devil's backbone

tagged by: @hiddentakers

FAVORITE THINGS:

season: winter colour: burgundy, black, gold fruit: cherries  ice cream flavor: affogato breakfast food: whatever is leftover in the fridge that hasn’t spoiled alcoholic drink: vodka and orange juice, white wines, mojitos in the summer scent: old books, coffee beans, vanilla flowers: roses (he doesn’t really pay attention to flowers honestly) animal: fun fact: he is lowkey terrified of all animals because he was never around them growing up. movie: john wick, midsummer, ocean’s 11 tv show: breaking bad, peaky blinders, squid game  book: the iliad by homer, the night circus, the secret history fairy tale/myth: (he doesn’t have a favourite fairytale unless alice’s adventures in wonderland counts) apollo, icarus genre of music: pop, rnb, oldies basically whatever is playing on the radio that’s catchy and fun to dance to  genre of movies: thrillers, psychological horror movies, and movies filmed in the 80s. he likes the over the top cheesiness of them genre of books: he reads basically anything. classics, fiction, nonfiction. he has a particular interest in books with a focus on influence, persuasion, and human behavior, autobiographies about artists and musicians 

HAVE THEY EVER:

ridden a motorcycle: yes stolen something: yes eaten an entire pizza by themselves: yes broken a bone: yes as an adult and as a kid fallen asleep during a concert or movie: no walked out of a movie because it was so bad: no  dined & dashed: yes held a gun: no gone skinny dipping: yes cried during a movie: yes smuggled food into a movie: yes lied to get a job: yes tried to see how many marshmallows they can stuff in their mouth at once: no been kicked out of somewhere: yes been on a blind date: yes ghosted someone: yes bragged about something they haven’t done: yes said i love you without meaning it: no gotten in a fight: yes fallen asleep on a bus: yes

MISCELLANEOUS:

how do they take their tea or coffee: he is not picky when it comes to the temperature. he’ll drink tea/coffee hot, lukewarm or cold. nor does he care about how much milk it has or if it has any at all. he just asks anything he orders to be made without sugar  what is their ideal date: going to a drive in movie after a day of exploring a city he’s never been to before together  what are some of their guilty pleasures: late night trips to 7/11 to buy junkfood and cheap alcohol, binge watching shows, reading gossip magazines at the bookstore first job: cashier at a 7/11 in highschool can they cook: when he actually reads and pays attention to the recipe he’s a decent cook but most of the time he’s too easily distracted or bored do they believe in the paranormal: no and he thinks it’s funny when people claim that they do because he believes it’s all in your head. he’s that guy that will walk through a haunted house and not be bothered. do they believe in love in first sight: yes because he’s a romantic at heart have any special talents: he’s good at reading body language, sleight of hand, and surprisingly pretty good at repairing things (mainly because he tries to find ways to save money anyway he can)

is this where pies go when they die, @orionin ?

“want to stop here for tonight? there’s vacancies and i really need to stretch.”

the words steal her away from the deep end of a dream, turning to him as she stifles a yawn. she quietly nods to jongin, resting her head against the glass once more, battling to keep her eyes open as the garish neon sign of the hotel comes into view. it’s pink and half the letters have gone dark, but it was easy enough to read even through the blur of lingering sleep.

LOTUS INN

it’s the only place they’ve passed along this seemingly endless stretch of road. a shortcut, jongin had insisted, and because she’s never driven in her life– haneul couldn’t really argue much. besides, she trusted him. though his taste in accommodations is questionable.

