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@toauz
archive
2018 to 2021

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Wifi in the sky, funny as it sounds, is no funny business in its execution. In first class, Rachel doesnât have to raise her phone for better reception (why anyway, youâre thousands of feet up in the sky as it is) let alone a hand. All is well except for one thing, and thatâs Mom on Messenger asking where her youngest is.
Beside her, River tugs on his collar in a sleep-ridden haze and shifts his head closer to the window, an even more subconscious swallow in place of his usual curiosity. Rachel blinks, her thumbs hovering over the screen until she decides on sending a simple Zzz. Itâs cryptic enough and has a double meaning, and satisfies her talking quota for the hour. They have five more to go, each feeling longer than the last, and with their parents just now waking up in a city no warmer than Seoul, Rachel figures a nice lunch at home would be the one thing to look forward to upon landing. A combination of their favorites, neither one shying away from enjoying what the other likes out of spite and because Dadâs cooking is just that good.
With Gayo Daejun being the last thing River probably remembers, itâs no kidding how much more disoriented heâd be feeling waking up above the western coast of the Pacific Ocean just twenty hours later. He doesnât snore, and Rachel doesnât watch, fix his blanket, put his tray up for him. Just reaches over and opens the window halfway so that he doesnât miss dawn.
@riveires
Fire
Air ⢠Earth ⢠Water
Lighthousekeeping by Jeanette Winterson // quote by Tyler Kent White // The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde // Would That I by Hozier // Untitled by @saltedmiracles // post by @normal-horoscopes // âSurvivorâs Guiltâ by Patricia Kirkpatrick // Untitled by @inkskinned // âFire and Iceâ by Robert Frost // âBirds on a Power Lineâ by Darshana Suresh
Resting her head on the driving wheel, snaking a hand into a paper bag of salted peanuts. Splitting jerky with Dad, half-listening to Mom about a dress sheâd scored at Goodwill over the phone after coming home from an early morning shift. Burping in public, playing footsies with... well, no one since you canât get away with it on the train like that. Merely wondering how this would be if she werenât alone. She doesnât usually feel like she is in the first place, but today the silence is so jarring she imagines the horn from the car behind hers being honked just to snap out of the thought.
Sejinâs gone to mandated therapy before. Cried, said nothing. At therapy now, willing, she describes in great length why she has a problem with being called âmissusâ like she looks any day past thirty, like a child. Overshares what kind of habits she has when sheâs single vs. when sheâs living in with... what did they say they were again? Then she goes home, pretends for Mom that itâs working. I prayed for you, from the other line.
How much, Sejin almost says. She doesnât have the heart to think of a quantitative amount, tells her sheâll call next week about it. Not a white lie, not quite the truth either. Sheâd rather hear her talk about how sheâll haggle the next slightly chipped teapot she doesnât even take out for the guests to use, that she sees at the flea market she frequents.
Parked outside glass buildings, she remembers that more than anything, however, that she could find her again. So much for a meeting point let alone a match. Fishing for a cigarette, only to come up empty on Esse for the third time this month. Sleepwalking, eyes wide open. Release, indefinitely on hold, still.
@riveires
things you said when no one else was around (wonshik)
âYeah, I donât know if Iâm gonna release it.â
Wonshik smiled wryly, happy that the production aspect wasdone, but tired and greatly, greatly doubting his work. The studio space he hadrented out for finishing touches was pretty plain. The coffee table had wrappersfrom the fast food place Jungeun had picked up food for them, and a few emptycans of energy drinks sat randomly around the room itself. It was the aftermathof hours and hours of him tweaking things here and there, re-recording somethings, and balling up scraps of paper he had notes on.
âWhy not? Youâve been at it forever.â
Jungeun was lying down on the couch, her feet perched up onan armrest. For the last few hours sheâd been reading on her phone or watchingWonshikâs back as he worked on the mixing board. She was used to the wholeprocess by now. At first, it was a shock to see Wonshik, who on the outsideseemed pretty lazy, work so hard without giving a thought to anything else.Then, she started to get annoyed. He spent way more time working and not reallytaking time off to spend time with her. Heâd gotten better, and Jungeun foundit hard not to want to encourage him.
Kind of like now.
