“You’d know.” He revels quietly in her touch, love-like but not love in the way it should be, and there’s a faint ache in his chest knowing this to be as so. “If not right away, then eventually.”
A promise for a promise. In the end, it’s all they can afford to give, and hold onto, despite the odds. They’re still human, after all.
(Aren’t they?)
As if to reaffirm it, his hand lifts up, lays over the one that cups his cheek. It’s only human to need this. To seek comfort wherever it can find you. His eyes lower to the curve of her mouth, then rove back up to lock their gazes once more.
“I’m staying too.” His fingers curl around hers gently, folding them. Carefully, he moves her hand down from his cheek, letting her knuckles brush soft against his lips in place of something unspoken.
For as long as I can.
nothing comes before their loyalty. their loyalty to their common goal. to mother russia. she knows they’re supposed to fight and die and claw back from the dead, only to do it all over again until they’re actually dead this time around. that’s the only way to earn a comrades’ honorable death. death in the name of loyalty. storm clouds gather over this thought, the quiet rumble of thunder the undercurrent to everything she’s about to do.
“eventually, they’d tell me what to do.” there’s weakness in allowing your feelings to radiate from within strong enough to interpret without words. “eventually i’d fall into my next assignment.” so she tries to say them out loud this time, instead. “but i wouldn’t know what to do before those eventualities.” i’d be lost.
they break you. then, they make you into a weapon. his hands could kill her if he wanted to. hers could do the exact same to him. but his motions are gentle in the way you soothe something you anticipate will run. they make you into a weapon of war and then tell you to make peace with it. she counts the seconds that he takes to kiss her knuckles.
gahye watches him carefully, eyes closing when they start to burn from not blinking. she forces her shoulders to relax as she feels his comfort. she’s never closed her eyes during a kill, but instinct has her eyes closing now, in front of him. vulnerability. maybe she’s starting to make peace with it.
“you’re very good at making this feel real.”
the world has been unkind to them. so, she decides, they need to be kind to each other. each step, each offered hand, each moment like this, is a brick laid towards the foundation of something that may just be stronger than blind loyalty.
her free palm presses to his chest as she shifts closer. touch starved. “does this feel real to you, too?”
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The younger sinks back into the pillows of their shared bed, tossing his phone to the foot, crossing his arms behind his head and closing one eye, still maintaining eye contact with Yejun. “You really want my opinion?”
“not nearly enough.” the corners of his lip flatten and draw back on his face, mouth turning into a thin line to mimic the look of someone considering something very serious, but in a displeased manner. “you should definitely be ‘hahaha-ing’ at my jokes about a thousand times more.” but of course that bit comes out just before sebastian decides to hit him with the words that sucker punch him in the gut.
‘oh,’ he thinks to himself. ‘that’s what dad had meant.’
he thinks of the way his mother knows how to disarm his dad with a single phrase, a single word sometimes. one foot back, as the other steps forward. and god he’s always wanted something like that.
they say your perception of love is shaped by your parents. because they’re the ones who map out the destinations, the steps, for you while you’re in your formative years. that is, until you start to take over with small sideways steps and slightly different landmarks because you’re starting to navigate on your own. someone new excites you and inspires you enough to have you stepping outside of the lines and borders. “uh, i mean -- i feel like you laugh at me more than anything, but thanks!” yejun always thought he’d meet a girl like that out here.
the chipper response is a defense mechanism; he feels like he paused a little too long. he lets his expression relax as he leans over to set the computer on the ground before climbing back onto the bed, stretching long limbs out to lay alongside bastian, except on his side. matching gaze for gaze. “of course i want your opinion. it matters to me the most out of anyone.”
he was wrong. he’d met sebastian.
“but if it’s something soul-crushing i don’t wanna hear it. compliments and adorations only, for right now while i’m in my slump!”
Warmth. An artificial blue cocoons them as the sound of air wheezes out, each passing moment causing them to sink lower and lower until it’s all she can see. “I’m dreaming. This is a dream, isn’t it?”