“are they even open? just looking at it is making me itch–”

its enough to elicit a laugh from the other, but they still turn the corner into the hotel’s empty parking lot. the car’s clock reads 2:23 am just before jongin turns the engine off. whilst he goes to the back for their things, haneul stays put, eyes glued to the building before them. 

it didn’t look any different from the usual bed and breakfasts she’s seen before: two floors with a plain white facade. rows of flowering bushes bordering the path up to it and single a cat resting on the front steps. some of the windows show signs of life, lit up yellow with shadows moving about. a small piece of comfort, it barely eases the ill feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“hungry?” jongin knocks against the driver’s side window, bags slung over each shoulder as he motions for her to follow. she gives the hotel one last look over, before running after the male– there’s no way she’s walking through the parking lot by herself. 

the check-in went smoothly enough, the person behind the desk was about as normal as they come. a younger woman, about her age, who informed them that the lotus was a family-run inn. quaint, haneul thinks. taking the keys and thanking the receptionist before going to their assigned room.

up the stairs and a left. room 203 with its fading gold plaque and equally time-worn doorknob. haneul gives jongin a look, one that says icantbelievethis before proceeding to turn the key. the knob gives a rather loud click and the door whines when she pushes it open, but the room wasn’t as bad as she had expected.

sure, the floral wallpaper has since faded from a blush pink to pale yellow and the furnishing is tell-tale of the inn’s age, but nothing smells and the two beds look cozy enough. the TV only has two channels, however, and one plays static– which makes her quickly turn it off for the sound is mind-numbing. “at least they have room service.” she informs him, whilst flipping through the two-page menu. “sandwiches… salads… ah, i wonder if it’s real fruit juice they’re serving?”

the ballerina picks up the phone, only to let out a startled scream as she lets the receiver drop to the floor. the buzzing sound coming from it, still audible. jongin walks over, giving haneul a look– icantbelieveyou– before putting the phone back on the nightstand. “it’s old, things like that happen. i’ll go order the food myself and you… stay put. try not to break anything?”

she responds with a huff and a pout, plopping onto the bed. the door clicks and she hears it close, half-wishing that she’d gone along with him, because suddenly the room seems all-too-big yet small at the same time. haneul tries to shrug the feeling off, reminding herself that they will be back on the road again in just a few hours.

( there’s a theatre in a remote island village where no resident is over the age of thirty. a village that’s painted in hues of pastel; yellow, pink, and blue roofs dotting the scenery from above. they always have smiles on, those residents. greeting every visitor with such warmth that it makes them feel like home, makes them want to stay. stay and live in one of the white houses with a candy-colored roof, tend to a neat little garden, and feed the cats whenever they come through. oh, those cats. those cats with the too-black eyes. they watch and watch and make sure no one gets to leave. )

haneul nearly falls off the bed as she pushes herself awake, away from the village and the cats and that awful dream. on the other bed, jongin is sound asleep; stirring just slightly when she gives him a careful poke to the shoulder. she wants to wake him so badly, but what for? it was only a bad dream and nothing more. still, she remains seated. refusing to close her eyes out of fear that she’d fall back into that dream.

she’ll wait until sunrise. it’s only a few hours more, after all.

Jongin blinks when Haneul agrees, or rather, doesn’t insist that they stop somewhere else for the night. It’s out of character for her given the place can’t even begin to compare to the five star skyscrapers they normally occupy. But on a night such as this when it’s getting harder to keep his eyes on the road he takes he silence as a yes, turns the turn signal on, glances over his shoulder then takes the next exit. 

So what if there’s a letter out on the sign. It’s better than sleeping in the car Jongin thinks when he steps out. Parked this close, the brilliant neon sign stains their faces pink and it sets an eerie tone of what they would soon find out an unanticipated long stay.

While she fusses with things that Jongin couldn’t be bothered with such as the television and the phone he takes a seat on the bed after he puts away their things. He digs into the pocket of his coat and takes out a set of worn cards as he glances around the room. There’s something off about the room-- no, not the room, beyond that of the strange vivid colored lighting but rather the hotel in itself. Like there’s a restless spirit. And Jongin knows a thing or two about sleepless ghosts. He shuffles the cards for a minute then stands up, walks over to the window and moves the curtain just enough to peak outside. He turns sharply when Haneul lets out a sharp scream and drops the phone which he picks up with an amused smile. Never letting on that he’s suspicious of it too. He tells himself that it’s nothing dangerous otherwise the place wouldn’t be operating. The windows would’ve been boarded up and the place plastered with keep out signs or demolished altogether. 

