#ryuination

“what good is his advice if it’s not taken literally?” break into the industry. knock everyone off their feet. be a pinnacle, tire out on a pedestal. if daehyun didn’t take the advice literally he’d probably be a little too tame and fit right into his father’s mold. specially crafted and yet as mundane as the rest. what fun was that? 

it’s only when he’s a little tipsy that he ever speaks about his father, and it’s only around certain people that he dares to. 

it’s because, sometimes daehyun speaks his father’s name and people clam up. shape their responses for their favor. he doesn’t think it’s as serious as all that, nor is it necessary. he just speaks of normal father-son mind shit, he doesn’t need the titles attached to it. he prefers to deal with that sober.

he’s not too tipsy right now either having only downed enough shots to make his goofy grin permanent. 

it’s been about an hour into this session, this heavy heart and loose lip session where he’s felt his own buzz come and go and felt the need to chase it. where he can’t get that pleasant warmth just yet and settles for cheap body heat in a small space. shitty dorm light filters through his fingers that try to grab at that pretty haze it makes when the eyes are a little too tired to work. “let’s go then.” it prompts him to stand up, more stable than he’d thought, lighter when he’s got a can of beer in his hand and one hand in his hair. 

“what am i, your mom?” that’s the first thing she says, exasperation pinching the corners of her mouth into a grimace. but there’s no menace behind it- she’s got fingers twisted into his sleeve, steps directed with intention.  there’s a method behind the madness (more method, not so much madness.  not today, anyways).  it’s not the first time he’s had to play victim to her whims; certainly not the last.  has the school always been this big?

eventually the winding hallways come to a forgiving end and linoleum tiles give way to concrete stairs, then a door that’s reluctant to budge.  she has to give it several good pushes but it gives in with a whining creak, and lo and behold!- paltry wind, an orange-red sky, and the biggest smile she’s given him today.

“i’ve been wanting to come up here for ages, y’know.  you’re the one who goes here, so if we get caught-” she blows a kiss his way and spins off, arms outstretched, face alight.  “i’ve got a back-up story.”  

“little sister.” he protests in his monotonous voice as they make their way to the restricted area. she might as well be with the way she was grabbing onto him. plus, jaebin was easy to tease and manipulate but if there’s anyone he’ll willingly allow to, that would be her little sister (maybe lucy, but he doesn’t suspect she would pull something like it).

foreshadowing.

so many things can warn us of the future. it comes in ways ominous, mildly suggestive, or sometimes merely obvious in hindsight. but the possibility for him to chance upon wayward characters like haru was never mentioned. in retrospect, there was one obvious clue he shouldn’t have missed (but this is jaebin we’re talking about): her name. who names their baby girl haru? did they think she’d live for just one day? was she only important for the day of her birth? being dopey and all in his case, might as well be futureshadowing. better yet, foreseeing his death if these ‘fateful encounters’ continue to ensue.

luckshadowing.

can jaebin really be considered unlucky? try a sort of turnabout luck; something bad happens to him, but ultimately that bad thing winds up putting him in a better position later. it's not straight up good luck, but it's not entirely bad luck either (who knew even in this sense he’d stand in between?).

combine those two and voila! you get a scenario with his initial bad luck leading him to a sunset view with the most headstrong girl he knows.

on that note, it seems he still has no control over the cycle of inconvenience. so he needs to figure out how exactly he could convince her to back out of this instead of opting for a back up story. “back up story?” he speaks nervously, voice breaking, corner of his lip turning up to a comical twitch. 

once upon a time, there was a little girl who saw things she should not have seen. 1) monsters who looked and walked like her but bared skeletal smiles, ashen fingers cold when they dissected her bone-by-bone  2) the destruction unraveling from the seams of a broken city and poison rupturing beneath it– bloodless massacre of the innocent 3) a sick, twisted game sung like this: oh, sweet child, wouldn’t you like to play with us? they called her a tragic hero, antigone incarnate as if being noble was a crime (and maybe it was, and maybe she wasn’t the victim but the perpetrator).  what a twisted, twisted world.  

this was meant to be a tale of one, but it’s disturbed by an unanticipated entrance of another.  misery demanded company- they had blindly accepted.  in between the blistering pain she manages a lopsided grin, short laugh bursting jaggedly into the dense chill of the air. “hey, you’re alive, right?” even when the wind howls for her, powerless in its attempt to satiate the terrible ache, she laughs still.  (a delirious (beautiful) sort of sound.)  the concrete numbs her into comfort and a sigh escapes, limbs splayed out and eyes cast upon the mottled stars above them.  his question goes unanswered; there’s nothing to say to defend what she’d done moments before.  

eventually she speaks up again, absentmindedly licking her lips as a hand lifts to touch a thin cut lining one cheek.  “you weren’t paying attention, huh? they were looking for trouble.  any idiot would’ve caught on, but there you were, walking straight into their trap like you were asking for the shitstorm.” not that she hadn’t done the same, but he warrants an explanation. something softens- in the dark, it’s hard to determine if its her, or the pitying night.

