#tragedyrich

there is a consistency to yohan that yanjun's always loved. he points it out whenever he can, addresses it like he would a home; the world makes little sense but he can count on this very thing, on predictable yohan and his outward feeling. every thought and opinion crosses the threshold of his lips, judgments unreserved and privy to all regardless of status or power or place. it's refreshing and familiar - yanjun himself is nothing if not loud to its very definition. it doesn't surprise him that they work well together; even the conflict is streamlined, arguments often spiralling into nothing as soon as they vocalize their point of view upfront. (and they always do.) it's in this exact circumstance however, that yanjun finds himself blindsided. the yohan he knows, the friendship he covets so dear to his heart - it is with a lurching brake that he recognizes it: sudden unpredictability. he is wide-eyed, incapable of masking his own shock, or retaining any sense of comforting ease. yohan is handsome, of course he's handsome - yanjun is of similar age and gay to boot - so it doesn't take much to be charmed. but perhaps he tailed too many assumptions, allowed his faith in yohan's consistency to hypothesize the simple thought that: if yohan liked him, he would make it clear. and yanjun is delusional and queer enough to have picked up on it, if he had - he's stubbornly certain of this. except now he doesn't know up from down or left from right. the sky is below him and the ground is scattered to the air, yanjun is gawking and yohan is in love with him. or was? it is with potent effort and a wariness of the silence accruing that yanjun closes his mouth into a thin line - flustered and visibly lost. he doesn't know what to say to this. "...what are you saying?" his tone isn't one of rudeness, only clarity, tender habit allowing himself to reach over, to touch yohan gently on the slope of his shoulder. he brushes it, rubs the muscle there like he's expecting to coax out a detailed summary and swallows, throat dry and narrow. "is this - are you telling me that..." his thumb stills on the stroke down, "yohannie, do you have romantic feelings for me?" he spells it out for both of their sake, blunt as usual, though yanjun doesn't feel particularly bold today - insides like a ball of yarn.

Us. Two letters, two people. His heart speeds, seeming to thump against each of his ribs and the panic reverberates there. They're still sitting in the common room. Colored lights are flashing from various spinning disco balls and fixtures. There's crushed cups and confetti littering all the flat surfaces around them. But the party has died out, and the rest of their peers have retreated to their dormitories. It feels like a loaded question, a spring loaded trap to snare Oliver in something he doesn't know how to get out of. Felix Catton--he is an anomaly in Oliver's life. Even with his own family, he doesn't feel this level of attachment...or happiness. Felix is like some living amplifier, turning up Oliver's emotions to alarming levels he doesn't know how to control. But the highs are so dizzying, so good that he doesn't know how to separate himself from Felix. And now, he's even more aware how close they are: legs and knees pressed together. They're still side by side on one of the sofas--even though either of them could move elsewhere for more room.

the crackling of the bonfire grows louder, etching into the corners of winnie's repressed memories. on the banks of the river, fraternising at this godforsaken party, nate is the only one who knows what she is. what she's capable of. she'd quite literally changed his world overnight which was no easy feat for the witch. the aftermath left her hungry, craving more than just the innocence of those she usually preyed upon. nate himself was a temptation, his own darkness a delicious treat for the senses --- one she got to taste the night the spell was cast. his essence was invigorating, powerful, bewildering in a way that perhaps leads him to say what he does next...

valiant as his comment may appear to be, if it wasn't for the strength of the blaze, she would have reminded him that she didn't need his protection. flashbacks of burning, of execution, rope wound tightly around her flesh, makes her eyes glow with rage. she can't be here right now. the images in her mind are torturous. echoes of the past whispering incantations that she doesn't care to listen to. "keep me safe then." she tells him, reaching for his hand to distract herself from the visions that are haunting her. "get me the hell out of here." interlocking their fingers, she clings to his grip, nails digging down into the sharp ridges of his knuckles.

"hm?" there're crumbs on his chin, flaky leftovers of a freshly baked pain au chocolat dusting his lips as kangdae chews, scarfing down the rest as yohan speaks to him sweet. it isn't a foreign sentiment; he feels this similarly, ever endeared by (and then stranger still — attracted to) yohan's unique and independent idiosyncrasies. he's grown to like them, grown to find them symbols of familiarity, and although he isn't surprised yohan feels the same way — he's surprised when it arrives after a, as yohan calls it, 'a digital cleansing'. kangdae's phone had effectively frozen over night, device heated and an irritable amount of popups had invaded his searches throughout the evening prior (some of which suggested malware warnings, and yohan had explained to him offhandedly that the malware warning was a trick of malware itself, which — at that point, kangdae didn't think it possible to ask yohan what malware actually was). it hadn't been the first incident involving a 'reboot' of sorts, but it often took enough time that kangdae expected it bothersome. even if true, yohan is conversely amused by it, tone notably tender in the midst of their privacy. he swallows, blushing just slightly. "oh. — i mean." he squats then by yohan's desk chair, eyes peering from the phone in his hands, then back to yohan himself. "...i mean, i feel the same way." maybe kangdae should apologize for his ignorant ways, show further remorse and embarrassment, but he's only pleased, warmed when he watches the swipe of yohan's fingers. the attention is nice, but so is yohan's profile, focused and still.

he's often prickly, high strung and stiff like he's had his spine affixed to a board all fucking day — but he's worse tonight. charlie's eyes are boring into the desktop, fingers clacking loudly against the keyboard as he flies in and out of windows, switching tabs and saving important references to a portable hard-drive (notable information to aid with his long standing plan; logins, recent transactions, airtag metadata, bank security answers, etc). he's been keeping track of the changes, the updates — his father isn't paranoid, but he is frustratingly thorough. this entire process wouldn't be so grating however, if charlie wasn't simultaneously forced to entertain an outsider. a professional, experienced, charming with a face difficult to second-guess — is what he'd heard. and the latter half does seem true, as charlie's first impression is rather blasé. he looks young, more 'cute' than intimidating, and although he touts some arguably intimidating biceps and stands taller than most, charlie is less than enthused. he doesn't really know what he was expecting, frankly. an older man with a five o'clock shadow? scarring? maybe someone simply quieter — less sociable, someone who doesn't describe himself like he would a wine. needless to say, charlie pivots again, judgment and a look of wariness plain on his face. "...we don't need to like each other, gunwoo-ssi. i'm just —" he stares, raking through the whole of him, more model-like than criminal, "this request of mine is very important. it involves public figures. so it can't — there's no space for improvisation or fumbling." and charlie knows how it sounds: condescending, privileged, an overdone statement made by a prim and wealthy lawyer, dipping his toes into a world he doesn't understand. it's partially true, he can't help that, but underneath the clarification (and subsequent paranoia) he wants it made clear — this is charlie's biggest ask yet.