ichigo ichie: ‘one time, one meeting’; an encounter that only happens once in a lifetime, reminding to treasure every moment, for it will never recur.
/ circa 2015
there are little rivulets of purple at the bottom of her dress, folding around her knees like a lily pad. or icing on a cake. hyeri can never decide which. she can still picture her father’s beaming eyes, shy and crinkled at the edges, as he hands her the box on her twentieth birthday. it fits her a little awkwardly around the shoulders and cinches her waist a little too snug, but she loves the dress like no other. he, however…
“you look like a fucking cupcake, love.” it’s his monotone voice cutting through her daydreams. then the obvious snort that’s smothered into the corner of his elbow. parker does his best to keep a straight face, but his toothy grin gives him away. “s'alright. i’d still eat ya.” hyeri simply rolls her eyes.
“and you, mister, look like a fucking criminal.”
he’s grown out his hair again. long strands framing his deep-set eyes and that damned scar next to his forehead. some fight at a bar. or whatever. uh huh.
“what’d i tell you about dirty words in your mouth, lee hyeri?” she huffs. pushes herself off the grass and smooths down her purple lily pad. “you’re so full of shit.“ tops it off with a cross of her arms, cock of a brow to match the very tongue-in-cheek way she says: “i'd never let you eat me.”
he cackles and hops up from his spot, reaching her in a single stride, same old beam in his eyes. manic, a little bit distant, but always warm. he grabs her by the waist and pulls her close. “hyeri,” soft. meaningful. hyeri, the way that he does. ( always, always warm. ) “you don’t know what i’d do to you, sweetheart.”
she smiles knowingly as he pulls her closer, nose to nose, then stands there breathless as he steals the gravity from beneath her heels. there’s a small gust of wind under the bridge. river currents are slow this evening, folding over each other like lazy waves. like the clouds he’s placed under her feet.
she heaves a breath, voice leaving her in a shy whisper just as the wind lifts the hair from his eyes. “i think i do.” he purses his lips, questioning. watches the wash of her cheeks turn from pink to red.
“do you have me, parker?”“…hm?”
the wind stills. evening shadows elongate the outline of her dress on the concrete below. early autumn chills touch her from head to toe, but his eyes never leave her face.
( always, always warm. )
“you got me?” “hyeri…”“do you?”
they sit in a pause. he dwells in his answer, and she in the hopes that he’ll change the subject. that he’ll forget she ever asked. that he’ll –
“i got you.” and then she’s lost in his bone-crushing hug. “i got you. i promise, sweetheart.”
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it’s a relief that his heart doesn’t writhe like before, that nostalgia isn’t as agonizing as the open wound it had been.
but it’s the same uneasiness that hides in places that he can’t reach, like the crooked smile on his face letting her know that exhaustion has swallowed him whole again. it’s in the empty space lingering between them, in her gentle smile and forgiving eyes, in the way their gazes connect both deeply and not at all.
i heard you were doing good, she says, and he nods his head like he understands. like his life depends on it.
“yeah, i’ve been okay. it’s good to be back.”
it’s time to let go, ‘park.
one by one, he picks up the parts of himself that he had left behind in seoul: languid sways and comfortable silence, undertones of dusk settling beneath the city, and the white noise between his ears when she calls his name.
they’re all his. they’ll always be his.
(because some things just don’t change.)
some of her favorite things: ver. 10:00pm / dry roses on the wall. petals on the floor. candles melting and moonlight streaming in through the windows. blue and cold and twice as fluorescent as the lamp in the corner.
“can i ask you something?”
some of her favorite things and parker in the middle of it all. a rerun of january and april and june.
“did you even...” she doesn't wait. “did you even sleep over there?” what about timezones? she doesn't ask.
she sits at the edge of her seat. legs crossed at the ankles. tousled locks unbrushed and tossed over her shoulder. mouth twisting in vines, unraveling at the roots. tongue like the ocean as it pushes and pulls at her words. “you were drunk the whole time, weren't you.” finally, she laughs. “that's the only explanation.”
( for lost calls, lost connections. misplaced messages and the ocean in between them. )
“that's good, 'park. you look okay.” here's to changing seasons and the smile she somehow finds again. “you're okay.”
1. getting this tattoo! .. soon. i need a little more moral supportㅋㅋ
2. i wanna settle down on a farm one day - 10 years, 20 years from now? someplace where the air is fresh and the sun stays out until late at night. someplace with a field of sunflowers, with my 3 kids, 4 dogs, and a goat heh.
3. going back to the beach with you ( and pouring sand down your shirt 😊 )
nothing but the air freckled with sea salt, sand in between her toes, and the cigarette in between in his fingers. nothing but ocean for miles, and it couldn’t be anymore blue than this.
“remember the day we met? the sky was just this color.” his words exhale in a veil of grey smoke spreading thin, then thinner until all there is is blue for miles again. blue for miles and her fingers catching the tail end of his shirt. she laughs.
