speak softly.

alucard is such a little bastard. chewing through or kicking off collars, no matter how many there were, just to be an evil little bastard, jungyul is certain of it his. so for the third time in as many months, he makes his way towards a local pet store with a frown of focus. he wonders what style will look best with his soft little stray turned hellspawn family member. untamable cat, but beloved one, so he wanders the collar isle with brow pinched, hands shoved into the pockets of his pressed slacks. he’s headed to g.h.o.s.t. to work on books after this, so he’s in his full nines, even his shoes are shined, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. like dropping a diamond into a pile of rocks, too gaudy here among pet food and plastics and puppies. but he focuses and therefore, doesn’t notice the attention he draws. he’s become rather keen at ignoring any and all incoming attention that doesn’t garner him any benefit. it’s a perk of being an uptight asshole that opinions matter very little to him. should he go with the glittering pink one? that’d probably piss off his little satanic cat. he smirks subtly at the thought.

(. . .)

“Well— I didn’t see you until you made yourself present, so I’d say you broke the rules first, dear,” she responded almost teasingly, none of the usual bite she held in her voice when speaking to most men. He was alright, she’d already conceded. Any man who could take a hint and leave her the fuck alone when she asked for it was alright in her book. And so, she found herself not quite hating his presence as much as she might have back then.

“Jungyul, correct?” she wasn’t quite sure how she’d remembered, but somehow the name stuck out. “Shit, it’s been a while.”

she’s unforgettable in her own way, not that she blew his mind while they tangled together in bed, but rather, he recalls her mannerisms. the quiet pride she had and the cool way she dealt with him. so it seems as though she clearly remembers him, and he feels at ease with her. maybe he made an impression, as well.  “is this what we call a party foul?” he jokes lightly, fights a powerful urge to cringe at himself. “usually i follow my own rules but i couldn’t resist; it’s amusing to run into you here.” he grins, letting go of his tension, he melts into the bar next to her and props his weight against it easily.

“it’s even the same place.” he gazes over her pretty face thoughtfully. he barely remembers the last time they met here at this bar, he doesn’t even recall how he managed to talk her into a hotel room. it must have been something. something connecting them. he wonders if she felt his pain that night, he had been in such a low mood, melancholic and looking to drown his sorrows in anything he could. in the end, it wasn't a stiff drink but her soft body-line and cool features he lost himself in. and then he strolled right out out her life without a fuss. it’s kind of amusing, when he thinks of it. “jungyul, yes.” he tells her, standing back to his height and shoving hands in pockets, “would you like to get some air, minkyung?” he drops her name casually. and it’s too loud to hear her voice well, to test how familiar it sounds.

his briefcase lays on the table, which may not be polite put it’s convenient and his nerves are shot recently. so much to do, all of the damn time. between his case load and the instability of g.h.o.s.t.’s books these days, he barely has time to breathe or relax.  his phone buzzes a hundred times daily, and when this checklist has been fretted over to an acceptable, respectable and professional decree, he continues to work on personal affairs. always so much; but if he doesn’t move, think, do, focus, his thoughts turn against him, and really, nothing is worse than that. not even permanent stress and approximately zero free time. he’s holding a folder with two hands, pupils scanning effectively, as he sits in the cafe. his office at the firm is a lions den right now with the bullpen full of prowling, pacing coworkers, since his firm had picked up an unprecedented case of late. no room for relaxation or focus there. and g.h.o.s.t is worse. so he waits patiently for his coffee, focus forcing a frown over him, one leg crossed over the other and bouncing absentmindedly beneath the table. at least his morning so far hasn’t been terrible, as far as things go. 

               BY  NOW , just about everyone’s gone home ( or elsewhere——  the nightlife is resonant at this hour , and it has something to offer even the worst characters that come its way ) , but wonjae’s work is far from done. technically , he’s all good for the day , but a few chance encounters and new information from informants had him updating old records and now he’s traveled down a hole that he’s not likely to leave any time soon. he has a way of becoming fixated on something for hours on end , only finding a way out until he has something else come his way , and then the cycle repeats itself over and over again. he’s been keeping to himself as of late , hoping to perfect a new plan of action that will possibly have similar effects to their staged attacks just a short year ago. that’s not to say he hasn’t been playing here and there —— if he’s not doing something work related , he’s at a bar or a club , allowing himself a few moments of freedom until he spots a gang member from another group and the brief period of bliss disappears. then it’s back to work , back to those mind games he so eagerly enjoys playing even when he’s not asked to. overall , though , he has his own priorities to tend to , ones that are sure to have far larger , far better outcomes than the gang’s previous doings.

