leanings, leadings

rw: raewon slouches back in his seat and stares past the glass, gaze faraway. “how’ve you been sleeping?”

wi: how do you think? is wonil’s initial thought. he grins instead. “what do you wanna hear for an answer, hyung?”

rw: “the truth, i guess.”

wi: “hm. well it’s not too bad for being without a mattress. gotta get used to it either way,” he tilts his head “don’t i?”

rw: he wonders why it’d never occurred to him to ask in his first visit. “that right?” he asks, furrowing a brow and leaning forward. just blankets and a pillow, probably. “and the others?”

wi: “the others...” he trails off, as if he needs to give it some thought. give up the act, wonil. juwon and sunho, transferred a week in, with euntaek left raising hell like he has nothing to lose in cell three. which isn’t far from the truthㅡtaek hadn’t been the one nailed with the almost two-decade long sentence. 

“dunno.” a shrug. “why, wanna make them your charity cases or something?”

rw: never a peaceful day in the penitentiary. his brother’s slight rolls off like the wind and slaps him like a fallen branch. cold and dry. "not interested.” he returns. “more just. wondering if they’re the ones affecting your sleep more than the floor.” he folds his arms across his chest. “guess that isn't the case though.”

wi: “aw, bummer.” at this point his taunting couldn't be more obvious. “they could use a couple more years. you’re an expert at making that come true, aren't ya?” the elites’ very own fucking genie. “floor or not, i'm sure you won't hafta worry about experiencing it ever. so.” so rings with a sense of finality. “did mom call you yet?”

rw: he smirks, lopsided, tilted glass. “you could say that,” he nods with his lips poised upwards. 

so. the base of the cup is heavy and raewon lets his words graze over like tinkling fingernails along the rim. “not yet. believe it or not,” he starts, mirroring his brother. “i’m not the first person she wants to talk to.”

wi: the news brings a blink of surprise. even the success of the older, more evidently put-together son wasn’t enough to have her spare so much as a thought his way. he thinks back to the one and only time she had stood silently where raewon is sitting, but doesn’t go forward in mentioning it. once a cunt, always a cunt. 

“y’know they have a personal lawyer now?” wonil says instead, absently scratching at the side of his neck. “he called me. said to not expect a single penny out of her or dad.” 

his hand falls to his lap. “so that makes two of us.”

rw: raewon hums. matters of the will. dad might have mentioned them in passing, but that was well over a year ago, and not long after he’d made first contact again to tell them he’d somehow shoed himself into a law firm and that he’d be setting up a transfer payment system. “well that sounds familiar.” raewon can’t help but grin. “didn’t they say the same thing to you about me?” when i left?

wi: wonil raises a brow. “what the hell would they tell an eight year old?” on the contrary, he'd had something to say to them. 

(morning after, at the dining table. mom's eyes are bloodshot, but not from crying. she taps her spoon absently against her cup saucer. 

“where's hyung, ma?” he asks. 

“well he's not here now, is he?”) 

he takes in raewon's expression. can't buy it. 

“bet you have something different to say, though.”

rw: “you think age ever mattered to them?” raewon laughs. “c’mon, wonil. you know better than i do.” 

a hitch. it doesn't catch him off guard so much as it itches at his brain, something curious and persistent. the pause lingers as he narrows his eyes and leans in. “about what?”

wi: “if you’re expecting some shit like ‘don't you ever do what your brother did,’ it didn’t happen.” wonil crosses his arms. “they’re neglectful assholes. not walking cliches.” for better or worse. he doesn't have the patience to consider what it could've been like had they had the decency to be the latter. or at least pretend. 

he flashes a smile, a full show of teeth. menace doesn't suit him, but it's something like it. “c’mon, hyung,” he parrots. “you know better than i do.” there's a singular question that's been picking at him since the very day, the very second raewon decided to show up the way that he did. “what're you getting out of this?”

rw: wonil’s voice scrapes rough like chipped toenails and he’d be a lousy professional not to detect it, gruffness betraying something that whiffs of tender flesh. he saves the laughs but maintains a smile just barely there. that’s not it, baby bro, but “for some, that’s as good a cliche as any.” he returns. 

taunting’s never been his strong suit; taunting back less so. in this circumstance and the last and the next. he swallows wonil’s words down whole and lets them churn and writhe in his stomach until they tire out. “nothing, apparently.” he states simply.

wi: “so you’re part of that ‘some’ then.” 

raewon’s words, understated as they may be, hit, then miss. you could pull out the pliers and the real answer wouldn’t ever be pried from his damn mouth. a lost cause from the onset, from how much he knows, how little they know of each other. 

his mouth loosens back into a softer smile. “great! you’ll get something outta spending your time elsewhere, i’m sure.” the chair groans as he gets up. god. what were the fucking odds, anyway?

rw: “it was meant to be ambiguous but thanks for pointing it out.” he says, bracing himself. that’s what it boils down to between the shallow pauses and unreadable expressions and a ticking clock that’s evidently gone for lunch. they’ve barely made a dent into the hour. 

there’s the punch. whining grit of the chair against the floor and raewon’s eyes drag down and up. wonil is getting ready to go back in now. raewon follows in suit, careful as he scoots his chair with back legs lifted off the ground, standing without bumping his knees against the low table. he’s not greedy for time, even if his brother is. raewon places his hand onto the table, taps it twice. 

kang raewon, 32. re: an humdrum, lethargic, and somehow simultaneous cynic/dreamer

prosecutor at a ritzy seoul law firm that caters to mostly high-ranking politicians, public figures and celebrities, basically all sorts of scumbags

but he loves it! thinks it’s great fun, simply the best

up until recently was the estranged older brother of @ncwonil but they’re (mostly) good now

enters relationships as smoothly as he exits them

i.e. only gets half of empathy right: understands, but doesn’t share people’s feelings. just goes about his life in his own private way and is perfectly content with that

his brother shook up that life philosophy a few years ago though so he’s like slowly adjusting to the idea of forming meaningful, long-lasting bonds even if the other person is a complete nuisance

never talks to his parents, just sends them money

a really stubbornly independent and self-sufficient guy who’d rather live under a bridge than ask someone for help

almost always disheveled except on court days which gives his coworkers and clients a good scare

but don’t let his everyday outer appearance fool you—he puts a lot of effort into taking care of himself/his health. goes on regular hikes (a naturegram hoe), bikes daily (save for the winter months), eats clean (a pescetarian), doesn’t smoke/drink/do drugs (been there, done that)

daily life is built around simple pleasures: nighttime showers, morning espresso, journal writing, preparing meals

yes...... he’s the guy who brings homemade lunches to work

“sure i want a wife...... in theory”

wanted connections:

“god you’re always such a fucking bore”—“i know, i’m sorry”—“can you pass the salad tho it’s fucking delicious” a.k.a. his one (1) friend

exes that just didn’t work out (mostly on basis of his lack of emotional presence/because the other party was too expectant)