The swivel chair moved side to side as Wonshik moved hisknees, avoiding Jungeunâs eyes and looking at some random piece of art on thewall that he could bet there was a similar one two studios down in thebuilding. âItâs not great. I donât think my flow or anything really meshed. Iprobably shouldnât have usedââ
âJust do it anyway. Itâs good.â
âNot this time.â
âWonshik, come on.â
He frowned. He rarely got genuinely agitated with Jungeun, or anyone for that matter. But,especially Jungeun. This time, he was a little too tired and a little too angryat his own doubts to want to listen to her. âI just think maybe I should stickto working behind the scenes on other peopleâs tracks. I like that stuff, too,but I donât wanna be the guy that does better for someone else than himself.Thatâs just bullshit.â It was something he knew was rumbling around his circlesslowly. Sure, he enjoyed collaborating and helping bring someoneâs ideas to life,but if he couldnât execute something for himself what was the point? It wasnâtlike he could mention it to any of his friends or anyone remotely close to himthat wasnât Jungeun at this point. She didnât care about that stuff, so she wasthe one person who he should be ableto talk about this kind of this, right? They were dating, so it made sense. Heshared enough of his work with her anyway.
So why couldnât she see what he was seeing?
(And why wasnât he seeing what she was?)
âShut up. Who cares if you think itâs not good this time.You put a lot of work into it and you might as well just put it out. You canalways build off it again.â
For someone who went with the flow and relaxed way more thanher, Jungeun found that Wonshik was surprisingly hard on himself when it cameto music. Maybe because he had to give up a few things to pursue it (a fewthings meaning contact with his parents), but he did not once ever say heâdwant to give up like this. Not to her. It was disheartening.
âBesides,â she said, speaking before he could open his mouthagain (she could still see he was angry, his eyebrows were doing that thing again). âEven if no one else likesit, Iâll still listen to it.â Itâd be right there on her phone, like everythingelse he put out.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
@toauz

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things you said when you learned i made a song about you (jungeun)
Jungeun makes a habit of not listening only once. She knows everything he puts out there has been played over and over in his studio whether sheâs around to observe the process or not. This isnât to be fair or line up with him, though. She listens because his craft is good, especially for someone whoâs been at it for a while now, and even if itâs not her personal cup of tea sometimes, sheâs in no place to speak constructively. If he likes it, so does she. Just in that âsupportive girlfriendâ way if not otherwise.Â
Sometimes she wishes that were enough for him. This is one of those times.
Wonshik hums wordlessly. Thereâs a pause between this and what he chooses to do next, nothing that crosses the line between comfortable and tense even if just a little. Jungeun in the meantime swings her legs over away from the armrest, sitting so that her backâs sinking against the couchâs. She pats the space next to her, quiet as well. If Wonshikâs eyebrows are still doing that thing by the time he turns around and gets it together to ditch the project (for now), then⌠she may scoot over a tad when he joins her. If he does.
Heâs walking over until he isnât, not leaving any space between them when he settles.
Finally.
âYou know,â he starts, wrapping his arm around Jungeunâs waist, lazy but still here, âweâve been together for about six months.â
âFive and a half.â (Hours, tonight.)
âIâve liked you for longer,â Wonshik reminds her, slipping his hand into hers so he can fiddle with it while looking at her. His brows arenât doing that thing anymore, hers quirked a little funnily. He kisses her forehead so that hers stop doing a thing, crossing his ankles and propping his legs forward, looking down at his feet. âItâs just a little something.â
Tongue in cheek, Jungeun lets him leave it at that, squeezing his hand. Itâs quick to forgive if youâre both sentimental. Sometimes she forgets him allowing her in this space is enough, too. Happy⌠however long weâve been dating, huh? âOkay.â
âJust okay?â
âGood.â Fine.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
@imperialdreams
finally time you heard it, you might be a loveless person and you know it, but if this is what love is then i guess iâm whoâs loveless
the thing had fallen to the floor.
in a moment of carelessness in which doyoung was occupied with his own thoughts, the crystal had smashed into little pieces at his feet. a shard dug a shallow slice across his ankle with an added sting as the cool water of the vase trickled from the small side table on his feet; by the time his gaze fell on his injury, the blood was of a pastel shade.
(mom always hated blood; the sight of it made her unwell. whenever he was hurt, it was his sister who would go on to clumsily put a band-aid on his wounds.)
cleaning this up, he thought now with a little frisson of heat, wasnât something he wanted to do. not after heâd already burned the cream sauce for tonightâs dinner. doyoung would always remember that small, irritating detail, as he would remember the incessant ringing of his phone and the boom of thunder from the late-summer storm.
he remembered the harsh smell, the sudden scream of the smoke alarms and the way heâd mechanically taken the pan off the burner and dumped it in the sink. how he knelt on the ground to clean the wound before wrapping his ankle up. how he gathered the bloody shards from the floor and mopped up the water which his carpet was beginning to soak up.
it didnât mesh well. whatever his expectations had been, no piece of this puzzle fit together: the end product was an ugly thing. he exhaled, willed himself to push past the haze which was clouding his judgement and went to do as he needed.
