/ * JIHAN .

He had no idea how his rat had escaped. Jihan wondered if there was something in the air, for his pet had been acting stranger than usual. He had even gone so far as checking the patterns of the moon until the absurdity of the situation forced him to neglect those foolish thoughts. Edgar was usually so well behaved, so he soon began to suspect an impending illness. Maybe a slight curse inflicted by a student he could have wronged--nevertheless, Jihan’s silhouette could be seen, hunched and a tad desperate, as he searched the grounds. His pocket felt empty without his little companion, and Jihan found that he did not welcome this strange sensation... was it loss?

The idea was a passing one, much like his belief that a full moon would have been involved with the rat's mood changes, but he pursued it. Jihan took the steps up towards the Owlery one at a time, making sure to take a few moments to scour the steps for any sign. What he was looking for, he wasn’t sure--he just hoped that it wouldn’t be a carcass, evidence that a cat had decided that he was going to be prey. 

The scratching of nails sounded, and Jihan began to hurry. His forehead was plastered with damp strands of hair (he had began to take take the steps two at a time upon hearing a scuffle) once he made it to the top. As he pushed open the door, he paused at the sight. His rat was midair, its teeth sunken into the leg of an owl. Jihan could only freeze in those few seconds as he watched them tussle, the owl’s wings flapping furiously in its bid to escape the rodent. Only then did the professor shake himself out of his stupor by reaching inside his lapel for his wand.

There they were again. Jihan was immediately reminded of penguins, the kind that he had seen on those documentaries that the muggles favour, as the cluster of students joined together in huddles. It was a daily occurrence, one that he was not fond of witnessing, for Minho was entirely oblivious to it all. Really, how did his fellow professor manage to escape that office every day? Was the collection of whispering students not an obstacle? As these questions filtered through his mind, Jihan sidestepped around those that lingered. Before he rapped his knuckle against the office door, he turned to admonish them. “Do you want to keep those house points? Yes? Then get to your classes.”

Jihan entered the study, which was just so blatantly Minho. Silk, from what Jihan guessed was from their extensive travels, adorned the walls. It was elegant, yet at the same time, completely chaotic. What lay scattered around was a total juxtaposition to what draped along the walls--was that... glitter? Jihan was not sure how such a feat was managed, but he had long since accepted it. Although, he still harboured difficulty with accepting other things about Minho. The schoolmate that he had grown up with was no more, and the stark difference was still proving to be a little too much.

“You left a note on my desk,” Came his inital greeting. “It looked like it was written in code, but if they were runes, I definitely could not translate them.” Jihan looked at everything but Minho, and scratched at the base of his neck as he continued. “I came to the conclusion that it would be better to just come and see you. I suspected that you might have something to show me.”

It was a courtesy that Jihan did not extend to everyone. He wished his students well (or at least the vast majority), but he simply did not have the time to individually explore their talents. But with Bae Ahreum, it was different. She showcased a potential that promised great things, yet his student just seemed to remain on the cusp of it. It was almost there, just never fully within her grasp. It irked Jihan to no end, as he knew that her distractions played a fundamental role in this, and so he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

His attention shifted as the loud, pained groan of the hefty wooden door opened. From where he had been thrumming his fingertips against a desk, he turned and straightened. This was not because Ahreum was tardy, he was just incredibly impatient. It was a fault he needed to correct, as often the students he taught would threaten his capacity for tolerance.

“Miss Bae,” He greeted. Her name echoed, for the room was relatively sparse bar the multitude of desks and the necessary apparatus that would coincide with his lessons. Jihan took a few steps forward, proceeding to smooth out his expression. It would become twisted in thought, and he has been told that it could be intimidating to those that do not know him. This was yet another mannerism that he needed to correct. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything, I am aware of how busy things can be, especially now.” The Yule Ball, he imagined, would create yet another load of responsibilities for Ahreum to shoulder. “But before we start, I would just like to ask you a question--why do you think I have asked you to come and see me today?”