                     for wonjae , everything revolves around g.h.o.s.t. in one way or another , and he doesn’t mind it. if he did , he wouldn’t be here , an array of paperwork inscribed with dates that go all the way back to the gang’s beginnings sprawled around the desk in front of him with no sign of being finished with just yet. his elbow is resting on the cold surface , jaw sitting on the palm of his hand and eyes trained on the task in front of him. the knock on the door interrupts his thoughts , and he hastily presses his thumb onto the last line he had been reading over in order to continue once the person behind the door has left their message. he had assumed it would be someone returning from a run or a mission they had been sent off to since jihyu isn’t around , but once the figure enters he realizes he’s very much off target. he relaxes immediately , posture a little less straight and features far less harsher than they would have been if it had been anyone other than jungyul. throughout the years , he’s grown comfortable with his presence , as he’s one of the few people that wonjae still works closely with because of the titles that each of them hold. wonjae leans back in his chair and scoffs quietly in amusement , fingers harshly rubbing at his right eye. “ we’re still here , ” wonjae counters lightly with the slightest of smiles present , hand running through his hair now. “ are you on your way out , or are we having another sleepover ? ” time spent alone with one another is nothing they’re not used to , and wonjae doesn’t mind the company , no matter how brief his visit may be.

things seem grim sometimes in g.h.o.s.t. and he has to ask himself why he thought this was a good idea. between finances dipping in and out of red and green, unstable and holding on by a thread- members always giving him question to whether there was even any hope for them all,and his leads resulted from g.h.o.s.t. intelligence reaching an all time low throughout the years. he sometimes thinks it’s best to cut his losses and leave this godforsaken group. but for every pitfall, every negative, there’s a bloom of hope or bud of possibility that sprouts to draw him back. sometimes, though he’d never, ever admit it, people become the blossom of pause all on their own. and who the hell went and gave them the right to do that? he grins at wonjae’s words, reserved but clear. “everyone knows i don’t actually sleep.” he counters, “or go home. or have fun.” propping a shoulder against the door frame he gazes with a sort of ease that he’s learned to appreciate. 

his expression clears and he remembers his control again. “i planned to get some air and food before i finish balancing the books. it’s been especially difficult to do these days,” a tilt of his head in relative frustration and thought all at once. “things aren’t adding up- but that’s for later.”

The restaurant is on a corner, slanted with plastic signs and a sign bolted into the front that looks heavy enough to pull the place down. It’s likely not in very good shape, surprising in ways that it hasn’t just been shut down. And truthfully speaking, he’s never really seen more than one other person, sometimes none, at the same time as he eats. And that’s why it’s perfect, his favorite place, and the best place for her to join him. Truth be told, there’s a quake to his nerves. Perhaps an instinct to run away so aggressively held into place by his determination, that his muscles jump in place beneath his skin like a wild animal on a leash. His jaw twitches in place too, teeth gritted a little because, while this was all fine and well when he asked her on the phone, facing reality is another matter. Things haven’t leveled since he made the mistake of rising to the occasion, climbing to new heights and conquering his hesitation so that he fell that height right into bed with her. A dangerous thing indeed, especially when it had been like jumping into a volcano. He’s done too fucking much to waste it all now. Too much of his plans hinge on this, so much time spent courting her, getting to know her. And it can’t go to waste- not because he can’t get control of his odd insecurities. So he called her to lunch, and this morning he had sent her the text detailing when and where. He can’t let it all be for nothing. She’s not conquest to be taken in a night, or maybe not a year. And perhaps getting his hands dirty was needed. Sad to say, but maybe sleeping together will help him in the long run. Though it feels....terrible. Facing her again after this. He rarely, if ever, continued associating with people like that. It wasn’t in his nature. Yet. He’s here. Standing outside of the restaurant, waiting patiently for her in his long coat and suit,, vest unbuttoned and hair no longer styled, left in a mess after work from running his hands through it.