He sets the phone back on the receiver then gives her another pointed look. Then says he’s going out to find food when really it’s an excuse to explore the hotel a little. It’s late, few people are bound to wander around. He highly doubts they’ll even want to cook up something given breakfast will be served in a few hours. There’s a strange energy in the hotel itself and he wants to know why. Eventually he makes his way to the front desk, asks about the city. Truthfully he doesn’t even know where they are other than there’s a mill nearby and that there’s a lot of greenery.

He gets back to the room and forgets that he was to get them something to eat so he conjures up a few sandwiches before he reenters their room. He places an small enchantment on the door for safe measure. That pulls what little energy he has left from him and he after a few bites he passes out soon after. He sleeps through the night with strange dreams of an unfamiliar face.

The next morning he learns there’s a group of business men from Norway staying at the hotel. They’re loud and rambunctious making it impossible to sleep in. Aside from them, he learns that the city doesn’t get a lot of strangers. 

Rather than eat at the hotel and listen to their drunken morning singing, Jongin convinces Haneul to go with him to the local diner. Where the pies are apparently legendary and hey, Jongin likes diners. He likes listening to the locals talk and the waitresses are always offer up good information and rumors. Although the one they get asks too many questions. Wants to know where they’re from and such and he keeps his answers short but polite and once she’s gone he pulls out the cards again. “There’s something off about this place.” Jongin says as he shuffles the cards then pulls out and sets a single card face down on the table. “I’m not sure what it is exactly, it feels like a restless spirit only worse.” He pictures a question clearly then flips the card. When the waitress comes by to refill their coffee he’s quick to swipe a hand over the card and immediately it looks like a plain deck of playing cards. Temporarily an ace for the time being.

“love, you’re being silly again.”

silly? perhaps, perhaps. what does she really know anyway? jongin does magic tricks– no, it’s something else. it was no mere sleight of hand, those things she had observed. how she had come up with all sorts of SILLY explanations just so she could rationalize every ABSURD occurrence that happens around him.

so yes; she was silly– ridiculous– for even thinking she knew or even understood anything. when all this time she’s been nothing more than a number in the audience, unaware of the role she was playing.

the realization causes her to laugh inwardly. exasperated. grasping at every single thought and fraying at the edges. it’s the same kind of strained laughter that she gives him in response; because he’s still out of arm’s reach and that’s the only thing keeping her from slapping him with her still-trembling hand. it won’t hurt him much, but it will get her point across.

he knows just how much she loathed it when he acts this way. and on top of everything else.

she walks past jongin with her hands balled into fists, but hidden away in the folds of her dress. in the same way, she conceals her tense nerves; tucking it away neatly. pulling her spine straight instinctively. her gaze wanders around jongin, but never quite settling on his figure. 

everything seems to be in place; except for her, except for him.

“tea, please.” she responds curtly, grateful that he’s not leaving her to fill the silence. the music has since faded into nothing but a hum, the guitar player and every rose-tinted scenario that was playing in her head cutting into black. deleted scenes.

she catches sight of the pocket-watch in his hand, a pulsing metronome counting down the seconds whilst she watches his reflection on the polished surface of a full-length mirror. “your shoes don’t go with those trousers; and that coat–” she notes, out of habit and out of spite. “is way too expensive for me to rip a hole in it.”

was it said out of jest or will she have to watch herself around him from now on? worry carves itself into her features, the mirror does not lie, and the way she keeps checking her surroundings belies her insouciance. they’ve never been openly confrontational; everything, even their arguments, had always played out with subtlety. comically, most of the time.

and she would never associate him with being dangerous, but the familiar softness in his visage is nowhere to be found. in its place is an expression she’s unable to read, not without having to really look at him and she can’t quite do that just yet. they’ve always mirrored each other in more ways than one, so she fears what she might find. though, far greater is the fear of who she might lose once they confront the facts.

so this would have to do for now.

“is a car coming to pick us up or did you prepare a pumpkin beforehand?” 