â
the news filtered through his headache, and he turned toward his father like an automation. doyoung didnât know what happened first: was it the spoon that dropped out of his hand, or the heart that dropped out of his body?
the two across the table spoke of details that were like a buzz in his brain, of arrangements, of invitations that needed to be sent out. whether or not he had someone that needed to be put on the guest list. are you freaking kidding?
âdoes sooyoung know?â the words didnât register in his brain until he realized his father was staring at him, and so was the woman by his side. they looked⌠guilty. a mixture of emotions seemed to flood through his father; heâd never been good at hiding what he thought. it ultimately meant the downfall of his parentsâ marriage and for a brief moment, a sharp sensation made itself known in his chest, tugging and pulling in ways that were unfamiliar to him. it gnawed away at his conscience until a hurtful realisation settled in: perhaps sooyoung, for all the past years, did have a reason to be as angry as she was.
used to be. still is? doyoung was ashamed to say that he didnât know.
they were gone quicker than heâd anticipated after the announcement was made, and doyoung was alone again. alone in an apartment that had no photos to speak of, nothing to turn to, to look for comfort.
the storm was over, and everything was quiet. had it ever been so quiet? he could hear his own heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears, the hum of the heater as it kicked on, the drip of rain from the gutters. the emotions swelling up inside his chest were difficult to understand but they massed into some kind of hard, hot knot inside of him the longer he pondered the words of his father.
what was the point in marrying again now? and why would he drop that information on his unsuspecting son in the middle of dinner especially when his own daughter wasnât even around to hear the news in person? nothing had prepared him for this and he felt a wave of helplessness overcome him.
it was the kind of feeling that would not leave, even when he absent-mindedly rang his twinâs number for the first time in years. doyoung didnât want to be the bearer of bad (or good?) news, but something in him screamed for the comfort of someone who could understand. he didnât need sooyoung to forgive him for the things he did or didnât do, but he needed her to hear the news from him.
hello?
a shaky exhale.
(eyes close, and down he goes.) / @toauz
âYour brother called, Sooyoung.â Mom is curt, drawn once more to the flowers sheâd been arranging for the kitchen island before heâd interrupted. He, a stranger as much as their father, him, both foul tasting in her mouth just at the thought. Like rotten meat left to permeate the air with full help from the sun. Itâs summer that makes this worse.
Three minutes ago, Sooyoung had been eavesdropping from the balcony upstairs, chin on her own palm. The stairs face the front entrance (west), leading down into the dining space in a spiral (east), but she could already tell their expressions hadnât matched. How would one describe that? She could say something about how Momâs never been the motherly type if she didnât have to be, and that this was no exception. Youth is a fence, however. Should she step through the gate anytime, sheâd simply meet their mother on the other side.
Mom doesnât repeat herself, assuming itâs because her daughter doesnât care. But Sooyoungâs in touch with her cell two minutes after it had stopped ringing on the counter. Indifference doesnât have to last forever, what more if sheâs done with all sheâs got to do for the weekend? âGood thing you didnât answer,â she says in passing, just as terse. Thereâs a spring in her step when she excuses herself from the common space, a phone to her ear when she redials.
Straight to voicemail, like itâs his turn to shut off the need to care. They are twins. But then she reads the following text, and itâs nothing and everything sheâs expected. Something. It wouldnât have made any difference if Mom had picked up the phone. Talking about it out loud, though... is that on the same page as being too naive?
She calls again, comfortable where she is for now. âI have a $2000 bottle of bourbon in my cabinet.â Itâs a different line sheâs willing to cross. A different fence, a different time.Â
âGood night.â
Twin beds have enough space for two if you donât squirm or shift in your sleep. So... not ideal. Back to the drawing board then.
Just like that?
Well, what? Not like you can just sit up with your back against the headboard on the bed youâre sleeping on. Itâs got a frame and everything, their mattress set up on the floor. Itâs rude to have the lights on now. Youâd just gotten home together, this whole day having been yours. The night had at most been shared with thousands over some inside jokes and timeless songs both old and new, the venue big but nowhere near the size of the void inside of you. God, what a time. Hey, focus. Youâre both washed up and lying down away from each other, ready to hit the hay. You should be, at least.
The light from the screen of their phone is set low, their features run over by your thumbs in memory, in theory. Theyâre like this for a few more beats before they turn over to face the wall entirely, tinnitus interrupted by the sound of the shift. You close your eyes even with them no longer facing your direction because staringâs helpless in the dark and you already had all day to focus your undivided attention on them when you could.
Which I did, yâknow.
