soshy

the music is pulsating, shaking the walls and making the edges of his vision vibrate. the party has been in full swing for awhile now, with the pledges finishing the formalities and finally having the opportunity to let loose. dongmin has never particularly been a big partier (he spends many nights just tapping away at his laptop, getting his ducks in a row, always preparing for something), and thus despite all of his seemingly sociable disposition, he’s always a little at a loss at parties. 

at parties, people are unpredictable. there aren’t any pre-rehearsed scripts or designated times for handshakes. instead, it’s as if it’s a never ending free-for-all, where anyone and anything is fair game. the silver-lining (if there is one) lies in the fact that everyone is shedding their walls, letting their defenses trickle down with each shot they toss back. 

and it seems that dongmin is not exempt from having his own defenses dropped.

as he’s walking about, trying to make out the faces through the flashing lights and the haze, he barely has enough time to process the hand that is careening straight towards his face. in fact, he isn’t even able to defend himself before the hand collides right at the bridge of his nose. even though he can’t see whoever collided with him (and is currently slurring out drunken apologies), he gets a peculiar feeling of deja vu.

“it’s fine, it’s fine, fuck, i think i’m bleeding–” 

and as he’s trying to stop his nose from bleeding out all over everyone’s designer heels, his attacker yanks him across the room despite his protests, leading both of them to stumble through the women’s restroom door (“hey! do you know where you’re going???” he calls out, but he goes unheard). once they’ve crossed the threshold, he’s then covered in a flurry of tissues that he struggles to catch with his free hand that is not pinching his nose closed to prevent him bleeding out in a public restroom.

it’s in between these sheets of tissue that dongmin gets a good look at his attacker. there’s something so familiar about her that stirs something in the deepest parts of his chest. it’s dark and brewing and it’s been locked away for Years. he’s looking dead into the eyes of someone he never thought he’d see again–no, he hoped he would never see again.

     she was never known for being brave. perhaps this was a fact not too well known—jin hanui, heiress of the crystal castle, best friend of han insoo and up until late, girlfriend of jeon doyun, that has always been her title. one that she carries with pride since middle school, one that fills her with insurmountable confidence, allows her to cling to the facade of a better, more self-assured, jin hanui. a version of her that mom, in the early years of youth, had stripped from her. of course, it is easy to claim to be bigger than you are with foundations as solid as hanui’s. impenetrable was the fortress cultivated, her prince charming, her white knight, her riches, her adoring peers (what’s not to adore? have you seen her?). 

     but the way she is now? fast forward to present day with a heavy beat in her ears and no prince charming by her side (instead he exists now as her competitor, her rival? rival? jeon doyun as her rival? is he allowed to do that?). the only thing that filled her now is courage in liquid form, in a throat-burning, heart in her ears form, in a you’re-not-thinking-straight-to-have-done-that form.

                                                                                                                                 that?

    vaguely, in the back of her head: she and ryu changho stand under the moon as the only two in the universe. between the city lights behind him and the reflection of her frame in his eyes, hanui is enamored enough to forgo the lack of distance between them. even so when she finds herself inching closer—his breath fanning over lips—closer still till—

     “ahhHHH!” the heiress exclaims, fingers extended and flat of her palm knocking against the side of her head repeatedly. you’ve lost it, jin hanui. absolutely lost it. by far, it’d be easier to blame this on the bubbly than anything else, but hanui knows better than anyone that the sliver of regret that exists in between her own personal audacity and shame(?) is over the 10cm distance from his lips to hers that she failed to cross. still, still, this wasn’t the time and place for this. or maybe, there really shouldn’t be time and place for it in general—at least not with ryu changho.

     god. she waltzes further into the crowd of moving bodies recklessly, fresh glass of not-entirely-sure-what in hand while the other busies with knocking against her head, notably vain act in hopes of maybe regaining some sense back into her. even more so when she stumbles and shoots her arm forward, heart of her palm colliding with another’s nose. oh no. 

     “oh my god,” hanui speaks around her horror, syllables slightly slurred as she grasps onto his shoulder to both get a better look and steady herself. “i’m so sorry—are you ok—of course you’re not—oH MY GOD—YOU’RE BLEEDING!” and perhaps she’s one or two highballs over her own personal limit for this, but hanui doesn’t think twice before grabbing hold of him, leading them both away from the crowd in drunken fervor—all the way to the restroom.

     from there though, it wouldn’t be a lie to say it’s some sort of misplaced meltdown. surely, she’s not the one bleeding—but why is she freaking out so much?

