⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN. ( @lovelearnedâ )
âŠ
âi miss you even when youâre standing right in front of me,â he answers almost belatedly. eyebrows pushing together as if to say he wishes he never missed her. jaw pulling tight as his stare falls on her lips as if to say if i could just show you how much i miss you now. what he wants to do is hold her and kiss her and say heâs sorry, but that feels dishonest. and heâs trying to learn how to be honest in a real way that will mean something ten years down the line. so, what he does is stay a frigid ten centimeters away, and what he says is, âbut iâm not the only who fucked up here.â
love and heartbreak are false binaries, she has come to learn. more often than not youâre snarled up in one single entanglement than standing firm in the clear-cut distinctions of affection and hatred. and as much as sujeong has let herself falter in the inexactitude of the former with hyun, sheâs still her fatherâs child, still a sharpened blade even if sheathed. so she moves with an acerbity that can only be driven by the wish to injure, to cut deep and wound, when she scoffs at his words and diverts her gaze upwards instead of letting the building tears fall. âdo you really want to talk about being given away? if you were more than happy to forget about me the moment you came across someone whose smile looked just the least bit like mine if you squint hard enough, what did i mean to you?â
she thinks about the rise and fall of his breath against her cheek in the dark of the night, the rise and fall of her own heartbeat to match his steadied pace when he falls asleep first, how everything felt so compelling that even time would come to a standstill before it. and then, how these parallels can be so mockingâbecause itâs the same rise and fall in the way they fall apart, come back together, only to eventually crash again. when you render yourself in this sorry spectacle over and over again, justifying the unending disintegration of this reverie as some sort of tribulation because these things never come easy, what do you call itâlove, or sheer stupidity?
right now sheâs leaning towards the latter.
hyun sujeong might have been born a ruined thing, having learnt that the way to survival was staying on the offensive. so even when she loses herself temporarily in a forlorn trail of her gaze slipping towards his lips because unconscious mirroring betrays her attentiveness to his every darned move, and because sheâs taken a step closer to him, fire coils in her like a viper poised to strike. up this close, heâs familiar, like someone she used to loveâonly colder. âcareful now,â her eyes narrow into slits. âdonât you dare try to tell me that i should play the villain for your mistakes.â
because sujeong knowsâif sheâs not careful enough, itâll be far too easy to give away the secret she has guarded so closely in these moments of fight or flight: she does have a heart, and every fragment of it belongs unequivocally to him. âso tell me again, where did i go wrong?â she starts, except this time it ends with a subtle crack in her voice, a subtle crack in her facade pointing to the choked honesty behind her question. this time, thereâs some candour peeking through, âand if this is another one of those sick twisted games you play, where you somehow get me to believe that you cared for me in any capacity, where you keep me endlessly twirling in circles around you, iâm not interested.â
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you said I was incompetent without a sense of duty
you were wrong
BAE SUZY as GO HAE-RI in VAGABOND (2019)
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⥠ ăYEONJUNG & HANBIN.
âŠ
âlisten.â his eyes dart to the closed door of the kitchen and the peals of laughter coming from the living room before finally resting on her again. hanbin isnât really the grinch that stole christmas but heâs not in the mood to dampen whatever festive spirit the house has been enriched in either. partially because the noh familyâs never done anything less than treat him like their own son. partially because he thinks yeonjung still has a gun. âyouâre the one that left us in this mess, but youâre the one thatâs going to give it away if youâre gonna fuckinâ glare at me like that the entire night. everyone in your family has eyes, and they can use them.â
he kisses his teeth, letting that hang in the air for a few beats of silence before he sighs again. âcâmon. we need to enter together, at least.â
â
the force in his tone is at once both infuriating and captivating. meeting hanbinâs gaze head-on with a raised chin and a stubborn glint, yeonjung has all the intention to portray herself as the very embodiment of firmness. but really, what it comes across as is childish. because really, the truth is that she doesnât know how to act around him anymore. she doesnât know how to make of the way she still holds her breath in waiting to hear his voice, some sort of malignant prickling piercing through skin and reaching beneath her bones with an intensity only he could elicit from her resolute heart.