So like, go to sleep or something. Pining-the-hardest-you-have-ever-had-at-near-midnight ass. Congratulations on your first week ever in person together, your last one for a while.
Can we just sleep in the same bed this one time? We havenât all week like we promised we would through the phone, you almost think out loud. That âhm?â they usually do is only imagined. You suck at speaking up. They havenât been around you long enough to know this is kind of your thing. A dry throatâs reason enough not to pull through. Didnât you lose your voice back at The Forum, too?
âI love you.â Itâs hard to say that with a straight face.
itâs 02:47am and inspiration hit me for this @toauzâ
i. seoul fashion week, ca. 2017. 08:21 pm
âwhoâs he?â
jooyoungâs voice always betrays her emotion. for a secretary itâs an unfortunate trait to have   for seoyun, as an employer, itâs a good detail to notice. particularly so when it means navigating a sea of unfamiliar faces and separating models from designers from celebrities from sponsors and so forth. in her function as seoyunâs personal assistant, jooyoung possesses an almost otherworldly understanding of these type of functions, the importance and meaning behind socializing and building contacts which is exactly why sheâs usually the one to accompany seoyun whenever there is a gathering to be attended.
seojun has long since rescinded his offer of being his twinâs companion for events such as this one and usually, she can understand. itâs on her worst days where she feels left alone and behind by her older brother but thankfully, these are few and far inbetween.
âwho do you mean?â
in the masses of faces she has yet to recognize before she can categorize whoâs who in her brain, jooyoungâs words make little sense. the first few rows are fully occupied with all sorts of colorful people, foreigners and locals alike and the heiress canât help but marvel at the prettiness by which she is surrounded.
itâs not until jooyoung   very roughly, one might add   elbows seoyun in her side that she snaps back, accusing eyes still dutifully following her secretaryâs line of vision only to be met with the sight of⌠a model.
which is perhaps an understatement in and of itself. he should not be called a mere model, but seoyun lacks the mental capacity to come up with a word befitting the elegance she sees displayed in front of her with such casual ease. the worn design is splendid in its own right, highlighted by the beautiful lights from above but itâs the man wearing it which makes her pause all the calculations sheâs been going through this evening.
instead, her eyes follow quietly and admiringly   itâs not before long when the stranger departs the stage and she releases a breath she hasnât known sheâs been holding in.
beside her, jooyoung smiles in silence.
ii. 10:01 pm
âyouâre sunggeunâs brother?â âand youâre seojunâs sister.â
the realization is simple enough to split her lips apart into a sheepish, somewhat apologetic grin, having her feeling all kinds of foolish and giggly the moment it clicks.
sunggeun and seojun, military buddies and business partners. not particularly someone she wishes her brother would hang around with as much as he does but who is she to tell him what to do with his life. what surprises her far more than seojunâs disobedience is the remarkable difference.
she remembers sunggeun, tries to compare the vague impression he left behind with the precise way his younger brother carries himself and finds it easily overshadowed.
eyeing soogeun and the way with which he observes her, quiet in a way she canât quite place. patiently, like he doesnât mind standing there and having his time stolen by a person heâs heard of, someone he should be familiar with by mere association. how strange. if her heart speeds up a little at the quick quirk of his lips he offers, she pretends not to notice.
if jooyoung hadnât excused herself to use the opportunity to involve the mayorâs son in a discussion about donations, seoyun would have sent her away to spare herself the embarrassment of having been caught blushing down to her neck.
iii. 02:24 am
the brunette is not new to the celebrations usually concluding a successful fashion show. in fact, sheâs been to enough shows, spoken to enough models and seen her fair share of designers come and go on the international stage to understand how cutthroat the business is and how little room is left for actual creativity when everything needs to have a due date, a tangible name for the masses and a vision to be understood.
but even the elite will celebrate, will find an excuse to pour the alcohol and to turn up the music. some poor souls will wake up the next morning with a booming headache, a few designers might even go as far as to tear up their recent work in a fit of rage at things not having gone their way. emotions boil over easily, far more so when compliments or the champagne get to your head and perhaps for the first time in her life, seoyun understands the impulse to give in to whatâs thrilling.
except, her weakness isnât the drinks or the vain compliments with which others decorate themselves. hers comes in the form of a gentle tug of her hand, a pull into another direction and towards a warmer presence, a twitching of lips that turns into full smiles and quiet laughter in between whispers   propositions of where to go, what to do.
âletâs go dancing.âÂ
âi donât know how to dance.â heâs laughing, possibly at her and her suggestion. seoyun finds, she doesnât want him to stop even if it means making a fool out of herself for a little while longer. itâs why she beams at him, her dark hair having long since come undone from the strict hairdo itâd been forced into by her stylist. now itâs falling over her shoulders in an almost unruly manner and sheâs blissfully alright with it.
