#mconlight

under sober circumstances, haneul might remember what seunggi’s said to him— file it away in his mind to remember when he has a guitar in his lap and an album due date on the horizon. he might pull away with a sad sort of smile, a that’s okay kind that would cover the soft sting of rejection he’d be nursing on his own. he’d probably stick to himself the rest of the night— only talk to the wall he’d hold up with his back and the taxi driver on his way home.

but it’s funny, how the alcohol relaxes him— how he smiles so easily and softly that his nose scrunches and constellations find home in his eyes. he feels as young as he is when he offers a playful, “just one,” as he leans closer, drink sloshing in his cup. “we’re celebrating.”

haneul's cute, seunggi thinks. when they first met, he couldn't help but find his fascination fell a little more on the cliché side of things— what, with haneul's hair and his shoes and his bracelets. (he looked like he belonged on an album cover right out of an eleven year old seunggi's ipod, if he was honest.) but after hearing and listening and wading beyond that odd sense of nostalgia, he sees haneul for what he is:

a drunk guy on the verge of spilling his drink to get a chance at seunggi's lips.

and trust seunggi: if there were maybe two more drinks in him, he'd probably be doing the same. but there aren't, so he doesn't.

seunggi knows he's been... off. after texting consistently enough to make plans (another date?), he hasn't been the most… talkative, maybe? or— he’s been talking, it’s just felt like a whole lot of nothing. too many ‘oh’s, ‘that’s crazy’s, and ‘mmm’s to seem genuine, you know? and the realization is mortifying for him because he wants nothing more than to be here and present with haneul. but it feels increasingly impossible with every moment as the weight of what he knows grows heavier on his shoulders.

the realization that it kind of just seems like he doesn’t want to be here is equally as horrible, because it’s nowhere near the truth. he understands haneul’s reaction, but— it’s devastating to hear him ask seunggi if they’re okay? that he needs to hear him say that they’re okay.

seunggi wants to say they are— that everything’s great! but that would be a boldfaced lie and seunggi’s tired of keeping secrets.

“hannie, i— i have something to tell you.”

haneul's retired, for the most part. given his still-healing body (and, furthermore, his mind), his family decided long ago that he wasn't fit to take on all of his previous responsibilities when the reality of his (unfortunate) life continuation set in. he still manages his businesses– still makes his appearances when he needs to– but his life is much quieter now as he attempts to figure out what living is. quiet, if not empty. quiet, if not lonely. so all in all, haneul should not be here. here, gripping his steering wheel with white knuckles as he weaves in and out of lines of traffic– his suit sitting snugly on his tense muscles as a reminder of what was supposed to be a nice evening for him. a quiet evening, where he was supposed to meet new people to continue to grieve his failed relationship with the one person he's ever loved. which– "sorry," haneul breathes, his lungs suddenly remembering how to. (he distantly wonders if it's possible for his car to be out of oxygen with how difficult it is to breathe. is this the anxiety his therapist talks about?) "i didn't–" his hand reaches out, slaps the power button of the stereo– "i didn't know that– i didn't know that and, it– it was– i just– i–" realistically, it was probably a simple robbery. everyone probably would've walked away unscathed, although with empty pockets. it's just... haneul heard the scuffle over the buzz of excitement that came with the gallery. he saw seunggi beside him and the only thought he could come up with was to get seunggi out. whether or not seunggi would want to be anywhere with him hadn't settled in until now. now, as the back of the next city's welcome sign minimizes to a little speck in his rearview mirror. now, as seunggi's still beside him and– jesus, is it hard to breathe in here? "i panicked," he manages. haneul's barely able to pry a hand off the wheel long enough to loosen his tie before the grip is back. the panic hasn't faded. seunggi isn't far enough yet. "i didn't know what else to do."

the last time they "saw" one another, haneul had told seunggi to think about visiting his gallery opening and, funnily enough, seunggi hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since.

it's almost cruel, how merely seeing haneul with his own two eyes and feeling his soft skin under his fingertips again could so quickly chew up seunggi's sanity. to, of course, only spit him out in a damn button up with yellow orchids in hand after miraculously making it to the gallery without throwing up his lunch. and yeah, maybe seunggi had to give himself approximately ten separate pep talks just to walk in the front door, but he wasn't quite sure that this was right. meeting haneul on accident was one thing, but to walk headfirst into something that he and his therapist knew he wasn't ready for was something else entirely. he'd gone over the pros and cons list they'd made together over and over, to the point that sense didn't seem to exist anymore and he'd no choice but to go with his gut.

so, while he's sitting in haneul's passenger seat again for the first time in a long time, he wonders what his night would've looked like if he'd listened to his head instead.

he doesn't quite know what to say, nor is he used to haneul not knowing what's going on—— not with these kinds of matters, at least? he just watches as they zip between cars, horns loud but not loud enough to shake haneul of his panic or seunggi of his stale dissociation. both of his hands are stuck in his lap, fingers of one hand disastrously picking at the skin of those on the other, as he tries to disappear back into the seat, trying to keep his breathing steady and the tears in his eyes from slipping free too obviously.

"you don't— you don't need to be sorry," he tries, voice meek and syllables paced so equally that it's clear he's not completely there. no, he's back to where his orchids fell to the floor from where they were hidden behind his back, too nervous to give them to haneul so blatantly, and all too ready to let his body drop to the ground, too. he's back to where haneul's fingers felt so tight around his wrist that seunggi didn't feel like he could breathe as he was dragged, wanting to scream because the— the last thing they needed was to bring attention in a situation like that, right? it was better to listen! to follow directions and hope there'd be mercy to follow!

still, seunggi believes haneul when he says he didn't know what else to do. believes that haneul had both their best interests in mind— and their being however-many-cities-away was more than enough to prove it. which—

it feels nice for a moment– being treated gently. haru's body still remembers how to lean into soft touches like this, as if it remembers when he was treasured enough to receive them. but his mind remembers otherwise, and his hand still reaches up to slot his fingers into those gentle ones, and pull the hand in his hair down. enough. he never says stop, though– he knows better to. instead, he rests theirs hands on top of the bar, damp and slightly sticky from the drinks sloshed around on the surface. he holds them there. he waits. "you won't tell him, will you?" he asks. "haneul. you won't tell him i'm alive?"

seunggi wonders if he has a knack for seeing ghosts. he questioned such a thing when he ran into haneul those few weeks ago, but—

haru is an entirely different story.

seunggi had shamelessly stared for a few minutes upon entering the bar, convinced he was hallucinating. that somehow his memories with haneul were clouding his mind even more than usual, to the point that his mind was mixing faces.

but seeing those eyes and how they look at him— even now, upon asking a question they both know the answer to — seunggi knows better than to doubt the truth any longer.

"i can't become god, that's impossible, i know it -- nothing's solved in the end."

jiwon’s reaction is instantaneous. a brief exclamation of surprise, hands reaching out to guide haneul inside, not one bit concerned about the stains now shared between them. his first instinct is to check the other’s face, brushing his hair from his face and scanning for injuries. pale and cold, as to be expected; eyes wide and faraway, but not quite blown out. no scratches or bruises up here, as far as he can see. crouched in front of haneul, jiwon takes both hands into his own, firm and present.

it feels like a dream, at first. haneul at his front door, looking a bit worse for wear, but that’s par for the course. then the door inches open, and things shift towards a nightmare. jiwon knows that shade of red with a haunting intimacy, could spot it from a mile away even in the dark. he sees more than feels himself take a step back, allowing haneul into his home and silently shutting the door behind him. when haneul speaks, jiwon still feels far away, as if floating somewhere between here and there, then and now.