(Then why is he so real?)
the shot is done. the director is pleased with the way it turned out despite the internal whiplash he’d been having during the stunt. somehow, instead of feeling accomplished at the difficult stunt being completed in only two takes, his focus is diverted elsewhere as he realizes that there’s only one indentation in the inflatable crash mat.
she’s alive, right?
if she had landed on the ground, there would be horrified screams of panic and the sound of hurling, probably. there’s none of that. the only thing jinho can hear is the rush into motion of a busy set after a period of time where everyone’s stock still, holding their breath during the take. he whips around on his knees, checking behind him and subsequently falling forward due to the sudden movement of air underneath him thanks to his staccato movements.
but he hits a hard mat one more. he looks up at her, and it’s her. “you’re not one of my stunt guys. you need a wire because we were performing a mid-air stunt.” the answers to her questions are out of order, but that’s probably the last thing they should be worrying about. no one else seems to be phased by the fact that there’s suddenly another person in this gym (it’s him). no one else seems to notice except for the chick that had put him into a quite impressive wrestling hold a few beats earlier.
so he yells.
full bodied, it comes out through the chest and he watches no one react in the gym(???) except for her. someone slaps a hand to his forearm and pulls him up - one of the production assistants, and she’s moving him away from the scene so they can reset and regroup. he’s still yelling in the scene in the gym, but no one notices when he flips into the surroundings he’s familiar with.
it’s like an old film reel, jumping from one cut to the next scene - no rhyme to the sequences because it’s been scratched and dented and it’s just old. “i’m losing my mind,” he exhales out, eyes wide until he locks onto the woman that had been falling with him. “you’re dreaming and i’m going crazy.”
he’s a puppet in the world he knows is his reality. he has no fucking clue what he is in this other dimensionsceneworldreality. a figment of her(?) his(?) imagination? “oh fuck i’m being rude. what’s your name? i’m jinho.” it feels like no time is passing at all, yet everything hasn’t stopped moving around him. how is this possible? “i’m in los angeles right now. where are you?” factual statement, honest to god question. that’s the format he’s going to stick by and hopefully it’ll get them both some answers. “i can understand you, and you can understand me. we’re speaking english right now, right?”
hard plastic slips down the sides of his nose as he tilts his chin downward, glasses getting closer to the tip of his nose. he squints at the words on the screen, as if squinting is going to make a difference. it’s times like this that he’s happy he has a mini sounding board in his roommate (even if the sounding board is a reluctant one).
“do you think i’m funny?”
uncrossing his legs, he cradles his laptop in the crook of one elbow as he starts to crawl over to bastian. he misjudges the distance and his last lunge leaves him a little too close, knee banging into a thigh that isn’t his. “oh, damn it - sorry.” his opposite hand goes to swipe on the track-pad impatiently as he points to the posting. “it’s a casting call for a sitcom. no network associated to it just yet but i feel like it’s gotta be a big one if they’re purposefully not revealing that information.” nose scrunching to try and coax his glasses up his nose a bit more, yejun waits for bastian to pay attention. “but i don’t know if i’m funny enough for a sitcom.” however, he is very desperate so if bastian doens’t manage to talk him out of it in the next ten minutes, yejun really might try to show up to this call in four days. “not that the bar is very high for most of them.”
the car door slams shut behind her and she levels the driver with a look that’s sent many a vk on the isle scrambling back into the shadows. it doesn’t work on the lightly smiling man in the powder blue suit - because she’s the one that’s sorely outnumbered here. even with the other three vks that were practically abducted with her, it’s only four of them against all of auradon prep. but the welcoming committee made up of various students, band nerds, and brown-nosers all seem a bit tense.
they don’t trust them.
she sees it in the tight corners of the fairy godmother’s lips as she talks, standing perfectly center on one of the hexagonal stones that make up the ornate walkway in front of the school. hana purposefully ignores what she’s saying, focusing instead on the four students behind the old hag when she makes eye contact with the girl to the rightmost side. the recognition is instant, the animosity rising.
“you’re kidding me,” hana flashes her teeth tauntingly, all bite. “no one told me she was going to be here - else i would have fought a little harder when i was getting kidnapped.” her index finger raises accusingly, points straight at the preppy princess’ neck. “you have quite the sick sense of humor putting me within strangling distance of her.”
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The advice goes: if you're tossing and turning, get up and do some physical activity to chase the restlessness out of your limbs. Unfortunately, that's not an option. It would look incredibly strange for a young, married, professional to be strolling on the sidewalk of their quiet, quaint, neighborhood at 2:47am in the morning--without her charming, handsome, husband by her side at the very least.
Thinking about him makes her want to roll over and curl in on herself. Would she feel safer in that position?
Earlier--that'd been a trap. A set-up if she's ever been trained to spot one. They were lucky, she supposes, but she wonders why them. They weren't fresh faced by any means, but she always thought they seemed too young still. Was it their youth and by extension--their adaptability? Or maybe it was the fact that they were young enough to still be disposable?
Her eyes were burning; it'd been a while since she blinked. The darkness made the action seem less important. Gahye thinks that maybe, she forgot to, mistaking the absence of light at this time of night for the dark behind her eyelids.
Would she feel safer if he were here next to her?
The doorknob is cold against her palm, the air is too on her bare legs. She opens the door soundlessly, and she can tell that he's not asleep, either. It's hesitation that keeps her feet rooted where they are, but it dissolves when his shoulders seem to relax.