âyou donât have to know. youâll learn.â
she holds out a hand, brows raised questioningly, teasingly when she looks at soogeun again; a smile dancing on the corners of her lips like she knows something he doesnât.
âsay youâll teach me?â
hands are linked as two silhouettes disappear from the afterparty.
iv. 06:34 am
âiâm falling asleep.â âme too.â âwalk me home?â âgladly.â
hello hi i did it uwu @toauz
itâs too hot.
too hot in a way that makes her think she should consider going back inside to avoid clothes sticking to her like a second skin; she tends to look like a wax-figure when she sweats. another point of insecurity, seoyun thinks she should be working on them. at least the sunhat makes it bearable for her to sit in the audience to watch her brother.
glancing to her side with her eyes hidden behind big, angular sunglasses, seoyun doesnât know what to expect. possibly another sweaty person who doesnât quite understand what he has been dragged out here for although she reasons that he seemed anything but nonplussed when she asked for his company for the day.
soogeun seems to feel her eyes on him when he turns slightly, just enough to face her   his lips quirking upwards appreciatively and seoyun finds herself returning the smile.
how simple. how nice.
(still too hot, though.)
âdoes sunggeun know about this?â judging from his posture, seoyun would consider soogeun to be somewhat interested in the proceedings of the day. maybe because whatâs happening seems somewhat similar to his own hobby although seoyun will concede that attending a horse show such as this one might very well appear strange to someone who has not really grown up with them. sheâs not afraid to say that theyâre not typically found in an education for a child of seoulâs upper class but then again, perhaps seojun did bring a little of his british flair back home. maybe thatâs what attending eton college got him.
âi donât think so.â
seojunâs silhouette appears somewhere near her peripheral although heâs dressed in his typical attire for days such as this one. the younger twin leans back in her seat, eyes darting back to the boy by her side to see what kind of reaction heâll be having to this revelation.
âhow does someone like seojun keep something like this quiet about himself?â soogeun crosses his arms and seoyun has to fight herself to keep the smile off her face.
the things only siblings know about each other.
âwait until he wins.â letting out a satisfied sigh before tugging at his arm for soogeun to lower his shoulder so she can lean her head on it, seoyunâs smile widens a little when seojun spots them in the crowd, followed by an enthusiastic wave from him. she can feel the vibrations of a chuckle on her skin and when she looks up to soogeun, she finds him with a grin as well.
âwhatâs gonna happen when he wins?â the question comes eventually, though long after the first round of show-jumping has started.
when the wind turns, she catches the whiff of something she canât quite put a finger on and scrunches up her nose in distaste. consider her a little childish when it comes to the smell of⌠well, you know.
soogeun seems to notice but doesnât say something. at least he smells nice.
maybe thatâs why he wraps an arm around her so casually.
ânothing.â her smile comes back when she hears soogeun chuckling at her humour again. âi just like it when he wins.â
and thatâs all there is to say.

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Iâm not exactly sentimental.
Okay, call bullshit on me, fine. Maybe youâre right. Maybe I am sentimental.
Maybe Iâm a coward.
And what of it?
Cowards can be sentimental. Weâre just not good at dealing with it.
There are a few things I can pinpoint on what led me down this path (if thatâs what you want to call this).
The first would be discovery.
Do you remember your first time?
Like when you really looked at a girl?
Mine was on the cover of an album, a not-yet washed up superstar giving a look that I couldnât describe in middle school.
âDo you like that singer?â âNo.â
I didnât even know what the music sounded like. I knew her, thought she was pretty, butâ
âI can get it for you.â âNo, itâs okay.â
I put it back on the shelf at the time.
(Hey, spoiler: I did that a lot early on. The whole, obvious-metaphor-foreshadowing-it-might-as-well-be-written-on-my-forehead thing.)
And each time we went to the store after Iâd beeline right back to the music section and stare at the same album cover over and over.
(I still havenât gotten over her.)
In middle school, but more in high school, other things happened.
âJinsol.â âMhm?â â[canât be bothered to remember their name] told me that her brother asked you out.â âYour friend is nosy.â âYeah.â
I kept cooking. I was always cooking. Dad wouldnât be home for a few hours. He said he was going to a mixer later and asked us to wish him luck. Weird, right? Why would he want to go through all that trouble again?
ââŚhey, Jinsol?â âWhat?â âDid you say yes?â âYeah.â âWhy?â âI donât know.â
(You really, really didnât know.)
(We broke up. You remember that, donât you?)
