his mind.

his blonde hair fans out against atlas’ shoulder, black bucket hat knocking askew. his long arms wrap around the president’s figure. “it’s hot in here,” he complains-- and his bright pink cheeks are way too glaring in contrast to his pale skin and ice blonde hair.

( ☾ * w. @msuorion )

there are certain nights, nights like this, where the light of the moon is particularly bright and it covers half the bed, bleeding in through the blinds in uneven spaces. it’s these nights that aza just doesn’t feel right sleeping, moreover, he can’t seem to sleep. a check of the time on his phone-- it’s not a particularly late hour, but it’s late enough that most students are probably holed up in their rooms for the night. with a sigh, he forces himself out of his bed, it’s a little bit too cold today-- slips a black hoodie over his bare torso.

he has one specific spot he likes to go to at times like this-- though it may be slightly unconventional: the trophy room. he’d found that it tended to be pretty desolate this late at night, and it was a nice, silent, empty space to study or draw or whatever else to keep his mind preoccupied.

and so he settles down in his normal spot under a window, starts to sketch mindlessly. and normally, it’s not really a problem-- aza isn’t usually a troublemaker, and he’s normally here when maybe hyunki or haejin are on duty, and he can escape unscathed. tonight, though, as he hears the door creak open and someone enters, he has a feeling he isn’t so lucky-- and he’s right.

“shit,” he hisses, whole body stiffening in surprise, his pencils and pens clattering to the floor as his hands raise to block a light shining at him. “listen, i can expl--” he begins with a sigh, getting to his feet. when he sees the prefect that’s discovered him, he freezes again-- this time out of... shock? apprehensiveness? he doesn’t try to speak immediately, because he finds that he can’t meet orion’s eyes ( odd, for someone who is usually combative ), and he won’t let himself wonder why. he bites his lip, right where it’s pierced, as he’s apt to do when he’s uncomfortable.

often, often, so often, does aza reprimand erebus, his sneaky little black cat-- for many things, one being hunting on school grounds because that could very well be someone else’s pet and he really would prefer not to get into any conflicts that didn’t revolve around sports or academics. “hey!” he scowls as he chases after the troublemaker, weaving gracefully in between startled students without so much as glancing at them.

“hey! come here, you--” and the demon cat skids around the corner abruptly-- so aza does the exact same thing with much worse results.

“shit--” he curses automatically as he recoils on impact with a smaller body, hands automatically reaching out to steady the poor student he ran into, his aura still somewhat irritated from chasing after his pet who refused to listen to him. that said cat, however, is smugly nuzzling against the other student’s ankles, a flower stem sticking out of his mouth. aza relaxes and takes a step back, finally registering the other student-- it’s not a familiar face. “sorry about that-- he likes to hunt, i thought he’d kidnapped another rat,” he huffs, running a hand through his hair.

he isn’t ashamed of how he hums and leans into the other’s touch. he didn’t really mind when it was someone like aza touching him, soft and obviously caring. he could deal with that. it actually felt good, soothing and nice. “you’re telling me.” he snorts. hyunki didn’t really care about the captain, it was the co-captain he was holding a bit of a grudge against. rightly so, in his opinion.

“i can only imagine how hard astrid is going to work you though.” he sighs. it’s the little victories, he supposes. “but with haejin as your seeker.” hyunki rolls his eyes. “you’re not winning a thing by his account.” and once again he will never miss a chance to bad mouth the other quidditch player. “you’re the only saving grace of the toseong team.” and this he can admit because aza is his friend and he likes him and there’s no harm in saying it.

“now pet me again.” hyunki whines.

the idea of someone sneaking some alcohol into the bath isn’t that far off. he’s never done so, but he can only imagine who has. and why. “you know, you’re right. and as much as i wouldn’t mind finding some, i really don’t want to think about why there was some in here in the first place. is this tub clean?” he’s only half joking because even if he was serious, there was no use in worrying now, not when they’ve been soaking in the water already. oh well.

and hyunki lazily glances at his friend, clear amusment in his eyes and a little curl to his lips as he snickers. “fair.” that much was true, sure. technically they weren’t breaking any rules. it’s not like they were being inappropriate. they were just catching up, unwinding. “most people are alone in the bath.” he repeats. but then tacks on, “but when they aren’t they’re usually not just lounging like we are. which brings me back to my question, do you think this tub is clean?”

really, he should take baths more often. aza considers himself pretty impatient, so normally he just showers and goes-- but a bath is extremely nice, he thinks, as he practically melts into the hot water. an eyebrow raises at the response, his lips quirking up in amusement, “you don’t like your captains?” he questions. in the next second he’s shivering, a dramatic response to the mention of astrid. “no kidding,” he mutters-- not only is she a tough captain, but he also is still sorry for a mishap towards his housemate and friend. she’s forgiven him by now though, hopefully. “she’s pretty tough. it works though.”

and aza can’t help but chuckle, gently flicking his friend in the arm, and splashing some more water towards him. he doesn’t really know hyunki’s beef with haejin, or vice versa for the matter, but as a friend of both, he sometimes feels as if he should mediate somehow. only when he bothers enough, though. “you’re just saying that,” he snickers, “thanks, though. i work hard,” he huffs -- it’s not arrogance to admit it.

a laugh bubbles out as his fingers go back to gently stroking hyunki’s damp hair, “demanding,” he chides-- but he doesn’t mind at all, if it’s hyunki. his movements still as he contemplates the concerning question, his eyes darting down to the bubbling water before he gives up and shrugs, “what’s done is done-- but ew,” he wrinkles his nose. he leans back some more against the edge of the tub, angling his arm more comfortably to continue petting the elder’s hair as he requested.

dethbyazazel // ◔2m