For the longest of times, she'd always thought that missions were hard, and that the decompressing after was easy. Tonight, it's a bit of an inversion (but not completely).
She slips under the covers, shivering at the cold sheets against her warm skin. Strangers, but not quite. Right now he's the closest thing she's got to home. He's the only one she comes close to trusting, right now.
Gahye curls up on herself on the opposite end of the bed.
It’s hard to pinpoint what had done him in—the seconds ticking down to then, or the aftermath. Whatever it is, whatever it had been, it followed. From the scene of the crime to trailing right at their heels. To the back of their four-seater, as they drove into the night. And now, it pads through the silence, the confines of their home. Inertia creeping.
Motionless, Taesik has nothing more but the company of shadows and the thoughts that slip through the expanse of the room, oil-slick. He’d be foolish to think sleep would wash over him by now: two hours and counting with his eyes wide open, fixed to the slow spin of the ceiling fan.
A close call. The closest they’ve ever been to being slit over a knife’s edge. Fear is a notion that’s long drained out of him—that, or it’s morphed into a different shape entirely. It’s hard to tell if it’s this numbing sensation he wants off his chest, or the weight of the memory itself. Dichotomies of choice that come around in full circle.
The sudden creak of the door startles him. Immediately, Taesik turns on his side, held tense, bated breath. Waiting. It’s the sound that follows that has him recoil slow. Exhale, then relief. He carefully sinks back against the pillows.
For all the time they’ve spent together, what he knows about her is little to none. Perhaps this is inconsequential. After all, it seems, they have heavier things to share in its place. The grievances. The small diamonds in the rough to counter each one: this isn’t home, this is close enough, I don’t need this, I need you as you need me. Necessity is both the mother of invention and the noose that pulls tighter, all without mercy in equal measure.
Tonight he has no stories to spin.
Tonight there’s a knot that neither of them can untie.
His eyes take in the space between them, her face. The thick tangle of hair spilling over the pillow. He only dares to move an inch closer, barely breaking this distance. His voice is barely above a thin murmur, echoing faint.
“Gahye?”
The answer? Yes. Every step closer to this very spot had made her feel safer. As soon as she'd walked through that door, there was no turning back. It's a silly phenomenon, and she doesn't want to examine it too closely. There might be some realizations that she's not quite ready to reckon with--mainly, that she needs him more than she wants to admit.
It's a primordial truth: there's comfort in company, there's strength in numbers.
"I didn't mean to intrude," he's already awake. Her eyes have adjusted to the relative darkness, and she slowly shifts onto her back, as if moving too fast might startle him. "I'm sorry, I thought you might want some company tonight." Because I need it.
With her back completely pressed against the mattress, she allows herself to turn her head to look at him. The moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains outlines his figure like a halo, and Gahye almost wants to laugh at the irony. "I'll leave if you want me to, though." I know we're not close like this. She's not good at...this. And she feels foolish, backtracking on all those months of being an ice cold bitch, but there are too many sentences jammed into her head to be able to properly convey that. She's also got a little too much pride.
Gahye's body is completely still, save for her hands. Muscles slowly relaxing, there's a few beats of complete silence as they both try to figure this out. Her thumbs are nervously tracing over the shape of her nail, a nervous tick that betrays her so completely. Usually she's good at keeping it under wraps, but right now it's just--idle hands are the devil's playthings.
"Taesik, can I…?" Can I what?
So are idle lips, apparently.
She must think of him to be transparent, what with the way she can unlace him entirely with the single sweep of her gaze. Exposed before he can so much as pull the strings loose himself. Though their target had nearly beat them to the chase. Taesik can still see it now, clear as a picture. The barreling down of bullets. The shattering. Broken glass and metal and a deep, deep red.
"You're not intruding."
Watching her her watching him. There's no animal instinct involved in the act besides the draw of curiosity. Fear too, a quiet kind, that brims beneath the skin. Espionage teaches you the art of stealth, of slipping without tipping over the edge, but it's never ever brushed upon what it means to be vulnerable.
In the dark, she's a figure that cuts in sharp-soft. Pale moonglow and the thinned hardness of her hands.
He remembers the first time they'd interlocked fingers, not because of some magnetic pull of want but the push of a reminder. You have to sell yourselves. His grip had tightened on the spot. Back then, perhaps that was the least passive pretense he'd donned at all in those months.
It's different now. There's not any form of tense to describe their positions, the questions that pool beneath their bodies. His eyes flit between her thumb and the curve of her bare collarbone. Time only exists between the faint pound of their pulses.
"I don't want you to go."