His every sense is tied up in the commotion surrounding them, like a bludgeon right to his faculties leaving him a little unfocused. This is one (of many) reasons that he doesn’t often frequent places of this nature. Loud, packed full of bodies in motion, music that punches harder than the kick of the drinks they serve. But at least this routine is seldom, only usually, once or twice a year. Always the same time. When his gaze snags over her he’s gulping down a burning drink. His pupils dilate like a spotlight with attention. Not because she’s special for the night, anything out of the ordinary among the throng of people, but in something more interesting. In raw recognition, courted by a burst of appreciation. Because perhaps for once, what would normally be a negative can convert to positive. He recalls her keenness when they first met. Exactly what he was looking for then- easily falling into line beside his line of thought. Crashing into bed with her hadn’t been out of the ordinary either. No curling of his soul inside of his human shell, a question that he might walk away a changed man. But, point still stands, he remembers. And the next morning had been pleasant in it’s entire fucking absence. Exchange of words brief and refreshingly cool. Just his style.  So for a second he considers turning around and leaving well enough alone, letting that past that they both let go of so easily, open palmed, rest. But then, in the same instance, he still moves towards @vcminkyung.  Crossing to where she lingered among music and bar sounds, leaning in close to get her attention, hoping she recalls as he does (it had been how long? Years?) so that he doesn’t overstep boundaries. “I thought we agreed never to see each other again,” any other time, those words might sound bitter, a curse or insult, but he says it with such an odd sense of humor and repartee that it doesn’t quite sound as it should.

there were days she had wished she could laze around, spending the day carelessly staring at the same ceiling until her eyesight gave in and re-imagined the sight in front of her. if she strained hard enough, she could re-imagine the tiles to turn into clouds or even the night sky she had spent many days gazing upon in her large window in her bedroom. 

except it was not one of those days and she could no longer remain splayed across the leather sofa that adorned the living space. she had to be productive, do something rather than lollygag for the rest of the evening. for a second, she shuttered at her thoughts. what did it matter that she wanted to laze around? 

because she couldn’t rely on jung-yul for entertainment. because she knew she would hear the man’s words of mockery if she had been the one to contanct the other. she didn’t want to seem dependant ( as much as she was already ). she could argue her hatred towards him, yet she relied on him- and she hated it. tendons moved as they stroked loose strands of hair in frustration. what could she do? 

fingers moved to tender skin as they tapped away at the plump lips that consumed her facial features until the sound of the door disrupted her tangled thoughts. she jumped from the couch, making her way towards the door and swinging it open and raising an eyebrow in suspicion of the other.

“fucking read my mind or something, yul?” she quipped, eyes scanning the other and moving to the side to allow some room for the other to step inside. “is that cake?”

No. no he hadn’t; read her mind that is. He’s struck by the sight of her, something familiar that can speak back, not cold like glass shelves, or the round, reflective surface of his father’s urn where only he looks back at himself. Taking the day off from work left him alone with his thoughts. A dangerous place, certainly, especially on this wretched day. 

His expression turns weary and thin. “It’s cake.” He affirms, nods and ushers in past her with a sigh. Seeing her apartment from the entry way for the first time in ages. It had become usual that he simply appear here for so long now that he can’t remember when he last knocked. He slips his shoes off, invites himself to stay awhile without permission, because she sure as hell isn’t going to stop him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have the stability to leave either. Shoveling the cake her direction and into her arms, he makes his way with familiarity towards her kitchen, pulls down a glass and downs water right from the tap. The glass is cool and dry and acts like a magnet to hold him to the earth when he turns back to her. Attempts a small grin that he wouldn’t bother with for anyone else, but she deserves it. “I thought you might want some.” 

