#baudellare

funny, isn’t it? at first glance, the two of them could not be any more different. her, the classy yet cautious ballerina. the girl full of ambitions, and the talent to reach the stars. him, who is always looking for a thrill; chasing after death. reckless and without any kind of direction in his life. had fate not brought them together all those years ago, he was sure they would have never connected. and yet here they are (and at what cost). 

but as different as they are, they are also alike. two lost souls with their heads in the clouds and their minds full of problems. had they never met, casper is certain that her life would have been a lot easier. a lot more boring too, perhaps, but definitely a lot easier. to him, “boring” had always been one of the dirtiest words in the universe. no matter what the cost, the demigod would never settle for boring. but alas, this was not his life they were speaking of, and perhaps he should have known better but to ask her in the first place. 

but in spite of it all, he smiles. too tired to throw in yet another snarky remark. too tired to fool around. a glimpse of pain in his eyes; gone as soon as it had come. he deserved all of this and so much worse. it isn’t self-pity, it is the truth. the scariest part, however, is that it barely even gets to him. a dangerous combination for someone like him; one who is reckless should at least have some kind of fear to stop him from pushing too far (but not casper, not anymore). 

their hands touch, and the smile fades. it’s ironic how the simple gesture only has him feeling far, far more distant from her than before. these are feelings that he is not familiar with (if they can still be called that: feelings). truth is, he is more numb than anything. there is no use in answering her question. it won’t do anything for him. for her. at most, she could feel victorious. this was, after all, a battle that casper had lost.

but really; he couldn’t care less. 

and so he answers honestly. 

‘i never have any regrets. regrets are nothing but a waste of time. so no, i do not regret letting myself get close to you.’ if anything, haneul had been a gift. she had always given him second chances, even though he never took them on. always been by his side, even when he went off running again. always let him back in, even when he could barely stand on his feet and reeked of alcohol. she had been wonderful, and he had not deserved her. the least he could do is tell her that. tell her, and go. because that is the only thing left to do: to run. 

“could i get four orders of large french fries - extra crispy - and some coke. and that’s all.” 

Ink tastes bitter, something he’s already known for months now but it’s brought back to the forefront of his mind as he listens to Haneul prattle off an order, somehow, while basking in the aesthetic of the diner they’ve found themselves in taking shelter for the moment, Cash’s pinky ended up between his lips, his chin digging into the palm of his hand, some of the ink on his body is permanent, what makes its way to his taste buds? 

Not permanent. 

It’s the start of a doodle he began on the tip of his pinky finger that travels down the lines of his hand, to the edge of his palm, sloppy lines coloring the beginning of his wrist. “Water,” he orders quietly after she’s finished speaking. Cash has high doubts Haneul will share her fries with him but the waitress doesn’t need to know that, he is more than willing to let her think Cash had Haneul order for the both of them leaving him to request his water. He watches her retreating form as he swallows the chemical down, sticking his tongue out a second later as if the air will take away the taste. 

from this

it’s a hidden spot far off the main roads. here, old men and women huddle together like flocks of birds, their conversations loud and cheerful. the smell of tea leaves permeates, a fragrance that reminds her of old memories– her grandparents and their affectionate touches, the whistle of their well-loved tea kettle, crisp winter air trickling in through a neglected window. unlike her busiest days, today, she sits still, mulling over thoughts she’d necessarily abandoned. the heater is warm, and so is her tea.

she’s halfway done with her second cup when the table wobbles just slightly, the telltale sound of a teapot following soon after. “for your friend,” the waitress explains, gesturing vaguely towards the front door. hanuel’s silhouette is easily distinguishable even from this corner of the room- today, it’s a bit heavier, weighed down by the soft frown on her face.

“are you feeling alright? you don’t look too well.” the new porcelain cup is already filled to the brim when she finally approaches the table; jisoo pushes it forward and leans in, examining her friend’s expression. today, she’s unnaturally pale– paler than she already is. “you can tell me. be honest.”

nobody can poison my feelings if they’re never revealed.

(she thinks of 할모니 chiding her in those long winter nights: when tea leaves are left in the cup for too long they become bitter.

does haneul know this, too?)

@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.

[✜ ] my muse collapses in front of yours, all bloodied and bruised.

Seungyoon never thoughtthat working at the grilled meat restaurant could be this exhausting.He got a phone call from his mother earlier this week to help out hisuncle who ran a family restaurant. He was short on employees, and inneed of helpers as soon as possible. Helping a family never madeSeungyoon think twice before, but he somehow regretted it on thefirst two hours on the job. Seungyoon’s mother used to run arestaurant too, but it was too small to ask for extra helps duringthe weekend. She also never asked Seungyoon to do some chores, so hewasn’t sure how his presence would benefit his uncle’s restaurantin such busy weekend hour. He calculated it wrong. It was a hard andtiring labor work. He reeked of smokes too, and fats and alcohol (andalso the bad puke at the front of the store he had to clean up, wherethe slimy pieces of meat were still distinguishable). Somebodyneeds to chew their food properly, Seungyoon told himself as hescrubbed the sidewalk.