High school is so awkward. Boys are weird, girls too. Everyoneâs a bit awkward and unsure of themselves, thinking that some drama is worth the time and effort. Rumors spread fast, too. Like when they see you with your mom that happened to pop by for the first time in a few years to tell you that you should think about college and marriage and whatever else it was you didnât listen to.
(God, I wish I could tell you that now. Donât fucking listen to her!)
âI didnât know your mom was, like, alive.â
Well, she was dead to me, soâ
âYouâre so cool.â Come again?
As it turns out, some people will talk shit for things but others will think youâre strong and put together. Itâs nice⌠but also a bit uncomfortable.
Then thereâs another first.
You know that old habit of looking at the album cover over and over again? Well, imagine that as a real person. A real person you happened to see working at the store (a different one, you wouldnât want to do that to her), beautifully styled hair, gorgeous eyes, dimples (cute!) and a voice that made your skin crawl in the best kind of way. God, and when she accidentally touched your hand? Game over. It was the feelings Iâm sure I was supposed to feel before. Or you, rather. You were supposed to feel them that one time. You remember it. You were going out with a different boy and he kissed you at sunset behind the gym and you feltâ
Nothing. Not a fucking thing.
But this, dear, is the kicker: You told yourself to kiss him again, just to see if maybe he did something wrong.
Those feelings were void of anything other than the disappointment you felt because something was off, something was wrong, and it sure as hell wasnât the captain of the baseball team that was doing it for you. He was a catch (ha!). You smiled, held his hand, and let him walk you back home so your brother could see you and then tattle on you to your dad for coming back home late because you were with a boy.
Eventually, grocery store girl no longer worked at the store.
(And no, the boy didnât get to another base.) (ha!)
After grocery store girl there was bakery girl, teacher, woman in that drama you never really could follow the plot ofâŚ
There was certainly a pattern and you caught up to it pretty quick.
Well, not as quick as when she arrived.
She was funny and thought you were funny. You hit it off immediately.
Oh, did you forget how absolutely pretty she was? When you had to share a book because she forgot hers, your hands touched and you swore you were as much of a mess as those characters you always made fun of in dramas with your brother. This was better than grocery store girl. This girl flirted. Or, you thought she flirted.
(She liked baseball boys who had chapped lips, apparently. Her loss.)
Quick intermission from the narrator (aka You):
Your brother: You sure talk about [girl who likes boys] a lot. Donât you have any other friends? You: I do, but they arenât as interesting. Your brother: Maybe if you were more popular youâd get a boyfriend and thatâd be more interesting.
(you werenât unpopular, he was just being an asshole)
You: I think thatâs okay. Your brother: Okay, weirdo.
(Headâs up: he started wondering stuff then.)
You graduate high school, go to college, move out after the first year and into the dorms.
(Mom is radio silent again. Shocker.)
You actually admit to someone youâre gay.
âYou sure?â
For fuckâs sakeâ
âHave you ever done it?â âWellâŚâ âOh my god, I gotta take you somewhere.â
That somewhere was amazing for two reasons:
The first is where you met the first (one of three, your body count is and will always be low, Jinsol) girl you slept with.
The second is what weâll get to later. Keep up with this part first.
Turns out, kisses were good! So were other things! Like, the skin crawling feeling times ten. Youâll know, donât worry. Youâll be able to pinpoint album girlâs look too. Youâll also be able to pinpoint exactly what getsâ
âJung Jinsol!â âHuh?â âMy new model kit came in.â âIâll be right over.â
Then you had that brief stint with the other girl who worked at the school bookstore with you. Remember the dates? Like, your first real date? Thrilling. The dates and the getting to know you phase is absolutely the best and after that
you wanted nothing more.
You fucking coward.
You came all this way, Jinsol, only to string everything along and just end it there?
No wonder you never had a girlfriend!
But, of course, thatâs not why weâre here, is it?
No, because you had the audacity to stare at a girl in a cooking class you didnât even need to be at while she was with her mom of all people, like she was the top prize at an arcade. You had the fucking nerve to keep staring, got caught, and got fucking winked at.
Oh, if only album girl could see the woman you became:
(Sheâd have laughed in your fucking face.)
Remember when you heard she asked around about you?
The prettiest girl youâve ever seen?
Youâre on the right path now.
Remember that neighborhood?
You know, that super gay friendly one? And the parade?
And how she asked for your number?
Your cooking class crush (Cooking Mama is bullshit compared to this!) asked for your phone number. How can someone play it cool when someone like Sooyoung asks you for your number? You canât. You didnât. You tried, but you couldnât stop gushing over the subject with your friends. Imagine getting to go on a date with Sooyoung. You did, didnât you? Just now. Sheâs soâŚ
Fucking greasy.
