#scr.

the first sound that she listens to intently is the car engine as it’s being killed, leaving the quietude intact again as she waits for him in the bedroom. in which tonight is an exception—typically, she would be the good wife that would welcome him home from the vast living area where the entrance is leading to firsthand. tonight, however, she is irritated to say at the very least, and the confrontation is about to break, it seems. not that they often fight, considering that their relationship is most of the time smooth. they tend to balance each other well, his maturity albeit cold tends to complement her juvenile tendencies when it comes to leaning towards her husband. rest assured, still, that the night will be colored with the hue of some arguments. unsure if it will be heated. in her mind, this might be a one-sided accusation, but she’s certain that this has been confirmed by how often he comes home smelling like ghouls.

she has been keeping the suspicions to herself for so long that now when they erupt, the aftermath would not be pretty. jaehong’s footfalls feel like omens as their sounds grow closer and closer. his steps are almost... careful. she notices that something might be off with him, but she ruminates over her own wording to focus on the issue at hand. when the door creaks, she pretends to roll over to look at him, her voice languid as usual when she greets him, “i’m sleepy. we need to talk about something, though, love.” and she doesn’t call him that often, especially not while pairing it with a soft smile. “come, change your clothes, then we’ll have a talk.”

a state of being later, he is a façade worth noting amidst the sea of plenty. he finds himself axed in this connection that he thought would never work out, considering the disparity in their statuses, his being a feigned normality when bruce is everything that everyone could ever want and wish to become. and there he is, in the midst of the crowd, in spite of everything he’s come to fear: on the podium, the man that has become a way towards a semblance of sanity in james’ life. and for that, he might maintain his lies for a moment: the cloak of deceit in the name of gabriel heathcote, who happens to just resemble the hero that fell to the pit of death. still, bruce hasn’t questioned it, and that only provides them with an inside joke that only strenghtens their bond... if james can say so himself.

and in the clusters of the last written bouts, the exuding muse slowly withers with her fatigue claiming the space. words and tunes no longer cooperate, so she’s diving deeper into the fact that perhaps tonight is over with. the break is much needed considering that her incessant working hours are so elongated, she barely caught any breathing. emptiness is the clause to her nights, though, sans songwriting she’s a flask of lonely. in which her mother is too busy to call her back, her father out of question altogether. sure, she doesn’t have to stay in the core of manchester to know that her parents are no longer sleeping in the same bed, their house painting that sense of faux harmony but it does not invite her home anymore. and so, in the core of seoul’s pitch black night she finds herself, now treading out of the recording studio she’s become acquainted with for the past four years.

artistry is one element of life she’s been fortunate enough to indulge in. and for that, she’s grateful... but tonight that is not the sole reason for it. the conflagration felt is hopefully shared, she’s vacating the edifice to find jaehyun there, the bodyguard lingering in the vicinity to ensure her safety. but this is after operational time for him—should’ve gone straight home, escorted as always, but the text that jaehyun sent her prior to her exit is one to paint a smile on her face. a treat to chicken: one simple gesture, but she appreciates the thoughts behind it. she hasn’t had mom and pop’s fried chicken for a while, so when she is close enough to him, asks, “are we going now?” and a warm smile. “i haven’t gone for chicken for a while. you know me too well.” a cheeky chuckle on her end. “please lead the way, and don’t forget to cover our tracks so that the managers can’t find us!”

she’s not entirely pleased. after all, who would be when there is yet another publicity claiming that her long-time lover is currently on the way to being engaged with another woman? the understandings can only be inferred from the fact that their relationship is on a precarious edge, as always. with the absence of accords coming from both sides of their families, it is getting more and more convoluted, trying to just preserve what they have. politics utilised from their companies, trying to stand on their feet instead of merging their businesses... she is sometimes still awed by the tricks launched from their hidden sleeves. this, however, is almost predictable. a cheap one, too, if she may add—

meeting him again since fiji has not been an easy task. it is a feat that she stubbornly can invite him to this vip room, the setting quite incognito since she entered via the backdoor. this restaurant has always provided her with the best steak, but that’s besides the point. her being a frequent customer allows her a lot of privacy, and that’s exactly what she needs. she lets out an exhale as she has herself seated in the corner where other customers cannot see her. his eventual arrival happens at the same time as when their food is served. they both know each other’s liking, after all, so it’s not a task to order food for someone she’s known for over a decade. “it’s been a while,” she starts, lips curling into half a smile when he claims the seat across her, the escorting waitress leaving them shortly after. “i’m not... sure of what to make out of that publicity stunt. how are you faring with it?”

