hiatus.

 he  knows  he’s  right.  

 forgive  me,  for  all  the  things  i  did.  but  mostly  the  things  i  didn’t  do.

 “there’s  no  need  to  apologise.  it’s  not  your  job  to  babysit  me  when  i  grow  up.”  

 not  his  job  to  take  care  of  junso  the  way  he  did  —  most  idols  are  mere  colleagues,  after  all.  pitiful  young  things  pitted  to  compete  against  each  other  before  their  fates  become  entwined  for  the  formation  of  a  group  awaiting  debut.  many  get  along  fine,  some  do  not,  with  curated  gestures  of  affection   acted  for  the  cameras  to  fuel  fans’  delusions.  but  it’s  different  with  them  —  it’s  always  been  different.  everything  happened  organically,  from  the  initial  hesitance  to  yunho  finally  yielding  to  his  vexing,  yet  inescapable  charms.    

 yunho  is  as  close  to  a  brother  he’s  ever  got,  still  he  doesn’t  owe  him  an  apology.

 “i  don’t  know  what’s  a  nicer  way  to  tell  you  this,  but  you  don’t  owe  me  anything.  you  think  you  owe  everyone  a  piece  of  you,  but  you  don’t.”  it  is  true  that  he  has  missed  yunho  terribly,  but  never  has  he  felt  entitled  to  his  attention  when  the  older  has  so  much  on  his  plate  that  requires  his  full  attention.  “i  just  want  you  to  be  okay  —  that’s  all  i  want.”  

 so,  a  pointed  look  is  all  she  gives  him  when  he  points  out  her  glaringly  obvious  clinginess,  before  she  detaches  her  limbs  from  him  in  a  silent  protest  and  stretches  her  arms  like  a  cat.  “i  didn’t  realise  it’s  such  a  crime,  clinging  to  someone  i  married.”  in  a  drunken  daze,  but  a  marriage  nonetheless.  who  knew  she’d  be  tied  to  someone  in  this  way  one  day  and  accepted  the  fact  fully?  that  she  would  be  this  comfortable  with  the  idea  of  wasting  away  a  perfectly  tranquil  sunday  morning  in  the  most  mundane  way  possible,  hiding  away  from  the  drizzle  that  drums  carelessly  on  the  sheets  of  glass.  

 it’s  terrifying,  still.  when  she  thinks  too  much  about  it.  it’s  why  she’s  stopped.

 hazy-eyed,  she  taps  on  an  empty  spot  on  the  mattress,  content  when  a  loitering  hera  catches  the  cue  soon  enough  and  hops  to  nestle  next  to  her.  perhaps  this  is  why  she’ll  always  prefer  cats  to  humans  —  they  just  know.  “maybe  i  should  cling  to  you  instead.  daddy  doesn’t  want  to  play.”  she  whines,  overly  theatric  as  she  wraps  her  arms  around  the  ball  of  fluff,  as  though  her  human  companion  is  forgotten  entirely  already.  

 the  worst  thing  about  it  all?  there’s  not  a  glimpse  of  guilt  that  kyungsoo  feels.  why  should  he  feel  bad,  when  it’s  only  him  reuniting  with  the  love  of  his  life?  why  should  he  feel  bad  when  it  feels  so  right?  it’s  as  though  the  world  withered  away  in  black  and  white,  but  with  him,  all  the  colours  come  to  life.  

 they  could  be  taking  a  brisk  walk  home  like  any  ordinary  night,  but  he  is  having  the  time  of  his  life.  the  easy  chatters,  the  laughs  that  come  without  a  hint  of  pretence  —  it  has  always  been  this  natural,  this  effortless  when  he’s  with  eden.  

 what  is  there  to  feel  bad  about  it?  