          PROF. CHOI JIHAN OF HOUSE THUNDERBIRD.

                                               CHOI JIHAN.

If you are a Professor, what subject(s) do you teach? What School and House were you in when attending school as a student?

                              “𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.” 

“I attended Ilvermorny and was selected for House Thunderbird. I was never satisfied with this decision, as I found my peers to be too irrational. I was--am--above all of that.”

She bites a lip, a glance over his features as he stares. Work related? She some memories here and there, little things, mostly. It’s not hard to think she knew him from work, the places she’d seen his name were mostly on papers scattered in the box she’d retrieved from her supposed place of work.

“Ah, ‘friends’, that’s nice,” she nods at his words, “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude. I don’t know if you know, I was in an accident, since then, things have been difficult for me.”

A soft smile managed after his words and she takes a step closer so that she can feel his warmth in the air. “I’d like that.” Anywhere as long as it isn’t back to where she came. “I’d like to get to know you better, all the things I lost.” 

She lost so many friends, memories, relationships and even huge pieces of herself. It’s difficult to lose that much but somewhere inside, she knows that fear and tears won’t help her overcome this hurdle. It may be naive to trust this man, but there’s something in his eyes she can’t help but trust, so she grins up at him with gratitude in her eyes.

“Station,” she starts walking along the path, winter air causing her words to shiver. “What kind of station?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Jihan was not about to admit to his former therapist that he had, for quite some time, despised their meetings. It was not Ga-ram that bothered him as such, but rather what she represented--a council that had been forced upon him. Yet here he was, finding himself both frustrated and concerned that she seemed to have no recollection of their weekly meetings. Why had he succumbed to nonchalance regarding her accident prior to this? Why hadn’t he reached out? “I read about your accident. I was very sorry to hear...”

The guilty thoughts plagued him as they walked, not quite shoulder to shoulder but he was close enough, lingering as if he were expecting her legs to give out at any moment. “The uh, police station. You would meet me there often. Just to talk about things.” His tongue darted to wet his lips, feeling suddenly nervous. These were tricky waters, ones that Jihan was not entirely sure he could navigate. 

“You look tired.“ Cheolsu nods in greeting as he approaches, hands occupied by two coffee cups. “Here.” He guides the extra drink into Jihan’s palm. It’s still hot–steam rising from the small tab that’s been tucked back to cool it.He might be accused of favoritism by this gesture, but there should be some allowance granted to old friends.

Jihan wears the weight of their work heavier on his eyes, the severe line of his mouth, and the tenseness in his shoulders that never quite unwinds. Only scraps of the man’s youthful optimism remain, sometimes on his face, mostly in the shadows of Cheolsu’s memories, on the pictures of their old high school books when they’d regarded their future line of work with the golden lining of idealism.

Circumstance hasn’t been kind.

“How many dead? Any tangible evidence?”

Jihan, when he was not within the sphere of his work, kept to himself. But this did not mean that he was not relieved to see a familiar face amidst the crime scene. Jihan would still shift uncomfortably if he and Cheolsu were to meet privately, Cheolsu had a penetrative gaze-- an occupational hazard, he supposed. Jihan removed his gloves as he neared, fingers reaching to curl around the coffee cup. He was grateful. “Thank you, Cheolsu.”

Jihan became clinical as he answered Cheolsu, repeating only his findings. He had long since learnt that emotional responses could be dulled in cases like this, as he had seen many. Well, the pair of them had. They were seasoned.

“Just one. A female, late twenties. A coroner will have to look into it, but it looks like strangulation.” Jihan sipped, his tone as casual as if he had spoken about the weather, as he eyed Cheolsu. “We’ve found a few prints, from both fingers and shoes. Are you staying? Because I think it’s going to be a long night.”

          “Why would I waste time getting a stool when I have my own personal giant right here?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips though she was far from humored by the other’s antics. It was people like him that subtly complicated parts of her life where it could have been simple. “If you had been more discreet about your blatant amusement then maybe I wouldn’t have approached you at all,” Minjung rolled her eyes. “But yet, here I am.”