His arm lifts from his side to rest over her waist. Different. Different. A novelty he's not sure what to make of, but is willing to revel in out of none other but sheer, careful need.
Please.
She stills completely, mid-motion, pausing with the tip of her nail still pressing into her fingertip. This feels real. The sensation, it grounds her until suddenly it's insignificant compared to the feeling of his arm around her. He feels primordially close, and her instincts tell her to shift closer-- "I'm not going anywhere," it almost feels like a promise. Her eyes drift closed and Gahye breathes out slowly, body moving with every inhale, exhale, curving closer towards Taesik. "Don't want to be anywhere but here."
Sometimes she's afraid that this is it. That her experiences up to this point are everything she's going to do, everything she's ever going to feel.
It was a silent sort of terror watching their cover slip away, like the sand beneath your feet when the tide sweeps back out. It's a certain brand of relief whenever they come back, together, alive (bruised, bloodied, but not too too broken). It's the particular stillness of them lying together, pressed closer than they'd been before.
Gahye imagines how deeply she might have fallen in love if the circumstances were different. If they weren't brought up in these worlds where everything except for their orders are off limits. "I was a little afraid of losing you tonight." It might even feel somewhat like this.
"I really don't know what I would have done if I did." Her arm slips out from under the covers to mimic the positioning of Taesik's, settling over until her fingers trace over his own.
But she does know. If either of them never came back, the other person would be ordered to pretend to grieve appropriately, then uproot and disappear. They'd be re-assigned. Rinse and repeat until they've wrung every bit of life out of you.
The thought of it gives rise to something unpleasant.
She turns her upper body, eyes searching for him in the dim light. It's been like this for a while. A call and response. This time, she wants to initiate. "Things feel different tonight, don't they?" As much as she wants to live in this role, she doesn't know if she can continue to do so, strategically keeping each touch hollow, empty.
When she lays completely flat on her back, hand reaching up to brush against his cheek, Gahye muses out loud. "I'm going to stay."
she lets the exhaustion of the day sink down from her shoulders to rest in the heels of her feet. shoulders slump, weight shifts - the front of her shoe scuffs the pebbled ground and she would give anything to just jump into the water. never before has sungah had a thought like this (leave the water affinity for the kids descended from water nymphs, after all) but she wonders if it’s possible to stay under the water indefinitely. just this once.
but it’s still the edge of winter, barely a step into spring. the water is cold, the night young.
something in her pulls her head to the side. she feels her hair slipping over her shoulder, and she shivers at the breeze on her neck. it’s colder than she expected, but the sight of him walking towards her makes her smile with the type of warmth that radiates when you see someone you love. “aiden,” she greets. but sungah also feels like she’s crumbling, from the inside out, starting from her feet and clawing upwards. wonder which feeling will take more of her body hostage. “i missed you.” it feels wrong to say, but the truth stumbles out before she can stop it.
“sorry to make you come out all the way here - it’s uh, colder than i thought.” she’s being incredibly selfish but all she wants to do is melt into him. sink into this moment because everything is too much. well, almost everything; she’s just not enough. “it feels like i haven’t seen you in forever.” time has not been kind to her emotions and thoughts. but it hasn’t changed how he makes her feel - giddy, secure, fearless...insides fuzzy, with a permanently dopey smile.
iris had once commented on how many love letters people tried to send through iris message. sungah always thought it was a little weird. how lovesick do you have to be to try your luck with asking a goddess to send a stupid little love note?
but it’s moments like these where she gets it. “sorry i’ve been a little distant lately. needed some time to recharge by myself and just...decompress.” too bad she’s about to ruin it all. “are you upset with me?”
alias: azalea, aza
18+/-: 18+
links: about me things & muse library
about: i’m rusty. so rusty. please be gentle with me. anyone that has written with me before knows that i’m really flexible with plots and characters and dynamics so let’s get this going!
plots: classical/modern OR remixed royals au (with THIS post in mind), crime/mafia aus, moulin rouge (movie or musica) inspired au, percy jackson au, pining exes that aren’t over each other but try to pretend they are OR “we can definitely do the ‘just friends’ thing!!!!,” anything on THIS dynamics page, “the boys” au or any other type of superhero au, modern fantasy, among lots of others!!!
it’s me(me): always
current jam: don’t make fun of me but “chillin’ like a villain” from disney’s descendants. my roommate put it on as a joke and it’s actually so catchy that i’m still upset about it
tag yourself!writing edition: oh god, it’s “help me” for sure
it’s certainly an upgrade from freshman year. at least now he doesn’t have to worry about having the right ratio, or making sure to have anywhere from five to twenty dollars on his person to get into a party. the only downside is that he’s pretty sure that their friend group is expecting him to help host at the next major holiday-ish party, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that just yet. he...doesn’t even have an apartment off campus; he’s in the dorms with joonho, so that’ll be interesting to see how it all plays out--
joohyuk is severely distracted.