 “you  said  you  still  have  a  week  left,  didn’t  you?”  then,  what?  he  doesn’t  want  to  think  about  it.  he  doesn’t  want  to  think  about  anything  other  than  to  just  be.   rumination  about  the  future  can  come  and  ruin  him  some  other  day.  nothing  matters  more  to  him  now  than  what  is  right  in  front  of  him.  shuffling  feet  stop  in  front  of  the  door,  the  designated  place  to  say  their  goodbyes.  but  eden’s  hand  is  still  entwined  with  his  and  he  cannot  remember  the  last  time  november  felt  this  warm.  

 calloused  fingers  find  eden’s  cheek  again,  before  they  pull  him  close  for  a  goodnight  kiss  that  leaves  him  breathless  once  again.  it  has  always  been  this  easy,  losing  his  mind  for  him.  the  whole  world  disappears  in  the  blink  of  an  eye.  there  is  no  one  left,  no  one  else  but  them.  “well,  i  guess  this  is  goodbye.”  he  drawls,  words  damp  in  the  little  space  left  between  them,  his  lips  still  not  quite  leaving  the  other’s  before  he  whispers,  “  —  or  do  you  want  me  to  come  inside?”

 there  is  something  off  about  this  man.  despite  the  tailored  suit  with  a  price  tag  enough  to  send  shivers  down  most  people's  back,  the  fancy  car  that  earns  admiring  glances  from  passerby  near  without  fail,  everything  that  affirms  that  he  is  someone  who  belongs  in  this  world  of  high  art  and  pretentious,  snobby  patricians,  something  tells  her  he’s  anything  but.  

 she  cannot  tell  what  it  is  yet.

 is  it  the  way  he  carries  himself?  the  way  shadow  lightly  sways  in  the  depth  of  his  eyes?  the  way  that  the  same  shadow  tells  her  that  if  there's  somewhere  else  he  could  be,  he  would  be  there  in  a  heartbeat?

 his  hands.  

 yes,  his  hands.  

 they  are  too  calloused.  too  rough  around  the  edges  for  him  to  be  one  of  them.  

 he  is  not one  of  those  men  who  collects  for  a  living  or  has  all  the  time  to  squander  on  loitering  about  galleries  and  museums,  but  someone  who  works  for  them.

 someone  who  squanders  his  own  time  for  them.  

 someone  who  gets  his  own  hands  dirty  for  them.

 what  a  pity.  

        she,  too.  what  a  pity  indeed.

 “depends  on  what  you’re  looking  for.”  is  her  crisp  reply.  a  hint  of  a  smile  underlines  her  voice,  before  the  corners  of  red  lips  lift  in  a  calculated  move.  “but  i’ve  been  told  i’m  a  great  searcher.”  searcher.  fabricator.  it’s  all  the  same.  whatever  it  is  that  the  seeker  seeks,  she  will  bring  onto  canvas  and  breathe  life  into  with  the  strokes  of  genius.  over-the-moon  about  the  masterpiece  they  have  managed  to  secure  and  can  soon  brag  about  to  their  impressionable  friends,  they  will  walk  away  satisfied,  as  will  her  greed.  a  temporary  joy,  but  a  joy  nonetheless.  it’s  great  doing  business  with  you.  my  pleasure,  always.  with  a  smile  practiced  to  perfection,  she  extends  her  hand  earnestly,  the  trace  of  trepidation  nowhere  to  be  found  on  the  beautiful  façade.  “choi  hyejin,  but  you  can  call  me  lea.  how  can  i  help  you?”  

                haneul feels more at ease in seojung’s arms. he does. he just feels a lot all at once, and even though having his friend so close is starting to settle him, he still pulls away to look at seojung with watery eyes and a wobbly lower lip. “i didn’t know what to do,” he offers as an apology. though, he guesses it could be expected that he’d go to seojung first for anything because he has. many times. but it’s only because he knows, and he shows up for haneul time and time again. still, he’s very honest: “you were the first one i thought of.” and while he’s being honest, he does feel a little guilty for pulling seojung away like this. and now that he’s looking— actually looking— at him, he frowns, knowing how tired he must be, and standing with haneul despite it. it makes him wonder if that’s just something normal friends do– if it’s just something they do. either way, his arms relent around seojung’s frame just to grab his arm instead. he was to leave, of course, and they can’t possibly climb out the window while haneul’s doubling as seojung’s backpack. because, obviously, that’s the only way to escape this party without his mom getting upset. obviously. “the keys are— shit, the keys are by the door.” haneul sees them in his brain, hanging happily on a silver ring where he’d placed them before being swept away. just thinking about how far they are from leaving has his eyes watering again, and he smushes his face against seojung’s shoulder. “i wanna leave, seojungie. please.”