There’s a stiffness to his movements as he prepares the tea, choosing silence rather than start an argument over shoes. “I’ll change them before we leave.” It’s ritualistic for him at this point avoiding quarrels and preparing tea. The later was something he could do in his sleep. The former, however, to the untrained eyed was just his way of being a trained gentleman. And though it was within his personality to avoid conflict it was also a defensive strategy to deflate a raised voice. He didn’t like arguments and he especially did not like those that escalate from raised voices to full yelling. 

And this is how the evening is going to end Jongin thinks as he readjusts his tie in the reflection of the kettle. He pulls a comb from the breast pocket within his vest and tidies his hair while the water comes to a boil.

By the time he sets the cup of steaming tea in front of her it’s a quarter till 8. 

“There’s a car.” Jongin finally answers the question taking a seat. He leans over to untie his shoes and it’s then the distinct smell of cigarette smoke is noticeable again now that the candles are unlit. The heavy smell lingers—— “it’s probably from past inhabitants or from their neighbor, an older gentlemen who smokes like a fish next door” Jongin would say after Haneul yet again voiced frustration at not being able to mask the smell that morning.

Now it’s funny. Jongin didn’t smoke... often. And when he does it was it was either for social purposes or an excuse for a moment to himself and though he hasn’t admitted that he’s also apart of the problem with the occasional dip when she was out shopping or asleep. He can picture how she would react if she found out: unhesitating, unrelenting, seething. There wasn’t any fault in that —— it’s just at this moment it becomes evident they’re used to this. And now that he’s keeping things from her their dynamic has changed, not entirely but it was not the same. What’s really funny is he’s read the cards — laid them out once or twice, in her name but never with this situation in mind. And he now he can’t put a finger on what her reaction may be if he comes out and says it. The cards have all taken different meanings now.

The car ride there they’re both strangely silent. He is used to that but tonight they’re not clicking. It’s like they don’t even speak the same language and he’s thankful they’re not performing tonight. It’s just a dinner, press photos, and a few questions. He doesn’t think they could handle more than that tonight. 

FAVORITE THINGS:

season: autumn colour: white, cream, anything neutral colors and occasionally deep red pie: he’s not a picky eater so any will do haha fruit: plums  ice cream flavor: affogato breakfast food: black coffee and depends on what he has... he likes to eat food that’s light but will also give him energy  alcoholic drink: champagne and white wine soda flavor: none, he doesn’t drink soda... ever. scent: rosemary, and lavender  flowers: he’s cheesy as hell so white or red roses animal: cats. movie: he doesn’t watch movies that often. the only time he watches movies is when @baudellare drags him to see something she’s interested in or makes him watch one of her favourites... although he did like Leopardi (2014)  tv show: his current favourite is the crown but again he also doesn’t watch t.v often and doesn’t even own one. book: the list is never ending: hamlet, the great gatsby, the last tycoon. He is always reading something and that is what he does instead of watching tv and movies. superhero: none. he doesn’t idolizing anyone after his experience with his mentor fairy tale: the snow queen (not the disney version) genre of music: classical and occasionally he’ll listen to smooth jazz. he doesn’t listen to pop, rock, or alternative music but not because he’s pretentious... he grew up his whole life with his mother turning off the radio and only allowing him to listen to classical music and he just never switched from it genre of movies: he likes movies that focus more on day to day life and are in a historical setting. genre of books: any and everything. he may not watch movies but he’ll read the book version of it without hesitance. it doesn’t matter the subject, genre, or popularity.