then, it comesâantagonism, returned two-folds. thereâs a pang of something eating away at her, choking her up like sheâs blindsided and caught unaware in a tidal wave, pulled ten feet under. one harsh slap of reality, and sheâs second-guessing.
yet still, she refuses to lose. âand i didnât know you were such an ass. or did i?â her words sharpened by sleepless nights spent revisiting decayed memories piled up one after another, itâs resentment. itâs the voice of all her unanswered questions through the years. âyou donât get to act like youâre the saint here,â yeonjungâs pointed tone doesnât falter, and it comes out unfriendly through gritted teeth. she canât pull her gaze away from him, so she settles with rolling her eyes instead, rounding off with a final, curt rebuttal, âdonât tell me what to do.â
in hindsight, hanbin had always been a random variable, a wild card she never could have foreseen within the neat boundaries of her carefully structured existence. all over her callow heart, he left his imprint in his usual laidback ways at the tender age of sixteen. ( or should she call it irresponsible? ) yeonjung was never adept at making friends, and he was all she hadâuntil she realised she might not have been all too good at keeping people in her life, too. a frustrated grunt wrangles through her throat, her fingers rubbing at her temples.
yeonjung doesnât quite know what to do with her hands, and so when she reaches out a hand to grab his, itâs purely out of habit. almost instinctual. ( she doesnât acknowledge it, not even to herself, but it steadies her. ) with a resigned sigh, she relents, âweâll hurry, get dinner over and done with, then come up with some excuse to leave. itâll take an hour, or like, two at the most.â like this, she drags them both towards the dining table, her fingers wrapped around his like sheâs clinging to a lifeboat.
âlook who came,â she announces their arrival in a sing-song voice. âi know i said he wasnât going to come, but he actually made it.â she tapers off with a smile forced into her cheeks, and yeonjung feels yet another eye-roll incoming, this time at her own acutely unnatural acting. and like this, with an uneasy glance back towards hanbin, she tries to convince herself that this is all only a pretense. nothing more, nothing less.
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⥠ ăSOHEE & JUNHO. ( @lovelearnedâ )
&. đđ„đšđŹđđ đŹđđđ«đđđ«!
for @primrcsiesâââââ
for there was only one ( đ Â bed )
jung junho âș  baek sohee
â-
junho has never gone camping before. and it sounded fun when the band talked about it weeks priorâa teambuilding activity, something useful to spend some of their gig money on. but their cheap rental vanâs tire blew out on the way and theyâd spent the better part of the afternoon stuck on the side of a highway. and it rained the day before, so they had to huddle their tents together on what little dry patch of soil remained on the campsite. and junho has never put together a tent before. heâs drenched with sweat and sore everywhere by dusk. the water pressure in the single working shower leaves too much to be desired and provides little comfort. but he hurries back, hair still dripping wet. because theyâre still in the middle of a forest and he doesnât want to leave his tent-mate alone any more than he wants to stay alone in the shower.
when he gets back to the groupâs little slice of paradise, he sees thatâmosquitos aboundâeveryone has zipped themselves up in their makeshift homes. âhey,â junho greets with a smile, head ducked as he enters the small tent. he diligently zips it closed behind him. âoh,â he says upon seeing an unzipped sleeping bag laid across the floor like a makeshift mattress. âno, itâs okay, donât unzip itâthey said it gets really cold at night. i have a really thick blanket so iâll be fine,â he says, suddenly very aware of how small the space and how deep the night. the lucky stars that allowed him to pick her name from the lots they drew to decide partners shining brightly up above.
â
she loses him midway through his statement, caught up in this unfounded awkwardness festering in the apertures within conversation, the lines-in-between she misses. âi think itâs big enough for us to share,â her voice isnât much more than a whisper, though it resonates with clarity within these narrow confines. and maybe thereâs something to be said about letting yourself go, following your heart and all that crap, but sohee wouldnât have known what liberation meant if it stared her square in the face. her lips move entirely too fast for her mind to catch up with, and she remains none the wiser to the underlying currents of emotion driving her unfound bravery, âand iâve got a motive.â she meets his gaze with a sheepish smile. âi think i forgot to bring a blanket. if we share this, can we share that blanket youâve got too?â
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN. ( @lovelearnedâ )
all his life, heâs spent running after her. and just as he thinks he has finally caught up to her, heâs running again. going in circles, trying to figure out whatâs wrong because thereâs something wrong. his eyes follow her as she walks across the roomâso caught up in her that he doesnât even look at the bright shining moon.