     “here—oh my god—take these—i’m so sorry—i’ll pay for everything,” eyes wide, panic is easy to spot among the welling tears and knitted brows. as long as she’s lived, other than the one incident when she was younger, hanui has never remembered acting up so much at any sort of event that she’d draw blood from an innocent bystander. way to make an impression on society, jin. “sorry?” nearly misses his words, momentarily preoccupied with twisting up a tissue, hanui doesn’t catch on till she’s but a step or two closer, hand angling his jaw further up while the other presses a bunched up clad of tissues against his bleeding nose.

     “history—” she blinks, now genuinely taking the time to get a better look at her ‘victim’. namely, the glassy eyes and unshed tears that she reckons he’d prefer she not speak on it. oh. it’s him. it’s— “you don’t have gum do you?” hanui gives his jaw a squeeze to open, eyes flicking down to double check the inside of his mouth, all the while her mind struggles to come up with the information; crap, what was his name? 

< 10:37am > do you still want to know the name of the restaurant

doyun is used to the attention. the stares, the whispers ━ he knows far too well on how it goes. it is his first appearance after a small period of disappearance, and there are already chatter when he walks. he doesn't mind really; in fact, he actually craves it, but he hides it well with a courteous smile. he enters grandly and polished; it is obvious that he spent all day preparing himself. with his mother by his side, he picked the proper fit and features, and he made sure he presents himself as one of the school's finest. on his own, he credits his mother by displaying the perfect smile, the perfect gestures, the perfect scheme. possibly anything that he can show that he is proudest of himself, even if he is slightly worn down from high emotion.

in his perspective, he begins to feel quite uneasy on how well the play is going. he tries hard to muster his best voice, travelling between huddles to introduce himself and achieving an unforgettable talk among many. it is going far too well ━ way too well, actually. people are laughing along with him, people are talking to him, people are looking at him, but why does he feel odd? why does he feel troubled? perhaps, it is the sips of champagne that makes him feel slightly dazed. no matter what, he continues his act, and he plays it through.

it is until the dinner that he realizes the cause of his disturbance. he imagined a pleasant time, but that thought is crumbled once he realizes who he is seated next to. next to him is a familiar someone, dressed in a fine fabric and styled with magnificent strands. she is fitted beautifully ━ it is almost breath-taking. he almost forgets to sit himself down, and he is nearly knocked from how much he missed the presence beside him. it is embarrassing. actually, it is humiliating on how he feels this way.

of course, he isn't the only one who feels this way.

all eyes are on the exes. he could sense it. but so suddenly, the stares become dangerous. he doesn't feel safe anymore, and he knows the reason why. it is obvious that the pair is broken: they aren't matching, they didn't come together, and they aren't even together. but this time, he can't run away. he has a reputation to keep, and this is not enough for him to break it. with the most charming smile he could give to anyone, he tries to settle himself on his seat and turns his head slightly to the girl's direction.

     the first step into the society is like a nosedive into the deep end. hanui, having spent an exhausting summer putting the pieces back together, can’t help but feel as if she had misplaced a couple throughout the way. maybe it’s that she’s tried too hard to cram misshapen bits into wrong places. or maybe, she’ll never be complete again—without jeon doyun by her side. 

     dramatic, you may think, but isn’t that what it feels like? to have the world shatter under her feet. to be unable to reach out to someone she sought comfort in for what feels like most of her life—her life, her choice—you haven’t really been living till you met them, have you? 

