*ﾟ unveil me / 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕚𝕣 !

                  the   presentation   of   a   challenge   was         always  a  surefire  way  to  peak  joo’s  interest.    a  natural   janus   :   junhee  had  spied  into  the  heart  of  him  once  and  only  grew  more  intrigued  since.    a  quiet  pretender  /  unless  she  prods,    and  joo  is  more  than  happy  to  do  just  that.    so  happy,   in  fact,   that  she's  already  starting  off  her  saturday  heaving  him  along  to  the  nearest  shopping  district,  without  any  real  intent  of  buying  much.    instead,    her  singular  purchase  gets  held  up  in  a  final,    actual  explanation  of  what  exactly  they’re   doing   here,    dangling  the  tokens  ardently :

        ❝   whatever  !  who  cares,  right  ?  not  me  !  my  name  is  akira  and  i  don’t  care  !  .  .  .  okay.  maybe  i  care  a  little  bit.  ——  do  i  sound  crazy  ?  i  sound  a  little  crazy,  right  ?  i  just  hate  that  she’s  wearing  the  same  dress  to  the  gala  as  me.  i  told  her  weeks  ago  that  i  wanted  that  one.  it’s  so  messed  up  !  would  you  ever  do  that  to  someone  ?  no  !  of  course  not  !  it’s  a  freakin’  hand  encrusted  crystal  piece  -  where  the  hell  would  someone  even  find  that  ?  it’s  insanity  i  tell  you.     ❞

          JOO  HAS  ALWAYS  STOOD  particularly  tall  in  tamsin’s  eyes  —  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  and  admired  all  the  same,  and  she  finds  herself  dancing  in  her  storm  willingly.  this,  however,  is  new  to  her:  the  girl  tiptoes,  hesitates,  pauses.  tam  moves  away  from  the  door,  offering  her  friend  a  way  in  if  she  wants  to  take  it  and  step  out  of  the  cold.  «  no,  no,  »  she  insists,  hand  reaching  out  for  the  other’s  arm  in  quick  protest,  «  i’m  not  busy,  don’t  be  silly.  come  in  !  »

                   if   there’s   a   way   to   define         junhee,    it’s    inconsistent  .    brat  of  a  girl    /    bronze - shielded  without  an  ounce  of  glory.    her  relationships  prove  just  as  sparse  as  her  presence,    but  olivia  is  something  of  a  platform  within  that.    joo’s  request  is  as  typical  &  sporadic  as  usual  :    just  something  to  let  her  toke  up  a  few  times  in  the  upcoming  weeks.    until  she  needs  her  again.    at  a  surface  level,    this  could  very  well  lead  to  the  usual  suppressed,   bubbling  guilt  at  the  root  of  her;    but  she  only  feels  excitement  instead.    creeping  desire.    their  meets  became  something  to  look  forward  to.    a  treat.    without  the  overabundance  that  made  it  grow  tiring  .    and  with  a  curl  to  her  lips  at  the  end  of  liv’s  doorway,    junhee  simply  asks,

‘ whoever  said  hot  cat  shit  makes  good  hand  moisturiser  was  ABSOULETY  fuckin’  wrong. ’

@CHUCHU: pls help i think i’m getting senile and losing touch w the kids already @CHUCHU: what the FUCK is lofi music i keep seeing it in my suggestions. @CHUCHU: also if u know any other slang that might be useful help me out.

         DAYS  MOVE  LIKE  THEY  are  made  of  raw  honey  —  sticky  pages  in  a  book  that  refuses  to  turn  according  to  tami’s  wishes.  days  move  syrupy  without  the  sweet,  and  tamsin  sits  in  them  patiently  waiting  for  good  moments  within  a  bad  existence.  she  has  also  found  that  a  good  portion  of  those  moments  are  spent  with  junhee.  seeing  the  other  girl  on  her  door  immediately  puts  a  smile  on  tami’s  face  when  she  opens  the  door  to  greet  her.  «  this  is  a  pleasant  surprise,  »  she  joyfully  exclaims,  eyes  falling  from  the  other’s  visage  to  the  helmets  in  her  grasp.  «  what  are  you  up  to,  stranger  ?  »  she  silently  finds  herself  begging  that  joo  will  find  an  excuse  to  drag  her  out  of  the  apartment  —  after  days  spent  in  her  own  company,  tam  could  need  some  new  impulses.

the last person that sejun wanted to see was junhee. he had spent the last week just ignoring her existence – because every time he did think of her, it just brought up anger and feelings he hadn’t actually sat down and thought through, yet. mostly because he just…wasn’t ready for it. the longer he could live in ignorance, the better – he figured. but maybe that wasn’t always the case. part of him actually missed her. how could he not? she was the other half of him – the more reckless half, but still a part of him. there were times over the past few days where he would pick up his phone and open their messages – wanting nothing more than to send a text, or even call her to hear her voice – but then the anger came back and he reminded himself of what she had done and he had to stop himself from throwing his phone across the room.

another thing he had been doing, was pouring himself into his work. it provided a much needed distraction and his anger often brought out the best in him when it came to this. sejun had heard his studio door open and shut, but he figured it was austin or some one else – so when he looked up and noticed junhee standing there, a sour expression painted his face. “nothing you need to know about.” his tone clipped, trying to ignore junhee – but she was just looming over him. “if you think some food and an ‘i’m sorry’ is gonna magically fix everything, you’re wrong.”

                   a  shoddy  attempt,  she  knows.         and  she’s  not  so  dense  as  to  forget  that.    but  she  hates  it.    she  hates  it  so  much.    it  tugs  &  it  pulls  &  she  feels  a  strange  hollowness  in  the  room,   clutching   them  like  claws.    wolf  fangs  /  blades  /  cutting  deep.    she  isn’t  used  to  it.    they’ve  been  so  good  at    getting  over    things;    even  her  rambunctious  nature  felt    understood    when  at  her  brother’s  side.    a  clutch,  her  grip—    barricading  her  ruins  before  they   collapse .    now  here  he  is,  suffocating  her  with  the  only  presence  that’s  ever  let  her  breathe.   her  eyes  itch.    they  burn  sharp  at  the  blinks  she  uses  uses  to  suppress  them,    the  skin  of  her  cheek  pressed  between  her  teeth.    she  brings  the  bag  up  to  her  face,  a  forced  grin  brightening  it  from  dejection,       ❛   it’s  thai   though.   ❜     she  tells  him,    voice  singing  lies  &  false  stipulations  /  forced  ideas  that  this  solution  could  be  so  easy.    all  the  words  leave  is  a  taste  of  bitter   defeat   at  his  expression.