She says the same tired lines youâd hear in a joke book but for some reason, it does it for you. It works. Youâre making out with her in your dorm. More than once. More than that, and you definitely did let her whisper sweet nothings into your ear and whisk you right off your feet and into her expensive bed. Youâve gone on a few dates and man, are dates the best! Theyâre fun, easy, and you go back to living your life normally.
(Her smile though, that kind of made it hard to just live your life normally, didnât it? I sure as hell realize that now. I can admit that now. Canât you admit to anything?)
âSheâs not messaging me, Jungeun.â âSooyoung?â âYeah. I mean, itâs weird.â âWhy donât you just call her?â âWhy would I do that?â âYouâre dating, right? Just call.â âNo, we just go on dates.â
You vaguely remember the look that Wonshik gave Jungeun.
You know,
There were a lot of dates.
A lot, a lot.
How many dates does it take to get to dating? What changes? You arenât great at flirting. You didnât really practice that enough, and when Sooyoung wasnât reciting a pickup line she had you melting in her hand (sometimes because of her hands) at the things sheâd do or say. She remembers things so well even if you say them offhandedly.
So what exactly changed from the first date to the⌠you lost count, didnât you?
She messages you again. Your jealousy subsides (but it wasnât jealousy at all. Who cares if she talks to someone else? (you care) It wasnât a big deal.) and things carry on. Sheâs a bit weird about things, though. Her looks are a little more genuine and sporadic visits become more frequent.
You find out sheâs not seeing anyone. By find out, I mean she tells you and looks at you for any sign of life in that head of yours.
Anyone else, that is. Just you. She clarifies this.
Cool, you say. Youâre a fucking idiot (you donât say that to Sooyoung, Iâm saying that to you (to me)).
âIâm not seeing anyone either.â
You donât clarify and she gives up because she got the answer she wanted. Sorta.
Thereâs always a point when you get to know someone that you know their home super well. You know where all the plates, bowls, towels, etc. go. It feels cozy. It feels like your home.
(Remember when you found out that likes to be held a lot? Thereâs probably something to that. You donât mind, do you? Youâre practically the same size anyway. Itâd be nice to do that every day.)
You graduate, move off campus (finally, going home seemed weird after dad got remarried), and moved in withâŚ
Your little brother and his roommates.
âHuh?â is the reaction you got from Sooyoung.
Your brotherâs roommates were nice, but it was annoying that they would drool over Sooyoung. That was your thing. Not theirs. No one else needed to be ogling her long legs but you. You were well enough acquainted with them, so you had exclusive rights.
Your brother saw you and Sooyoung kissing goodbye after a date when she was dropping you off. He didnât say anything.
Well, not until you got in a fight with her about your âproblemsâ or âwhateverâ and you moped around the house for a week.
âSo you fought with Sooyoung?â âYeah, she doesnât get why I didnât move in with her. Itâs not like she asked me or anythingâ
(She might have, you might not have caught on.)
âIsnât it normal to move in with someone youâre dating?â âWeâre not dating, we justââ
That shot you right up and off the couch.
âYouâre dating, right?â ââŚâ
He knew!? How could he know!? That is still a mystery. Heâs a fucking genius, that kid.
âWeâre not. We just go on dates.â âJinsol, thatâs called dating.â
Oh my God.
So your brother knows, but your poor father didnât when he helped move you into Sooyoungâs apartment. âLots of space, itâll be nice for you to have a room away from your little brother, eh? Better than you being with a bunch of men, too. All musicians, Iâm sureââ
âYeah, itâs nice.â Heâd just keep going if you didnât stop him. If he thought you living with boys was leading to a debaucherous life, he definitely didnât want to know what you got up to with Sooyoung.
(Your brother talked to Sooyoung. It turns out the only dense one is you.)
So, what is dating? Whatâs commitment? Is it saying you want to see the same face every morning? Bed-head and all? Is a coward really just clueless?
Are you a dumbass?
Because, obviously, youâre sentimental as fuck.
@toauz
Ex-psych major, skeptical, safe in a ditch. The music you listen to is melancholic, the words only, the tune otherwise sweet and easy to succumb to on the way to your dreams. Your dreams are perfect for what they are: pitch black, the echo of the song in your heart not any more than a hum.
When you kiss, itâs flat. That pitch is awry and it just never sits right when you pull away and theyâre chasing, lingering, yâknow. Not that youâd kill for it to be sharp, no. But youâve played guitar for a decade long and think nothing of scales and the notes on a page, so thereâs some consistency there. Still though, like this dissonance helps anything, really. You donât know. You donât know everything, and thereâs just not enough light for the ditch to feel warm this winter. Itâs only fall right now.
