#nectcr

if the dramatic episodes and chaotic plot twists comprising the soap opera of one’s life was, as the religious would say, carefully handcrafted by the hands of the divine, then jaehyun thinks he has a serious bone to pick with god.

picture this: jaehyun can hardly remember a time before he had been trying to avoid the likes of han insoo. ah, but that is not to say that jaehyun had known of han insoo for any substantial portion of his life. there is certainly no memory of jaehyun and insoo’s little feet pitter pattering clumsily along marble tiles, wherein jaehyun does all the hiding and insoo does all the seeking, nor are there any inkjet pictures of jaehyun’s vexed scowl next to insoo’s shit-eating grin, for the simple fact that none of those exist. in fact, if one were to pick apart the timeline from since jaehyun had first crawled out of his mother’s womb, they’d come to realise that our golden boy had only become aware of insoo’s existence in his later years—or more accurately, year and a few days, give or take—but oh, he argues, what a worthless addition to his life.

and what he means to say is this: it is undeniable that his year’s virtues are all powerful and influential in their own right, each one a tremendous force to be reckoned with. and yet, as he watches them fall, one by one, like pathetic flies swatted by insoo’s ruthless hand, it is of futile effort to deny any longer:

                                                                                          he’s next.

see, life has a way of surprisingly you, and most of the time, it’s not in the way you want. for life is a cruel author with omnipotent fingers to pinch and plop events and things and people as they so please, all for their own sickening amusement.

yeah, life was a bit of a bitch like that.

exhibit a: here, our golden boy exists in a shimmering lounge. it is an entirely unremarkable scene detailing the humdrum events of jaehyun downing the last of his whiskey finger before ambling lazily towards the men’s. he’s distracted, perhaps even a little buzzed, which is why he might’ve missed the sounds of sobs the first time round. but soon he’s done and he’s washing his hands and the sob comes again, and its timbre coaxes confusion to worry at his brow.

is that a… girl?

in the mirror, he eyeballs the cubicle door left ajar, perhaps entertains the idea of just leaving it and returning back to the script, but within jaehyun’s veins flow the blood of noble princes and knights in shining armour. and so he creeps forth, a finger nudging the door ever so slightly and as it slides open, he catches sight of that girl who’s always seen trailing behind insoo, with blow-out tail wagging and pink tongue sticking out.

great.

“hey—” his is a tone of annoyance as he means to tell her that she’s crying in the wrong spot, but then he catches sight of her running mascara and bloodshot eyes, and it reminds him of the rumours circulating regarding her recent breakup. ah, a broken heart. bellicose as he may be, jaehyun likes to think he’s not a monster.