      Everything falls to pieces with all the subtly of a comet impacting the earth’s crust, the splintering of his current reality, and once again, the very surface of his soul terraformed to a new one. Because he had, yet again, crashed into the depths of evil he so frequently fought.       And really, he should have learned his lesson by now. But this wasn’t a the kind of test he could willfully pass, intent on failing, as it were. So to him, it’s no surprise to be scooping up his guts and gore, retracting into himself like flowers petals in the early morning cold. He groans loudly, splintered thoughts that he should move, make it better. Get some help. Rolling into a rift, the void of astral swallowing him up with cool nothingness, infinite and absent all at once. And thank god for it, otherwise he’d be laying in an alley somewhere rotting in his own corrupt blood.       His thoughts hone in to search the astral, grasping desperately at aura and connection- seeking until they land on who he’s looking for and he sweetly slips deeper into the ether until he arrives. It’s always an odd sensation to leave limbo back into the tangible plane, even normally. Especially now that he rolls out and onto hard wood and his stomach threatens to spill intestines on the floor. A sharp yelp from his lips and his forehead slams the ground in a gasp. Only after he regains his breath, he pushes himself up into a sitting position which is absolutely not right correct decision, pain rocking through him to a degree that his teeth knock and he manages to prop himself up on one arm with effort.       @vcminseokju will take care of him. He has to believe that. In the few years they’ve known each other, it isn’t like they’re exceedingly close but, it’s enough. It’s enough that this, while not his first choice, or his last resort, it is his chosen resort. 

     Time tends to break down like rusted wheels on a set track when he’s been wilted over his desk as the hours tick by. No help for his posture like there’s no help for his soul. He’s read until his eyes burned, paused for water, and started the process over again and again, for hours.

      Sometimes, his incessant need to punish himself becomes particularly effective. Lack of free time is generally a blessing, intentional and needed, a band-aid over a wound- doesn’t really make the pain go away, but he can at least forget about it temporarily, hope it doesn’t fester and carry on with his life. But it’s building now. The pressure; his body shutting down from court cases and tallying up numbers here at HQ, pounding in his head with a sharp migraine threatening to build. That won’t do at all.     He leaves his desk for the first time in so long he can only recall morning, and it’s now well into the night. HQ is quiet, no more meltdowns, few people left tending at this hour, and he grabs his coat from the hook in his office intending to stretch his legs. There’s too much to take care of, he can’t quit yet, but if he continues pouring over the contents on his desk, he’ll run dry and shrivel up. There’s nothing more to milk from his exhaustion smothered thoughts.       He might have bypassed the office door on his way past entirely. Usually, he certainly would. But something gives him pause. Standing outside with coat laid over his forearm and ears perked up. It’s not concern, not really. He certainly doesn’t care about anyone here beyond professional interest. But it isn’t professional interest that has his lips pulling into a dense frown, blinking dry eyes before a strained sigh parts his lips.       And he knocks twice, tap-tap, sharp and clear, before prying it open and letting himself into @wonjaevc‘s space. His back is rigid strait for the first time in countless hours and the twinge of discomfort he feels down his spine is ignored. His expression conjuring intentional neutrality.       “You’re still here?” He wages gently, voice low as if any sound may be too loud, approval and disapproval all at once.

      Sometimes, it’s difficult to pinpoint when the ache inside of him became so vast- from a pinhole in the side of a balloon that which the air slowly whistled through, to a canyon, a vertical drop that sometimes it feels like if he takes another step, he’ll plunge off the edge.

      But then, these are also useless thoughts. Buzzing flies over the corpse of reason, and if he doesn’t reanimate it, he’s in for a long night of scouring over his sensibilities. And truthfully, that just doesn’t sound like a good time. So he shakes his head and like magic, like an erase over a board, they’re cleared for now. Just the weak impression that they were ever there, too much for one motion to wipe away. But it’s enough, for now.

      His eyes pin on the panel of door before him, a sigh, the box in his hand feels heavy and clammy in his grasp. Or maybe that’s just his palms. It’s all indistinct, and he decides on a dime, like a foot on the brake, that he’s an entire adult, in control of his own life, actions and future. Not the past. So letting it effect him like this is foolish. 

      His knock is so sharp and purposeful, that it turns into a banging quicker than he means. An angry rhythm that gives off  vibrations in the frame, parallel to his stable, flat expression, still and cold. 

      @vcnami will be home, the only person he knows that he feels comfortable seeing right now. He can sense her in there, the life of her, a soul wafting through his nostrils, beautiful and familiar. And annoying, he thinks fondly. But at least, her brand of annoying is eons better than his own personal thoughts.

      “Open up,” he mutters through the wood, impatient with himself her, cake clutched in hand. She’ll help. He’s sure of it. It’s not a mistake to be here. It’s a decision he won’t regret to show this side of himself to her.