PICK ONE:

hot or cold juice or soda tv or movie movie or book late night talk shows or reality tv twitter or instagram trees or flowers philosophy or psychology ocean or lake water park or amusement park cats or dogs fresh water or sparkling water sugar or honey cookies or candy bath or shower morning or night running or walking piercings or tattoos frozen yogurt or ice cream vanilla or chocolate caramel or butterscotch art or music t-shirt or button down text or call ghosts or aliens

HAVE THEY EVER:

ridden a motorcycle: no stolen something: yes eaten an entire pizza by themselves: no made a prank call: no broken a bone: yes fallen asleep during a concert or movie: yes walked out of a movie because it was so bad: yes (but only because haneul was bored) been on the phone with someone for longer than 2 hours: yes dined & dashed: no held a gun: no ding dong ditched: no gone skinny dipping: no cried during a movie: yes smuggled food into a movie: no lied to get a job: ...kinda? practiced lines in front of a mirror: yes tried to see how many marshmallows they can stuff in their mouth at once: no been kicked out of somewhere: yes been on a blind date: no ghosted someone: yes bragged about something they haven’t done: no said i love you without meaning it: yes gotten in a fight: yes fallen asleep on a bus: yes

MISCELLANEOUS:

how do they take their tea or coffee: with a little bit of honey and sometimes cinnamon what is their ideal date: walking and learning about the person he’s interested in. showing them his own compositions or they show him something they love and are passionate about what are some of their guilty pleasures: going to bookstores and buying whatever he finds interesting, spending a day in the city and people watching, sitting on the grass of a park and soaking up the sun  longest they’ve stayed up for: three days straight when he was a teenager and his mentor made him travel from city to city to read fake people’s fortunes and to give performances to earn money biggest purchase: his car...  greatest talent: his ability to keep his composure even when angry, tired, sad, or afraid strange habits: his weekly cleaning routine and being obsessive over making sure everything is in its place. (he has ocd and if anything is moved or not put away immediately he starts to panic among other things. this only effects him in his own house or living space which is why he never invites anyone to his home or if he’s out of town and sharing an apartment space with someone he will insist that he has his own room. first job: reading fortunes and creating potions when he was 13 can they do a handstand: yes can they cook: he can and does. do they believe in the paranormal: yes and no do they have allergies: no do they believe in love in first sight: he does and he doesn’t at the same time. he believes it exists for other people but he himself has never experienced it nor does he believe he will. have any special talents: his ability to play music by ear. he still prefers music sheets (perfectionist) but he’s able to listen to a piece once or twice and learn it entirely by ear and has been able to do this since he was a child.

TAGGED BY: @baudellare thank you lovely

( per: @orionin​ )

“Open the door, please.”

as it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end. 

at the elysian, they were first taught the art of falling and that trust only comes second to it. one must learn how to fall with grace, whether or not there were hands ready to catch and bear one’s weight. had it not been repeated to her one too many times? to not rely on another, that there will be no safety nets. trust can get broken so easily and is often too fragile to last.

perhaps that’s why it took her a while to trust jongin and why she continued to trust him despite the curiosities she has been observing. not wanting to admit that she had been wrong to do so. choosing the comfort of what she wants to believe over facing the unfamiliar, what he had been hiding from her all this time. 

it began with the cherubs, the fading frescoes which decorated their living room. he had been playing a new piece on the baby grand whilst she fought off the summer heat with a glass of wine. when she noticed the flutter of tiny wings, she thought she had been dreaming. but she saw it a second time, then a third; when she pointed it out to jongin, he merely laughed at her.

“no more wine for you. you’re starting to hallucinate.”

and perhaps she was, that time. but all the other instances? not quite.  

still, she trusted him. even after the thorns on her costume became as pointed as his words. in anger, she stormed off to her dressing room. once out of sight, she let it all fall. cocooning herself in layers of tulle, unable to control her body from trembling. she did not understand, but she did not question him either.

she’d find jongin waiting outside for her, hours after. hands offered up in lieu of words, which haneul accepts with only the slightest hesitation.

even now, his patience has not worn thin.

“i see him.” she responds softly, now perched by the open window. like a scene from a renoir, the man plays to an audience of night revelers. souls drawn to him like moths to a flame, their silhouettes glowing beneath the lamplight. the sight of which makes her heart ache. “it was in navigli, when you insisted that getting lost was our initiation to the city.” the man plays, missing notes here and there, but the melody remains inviting and soothing. she turns to the dark wood door, picturing jongin resting against it. 

she wants to tell him that they’d have more sleepless nights. more mornings walking around dazed and fatigued, but content. that there were plenty more hours to lose in museums, in all their simple pleasures. but she’s also weary of the illusions. 