but she says his name and hyun looks away. he moves to his luggage and starts aimlessly unpacking. unzipping empty zippers, looking for nothing. âyeah?â he says, a half-hearted attempt at sounding surprised because he doesnât have the heart to really lie. he doesnât think he sounds convincing at all.
where he never unpacks his luggage, now, he starts stacking his clothes on top of the dresser. his back to her, because he really doesnât think he can even look at her. âdid you talk to him?â
ââ
around and around, she spins herself dizzy in this slow dance of deceit. sujeong feels like sheâs six all over again, on a carousel with her motion sickness and her insides churning with violent nausea. only this time, thereâs a cruel twist: the ride seems to restart every time she thinks itâs nearing the end. the dread hits, such a near and dear old acquaintance, coiling itself in dead knots all around her guts. sujeong keeps her gaze locked upon him, following his every move. and sometimes she thinks she must have been a fool, to think that she could inch this close to the radiance of a blazing wildfire like hyun and not burn.
so here she stands, engulfed in his scalding grasp once more, ever the willing martyr to their entanglement. and maybe only ice cold apathy could douse this pyre of bad faith theyâre circling. sujeong shoots him a cold smile as she answers, her tone light as if merely discussing the weather, âi did, yeah, we talked a little. i donât know if you can call it a catch up?â she sits herself down on the bed, arming up with comfort for the long night she could now see ahead. âyou know him, heâs not always the most forthcoming, especially not with me.â
thereâs a kind of wretched emptiness that swallows her up from within whenever she does this with him. the careful savoring of words like a slow, insidious poison upon the tongue is familiar, like a choreographed dance she has long memorised. yet still, with all the rawness of a performer forced into a ceremonial staging, it never stops feeling foreign. and every time she breathes a little too deeply, takes a step forward too clumsily, it tightens like a noose around her neck.
itâs a painful reminder that she should never have let himâor anyoneâclose enough for it to hurt, and a cruel testament to the indelible marks of her upbringing that will forever cling to her being. because even with the people she loved the most, she would always be bound to this unrelenting game of wits. with practiced precision, she ties her words together carefully, âi realise iâve never really asked you about this before. when was the last time you spoke to yoojung?â and like this, sujeong slips herself back into a practiced veneer of composure so easily, it would disgust even herself, if only she had the breathing space to pause and observe her own facade.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN.
from letting so many things slip through his fingers, this is what hyun has learned. lose something you love too many times and youâll learn to miss anything before its gone. youâll learn every medium to make something live forever. memories arenât enough. he needs to put memories to music, to picture, to moving images, to a piece of it in a frame or a glass box or plated in gold. he knows heâll never forget this, but he also knows heâll never remember it well enough.
how perfect she is in the momentâhis dream girl come alive, everything he has ever wanted in the flesh. greed rushes to his head as fast as blood rushes the opposite direction. he goes where heâs led, takes what heâs given. hyun curls his fingers tight around supple flesh, wrist aching with restraint and mind running with everything he wants to do but canât. as his other hand drags her skirt further up her thighs, he hums a frustrated groan, kept low by an imperative need to keep quiet. without apology and without shame, heâs consumed by the thought of what theyâre doingâthe tiny space, the surface-tension silence constantly threatening to break, just one lost stranger taking a wrong turn away from getting caught, itâs so exciting. without thinking, desperate for any amount of relief, hyun reaches for the buckle of his belt.
half the thrill is the challenge. the danger and the risk.
( ... )
â
restraint and moderation come easy. itâs what sheâs been trained for her entire life, after all. a slow turn of her head, a deliberate gaze, a steady tenderness in her stride, itâs all drilled into herâand sujeong never steps one inch out of line. yet with hyun, in this gray area of an in-between, itâs always a rush. a hurried tug at his tousled hair clutched between her fist, their limbs entangled, and that unruly flood through her veins. past the ignited flame she feels in the ache within her guts and past the unutterable thirst in the sound of their breathing growing increasingly laboured, she sees the shreds of their past, all the broken fragments of time theyâve come to lose and would never get back. sujeong sees this all with enough clarity that every waking moment by his side becomes a reminder to make up for lost time; she doesnât want a single second to go to waste.