this almost serves like a reminder for him: how time is no longer a privilege for the boy condemned to die prior to living... all was due to the feelings reciprocated by the only person he knew how to love. a trial they put themselves into, then, as a means of understanding the endurance of these feelings. he hasn’t forgotten, truly, their rendezvous planned. today, almost three in the morning, with the captive teeth of love sunk into their cold flesh. isn’t that the promise? yet here he is, juwon, still about to battle the kikimora tasked as the last mission before he decides to perhaps retire. perhaps, for he doesn’t know if he’s going to have his intensity mirrored, still. knowing just how many of those left in seojung’s wake, he doesn’t know if he’ll be another in the count. four years passed without much ado, after all—perhaps ennui eventually made seojung succumb to love another? juwon doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know, even when he swears he’s braced himself for the outcome.

not like they have each other’s contacts, even after the occasional, intentional encounters every now and then. just some time off that juwon dared to claim every now and then, in the lapses just so that he could retain the sight of his beloved close to his chest. last meeting before this finality was in the darkest crook of the bar where seojung performed late, the song reminiscent of juwon’s human days, with the soft diminuendos to accompany his drifting to slumber. now that there’s no idyllic days like those, he wonders if seojung still has the same feelings. months, it’s been months. juwon almost believes he might be another number in seojung’s count, now, and that frustrates him. he lets it out by drenching himself in the mud, slashing the throat of his opponent, its screech echoing throughout the night. his thoughts branch—where should he wait for seojung, now? in the depth of this forest, he is bound to be late regardless. perhaps seojung has forgotten, too. there was no location set. wielding his dual swords, that’s all he can think of as he plans to sink his blade into the creature’s neck when he notices the presence of another. he doesn’t usually swear, otherwise he would’ve. he needs to eliminate the kikimora first before dealing with the next creature, sure, but that’s when he realises that no, he isn’t the target. the other aims at the kikimora’s leg. that scent; he notices it anywhere. “hyung?” he calls out in a slight startle as he turns to plunge both swords, crisscrossing them into the kikimora’s neck once he has the opportunity. the shriek ends, leaving the splash of mud at both of them. in the dark, seojung is a shadow that he will recognise anywhere. “you’re... you’re here.”

first-aid kit would have been practical at the moment, with his blood dripping as he treads down the foreign street of seoul, his looks obtaining quite a good few glances considering that he definitely looks his part as a foreigner. he doesn’t really return the inquisitive looks directed at him, knowing well that he’s in no place to entertain anyone’s curiosity. clad in his leather jacket, this is one of the reasons behind why he keeps his clothes dark-colored. but this isn’t supposed to perturb him that much. he was outnumbered, almost gunned down. he narrowly triumphed over the syndicate’s agents, but he did not come out unscathed this time. a bullet past his shoulder—nothing consequential, really, but he still needs to get the bleeding stopped, or else... well, he knows the consequence. a man of no name, no place. kills are just numbers, knowing one day, he, too, shall be someone else’s number. tonight might not be the night, however.

he walks slower, then, the blurred vision leading him to this small alley next to a convenience store. sighing, he compels himself to make a stop, especially since the hotel is still far from where he is now, as far as he is aware. he leans against the decrepit wall next to the convenience store, then, its fluorescent lights diffused enough to provide people the awareness of his presence, but not to minute details. except this woman, who doesn’t seem to be paying attention, turning perhaps to reach the dumpster close to him to throw the empty packaging away. he grimaces, trying to press against his wound to avoid further blood loss. and that is when she seemingly notices, looking straight at the droplets of black, pooling right next to his combat boots. “nothing to see here,” he starts, his voice hoarse, his korean accented.