there’s this way in which he’s seemingly shrouded in mystery. glint in his eyes and the curl of his lips, he’ll massage the many tales of his nine lives into the curious ears of his adoring fans, yet there is not a soul that can confidently admit to knowing him. through and through. inside out. for the most part, he prefers it this way. understands the undeniable allure of the unknown, the eroticism of danger, enough that he readily dons it like a thick fur coat over his naked torso. and how does he accomplish this, one might ask? well, the answer is relatively… simple.

there is a lot about park beomseok that park beomseok himself doesn’t know. nothing of his past, of all the occurrences that preceded his birth. and it’s not meant to draw pity, has never been an incessant curiosity that plagued his waking hours. in the bluntest sense, beomseok simply doesn’t care enough to find out. and he prefers it this way. not knowing why his parents abandoned him or the kinds of lives they lived. it’s of little relevance to him. besides, he’ll say, the mystery adds to his allure.

but what happens when he does find out?

it’s weird, these feelings that he barely knows how to juggle. finding out that his mother was an air fairy narrows down the population by a fifth. given his age, that further cuts down the possibilities enough for him to almost wish he’d paid attention in math. and he’s tried it on for size, let this titbit dribble into the ears of a select few if only to see how it felt. beomseok’s paraded the many tales of being an air fairy more times than he could count from before he found this out as a fact, but after, it somehow hits a little too close to… well, ironically, home.

so he tucks this piece of him neatly into the sleeve of his heart, in a way that one disposes of candy wrappers when there’s no proper place to trash it and they don’t want it sitting in their hands.

of course, it would take an air fairy to pluck it out. he’s roaming around the party, gladiator helmet in one hand, when he hears it spill from rorin’s loose lips. and it… bothers him, in a way that he’s never felt bothered by much of anything at all. beomseok thinks to ignore it, or maybe he’ll entertain it by taking charge of the narrative and twisting it into a half-truth, but there’s just no other way to describe it. he just doesn’t want it out. so it happens quick, the way he approaches her from behind to wrap his naked arms around her, one arm curling intimately around her waist while the other fixes firmly over her mouth.

“ladies, gents,” he addresses the crowd, never mind the fairy that he’s held captive against her will, “i’m gonna have to borrow my girlfriend. she’s had a little too much to drink.”

and it’s in this way that he carries her out into the balcony, her back to his chest as he drags her by the waist. it’s only when he feels the cold breeze that he lets her go, pays her an unfittingly maddened gaze hidden behind an ingenuine smirk.