( in this world, you pick your poison, sheâd often heard her mother say. )
( she picks him. )
so like this, the unravelling comes quick with him, clumsy inhales and exhales rushing through her lungs like sheâs drawing breath for the first time. like this, she falls into step with him heedlessly, her hips writhing beneath his touch, pain and pleasure blurring into a red sear that burns against her skin. she sucks in a sharp breath when the warmth between her legs come to meet the chill in the air first, but itâs soon replaced with a feverish heat that sheâs unduly familiar with. sujeongâs eyes flutter shut, and she wills herself to focus on the irregularity in the beating of her own heartâa beat that goes fast, and the next one slowâas she leans her head back, a hungry whine building at the back of her throat.Â
âhyun,â she calls out his name, voice faint, as though she was just waking from a dream. suppression comes as second nature, but the involuntary quiver that runs through her body swallows her whole and she can no longer hold herself back from falling apart at the seams with every touch of his, so infuriatingly light. all too brittle now with her flesh and bones torched ablaze, sujeong chokes on the desire wrapping itself around her throat, threatening to surge forward with every movement she feels deep within her.Â
and yet itâs not nearly deep enough.
the grasp she clenches his hair in tightens, an unconscious urging by force; entirely too receptive to his touch, every time he takes it back she wishes she could push him closer, closer, and closer still. but hyunâs resolve is clear, and sheâs barely holding herself together, barely able to quell the frustration that climbs alongside her longing. involuntarily her back arches, wanting to push herself further forward. craving a limitless height to his touch, the emptiness inside her depths grows painful as she feels herself twitching, squeezing around nothing in futile attempts to satiate her yearning. âhyun,â she calls to him again, more intently now, her voice shaky with desperation.
sujeongâs expression grows misty as her lips come to part weakly, even the slightest tremble feeling so violent now that all her senses are on edge. âplease.â she tilts her head down towards hyun, watching his unhurried motions, the anticipation swelling as she feels her arousal slowly trickle. an instant passing like several years, she lets out a frustrated whimper, eyes wide and pleading. and when he finally allows her the pleasure of a response with another gentle flick of his tongue against her folds, the gratification mounts into an eruption of sortsâa moan pushes out from inside of her, and the moment of indulgence reverberates off the walls. her hands flitting to her mouth in surprise, an airy laugh soon passing through the gaps between her fingers.Â
inhibition is easy, because suppression is second nature.Â
until she gets a taste of liberation.
her jaw falls slack, her pants for air growing harsher as his touch grows more fervent. along with the quickening of her pulse, any hint of wariness sujeong once held on to now slips, and she barely gives thought to anything other than the dizzying passion jolting through her spineâmuch less how dangerous it is when the heady sounds of her moans quickly fill the air around them. like this, the unravelling comes easy.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN.âââââ
for there was only one ( đ hotel room )
cha hyun âș  hyun sujeong
â-
the door locking shut echoes loud against the silence. âthey donât have any extra rooms. or beds,â hyun says in an awkward monotone. and still, thereâs nothing but silence. shoes shuffling across the room, clothes ruffling as theyâre unpacked. pins falling all across the floor. he busies himself with emptying his suitcase. between the weather and sujeongâs shoulder and forgetting to pack a puffer, hyun can feel his fingers freezing off. he thinks, whoever decided the reunion should be a week-long mt. fuji ski trip was out of their mind. he thinks, whatever he did to make her upset definitely wasnât worth it. he thinks, he canât remember if he did something or if she did or who was upset first or if it even matters. he exhales loudly, trying to breathe the heaviness out of his chest before it triggers an asthma attack. the way he sees itâthis could go one of two ways.
hyun walks to her and, from behind, slides gentle hands down her arms until his hands lay atop hers. his chest to her back, his chin on her shoulder, he tightens his arms around her. âplease say something,â he says, voice raspy with tiredness and cracked with hope. âiâm sorry,â he says, equal parts sincere and clueless.