he’s spacing out on this mildly interesting story about how steph had to walk home barefoot from her latest chem 3 exam because joonho’s getting hit on by a girl who’s like three degrees of separation from any of them. it’s just morally wrong. how can joohyuk leave his best friend and the only roommate he hasn’t scared off by his odd hours in the hands of a total stranger?
so he thinks up a lie. believable enough to not arouse suspicion--
“i need you,” he states to joonho, looking him straight in the eye. all this after just walking away from steph and jake mid story. “beer pong duo upstairs getting too cocky after 2 wins in a row.” his smile to the girl is too easy to be truly fake. joohyuk is genuinely happy to steal joonho away. “sorry, he’ll catch up with you later. we’ve got a title to defend right now.”
he’s such a freaking liar.
there’s no guilt though. two beers, a cup of the seriously strong mixed juice, and three stupid dare shots in, and joohyuk doesn’t feel much. except for how warm joonho’s palm is in his. they’re holding hands, and he’s dragging him upstairs where the pong table actually is, but he directs them toward a sharp left, where the hallway is dimmer, and the little bay window overlooks the street in front of the house. “i lied.” he shrugs, letting go of joonho’s hand and sitting on the little seat that’s got a worn out cushion. “i’ll lie less in the new year or something, i don’t know.”
“but it was hot down there and i know how uncomfortable you get when there’s a lotta body heat.” nose scrunching, he can even call himself out of his bull (but he’s not sorry). joohyuk reaches behind him, fumbling with the latch on the window. he pushes it out so that it opens an inch or two, letting the cool winter air hit his back. he shivers. “sorry if you were really interested in her. didn’t mean to cockblock you.” opening his legs slightly, he leaves room for joonho to settles himself wherever he wants: against the railing of the stairs, up against the wall, or right in between his legs.
he’s laid the cards out on the table. it’s joonho’s turn now.
the most common color in the natural world, the color green is symbolic of balance, prosperity, freshness, and progress. it is often times associated with envy, but it has also been associated with fostering creativity.
as the color of the heart chakra (anahata), green is linked to the heart, lungs, circulatory system, and the complete chest area. opening the heart chakra allows a person to love more, empathize, and feel compassion.
for @toauz : i’m so sorry this is late, but happy birthday!
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the memory she greets him with adds to the casual terror of the moment. he’s thought about this before, what he’d do if she were to call him because his number’s still the same but for it to actually happen makes him feel like the sixteen-year-old know-it-all again, the young boy who should’ve known how to risk something for someone who was worth it.
“i do remember that. you were trashed.” he recalls this with warmth lacing his tone, voice soft and quiet like it’s a good memory to remember. “but you slept like a baby that night. and the next morning, i remember thinking that i’ve never seen you so well-rested.”
but that’s then and they’re in the now. he hears the way she breathes in and silently wishes he could offer something comforting to say, but he doesn’t know what would make it any better: the sort of wound he left her behind with and the bleeding afterwards. all the things he hasn’t been there to see through with her. he breathes in too.
and then he leaps, like he should’ve done it the first time around. “i’m glad you called, if it helps. and if you ask me, you should never need to have a reason to call a friend.”
if posed the question of how this conversation would go before it actually happened, is happening, she’d always assume the worst. assuming the worst is something that she’d learned to do in high school, but apparently she hadn’t assumed the worst enough because when things happened the way they had between them, she’d still been hurt. that’s why she had honed the skill, the life hack, to a sharp point during university, always anticipating the worst, ready to work twice or thrice as hard to make up for what was sure to be the--
so she was expecting the worst. this, in comparison, is far from it.
what it is, is like walking into the ocean. at first it’s the swirl of salty water around your ankles, foam starting to rise and tickle at your knees. then your fingertips are in the water and then the next wave that swells past breaks against your waist. you feel the sand moving past your toes and before you know it you’re chest deep, still wading--a part of you just wanting to see how far you’ll go before you lose your courage and start to shuffle back.
jaehwa lets the water take her, much like it had those few years ago, though that instance was unintentional. “it was so cold that day,” she supplies, the memories rushing back as if it’d been yesterday. “but it wasn’t raining, and the student council had been planning that beach trip for weeks.” the words seem to tumble out of her, as if they missed the person on the other side of the phone so much that they can’t get out fast enough.
but she pauses, lets a beat pass by as she thinks about how much she’s missed this. it’s often said that close friends can go ages without speaking to each other, but when they do--it’s like no time has ever passed. “i don’t think i’ve ever slept as well since.” the huff of laughter is soft, as if too loud a sound will break the spell that’s making this phone call go so well, so easy.