                                                                                         so? where does that put you now?

     our castaway princess is lost. stranded in her tower. her prince nowhere to be seen. but the crystal castle remains all the same, as magnificent as it is exposed, open for the world to see with little space to hide. which leaves her with little choice but to pack up any (all) unaddressed distraught and shove them to the back of her mouth, where it stays and festers in waves of nausea—occasionally threatening to burst out of her. 

     but outside, outside, she’s fine. as a matter of fact, she’s pristine. picture perfection is the sight of jin hanui among her peers, hair like spun silk with a face the goddess of beauty would envy. had she spent the month prior, week, or night even, crying—no one would know. such were the magic of makeup and proper upkeep. in fact, she looked as if she hadn’t ever known a jeon doyun in her life. all this is expected, however, it wasn’t like mom would’ve let her out the house looking like a mess. and for the most part, she navigates the social waters expertly, feigning obliviousness at the occasional look of pity cast her way (unavoidable with a relationship as public as theirs has been) and laughing off any thinly veiled jeers meant to poke at the flawless facade.

     for the most part—till she found herself sat next to the one person she had forbid herself to think about (a vain, pathetic attempt) all summer. then, comes the pairs of eyes fixated on the two. him and her. jeon doyun and jin hanui. two names that should never be spoken in conjunction again. how funny is it now to have sit them together? or well, she’s sure someone out there thinks this is funny. not her though. hanui finds this more terrifying than anything. just how close she stands to be completely unraveled by just sitting near him.

     doyun, however, understands the game as well as she does. has spent his life weaving through the social elite like she has. and so, whereas hanui is sure he’s equally unnerved by her presence, it does little to surprise her when he speaks up. even if her grip on the silverware does tighten a fraction. but what slips out, despite herself and maybe more to the glee of one han insoo, is poised more sharply than expected.

     floating around in the back of her head is a particular conversation: i’m asking because you and i are friends before anything, aren’t you get tired of being doyun’s little trophy girlfriend? don’t be mad, i’m just saying—what’s the difference between you and the clothes he designs to make him look good?

     “why wouldn’t i be?” she chimes in return, tone light despite the way her mouth curls—a delicate curve that doesn’t reach her eyes. you shouldn’t be happy to see him anyway. “i’d think being an heiress to a conglomerate is a bit of a free pass in,” hanui takes pause, eyes flicking around the table—narrowing at the sight of their best friend a couple seats down—before turning back to the man beside her. “you look good, doyun-ah.” see, now you sound just a smidge bitter.

     “didn’t i get you that?”

if the dramatic episodes and chaotic plot twists comprising the soap opera of one’s life was, as the religious would say, carefully handcrafted by the hands of the divine, then jaehyun thinks he has a serious bone to pick with god.

picture this: jaehyun can hardly remember a time before he had been trying to avoid the likes of han insoo. ah, but that is not to say that jaehyun had known of han insoo for any substantial portion of his life. there is certainly no memory of jaehyun and insoo’s little feet pitter pattering clumsily along marble tiles, wherein jaehyun does all the hiding and insoo does all the seeking, nor are there any inkjet pictures of jaehyun’s vexed scowl next to insoo’s shit-eating grin, for the simple fact that none of those exist. in fact, if one were to pick apart the timeline from since jaehyun had first crawled out of his mother’s womb, they’d come to realise that our golden boy had only become aware of insoo’s existence in his later years—or more accurately, year and a few days, give or take—but oh, he argues, what a worthless addition to his life.

and what he means to say is this: it is undeniable that his year’s virtues are all powerful and influential in their own right, each one a tremendous force to be reckoned with. and yet, as he watches them fall, one by one, like pathetic flies swatted by insoo’s ruthless hand, it is of futile effort to deny any longer:

                                                                                          he’s next.

see, life has a way of surprisingly you, and most of the time, it’s not in the way you want. for life is a cruel author with omnipotent fingers to pinch and plop events and things and people as they so please, all for their own sickening amusement.

yeah, life was a bit of a bitch like that.

exhibit a: here, our golden boy exists in a shimmering lounge. it is an entirely unremarkable scene detailing the humdrum events of jaehyun downing the last of his whiskey finger before ambling lazily towards the men’s. he’s distracted, perhaps even a little buzzed, which is why he might’ve missed the sounds of sobs the first time round. but soon he’s done and he’s washing his hands and the sob comes again, and its timbre coaxes confusion to worry at his brow.

is that a… girl?

in the mirror, he eyeballs the cubicle door left ajar, perhaps entertains the idea of just leaving it and returning back to the script, but within jaehyun’s veins flow the blood of noble princes and knights in shining armour. and so he creeps forth, a finger nudging the door ever so slightly and as it slides open, he catches sight of that girl who’s always seen trailing behind insoo, with blow-out tail wagging and pink tongue sticking out.

great.

