woomin stares at the other, the corners of his upturned lips twitching ever so slightly. “ what, could i possibly do for you at this time the day? ” he is one annoying bastard, whatever could he want now?

---

Han was quiet the entire time, his empty gaze, that was filled with more curiosity, more interest in the other than they were capable of showing, following the kid before he was following with his body, feet carrying him to sit near the other and simply wait. Wait for what Noir would give him as a reply, for the face he would make while showing what ‘something happy’ is to him. He hadn’t exactly expected for the other to lead him to a piano, nor had he expected for ‘something that makes him happy’ being that tune, melancholic, beautiful, upsetting, comforting.

          gaze  downcast  :  her  pale  yellow  optics  watch  closely  as  the  dirt  she  kicks  beneath  her  feet  rises.  the  sounds  of  cars  that  run  down  the  road  beside  her  create  a  sense  of  uneasiness  :  so  her  guard  is  up  already.  even  before  a  single  event  has  occurred. 

---

     it’s a motorbike. a motorbike! hyunjung can’t help but pause by the bike, just standing there, admiring it from a few steps away. he’s always been curious how it feels to ride one but knows his mother would murder him if she ever found out he did. it’s dangerous, she says in the back of his mind and hyunjung hears her clear as day even over the music playing from his headphones. still, he could just stand and admire it for a little longer and just, take it in.

-. @gutmeout

—

“That question is too vague, little writer,” Han wants to quip, but the line misses the tone the reaper would have wanted to add to it. The atmosphere wasn’t right for a mocking comment, or even a joke that was meant to save himself from the eyes of Noir, rather than actually be delivered because of whatever sense of humour Han liked to display.

Right now it feels more like the right moment to remain quiet. Or speak softly, gently, as if afraid that they may bother the wind if they’re too loud.

To anybody else, anybody who still had a beating heart, getting lost in the woods might be a scary notion. Han doesn’t belong to that fraction, doesn’t belong to the living, so for him, walking around in unfamiliar areas in the middle of the night, was a way to pass the time and not something that’d actually bother him.

If it wasn’t for the writer.

Without the writer, he would have felt nothing but quiet appreciation. He would have kept silent, both inside his head and outside his lips, simply letting his gaze wander, his mind free of all those thoughts that seem to have made a nest in an already restless mind.

But with the writer, it’s like not a part of him could truly calm down, while actually feeling calmer than he’s ever felt before.

Just being tugged along like that, had made the reaper frown, stare down at the kid as if he had grown a second head, or perhaps only because he couldn’t wrap his head around the notion that the living was making him feel something.

But he had ignored it. Tried to, at least.

But now? Standing there and watching both stars and moon seem to race one another as to who could illuminate the young living’s features sooner, it felt like nothing at all and everything there was, was happening inside Han’s chest at the same time.

When in reality, a dead man shouldn’t feel anything remotely close to that mess.Or anything at all.

He stands right next to the living, hands in his pockets, gaze trained intently onto the writer’s features as if staring would be enough to provide an answer to this situation.The only one he gets is one he doesn’t want to think.

---