they’ve been impossibly busy. but that’s what happens when you’re high in demand, when the public is buzzing about cross_over and redux insists on striking while the iron’s hot. which means what, exactly? simple. it means schedule after schedule. it means smiles stretched thin, tightness in the face, back of her eyes burning from fatigue. it means feeling less human as days go by with priorities placed on the image she sells as over’s leader. it means all of that and sparse moments otherwise to breathe. all of that and little time to herself for the things she loves.
well—maybe love is too loaded of a word for it.
things she indulges in is more suited. gratification, at the end of the day, was the goal here. be it a long jog around the neighborhood or otherwise. though, to speak of otherwise we first have to set the scene. to draw notice to today’s main characters: one ko suran and one ban jisung—and between them? a flurry of faces and names suran can’t properly place, but greeted all the same upon stepping foot into the elevator. which, much to her dismay, gradually filled up with every passing floor on the way down.
she resists the urge to sigh, gaze fixated on the screen enclasped in manicured hands. with every additional body, she takes a step to the right, trying her best to avoid bumping into anyone. on/off on/off on/off till she’s stepping on the shoe of another’s, eyes lifting to meet their gaze, apology at the ready. oh? “sorry.” suran mutters, head bowing whilst she takes a step back.
there’s nothing to explain further, nothing to even say further. after all, there’s nothing else between her and ban jisung that warrants it.
save, the way her lips curve, partially impish, knuckles brushing against the side of his thigh when her hand lifts to run through her hair. minute movements barely picked up upon by the busy eyes of others though—that’s the point isn’t it?
patience comes easy when there’s nothing to anticipate. he’s half an hour early, courtesy of a last minute cancellation that pushes his schedule far up enough to consider it a blessing.
the meeting’s supposed to be held on some nth floor. he’s stuck somewhere halfway, elevator doors wide open to let the throng of busier-bodies in. no greetings, only the common decency to step back and make the most of the already-little room they’ve got to work with.
by the 6th stop, a familiar side profile slides in with the rest, unnoticed. his gaze remains elsewhere. neither of these things are meant for permanency.
stale, circulating air turns a degree warmer in a matter of minutes. jisung’s eyes stay glued to his phone, thumb scrolling then stopping, a show of attention with no intent or need behind it. a (not-so) foreign weight moving over his foot gives way to its shift, slowly lifting from a slew of left-read texts to find suran’s face.
to anyone else, all he returns is the bare minimum—the customary wordless half-nod, and the foot moving away. those that’d know to look closer would see how his eyes slide to the right to catch the coy tug of her mouth, and the momentary stillness at such a fleeting touch.
for a moment, he does nothing. and maybe that’s all it really is: the shoulder that bumps against hers when the elevator groans to life again, the playfully light flick at smooth skin right beneath a skirt hem before that hand drops back to his side. body language at its most innocuous, and most purposeful.
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