          The woman recomposed herself and leaned her hip against the table’s edge before folding her arms just beneath her chest. They were tucked away safely but her stare remained fixated on him as she was set on making him move. 

          “Please?”

Her tone didn’t warrant his generosity. From where he sat, he looked at Minjung, his eyes blinking steadily, slowly, as he watched her expressions change. Jihan was not sure whether he liked how it became one of determination--in fact, it made him shift with unease. He became aware that he had offended her by sitting idly by, and it seemed as if a consequence now threatened. 

The plea meant that Jihan rose--albeit warily--to his feet. He moved around the opposite side of the table to where she leaned. Grumbles, accompanied with a deep set frown, left him as he did so. “I’m not your personal giant...” At the shelf, he peered at the books. “It appears that I was too distracted with your fumbling. Which one was it?”

His expression confuses but mostly hurts her. She blinks away the emotions that hide behind her tears. Why- Why is he looking at her like that, why does she have to feel this with everyone, so many people seeing her like she’s some figment. Like she hurt their feelings.

Teeth drag in her bottom lip as she peers at him.

Choi Ji-han, she does recognize the name but mostly from a piece of paper. She connects the piece of paper with his name on it to the memories she has of his face. Ji-han, his face was familiar, his name was familiar.

She tries to smile, afraid to let her emotions betray her- eternally grateful when he doesn’t seem ready to push her away. “A drink would be nice,” she rushes to say, her voice is edged and she abruptly drops her sweater from her grip and touches a hand to his bicep. “I’m fine, it’s not cold,” she shivers as she says it but it’s so minute she thinks (is somewhat sure) he won’t see feel it. “Can you tell me what you are to me? Who am I to you?”

She gives up trying to seem normal, her tears should have been the first sign, might as well throw herself to the wolves if it means she’ll get answers.

His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. Jihan was treading in territory that was foreign. He wasn’t sure whether Ga-ram required gentle, dulcet tones, or if he should just revert back to how he was before. But he feared that if he were to approach this as if she were a frightened animal, Jihan would appear to be condescending. He would not be brash or disparaging (his demeanour when they first met), but he could adopt that quiet manner in how he spoke to the therapist once he had grown comfortable around her. Coddling her may prove to be ineffective, or possibly worsen the situation, which Jihan didn’t feel as if he were equipped to deal with. So yes, it would be best to treat her as he would usually, injury or not.

Jihan didn’t jump at the touch, but he did freeze. He looked at where her hand rested, before his attention began to flicker elsewhere. “You used to counsel me at the station. Every other Thursday. We’ve known each other for some time, now...” Jihan’s gaze dropped to his feet, watching them shift with discomfort. “I suppose you could say we are friends.” Except, could he really call himself such? Jihan could have winced as guilt flooded him. He’d heard of her accident, but did little to reach out. He just never knew where he stood with people; with Ga-ram, it was even more confusing. Contacting her personally would have been unprofessional, would it not? 

“I know somewhere where we could go. I can talk to you there, if you’d like. Where it would be warm.”

Inevitable, pungent, final. Encounters with death and the deceased are par for the course, and Jihan has found himself to have become desensitised to it. At times he is affected by its brutality, but his tendency to seek logic and reason often overrides the the threat of sentiment. 

Jihan does not believe in the afterlife, but can understand why others may seek solace in this. His own experiences have been too disturbing, and so for him to see past what he’s seen, to try and envisage greener pastures for those he has inspected, is almost impossible.

A matter of what may be a question better suited to Jihan, rather than who. He doesn’t have many connections, preferring to keep acquaintances and canine companions. That isn’t to say that Jihan doesn’t WANT to be happy as a result of being around people, he just struggles. If he were to choose, his grandparents would be significant on this list. Now old and frail, he fears for them. 