“hey—” his is a tone of annoyance as he means to tell her that she’s crying in the wrong spot, but then he catches sight of her running mascara and bloodshot eyes, and it reminds him of the rumours circulating regarding her recent breakup. ah, a broken heart. bellicose as he may be, jaehyun likes to think he’s not a monster.

     she’s not sad. throughout summer, this is a mantra uttered often. vow nailed into crux of her hearth, rusted iron into beating red flesh. as the saying goes, if you hear something enough you start to believe it, and hanui has been diligently so repeating it—in her head, under her breath, into the bitten nail of her thumb. you’re not sad. you’re fine. you will be fine. she knows this routine well—age old, it is method tried and true since the day the crystal castle and her maker (mother, mom, mom, nails as sharp as her touch is warm) reveals itself: glorified display case and keeper. and she? what is jin hanui beyond the pitiful creature on display? what did it matter what she wanted (that friend, her friend, not to wear these shoes, not to learn cello, not to perform prematurely in front of strangers, not to do this, not to eat that) in the grand scheme of things? grand scheme? you are born on display, you live on display, you bear the family name, the role of heir; its weight heavy on your shoulders. and the grand scheme leaves little room for anything else. 

     so she’s fine. she’s not sad. hanui will repeat it till it stands to be more true than false. knows deep inside that she can’t afford to otherwise. can’t afford to prove an already nagging keeper (why did you break up with him? you two were such a perfect fit. you should call him right now, hanui. hanui? where are you going?) right. tonight instead, she finds herself whispering it to the bottom of a wine glass. you’re not sad. you’re fine. on repeat is a mantra since young. a vow spoken to deaf ears. god wouldn’t have time to listen to this. surely, her breakup blues are the least of any higher beings’ concerns. 

                                                                                            but, why does it hurt so bad?

     perhaps breakups wouldn’t feel as bad if it hadn’t been her first official one. if it wasn’t jeon doyun. if she hadn’t attached herself so closely to his person, shared in his highs and their collective lows, found as much as a friend, a dependent shoulder, in him as she did a lover. or, perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt so badly, if the decision itself was on her own accord rather than their hands forced; caught between what the heart wants and the bone deep ache that screams for liberation; to do whatever it was that mom didn’t want, at the cost of her own happiness. 

     fact of the matter was, in yet another futile attempt to break free from the crystal castle, she had handed over her first love—and in return, face the keeper’s scorn, her disbelief, her bony fingers around her neck. talk to me, why did you two break up? hanui had held her tongue to spare the mother and herself. it wasn’t something to bring up, wasn’t something expected of the picture perfect daughter they had conjured up. it isn’t something she can even eloquently put into words. instead, she had deflected (much like she has most of summer) and found her escape from the crystal castle to end up here, in a lounge hopefully secluded enough to not run into any known acquaintances. 

     here, where she’s three soon-to-be four highballs in, our princess sprawls over the toilet lid like a velvet chaise, thin arms hanging off and hot cheek rested against cool porcelain; mourning the loss of her prince. and soon, with the creak of the cubicle door, appears the face of another. not her prince, not even a familiar face, so why did it matter?

                                                                                               “you uh… you okay?”

     nevertheless the answer slips out of her mouth is one recited, bears the unconscious weight of years of practice, feels more and more like a lie every time she says it. “i’m fine,” her tongue quivers around the end syllable, drawing focus back into glassy eyes as she pushes herself upright to properly address the intruder, head spinning with the sudden movement. his role in her story? we’ve yet to know. but her face is hot and her eyes burn, and for once, her age old mantra doesn’t seem to be doing the trick—under the watchful gaze of a perfectly good stranger and the sway of liquor, hanui only seems to want to cry more. 

     “sorry—” she breathes around the dry sob that bubbles upward, throat raw and mouth dry all the same. “am i in your way?” 