“you’ll be sad to hear that my dark circles are darker than ever. just wait ‘til you see them--” implying that they’ll meet, in person. in the near future. it comes out before she can think it through, and the only other thing in her head that could possibly diffuse this situation is....”i’m sorry to call you at 2? 3? in the morning.” i just wanted to hear your voice. “were you in the middle of something? or--uh, sleeping probably.”
he tells her that he’s happy she called, and jaehwa wants to echo the sentiment, but she doesn’t know if anything more will tumble out with the admission. so she continues to play it safe, while she still can. it’s easier this way, when he’s not standing in front of her. they’ve both probably changed so much since the last time they’d stood face to face.
she’s sobering up, quickly. “i don’t know if you’ve heard, but i’m back in town.” she leaves the choice up to him. it’s the least she could do, considering that she’s completely blindsided him.
“Teacher’s conference?” It sounded horribly boring, so maybe that was something that would get Gyuhan to be chatty. By her feet, Dubu was still flopping around on the ground, wanting someone to rub his stomach or to pay attention to him, even though the conversation was about him in the first place. “Yeah, I can do that. As long as he gets another bath before then.” Another neighbor walked past them quickly, avoiding eye contact with Jungah at all costs for whatever reason. Jungah wasn’t too sure. “What will you do for me?” Her eyes darted toward Gyuhan. It was gut reaction, one that always was in response to favors. The true instinct of a predator. “I could use help with moving some furniture. I think my apartment needs to be shaken up a little.”
Telling a dog no kisses is like telling a kid to stop moving. He knew this before, but it only just reaffirmed his previous thoughts about Jungah: ice cold. At least, not in the way that made her unbearable to be around or impossibly abrasive, but in the way that made sticking around worth the while, just to see what kinds of other things would come out of her person.Well, the free rent and lump sum put into his bank account per month are a pretty good reason to stick around too, but she could be a worse. A lot, worse.
“Yep,” he agrees with her, lip popping the last syllable just the slightest. “I’m a regular ol’ Yoo Jaesuk.” Even he raises his eyebrows when Dubu decides to get into a tussle with the tile. “Except without the ridiculous glasses and none of the national acclaim.”
Now that she mentions it, Gyuhan doens’t really see the landlord around their doors. Maybe this is the nice part about having friends employers in high places.
He hopes she doesn’t fixate on the teacher’s conference. In reality he can’t remember what was even discussed at the last one he’d been to all those years ago when he first started teaching. If need be he could probably just bullshit some convoluted itinerary, but he’d really prefer to not. So it comes as a blessing in disguise when Jungah’s nose naturally turns up at the idea of taking care of a vaguely dirty Dubu. “I’ll help you move furniture, sure. And by help I assume do most of the heavy lifting by myself as you direct.
“Hey, here’s a thought. Maybe you should help me give him a bath, just so you know how to do it in case something happens and I’m still away.”
This bastard doesn’t actually smoke, but whatever. My call, on my issues will have to matter some other time, he thinks on the way to… nowhere. Both physically and mentally, somehow. Sebastian pats himself down and finds nothing that will help him save for his own phone, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows as he shuts the door behind him. All is cold when he realizes he hadn’t been able to look Yejun in the eye at all since he’d gotten home, colder when he figures he’s an idiot for not stealing a single proper glance while he could have.
“Siri,” he mutters into his collar, head low, hands clasped at his nape. His phone’s in the back pocket of his jeans. Siri doesn’t catch the rest of it.
[ SMS: Jun ] I’m at the pier
[ SMS ] If you look for me, I’ll go somewhere else and and it won’t be home and you won’t be invited
[ SMS ] technically you’re not even invited right now
[ SMS ] just letting you know I’m okay
[ SMS ] subjectively
[ SMS ] y’know, the kind of okay where I’m (physically) unharmed and no one’s out to get me
[ SMS ] just that kind.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Granted, he never really knows what to do with his hands, in acting that’s kind of his Achilles heel. It’s something he’s fully aware of and admits openly to any directors or stagers that he works with, but they usually just smile or laugh at him, probably thinking “This kid can’t be that bad.”
But sometimes he is. Yejun’s better now, he tries to think less and just immerse himself into the role of whatever he’s doing, but sometimes he still feels his fingers clench then unclench, forearms going up, elbows bending, only for his arms to fall loosely at his side. He hasn’t felt that awful awkwardness, that empty helplessness, in quite a while, but he feels it now except it’s got nothing to do with his hands.
It’s got everything to do with the figure in the kitchen, who won’t look at him.
