#heyheize

It is a quite sunny day in Seoul. So sunny that it is almost impossible for oneself to not take an advantage of the weather– and that is what Seunghyun has been doing, enjoying a bottle of beer under the sun at some local cafe while waiting for his friend. It’s been a while since the two of them met due to their busy schedules, and for whatever reasons their past meetings had not been for leisure but work. But this time is different, they are finally lucky enough to find one out of the seven days to spend together.

He follows instructions, while not completely lost and pretty tech savvy, these types of hacks can't really be done off the cuff. Luckily an annoying old lady's hammering in his ear, is not solely annoying, but also very helpful. He is in a small room with crammed tables, where every piece of furniture has a wear and tear feel and look to it, while the computers are new, almost shinny compared to the layer of dust that covers everything else. Jung-hoo likes coming here because it hangs in the balance, its sort of like limbo, if limbo smelled of stale coffee and cheap sugar. He didn't pretend to be someone else, and he didn't say who he was. It was almost the perfect place for him. Stretching his back, he stared back at the ones and zeros, eyes blinking repetitively and quickly to shun away the endless exhaustion that he felt from the night before. As the doors opened and slightly creaked, he barely looked up to notice his fellow no name companion.

                                                             "Now, I'm sad." 

He quickly replied, fingers moving against the keyboard. He already knew her name, he knew all of their names. The nameless faces that hunched over their keyboards, faces glued to the screens as if they were looking at something holy, something not allowed for mere human eyes. Not that he cared, but it was a precaution. Who knew if these online vigilantes were there because they were planning the next revolution of if they were there to spy on him, being paranoid was boring, in his line of work it was just part of the job.

                              "Please should be a part of that sentence somewhere."

 Pushing himself, the chair rolled back and twirled right in front of the old coffee machine, he poured two cups and rolled himself back, placing her coffee on the desk opposite him. It wasn't clear to him what was exactly wrong with the coffee, somehow it was either bitter or too sweet, and no matter what he tried, he just couldn't get the taste to be right. 

                                  "Do you have anything, I'm starving, I was...." 

He was cut off by a beeping noise, at first he thought it was her phone, or maybe his, was he having a stroke? He couldn't figure out where the sound was coming from, but then the turned off computers started turning on one by. "This doesn't happen usually does it ?" He already knew the answer to that question. "Can you check what this is ?" He spoke, already hearing faint sound of typing inside his earpiece. 

                            GET OUT THEY ARE COMING GET OUT THEY ARE COMING 

“Breathe”

And I run from wolves tearing into me without teeth.

Dahye had lost count of how many issues she was currently handling by the time her phone lights up, plopping yet another urgent matter onto the list. It is not that it sounded urgent… it was just personal. A rare occurrence, an assignment that had crossed borders, broken boundaries, rattled her perfectly glued-together picture of an immaculate detective.

“Hunter,” her voice bends under the heavy weight of fatigue, “I have to be up early tomorrow.” They both know very well that isn’t a no, and they also know she isn’t very good at being firm and inflexible when it comes to denying him when he needs her — or justsomeone there. Lord knows she despised ostentatious lifestyle, the fact that one of his shoes probably cost more than her rent, his perfectly polished everything. Having grown up in the middle of nothing, known the value of hard work, she was programmed to be satisfied withjust enough. Jealously? Oh, but why, wasn’t he just as lonely? Didn’t they bleed the same?

“Do I wanna know if you’re only calling because you’ve had a few?”

『 ✝ 』     MAINTAINING ANY KIND OF RELATIONSHIP WITH HUNTER  is similar to loving a  FLAME;  whether platonic or romantic in nature. oftentimes, the fire is low and manageable - just a hint of bright excitement and amazement about him; that passion that keeps him  BURNING  high, but at a rate where he would not blacken his skin while burning himself to a crisp. on other occasions, the fire is  TOO MUCH TO BEAR,  too bright or too hot or too DANGEROUS  as emotion overpowers him and causes him to make decisions he is sure to regret once he’s been tamed - IF HE COULD BE. or, the  WORST  option ... the flame goes out. he’s nothing, he hardly feels anything aside from a dark, deep sadness which weights every single one of his bones; making them too heavy for his skin. tonight has come to be a time where there is no fire:  where he’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling as numbing alcohol circulates through his blood and makes his stomach  TWIST,  though he knows he will not vomit. he’s trained himself well enough, by this point. 

                 his fingers barely grasp his phone;  most of what keeps the device upright is his hands positioning against his mattress - the rose gold contraption basically propped up against his palm rather than actually being  HELD.  his eyes close, a shaky breath taken in through his nose as his lips quiver - does he actually  WANT  to say anything ?  not particularly, no - he’d rather just listen to dahye talk about something meaningful;   for all he really wants is for someone to give him attention, to verify his existence as a  ‘HUMAN BEING’  and not some untouchable entity, or even something far  LESS  than whatever being mortal actually  MEANS.  no matter how human he appears, he will never understand that ... he can only make notes by observation, only come to educated conclusions. but no, he will never know what that means. he isn’t human ... SO WHY DOES HE WANT THIS ? 

                 truth be revealed, hunter isn’t entirely sure what it is he does want. something like equality, something like love ?  it seems that way, but he isn’t in the state of mind to try to understand whatever  HELLSTORM  is happening between his heart and his mind right now. he just needs someone to be there for him, and dahye always did that ... he hates to feel as though he’s taking advantage of the care she seems to have for him, but he doesn’t know where else to turn. there’s pressure behind his eyes, like he’ll cry - but nothing comes out. nothing happens. he doesn’t even feel  ALIVE.  he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings, at least not right now ... though it would benefit him, he’s too scared to acknowledge them. because if he ignores them, then they don’t exist ... RIGHT ? 

                 he just wants her to talk him up. to pull him back into the real world, because he doesn’t know where he is right now. he’s been thinking too much about the past, and it’s resulted in some ugly, warped reality where nothing but  PAIN  can be felt. that’s all he can remember feeling back then, anyway - he forgets more about his mother and father every day.  ❛  sorry,  ❜  he breathes in response to the fact that he’s taking up time she could be using to rest. his voice is slightly slurred, but steady enough to let her know that he isn’t  INCOMPETENTLY DRUNK.  just enough to numb him a little, he’d wanted it to make him happy - but he failed.  ❛  i jus’ ... need someone t’ talk to. about anythin’. my head feels totally empty.  ❜

from ( x )

For her, grocery shopping isn’t entirely a chore-- more of a break, some treasured time on her own in face of the hectic schedule ahead.  In the early hours of the day few customers are present, and those who are are regulars of the morning lull. She’s even started to memorize their faces- waves cheerily at familiar figures as she slips through the entrance with a tote slung over her shoulder.  

“More like I tripped and landed flat on my face. Then I saw the lines.” Dahye sighs, a hint of desperation laced in her voice. She allowed herself to fall heavily on a chair as her friend worked on a Victorian dressing table. Always so methodical, patient and precise. Frankly, she thought most of those pieces were an eyesore, but boy did she enjoy watching it all come together, and the smells of the products used, especially wood-specific ones. That and the company, of course. Everyone needs someone to talk to other than themselves. 

Dahye’s words blend into one seamless string of thought, ringing at a near distance behind the acute focus of work. Mi slides a square of fine grit sandpaper across the old beveled edge of the dresser, fingertips applying precise and even pressure, feeling for the perfect balance of friction beneath. Straight across. “Whoo-oo-oosh,” she narrates aloud, trailing off into just -shhh as the paper reaches the back, at which point she turns toward the thump behind her. And grins, despite the fatigue that drapes itself over her friend’s limp form.