“you remember that?” she sinks into the sand as the tide rushes in, quiet as she watches the waves kiss the shoreline. “sounds too romantic to be true.”
he stalls with a long drag. exhale, then another. for a moment, all is grey, silence hanging heavy like the arm that droops around her shoulder. she picks up his cologne and sighs, catches the waves leaving the shoreline with another foamy kiss as his voice breaks through the grey. it’s nothing but blue again, but all she can see is his mouth forming soft around his words: “i remember when it matters.”
hyeri hums through the silence, through the gentle crash of the waves, and the blue of it all. “does this count?”
nothing but ocean for miles and his smile behind a veil of smoke.
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did i send my url already for the thing? @hedonyms
SEND A URL AND I WILL ANSWER THE FOLLOWING ( not accepting ): my boo @hedonyms
Do I Follow Them?: i endorse hedonyms
Why Did I Follow Them?: honestly it’s been so long, i can’t even remember LMAO - but! i saw great writing and a great muse idea, which is all i really care about, so why wouldn’t i follow
Do We Role Play?: yes. we’re both slow and all we come up with are sad af thread ideas, but we make up for it with cute hcs
Do I Want To Role Play With Them: i guess… u aight
An AU Idea For Our Muses: au where they get their shit together
A Song For Our Muses: too many songs to choose from but anthem ( x. ) all day
Do I Ship Our Muses?: dude
What I Think About The Mun: my best baby :(( one of the few i can talk to on a regular basis and never feel like the conversation is getting dry. it’s rare to find people you can really click and vibe with, but i’m glad i have you to put up with all my muse ideas and rants so we can make our children suffer together. i hate being cheesy, but you change me. ifwy 💖
Overall Opinion: parker is one of those muses that you can’t help but look at twice. one of those muses that is layered in an incredibly intricate way and the more you get to know him, the more you realize just how complex his character is. there’s something about your writing that kicks him out of that cliche trope of a “sad fuckboy,” like it’s clear that he’s not just another sob story. every part of his background is embedded into his personality, the way he talks, the way he approaches not just his own self but those around him as well. and it’s something that really draws you in as a reader, because you’ll never really ever know just what makes him tick. he’s a very clear muse, but he’s also a huuuuge enigma at the same time. idk how, he just is. and that’s what i love so much about your portrayal of him. nothing seems too overdone or underdone, but it’s that moderation you keep in mind for him that makes him such a perfect balance of the good and the bad of any faulty human. not to mention, he’s got the sweetest soft side ever, and i feel obligated to expose it always because everyone should love parker as much as hyeri and i do.
tl;dr keep doing you boo. you’re amazing and talented and i love you.
@hedonyms continued from that emo ass starter you wrote:
“what the fuck are you going on about.”
she's tired. there's never a moment for an in-between, a safe-zone, a grey area that doesn't test her limits the way he does. parker pushes her to her highest, has her heart bursting at the seams, mouth swelling and full of laughter he coaxes from an unkempt tangle of inhales and exhales. sometimes it's banana milk, sometimes the vaporizing sigh of his cigarette just before it reaches the sky. sometimes it’s nothing at all, but she still feels full anyway.
“don't smile at me.”
now it's the bitter aftertaste of her words, tongue sharpened and heavy with everything she wants to say but can't. someone had once told her she was too honest, that her lips were too free and untamed. there's something about boys like parker who shut her up with a single glance, a single flash of that sad smile that has her swelling up again. not with laughter but with something blue and ice cold, bruising her from the inside out.
“just shut up for a minute.” her head hurts. everything skids to a stop and collides inside her mind, then resumes the push and pull of heart versus mind, mind versus hands. hands that ache to touch and bruise and make a point because she doesn't see any other way. “i'm here, aren't i? i came all the fuckin' way here, jooyoung, so now what.” the sun sinks from its crest for the night and they're left standing in the middle of the lot, shadows cast dark and long from their heels.
12:55 amhe looks tired.“parker.”he’s drunk.“hey, lover. missed you.”maybe this will be different. (maybe this time.)“go home, ‘park.”maybe, maybe, maybe-“i am home.”he is home.
12:56 amthe stale stench of alcohol wafts down the empty hallway and tickles the tip of her nose, pooling like dust in her palms, like pain that could tear through the sky, split it in two: his half and hers. it does little to glorify the collective wretchedness standing like pride in front of her. there’s a lipstick stain on his neck, smudged prints of ruby embedded into the fabric of his shirt, hair tousled in a tangle that her fingers itch to tame.
“you look like shit.” hyeri starts to reach out, hands carved like the kind of softness that is unfading and timeless. the kind of softness he knows best.
he laughs, and her arms fall back to her sides.
12:58 am.“you’re fucked up, parker. so beyond fucked up i don’t think ‘fucked up’ even cuts it.”
he laughs again. “i know. will you take me anyway?”
she practices nonchalance like the words gone unspoken, throat gone dry; she is delicate fingers and petalled lips, like forgiveness, like surrender, like the door that shuts closed behind them when she pulls him inside.