“his reason is no different from ours. why we’re both still here despite what we now know.”

Her voice is soft in such a way that after being left in the silence for so long he is left in doubt that she spoke at all —— he doesn’t trust himself for it wouldn’t be the first time that he has fallen prey even to his own illusions. Though this, usually, only happens in either desperation or when his inner abandoned child rears its ugly head and he wants acknowledgment or some display of affection with such intensity that he unknowingly effects all that is around him. 

Jongin takes a breath in as his eyes focus on the floor, studying the details of it as he listens to the music. There’s a skip in a beat and little unnecessary pauses between notes that suggest lack of regular practice and on the floor there’s cracks in the tile —— all of which would not exist had this been one of his illusions. And it’s all the mistakes that give him peace because that’s always been a fault of his... perfection. 

Just he’s assured that he has had no hand in this occurrence and that tonight, it was just man trying to make a honest living outside their door and it is her voice. Jongin relaxes by closing his eyes and allows his shoulders to rest against wall. And he’s allowed a full moment of bliss before his assurance is shattered. 

“what we now know.”

Slowly, his eyes slip open again. And there’s another minute which he has to think about her words then his jaw sets in a way that if she could see him through the wooden frame she might even smile at him cheekily in that knowing way of hers when she’s said something to irritate him on purpose and after various attempts, finally achieved her goal. Only there is no curve to her voice that suggests she’s being playful this time. 

He’s been careless and caught —  “love, you’re being silly again.”

The words he speaks are sweet to the casual observer just on the off chance that there are other ears listening in. However, he knows to her they are uncouth, dancing on the edge of being downright terrible. It’s a rule between them to never use terms of endearment in an condescending manner and he’s done just that. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing up what he carefully set only moments before. 

His eyes catch the time on his watch they’re due to make an appearance in roughly an hour or so and there’s a still small voice that tells him that they’re not going to make their appointment tonight..

There’s silence on both ends of the door now as he sits and as usual his patience outweighs hers. Eventually the careful pad of her feet against the tiled bathroom floor like a cat in the dark does not fail to catch his ears only now his heart nearly stops at the sound of the old door opening. 

And though he knows exactly what comes next he dreads it all the same. How will she look at him now that he’s confirmed her suspicions with anger or worse, terror? After months of carefully concealing all that frightens her from him is it the moment that she realizes that all that she feared was in front of her all along? And what about the stories he’s yet to tell her — how can he begin to explain that he was both Degas and his victims all in one. 

Jongin doesn’t move when the door is fully open he does stand but only to grab his coat.

Casually he grabs his coat off the back of the chair he left it on and makes a point of checking his pocket watch and doesn’t look at her. His jaw is still set in such a way that suggests mild irritation (unusual for him). Haneul already knows that he refuses to directly answer a question that haven’t been directly asked.

@baudellare 

“Open the door, please.” 

One minute of silence pass of complete silence. Jongin focuses on the light beneath the bottom door — he lets another minute pass this same way then knocks on the bathroom door with the back of his knuckles for a third time. “You know we can’t talk if you refuse to let me in….” 

A brief pause, the shadows cease movements. He knows her well enough, seen it for himself too many times to not know how her movements are kept to a minimal as she looks in the mirror with her hands gripping the brim of the porcelain sink hard enough to make her pale hands even paler as they loose circulation. “Let go of the sink, Penny.” Jongin leans against the door frame now, arms loosely crossed over his chest his back to her even as the closed door divides them.

“We have a performance tomorrow, don’t do this– not now, please.” 

And it’s both a plea to her and himself.

The mention of work is normally both of their breaking points. The achilles heel in either of their tempers or stubborn ideals, it was such a strong point that when touched gently one could easily abuse either parties dedication and passion to achieve absolute perfection even if only for 30 seconds in brilliant limelight. 