“why?” 

kyungsoo sees too much. the parade of rabbits on the moon, the suit-clad octopus with silver cuff links, the contortion of concrete and the stretch of steel. the mercilessly clear, chartreuse sky glimmers with constellations of violet in one second; the next, it’s doused in splashes of swirling vermilion and turquoise. sometimes the pavement tremors with an unbridled insouciance, twisting and turning beneath the hefty weight of a modern era, and the city will always, always push back. this is why seoul never sleeps, perpetually plagued by a deep-seated agitation that underlies the curtain of neon lights and buzzing teeth. this is why kyungsoo doesn’t sleep. 

temptation takes the form of daisy petals, white as ivory and light as feathers. on the wings of the breeze, they dance flirtatiously in the streams of moonlight and tease the flushed skin of his cheeks, though never quite touching. temptation turns into distraction, and distraction becomes a danger. he can hardly make out the strangers’ faces in the downpour of flora, but he feels the shove to his shoulder and he knows that is real. beneath the rush of blood behind his ears, hearing the scuffle that quickly breaks out is difficult, but muscle memory yanks at his limbs and the protrusions of his spine, nothing more than the ingrained desperation to survive. 

﹙  JEALOUSY MEME. //  ACCEPTING. ﹚          —— @ryuination

                   《 ※ 》     HIS EXPRESSION SCREAMS skeptical. Not only that, but it didn’t help that her expressions weren’t exactly on par with her words either. Arms are folded over his chest while he studies her features even more, watching how each muscle moves and how the wrinkles in her eyes or the corners of her lips slightly twitched. Bull shit. ❝ Look, your face says otherwise. Your body language says otherwise. ❞ Sangcheol’s head drifts off to the side, both thinned brows arching while dark irises continue to dance across the frame of her face. Why was it so hard for people to admit that they were jealous, though, he’s always wondered. Or rather, why was it so easy for people to get jealous ? There’s a fuel, he knows that much. And it probably stemmed a lot deeper than just the surface. To which he wasn’t certain if he wanted to delve any further than that. 

( ✶ ) Hamilton Sentence Starters  ― status: accepting! (but slow)

Many things in life know neither beginning nor end. Nobody knows how they ever came to be, or what the world will be like once they cease existing. On a very big, mind-warping level, this can be said about time. About any form of life, or even about myths. On a very different level? The relationship between Casper and Haru. There’s no way he can recall how it all started, much less does he understand how the friendship lasted or what exactly ties them together. What he does know, however, is that there is always alcohol involved when the two of them meet, and perhaps that is as strong of a bond they’ll ever form. They don’t meet often, nor do they know much of each other—a silent agreement between those whose pasts should not be revealed. All jokes and teasing and a lack of gravity and serious conversations (not what he needs right now, but what he wants); he doesn’t waste a single opportunity to crack another joke or two.

he should talk. and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s laughing at himself. because isn’t it always the ones who think they should do something that don’t. the ones that think they should stop drinking while staring down a bottle. those people are afraid of baring what’s left of their soul to the world, dae’s more afraid of baring what’s trapped up top. the same top that she taps so fondly and he’s pushing forward a grin.

see control is a funny thing. doesn’t always know how to stay within his grasp but yet he functions on it, needs it. his mother says he gets it from his dad, he tells her she shouldn’t make insults like that.

ironically enough that’s the only thing that could make daehyun’s control over his emotions slip. he’s not sure if it happens before he sends the message or after but he’s sure the moment he sends it that he’s lost some of it. the mask, the skin. he’ll pick up a bottle and do tricks with his emotions. pretend he’s not drinking to get rid of thoughts and just drinking to drink. drinking to have fun. because people do that right? he’s not getting shit-faced to numb everything that’s irresponsible.

and what’s there to numb? the constant buzz in his head, not like needles but strings pulling apart at tissue - the echo of his parents words that have been on constant repeat. a reel meant for torture and a test of endurance. sometimes getting shit-faced numbs nothing, and sometimes it numbs everything. he’s been out all day and haru’s the first number he dials when he reaches.

“i’ve been talking all day,” words come out carefully, maybe they’re curt and maybe they’re just tired. “and I’m honestly real tired of it.” yeah tired.