Jihan would also seek the comfort that @wyahnjong provides, their friendship is a strange one, but built upon shared interests and a quiet companionship of where nothing is expected, and silences didn’t need to be filled with nonsensical chatter. He has a deep respect for Ahnjong.

The warmth and and scents that he associates with @wychaeyeong also makes Jihan happy, she doesn’t ask much of him, and seems concerned with his welfare. Chaeyeong confuses him, as much like a shadow, she always seems to be near. He is coming to accept her companionship, eyes seeking her for he had become used to the routine she provides. Greedy, even. However, he remains perplexed, but believes that he may also have a friend in the baker.

▒|🌵✘━━ the day is pleasantly warm but the sun feels overbearing, baking ahnjong’s mind, his mood. why does he feel like he’s sitting on this bench waiting to be hauled to the gallows━ with jihan, he always wondered if things were too simple and he was getting all of the benefits without paying.

“I thought it was like that,” a practiced glance at the ground, as he liked to avoid eye contact. “sometimes, people might have reasons.” he begins and it’s a solid start, no teetering like a bolder on a cliff but it isn’t enough to stop the landslide.

“i ask because━” he isn’t ready, his hands shake, vision pops up with white spots from stress. will he have a panic attack here? he clears his throat of a blockage.

he doesn’t know how to do this, it had been his entire plan today. but here facing the demon of doing it, he’s falling short. he doesn’t want to lose jihan’s friendship. 

because how can he tell the man sitting beside him that every single day he carried on after what he did. or that it never got any easier. how do you admit to being a monster in front of a man so good, so great as jihan?

the words don’t leave his throat, he peers at jihan with the most heart wrenched, wavering gaze. it’s fearful, tears in his eyes that rise from no where. jihan will hate him…

jihan will hate him.

He had been in his own world entirely, words spilling from his lips as they so often did in Ahnjong’s comfortable presence. Yet, Jihan was met with silence. The wind would shake the leaves, yes, but Ahnjong’s voice would not infiltrate.

Jihan’s stomach twisted unpleasantly when he turned to spare a glance. The evident emotion that clung to Ahnjong’s lashes was jarring. It almost made Jihan want to shift further along the bench, away from an onslaught of tears should they come to be.

A finger rose to scratch at his jawline, before lowering to pick at the loose cotton thread on his sleeve. “Is there, uh, something bothering you?” A bite of a lip and a few uncomfortable shifts had occurred before he continued. “Please don’t be upset.”

            Several moments passed with the female jumping and lunging herself forward, desperately trying to reach a book on the top shelf. She’d seen it after taking a generous step back and underestimated just how far up it was. Even before trying to retrieve it herself, the woman was sure to look around for anything that might ease the tension. A ladder, step stool, chair, but nothing seemed probable. Her jumping intensified simultaneously with her annoyance and just when she was ready to give it up—Minjung noticed him.

            She noticed how calmly he tried to play it off as if his gaze hadn’t been stuck on her the entire time. An almost inaudible scoff elicited from her lips before they twitched at their corners, garnished with aggravation. Minjung opened her mouth to holler in his direction but closed it again upon remembering they were in a quiet space. Instead, she padded in his direction and slapped her hands down on the table to make herself known.

            “You know,” The woman huffed with her eyes plastered on the subject. “Instead of sitting here like a useless crumb, watching me struggle for amusement, why don’t you get up and help me reach this book, huh?”

With his eyes downcast, scouring over scribbles but not quite taking it in, he had not noticed her approach until the sound of her palms thudded against the table. Jihan jumped, ever so slightly, but it was enough for his jaw to unhinge as he absorbed her sheer audacity. 

A frown appeared. It wasn’t one drawn out of offense, but rather, surprise. He had never heard of such an insult, and it took Jihan a moment or two to fully digest it. A crumb? Yes, that was certainly a first.

“I don’t know why you think that I would assist you after that.” He answered, eyes lifting only to land on her cheeks. “Use the stools. They’re a favourite amongst the vertically stunted.”