Tonight however he had made the mistake of confronting her after their performance because what is the night to a pair who have insomnia, and ride the high of yet another near perfect routine. The midnight hour was a welcomed friend to either of them by now that followed them from Seoul to Italy on a mid-summers breeze.

“Outside your window there’s a man roughly in his middle 40s playing the classical guitar, he’s fumbling on a few strings almost like, he hasn’t played this song in a long time.” Jongin leans his head against the door closing his eyes as if he can hear him as well as she can. “Haneul, can you see him?” 

It’s a pity, really— dark hallways, humid nights, and tired limbs. This is not how he envisioned his month milan to play out with him in the wrong after being careless, and bluntly ignoring the signs that she was beginning to take notice of what he was doing. Jongin breathes in, thinking of how when he lost his temper this evening the roses on her costume grew thorns. 

He can’t seem to erase the look on Haneul’s face when she pricked her finger on a thorn.

Jongin reaches over and hits a random key on the piano as he refuses to look at the studio mirror, knowing already what he’ll find there. 

“A little too close to home.” Jongin says, confirming her words. A tiny look of concentration falls onto his face as he hits another random key, then another. There seemingly isn’t any correlation between the keys he plays, never actually playing anything that resembles a tune but what he is doing, by varying the notes is casting a spell in disguise. Each vibration, and each variation of sound act in place of words, the order designed specifically to chase away the ghosts in the room.

He can feel the shift in the air. A chill that kisses his skin before it moves to kiss hers before leaving. Jongin looks up, observing the raise of sudden goosebumps on the skin of Haneul’s bare arms and shoulders, adding. “But the idea is not entirely un-doable.” 

After all, they both have secrets to tell so why not channel their stories through their art? It’s a great idea the more he thinks about it. He’s already imaging it on stage and how to bring what haunts them both to light. He nudges her arm back, a small smile replaces the frown. “I think resting up early tonight will do us both good. I think we’re both near to hallucinating something strange because sometimes, if I stare hard enough, I swear the dancers in the Degas painting move every time i blink.”

He helps her gather her things before walking her out of the studio. As he shuts the door behind himself his eyes catch sight of the light of the afternoon as it is fading, the last of it lingers on the piano and its ivory keys. He breathes a sigh then shuts the door tight. 

[SMS: Kim Jongin] I do not understand, I always let them know it is completely natural to make mistakes. That flaws are the only pathway to any actual improvement. None of them are foolish. That is not a word I would use to describe any of the students. [SMS] I suppose… I need some work with my communication. [SMS] Yes, 2:15PM. After your rehearsal, is what we agreed to.

Marco’s the type of person who exists in front of him, but is never present. Even now, as they exchange conversation, his eyes are never still, his hands never remain, and his mind seems to be elsewhere, wherever the distraction lies. Sometimes he wonders if the real Marco lies in a room three hallways down, behind a bolted door, with all the attempt to hide from the smallest bit of darkness, like a child, distressed before slumber.

In him lies just a boy, after all, afraid of something he cannot fathom to understand.

“Alright.” He should question, the boy, sometimes. But instead, he greets the man Marco pretends to be, because he’s learned that there is a way to converse with the boy behind the man, with much less confrontation, and less remnants of the dark lurking around them.

He takes Marco’s hand, and knows it’s a step outside of their current boundaries – but he wants the dark to disappear quickly from around him, and has learned this is the quickest way. “You inspired it. Let’s start there.” Their steps lead them out of the auditorium and into the hallway, where the light greets them, reflecting and refracting in all the ways that makes Marco seek comfort in it. Sori’s eyes glance over to make sure, trying to finding the look of relief in the other. “You inspire a lot of my pieces. I am not sure if you know that.” 

And the dark does disappear quickly to leave behind two questions.

The first: Curiosity. Marco nearly draws a blank and nearly doesn’t believe Sori when he says that he serves as an inspiration to him. It’s a fact that makes him swell with pride and cause a smile to spread on his face at the thought. Sori’s compositions weren’t something to be taken lightly, pieces of music Marco often liken to sonnets except in musical form. 

The notes lovely, sweet, and yet complex - the composer even more so.