Yejun’s fingers fidget.
He’s got no place in that sphere of Sebastian’s life. He’s lucky he was even brought to the gathering to begin with. Except for maybe running lines with each other to help each other out, they’ve got slightly different preferences when it comes to roles and genres. It still means that they’re most likely gonna take any and every opportunity that gets offered them, but it also means that they’ve got different ways of handling things. Doesn’t make it better that Yejun is more removed from the situation. Removed enough that he just had to go and run his mouth. His stupid mouth that’s connected to his over-dramatic brain, that takes orders from these ridiculous things called feelings--
There go his hands.
“You heard.”
Yejun means to cross his arms, but they fall back to his sides before they even get up halfway. Partly because he feels helpless, and partly because Bastian still isn’t looking at him. He’s walking away.
It’s cold in the kitchen. It’s the worst when they talk to you but they just won’t look at you, no matter how much they say, no matter what you say back. It’s like when you resort to texting each other from a room away, this time not because you’re feeling lazy but because just the idea of exerting any extra energy on a person you don’t want to even think about is abhorrent.
His fingertips. They’re cold, too.
Sebastian’s long gone by the time Yejun musters up the brightness to say anything in response.
“Just don’t blow smoke into people’s faces.”
Yejun shouldn’t be here right now. He just can’t be here.
( SMS // Bastian ) you know i know better than to try and go find you right now
( SMS ) i won’t look for you, i promise. i’m probably the last person you want to see right now. i’m not gonna apologize for what i did cause he’s a total dick but i’m sorry for doing it behind your back.
( SMS ) that’s really the only thing i’m sorry about
( SMS ) keep staying physically unharmed with no one out to get you, okay?
( SMS ) iwhat i’m saying is to stay at the very least, subjectively fine.
( SMS ) like don’t forget to lock the door at night and stuff
What had he been undone with? A single syllable, or a single possibility?
“Whatever.” Unfolding his arms, he draws the covers up to his nose. “I’m going to sleep.”
Turns out it’s neither. Behind it all is just a single boy. From the butterflies that stir in his wake to the careful hands that hold both halves of his heart. And he doesn’t know even know it.
But Joonho’s smiling anyway, ear to ear. Hope is funny like that, funnier in the kind that comes with floating on cloud nine. Kidding, he’d said. I know, he’d thought after. Everything else in the state of the unspoken, set adrift, waiting. Still waiting.
For another day, then.
“You should too.”
The pull of sleep is tempting his eyes closed, coaxing his breathing into deeper pulls, slower exhales. It’s that floaty, weightless, state in between awake and asleep, where you can feel everything around you but it seems like you’re watching from afar. Funny how he’d been absolutely unable to fall asleep before, but now all it takes is a few minutes of teasing fondness, sappy confessions, and meanings between words. Joohyuk doesn’t so much reply to Joonho’s accusations of limited intelligence, as he rumbles out an acknowledging sound. Sticks and stones, and whatchamacallits. Too many words to get out properly.
Still, he feebly fights against the sleep that bleeds closer to his core, trying to fall asleep after Joonho does. It’s not so much a dominance thing rather than a nervousness that he’s going to say something silly, take a thought too far, or perhaps be too honest out loud. “Whatever,” he barely manages to echo out, the word low and drawling, as if his brain is winding down before it shuts off completely. “I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep.” His voice shifts closer to a whine, tired of trying to stay awake, tired of holding back, and most of all, tired of being this close but being unable to do anything more than this.
Seven billion people in the world and he knows that soulmates don’t necessarily have to be lovers. They can be best friends too. But with Joonho this close, Joohyuk doesn’t know where best friend ends and lover begins.
He voices his drifting train of thought in the vaguest way possible.
he wonders if sebastian can feel the weight of his stare. that always seemed like a myth to him, a gaze full of so much power and sensation that would cause someone else to notice such an intangible thing. still, it doesn’t stop him from mentally burning a hole into the back of bastian’s head from his own position in the kitchen. it feels like he’s been here forever, trying to figure out how to approach such an...awkward conversation. how do you properly let your roommate and friend know that you made a thinly veiled threat towards their coworker?
yejun isn't intimidating by anyone's standards, but he'd called out their shitty behavior and wholly inappropriate vocabulary when bastian and a few of his other coworkers had gone to get another round of drinks. bastian has obligations to the cast and crew, and has to maintain the dynamic on set, but yejun isn't restrained by any of that. maybe...he shouldn't have said anything. it's not really his place but at the same time, bastian shouldn't have to work with such a dickwad.
yejun feels his eyebrows furrowing, and he concludes that the staring thing is indeed just a myth. bastian has yet to turn around, even with yejun's contemplative staring.