â
really, itâs not so much his fault as it is the universeâs. and with that in mind, she reaches out with the metaphorical olive branch, âno, iâm sorry.â but itâs as sincere as baiting a hook gets. forced within these tight circles they run in, and the game of wiles is binding, even with the ones youâre supposed to love the most. âi didnât mean to be cold. iâm caught up in my head, i guess,â she makes a vague gesture at her temples, heaving a sigh. itâs some semblance of truth peeking through, and maybe hyun deserves this much.
because just the last time they were with each other like this, theyâd been laughing, his voice in her ears delicate and her cheeks tinted champagne pink. itâd been all-consuming, like witnessing the full moon in its entire glow, him with that illuminating gaze behind his streaks of golden hair. tonight too, the moon makes its presence known. sujeong moves to draw the curtains open, and their room is dappled in the shafts of pale moonlight. thatâs the charm of the crescent moon, this perfect balance of obscurity keeping spectators shrouded in its beauty, all while keeping its halved darkness masked.
âi just couldnât stop thinking about this one thing that happened the other day,â hyun sujeong is a creature of habit, and sheâs always found clarity in hyun. sheâs always found herself leaning on the soft cadence of his voice when the world, with all its reproval, grew too loud. so naturally, thatâs what she tries to seek out tonight, too. âi saw yoojung at the airport. can you believe it?â her tone bleeds ignorance, but the sharpness in her questioning gaze gives it away. this is itâsheâs baiting a hook, guised beneath the illusion of a trivial question.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & YOOJUNG.
...
âSujeong,â he walks toward her then, one hand reaching for her wrist to pull them closer together, his voice hushed with proximity like a shelter. âI respect how you feel, but weâre in public. If you wanted to confront me for years youâve misconstrued, you should do that in a way where youâre asking a question I can actually answer, versus accusing me of something you have no idea about. How can you say that?â He flinches, his emotions prevailing where he meant to suppress them. âThat you started thinking I wasnât real? Iâm your brother. I practically raised you. Whatâ?â
at his tone, she flinches like itâs muscle memory, like itâs an innately learned response. recognition is a slow unfurling, recollection dawning on her with every dreadful pound of her heart in her earsâthis distinctive sound of his inflection rising in anger, sheâs heard it before. and that steely gaze piercing through her, sheâs seen it before. this ache that settles in her chest, sheâs felt it before.
yoojung was always said to look most like their father.
sujeong thinks she finally sees it now.
these elapsed years in the spaces between, and sheâs spent them all dreaming up a moment just like this. in her wildest fantasies, this was going to be some sort of brilliant reunion, a vignette flashback of their childhood memories playing in the back of her mind. sujeong had never once expected it to unfold quite this way. everything muddled beneath this sense of overfamiliarity, and she finds herself wonderingâwould it have been better if her brother had changed beyond the point of recognition?
because all this time, she had been content to think of it as exactly thatâhim, as an out-of-reach dream. all those lazy summers lounging in the backyard, late-night ice-cream runs away from their screaming parents, everything. every memory that made yoojung real had been condensed into that faded polaroid of them by the pool, tucked deep inside a box of his old clothes, which was then swiftly left to collect dust in a quiet corner of the house.
sheâd imagined this moment to feel a little more rousing.
instead, what it feels like is asphyxiation. the hallways shifting into a labyrinth closing in around her, this is betrayal that bides its time, lying low in a place of familiarity for that element of surprise. and if sheâd allowed herself a moment to pause and think about it all, then it might hit her how disconcerting all of this is. not so much whatâs left unresolved between them, because sheâs used to having her questions dismissed and left unanswered. rather, itâs the way this twisting pain feels strangely intimate, because too many things in her life have been this way.
but if thereâs one thing sujeong knows best to do when the make-believe walls she builds around herself begins falling into decay, itâs to retreat.
she recoils from his hand around her wrist, and itâs her way of refusing to give in, her retreating steps once again stretching out the gap between them. the more he pulls her closer, the more she wants to step away, because this is exactly the kind of silent rebellion sheâd learnt growing up in a house as chillingly noiseless as theirs had been. she feels like sheâs ten all over again, caught by their father in the midst of a tantrum. âraised me?â she scoffs in disbelief. âwhat does that even mean, yoojung? what does that mean to you? because the last i remember, you left,â the moisture builds in her eyes, and she feels her mouth going dry, her throat closing up.