He had never seen thatmany people came at once in one place, that he had to move the tablefrom corner to another since the customers were coming in a largegroup of people. From his experience, there had never been a groupdinner after work once  Seungyoon started working at the kindergartenfor two weeks now, because the teachers were also mothers of theirown family, that Seungyoon mostly embraced his weekend in loneliness.He asked god to kill time, but he never expected to get suchemergency call, wiping off a drunken man’s puke on the sidewalk. Itwas Friday night, and Seungyoon promised to god he would never asksuch request again.

The way back to hisapartment was never smooth in addition, ever since Seungyoon paid forthe rooftop place at the top of the hill. The place was cheap, hadenough room for himself, a great view, an average working heater onthe cold days. The alley road was finely asphalted, but the slope wasanother challenge. It was a nice combo after a tiring day of work,with painful joints and stiff neck as the extra weights. There was nosign of his grunt  stopping when Seungyoon walked along, almostreached the top (but there’s also a spiral staircase; so he whinedagain). He wanted to take a long shower and a nice comfort food, andfalling asleep until Monday. He saw the stair and thought how thelong night finally ended in peace.

As if.

On the first step, heeyed a figure sitting down. Seungyoon was not sure who it was, andassumed probably just another drunken old man falling asleep beforehe headed home. He was about to ignore the stranger until the imageof them became clearer. It was a familiar lean figure he knew. Longhair dangling on their shoulders, being blown by the breeze at times.Her face was red and random bruises on her arms and legs. The clenchin his stomach told Seungyoon to speed up, because they were alarmingbad signals inside of him. He kneeled in front of her, calling out aname that usually gave him warmth, but that night it sent him aslight terror. “Haneul-ah?” he said, in a trembled voice. He heldup her head which was lolling over, and Seungyoon caught apparentblood on her features. “What happened—hey, hey!” Before hecould catch any consciousness from her, she was already falling intohis arms.

SEND ➹ FOR MY MUSE’S CURRENT THOUGHTS. // ACCEPTING.

✍ : excerpt from jennie kim’s diary

[ 05 . 05 . 17 ]

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

ah….!! what do i do? i can’t contain my feelings ㅠㅠㅠㅠ what a cruel thing ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ how can i possibly sleep tonight?

how do i begin… hm, today. describing today as ‘great’ would be an understatement. i started it with a dream come true, after all! he finally knelt for me… i knew it would come someday but i didn’t expect it to be today!!! my heart is beating so loudly as i write this down, omg. i got to see us in front of a mirror… who would’ve thought it would turn out that awesome? i thought i was doing it as a ████████ █ ███ favor for him but… it was for me as well. which is just the best thing ever and always the important thing. i got so spoiled after too… i reached ████two summits… ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ and was given sweet xos after the warm and fuzzy finale. that’s all besides the cooking. judging from the reaction, i think it was a success. it was my first time actually making it properly and i’m happy to know i filled a tummy while also curing a headache with another dish, even if it was a simple one.

heol…! i’m being very vague in this entry. why is that? i guess, i’m still a little embarrassed. i was awfully giggly earlier… ew, jennie!! so gross!

here’s the thing about casper wang: nobody really understands the twisted ways in which his mind works. how he needs someone to stay by his side, but how he disappears just as easily. how he can leave without a trace, and come back without shame. without as much as a single explanation, or even the slightest bit of remorse. 

in his life, people come and go. he is very similar. care not about the world that doesn’t care about you, it’s really just that simple. his whole existence had been destined the moment hermes decided he couldn’t control his urges any longer. the deity had been gone before casper had been born into this world, and thus set the bar of his trust very, very low. 

and so, casper too, comes and goes as he pleases.

of course, this does not always go without consequences. good for the demigod, he has grown blind to the bigger part of those. as long as one keeps running, they will never really have to face it all--and that’s all he’s ever done. all he’s ever known. how to keep running. nobody ever told him he might come to regret it all. that there would be a day where his heart would feel so heavy, running would not be an option anymore. who could possible run with a burden as massive as the one he was carrying? it’s been slowing him down bit by bit. gradually, his feet started to stop moving as easily as they had always done, until he finally came to a halt. this is how an era ends. the era of casper wang, the invincible. 

it’s pathetic. irreversible. exactly what he deserved; what he had coming all along.

and yet he finds himself desperately staring at his screen, his heart skipping a beat when it finally lights up. his lips slowly curve into a smile. it’s about as honest a smile as his heart’s feelings are, but the messages are by far more than he had expected. a cruel message is still better than none, he tells himself, because he knows better than to wail in pity. because he knows son haneul, and he wouldn’t have deemed it beyond her to delete his messages without a second thought. it’s what she should have done. now she, too, has to deal with the consequences.

( text ) how can there be a world without me in it?  ㅋ

his feeble attempts at fooling around are not what they used to be, and perhaps that’s for the better. for once, all he wants is to talk to her. to listen to her words, her voice (but let’s be real, she’d never agree to meet up with him, would she?)

( text ) and you didn’t answer the question. i wasn’t part of the question. have i been that significant in your world? is my presence really that important? 

but alas, subtlety has never been his forte. it had been funny once; now, it probably was anything but. 

he falls silent then, slender digits clenching the phone until the color is drained from them. minutes pass. minutes that seem to last for hours and in which he carefully (not) considers the words he writes down next.