"i said something to uh, what's his name again? the guy that plays your best friend this season?" yejun walks around the couch but keeps a measured distance away. he leans back against the wall opposite of yejun and tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. he hadn't had a chance to change out of his outfit from before, and he swears he still smells some of the cigarette smoke the guy had blown towards him. "when he went out for a smoke, and i went out for some air." he settles his eyes on bastian, trying to measure his reaction. "i told him to take his ego down a few notches. and to stop getting so close to everyone all the time. admittedly, in less...nice...words.”
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her hands have stopped shaking. it's a small comfort that's countered by the dizziness of her gaze. her world spins, and she closes her eyes out of habit. this is the only way to make things stop, it's the only way she can have a moment of clarity in the midst of this hazy fog that's pulled over her eyes and senses. thankfully, it's quiet. the streets aren't busy--who goes out on a wednesday night, after all? most normal people have jobs in the morning and families to juggle, but not her. she's got the next day off after a succession of six work days: four daytime and two nighttime shifts. her job never ends, she sees patients and doctors in her dreams and has terminology swimming in her head while she showers, eats, lives.
so no, not jaehwa.
they tell her that these next years are going to be the worst, and after experiencing it, she's inclined to agree. her program is inherently competitive, but the particular batch she's been taken on with are just...insane. they're non-stop, and she's got to fight and claw to keep up. she's exhausted.
hands fumble with her phone, and there’s this emptiness that she doesn’t really know how to explain away. her body must know better than her mind because she’s dialing almost immediately after seeing his name on the screen--
it rings once, and she tells herself that if he doesn't pick up by the third, then she's hanging up. her confidence is falling faster than she knows how to handle (it rings twice), and she wishes there was a way to erase her call from his phone records altogether.
thrice.
the call is picked up before it finishes its third ring. jaehwa panics, but then starts talking--too fast for herself to keep up with.
“do you remember that one time right before graduation, that one field trip where we went to the ocean, when haewon bumped into me and knocked me over? i was soaked and after i changed out of my wet uniform you gave me your sweatshirt. i still have it--sometimes i think about if i should have given it back to you.”
she takes a deep breath, and she feels her heartbeat. it’s fast. she’s nervous and this was definitely a bad idea.
“but i could never figure out how to. or when do, actually.” her words are the tiniest bit slurred, eyes still closed. as if being on the phone with her were as bad as seeing him in person. “things got so weird and i left without saying goodbye after we graduated so it never felt like i could--give it back.” jaehwa leans against the side of the convenience store, back pressed to the red brick of it.
he walks down the hall, stopping when a door opens and jiae leaves. hyunsik tenses, suddenly aware of how awful he must look with dark circles around his eyes visible under his makeup and a hoodie that makes him look too casual compared to her.
“we’re having the same luck.” in front of her hyunsik loses all the swagger he is known of possessing. it’s like jiae has the power of turning him into an awkward teenager again. “they’re not scared, jiae-ssi,” hyunsik smiles “they’re intimidated. pretty women usually have this effect on boys like them.” and on him as well.
smooth hyunsik, very smooth.
he’s surprisingly gentle when he isn’t rapping or coaching. curiosity is natural, and she’d done her due diligence on the other judges as they were announced one by one to generate hype. easily, he’d been the most intriguing; part of the reason being how little personal information there was about him out on the internet. in comparison, she knows her whole profile is floating out there down to her dislike of overly sweet coffee. growing up in the public eye has its negatives, surely.
“you look tired,” jiae comments, tilting her head towards the makeshift cafeteria, silently inviting him to join her. this isn’t strange, two trainers taking a break from sheer mediocrity to re-charge for the rest of the session, right? “but i suppose the same look is on my face.”
her groupchat with her former members had blown up when the news of hades’ attendance of the third season had broken. she knows why, now. especially when he’s this close.
“you can drop the formalities. i don’t care for them, much.” she waves it off dismissively, but then can’t help it when his comment makes her smile a little. all too often people are quick to call her pretty, but it’s quite nice when it’s paired with intimidating. oh, he’s getting to her head.
hyunsik is handsome, it’s undeniable. his charisma is different from that of the male idols that are in her company, or even the fresh-faced charm that many of these trainees have. it’s a little rougher around the edges, and jiae realizes suddenly that she’s...quite into it.
“boys they are,” a flash of teeth with this smile this time. “what about yourself? are you dazzled by seeing me up in person or do i fall short compared to my fansites’ pictures?” they take a seat at one of the two person tables, and she settles her elbows onto the table, propping her chin up with her hand and focusing her gaze onto him. “you can be honest with me--not many people are, so you can be the outlier in my life.”
