#mxminwoo

☠ : Are there any recent/daily thoughts they have about death or dying? 

Throughout his entire life, he has been faced with death. He literally chases death by digging up abandoned cases and unsolved murders. Of course he thinks about it, but the thought that he may die? It’s always been on his mind, but having to process death the way he does (in his career as well), he’s learned how to separate himself from it emotionally and mentally. He has to do that to maintain his sanity. Aside from investigating leads and researching the details surrounding a situation. In this way, he’s sort of become jaded to the idea. Not that he thinks he’s immortal. He knows just as well, if not better than most, his time clock is ticking. But recent events with a certain vampire have put it at the forefront of his mind and instigated him to be a little more careful. And maybe not be so forthcoming to the random stranger.

☤ : Is there anything about their health they are continuously on edge about? Something they disregard? 

Daisuke is mostly healthy. Mostly I say because he does not really sleep well or eat well. Ahh, the sweet life of deadlines and an overworked intern. He used to have weak lungs as a child. Would tire very quickly. Have a difficult time breathing if he tried to do too much. As he got older, this faded. Physically, he’s fine. Tries to go running regularly. Hates being cooped up inside (perks of the job, right). He needs to be doing something at all times. It bothers him to be stuck in one place. He also used to smoke, but he stopped around three years ago. Lately, hands have been itching for them. It’s not the nicotine he wants. It’s the action of release he turned it into. Memories associated with smoking to expel stress. He’ll probably be irritated at himself if he starts again.

✗ : Explain how they portray feelings of hostility or dislike. 

εжз : What about nature do they find calming? What about nature do they find disagreeable?

Hoseok finds nature calming, as a whole. He finds himself feeling secure in the depths of a forest, at one with a field of sunflowers that he might just come across – and it makes sense, because it was what he was born into. He thinks the idea of opposites existing in nature is pretty disagreeable, because it’s something he’s never been able to wrap his tiny faery head around, but other than that, he thinks it’s great, really.

♆ : Are they prone to violent outbursts or thoughts?

☆ : Would they ever wish upon a falling star? If so, what would they wish?Chansik is very superstitious for as level headed he actually was. Every shooting star, every 11:11, every candle, he always made wishes. It was always the same wish his whole life too -- one simple word: friends. 

☾ : On a sleepless night, what would they be found doing?

Everything is practiced.

The way he shrugs off his messenger bag, lets it drop to the floor. The way keys rattle as he unlatches the top lock, then moves the third, back up to the second, and throws back the outside deadbolt with a pass code before dragging himself and his bag inside. It is abandoned next to a pile of books on the history of Japan and keys left on the table to his right. His parakeet chirps softly, docking on his shoulder and gnawing gently at the lobe of his ear. An animal he had hidden from his landlord for over a year now.

“Shh, Cerberus.”  

Wings flap, swiping his cheek before the bird takes flight to land on the corner kitchen counter.

“Ow—fuck.” One hand smooths over an injured shin, shifting to move around the couch and nearly knocking over the lamp next to it. When did his furniture decide to all relocate at once--but eyes become distracted by the new collection on his wall. A bullet shell was tapped above the detached label of a button-down shirt. Details others would overlook—except he could not narrow down the maker, even after showing it to several avid collectors (who wanted to pay him just for the silver piece). One thumb presses down to begin the small recorder clutched in his fist.

“Interests include expensive brand names—likely tailored to fit by a local business. Does not seem to care that it was left behind and this may suggest they are well off enough to afford far more. Research Busan’s elite and attend social event catering to the upper class.” Three years ago he would be smoking through cigarettes. But now he bites a pen between teeth, glancing from photocopied gray faces of murder victims and back toward a bloody brand tag and bullet. “Young adult male,” he mutters quietly. “Theory is they are in their early twenties—but likely older based on speech patterns and vocabulary. Regional dialect undetermined at the moment.” He touches his shoulder, finger-shaped bruises having faded, but memory still an impression on an observant mind. “Physical strength seemed abnormal. No anxiety symptoms were present during first aid and observed no signs of shock. Victim was vocal about pain, but regained strength after removal of bullet. Wound appeared to heal too quickly with no indication of anemia or fever and no infection. Period.”

Recorder dropping to his side, Daisuke finally turns. Then blinks. Apprehension, fear, and searing curiosity slamming him into stunned silence at the sight of who was now in his apartment.

the scattered splatters of crimson, tarnish the ivory fabric she wore with metal scented sins. widened orbs full of torment and regret searched for a route, away from the crowds. guilt cultivated her, draped her shoulders into a slouched drop.

she had done nothing, watched from the sidelines. a coward is all she was.

witnessing the bow dart into the boy’s spine, his shrieks piercing crisp winds of mid october. her vision blurs, shock still reside within her very veins. she’s weak, a trembling mess.

an exit, to tare her from the sickened norms whom gagged at her very sight, whose judgmental glares plagued her with insecurity was all she desired, or for the earth to build a hole where she stood and swallow her whole.

blotches of maroon dyed her chestnut locks, comfort and uncertain tranquility found in the pattern lost within the pavement beneath her muddy soles. yet her stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight of blood on her converse. pressure building uneasily when she hunches forward, a palm nestled over her abdominals. gagging as she rushes into an alley to spill a liquid version of her meals upon the leg of a stranger who lurked within the shadows.

@mxminwoo

one of the many things that occupied yongsun’s time was art and music. she lived and breathed color, though not much was reflected with how she chooses to dress. minimalism, the contrast between light and dark expressed dramatically and watercolor paintings of the human body was one of the many things that she adored. and so it was no surprise that she began to fancy one particular painting. 

her inspiration reflected on her recent submission for their class’ exhibition. however, they were supposed to hang it all up two days ago. the curator suddenly booked the whole gallery for a foreign artist’s exhibition and so they had to be moved. apparently, their collection wasn’t good enough for them. it angered yongsun because she had worked on her painting for weeks, drawing inspiration from different elements, researching and...it was all wasted. her classmate’s shared the same despair and have lost their motivation. 

a sigh slipped past her lips as she remembered her objective. 

she was to ask minwoo if they can hang up their work in his gallery.

minwoo was an acquaintance. nothing more. even if she knew that he would not consent to her childish request, she still had to try for the sake of everyone in her class. it wasn’t because she cared much about them. it was simply because she felt that it was troublesome. 

threading her fingers through her hair, she entered the gallery. she knew perfectly well where her most favorite painting was inside of it. and she was compelled to walk towards it. she stopped herself, however, and asked one of the guards if minwoo was there. the guard’s answer was vague and she was asked to wait around.