IN A BALLROOM IN SEOUL, A DAMSEL LAYS WAITING, BUT FOR WHO?

his grandfather used to compare attraction as an anchor — the one thing that tethered the worst of humanity to do good, to achieve greatness in a solemn existence. changho disagrees; instead, he feels that true attraction ( no, not love) is akin to the lighting bolts that graced zeus’s quiver that breaks apart the night sky. it is sudden and startling  — and often it is unneeded. 

his first spotting of jin hanui has her between two men, her eyes gazing up at one of them like he’s the sun and she is a flower after a dark storm. the other man holds her fingers in a gentle hold, and changho does not think much of her. he recognizes han insoo, a man whose reputation seeps even into the underground; there is nothing to gain from getting involved with one of his loyal minions.

until she turns, his gaze accidentally finding hers — angels do not sing, nor does that gloomy fall afternoon sky clear. but changho’s chest thumps in an odd way – too akin to fear, he realizes the next time he sees her.

tonight though, as he hears the faint chattering of pledges and other members of the society fading away as he slips away from the main hall, he feels the same thump. this time she’s alone, no han insoo by her side as he wines and dines the night away, no prince escorting her through the empty halls.

tonight it is just her and changho. 

     the princess of the crystal castle lives a life paved. built solely on the foundations of prestige and wealth (andtearsandunshedbloodandyearsofwordsunsaid) is the diamond brick road she is destined to walk. led always, hand in hand by two figures at her side. at one point, it was mom and dad. at another, it was insoo and her first love. her empty shell, blessed by deity aphrodite only in beauty and never so much love these days, is opulence defined since the very day of birth, not a single hair out of place nor pore nor fleck of dirt. but what use is a vessel of splendor when it is not yours to control? when your words are not yours, your needs are not yours, your wants and thoughts and likes and dislikes are all not yours.

     even crowned savior han insoo is no different, or rather, perhaps it’s better to note the intricacies between what he expects from her and what mom expects from her. at the most, it’s to thrive, to be stronger, to enjoy life and its lavishes and her repute, to wear her birthright with squared shoulders and head high. at the least, it’s fitting into yet another cookie-cutter mold, it’s being at his beck and call, it’s minding the line (always mind the line). for as much as han insoo has been her savior, as much as they’ve been friends since children, he could just as easily replace her in a moment’s breath. hanui would know, she’s seen it done. (well, who crowned him? you crowned him. you regarded the first ever hand extended and took it for what it was. regardless of the devil’s sneer. or his jagged edges or vile in his veins. you, uncaring of what he stands to be or what he threatens to taint your reputation with, willingly sided with him. everything else, you deserve. everything else, you brought on yourself.) 

     but between the two of them? she would always default to the lesser of two evils. 

     though, if there’s one thing she’ll admit she misses most of mom, is the fact that she’d never leave her alone at an event like this. but perhaps, that’s more her fault than anything. to be by insoo’s side for this long and still possess a disposition like a fledgling trying to make it off the ground has to be entirely on her. hanui can’t help it, that’s the thing, to live a life sheltered for as long as she has means to be entirely helpless without her usual protectors by her side. mom and dad no more. han insoo and her former flame, never meant to be around for long anyway.

     and so, for the first time in her life, hanui stands alone. insoo nowhere to be seen after dinner and he-who-must-not-be-named a heartbreak disaster she left behind her half a semester ago (so she claims). but it’s fine, for the most part, her armor is beautiful, her hair cascades over thin shoulders, down her back, on painted lips is a winsome smile, in her hands a glass of liquid courage. it isn’t socializing she has a problem with. it’s the familiar face she’s been struggling to wipe out of her mind that’s floating in her peripheral that makes tonight especially hard to stomach. smiling and schmoozing without a care in the world. but it’s fine.  it’s fine. her fingers tighten around the stem of the half-full glass. she’s fine. 

                                                                                no. you stupid thing. you’re not fine at all.

     before she knows it, she’s escaped to the halls, tongue wetting her lip as she cards through unread messages to pull up insoo’s chat. but what can she say? i want to leave. i’m going to leave. you can’t. you fucking can’t. not if you want to be any sort of relevant in this place. hanui bites her lip, dragging teeth over soft flesh in quiet contemplation. however, whatever she did or didn’t decide on, it hadn’t matter a beat later—when the deep timbre of another dredges her from her thoughts, and she looks up, only to stare into the eyes of the not so familiar, yet all the same haunting, ryu changho.

     all at once, maybe it’s the champagne, she feels her face pinken, a strange unexplainable crawling sensation down her back coupled with a skip in pulse she intentionally ignores. it’s definitely the champagne. “not really,” she clears her throat, suddenly finding increasing interest in the group chat they’ve been ushered into prior. “i just wanted some air.” 

    “what are you doing out here?”