The difference between home and a hole...
Oh, donât be clever.
PERPETRATOR:
IT TAKES ONE TO NO ONE STOP I SAID WHAT I SAID STOP I WILL CONTINUE STOP IT TAKES ONE TO NO ONE TO KNOW ME STOP IT ISNâT A TYPO STOP YEAH I SAID WHAT I SAID STOP YOU WERE ONE STOP YOU WERE ONE UNTIL YOU THOUGHT NO ONE SUITED YOU BETTER STOP SO I GUESS MY QUESTION IS WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG TO CATCH UP ON WHAT YOU NEEDED BEFORE THINKING THIS WASNâT FOR YOU STOP ME STOP THIS IS ME STOP BUT THAT WASNâT IT
PERPETUALLY,
this is chan saying (almost) nothing at all while looking at the camera for almost a whole minute with the wii theme song
âWhat dâyou mean, youâre out?â
The part-timer stares blankly at her, absentmindedly scratching his nametag. Yunho, it reads in poorly-printed ink. Not all Yunhos are created equalâ heâs not nearly as handsome, or cool, or nice as her Yunho.  âAs in, we wonât be restocking until tomorrow. Come back then and weâll have it.âÂ
So itâs with a huff and a flurry of stomps that Sarang exits the scene, a bag of strawberry gummies in hand. What kind of convenience store runs out of strawberry milk? Schoolâs been a pain already- this kind of inconvenience (har har) just takes the cake. Today just isnât her day. She quickens her steps with a location already in mind, phone whipped out of her back pocket and one-handedly dealt with.
( đŹ: 大é 大é ) are u off work??????!! ( đŹ: 大é 大é ) nvm i see u ^_^
Minho has his back turned to her, gripping his helmet as he walks towards the door. It takes him a second to notice the pair of hands pressed to the window up front and the face between them. Not that this is anything newâ even the cashier up front hardly bats an eye when she notices her. Sarangâs right in front of him the moment he steps out, teetering on one leg as she beams with all her teeth. (And the one gummy wedged in between.)
âWhatcha doinâ later? Mom gave me some gogi to share, wanna have dinner at your place? And study?â No hidden intentions here.
@toauz, for minho
âOh, you think I study?â He frowns. Days since theyâve had a Sarang-free incident at work somehow: virtually none, Minhoâs coworker simultaneously more and less tired of it than he is. âCanât say Iâm not flattered,â he says nonchalant, not all meaningful. Makes it a point that he doesnât have time to entertain a second more of her rocking back and forth on her feet and making googly eyes whether itâs for him or not.
Tch, study. Heâs intent on walking away from the store seeing as his shift is over, not too surprised that she still follows. âYouâve seen Yunho a million times already,â he reminds her. âHeâs not opposed to his âfansâ but like.â His face twists into something else as he snaps his fingers trying to remember another thing. âUh, como se dice... What the hell are you doing trying to get to him through me?â A full stop in his tracks here, his hands clutch onto the strap of his messenger bag. âStill.â
Call him hurt and youâd be wrong. This just happens to be more of a matter of seeing how much Sarang squirms when she tries to think of a reason this time. How much she doesnât if she already has one up her sleeve, more parts terrible than amusing for him and vice versa for her if she can get him to cave.
Hrm hrm hrm.

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things you didnât say at all + hwall/hyunjae
The rim of the styrofoam hangs from his teeth. One hand is gripped on the metal bar above, the other safe in his pocket. In his pocket is also his hand, nothing Hyunjoon likes to make a big deal of if he can help it. Itâs warm as it is in the train, any eyes in passing not so much.
Jaehyun squeezes, fingers intertwining to pull him in. Hyunjoon guesses he doesnât really want to set the cup down in place. Where is there space for it anyway? Itâs too bulky, heâll argue if the younger asks. Itâs better to shut up. He wishes that were to happen some other way, not so quietly when their shoulders brush and his eyelashes appear longer than usual in low, dingy luminescence. Or so they seem when Jaehyun dares to look over for more than two seconds at a time.
âMy nose is still cold,â Hyunjoon shares. Itâs tinted red at the tip. Jaehyunâs cheeks match, beanie conveniently pulled over his ears. He doesnât lean in, in fear that heâs been watched for too long. Fears for them both since the other is oh-so-cool about it. What a kid.
Whatâs going on here?
He bites down. Not enough for the 97% of the cup to fall away.
Later.
*gazes off into the distance* @toauz? I havenât heard that name in years.