âyou left without even saying goodbye, and you never looked back. youââ she forces herself to continue, pushes the words forth until her voice breaks and a single tear rolls down her ashen cheeks. sujeong swipes away at it forcefully, that much more infuriated by the way her slumped shoulders rendering her posture a rough caricature of the grace drilled into her bones. âyouâve never even called or texted to ask about me! and me, i never stopped asking mum and dad about you in the weeks after you left. wait, what do you meanââ only mid-sentence into her ramble does she fully come to process what yoojung said. âhyun? are you saying he knewâ?â
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⥠ ăMIYEON & IL.
...
he wants to compliment her white coat.
a nurse passes by. il calls her attention. she jumps at the sight of him, gives him a quick judgey once over, then plasters a warm smile onto her face. âwhat is it dear?â she asks. he says, âthat doctor i was talking to, young girl with silky brown hair and poreless skin, is she coming back here?â
the nurseâs stare turns cautious, intimidated by the glint of the light against the metal in his tongue maybe, though she tries to hide it. âdr. ahn should be back in a moment with news about your friend,â she says curtly, before shuffling away.
âthank you,â il calls after her though she doesnât care for it. he sits back in his chair and intertwines his fingers, sets them upon his lap as if he has lounged here his whole life. he settles in and waits, ever patient.
â
life always has a perfectly dreadful way of coming full circleâor rather, as miyeon would probably put it, a perfectly dreadful way of throwing a curveball full of shit right in your face. so maybe this is a stroke of bad luck, karma in the worst form, or maybe itâs kismet. maybe there are actually astral influences at work here and it was just always written in the stars, that their twisted fate would one day lead them both up to this inescapable moment of running into each other at the worst possible time.
because what were the goddamned odds, right? that even in the small town of gosan, theyâve only ever seen each other in passing since ilâs return. yet here they stand, forced to confront each other and at her workplace, no less. and miyeon thought sheâd been smart to flee this far from her hometown. turns out the moment you start running, you never stopâbecause this is whatâs at stake. because whatâs chasing you is the inescapable past. how do you outrun that? how do you continue to hide when itâs shown up and itâs now sitting right there, less than ten meters away from you?
and now sheâs fiddling with her fingers, back against the wall, mind running a mile a minute as she tries to sprint her way towards some kind of answer. miyeon only snaps out of it when she feels a hand on her shoulder, soon followed by the head nurseâs voice in her ears asking if sheâs okay. she steadies herself with a firm nod of her head and a dismissive wave. then, she repeats a statement over and over in her mind: this is not gosan. like a mantra to clear her scattered thoughts, and she swallows with it, hard enough to push back down the fear rising in her throat as she makes the decision to face up to it, rise up to the challenge, whatever.
ahn miyeon decides that this is her showing the professionalism sheâs always been told she lacks. because what better way is there to show that your bedside manners arenât as terrible as everyone says than to have a decent, professional conversation with the ex-boyfriend you stabbed in the back, right? right. so she finally turns the corner, and time stands still when their gazes meet across the room. sheâs walking towards him, she knows because the walls pass her by in her peripheral vision, but she can barely feel the movement of her feet. time stands still when she draws closer to him, and thereâs a thrumming in her ears, the nervous beat of her heart.
every bit of training hurled into an abyss in her consciousness now, miyeon finds herself tongue-tied for the first time. and she tries to tell herself to see him for what he is in this momentâa patientâs loved one, but she doesnât know how to. the only thing she does know, with certainty, is that she owes him an apology. and she swears itâs on the tip of her tongue, this close to rolling off it, the words âiâm sorryâ like a flash flood just waiting to surge forward. but the urge dissipates just as abruptly as it had emerged when he turns his head and catches sight of her, and sheâs forced to actually take the few steps left between them, to close the gap that had been a protective bubble for those seconds in which sheâd debated turning around to run away.
âthat was a lot of blood, wasnât it? itâs⊠long time no see. i meant, uhâitâs good to see you.â god, so much for being professional. sheâs this close to scoffing at her own lack of ability to form a coherent sentence, or even hold ilâs gaze. âyour friend is doing fineâor rather, heâll be fine?â fuck, if any of the attendings were hearing this, sheâs pretty sure sheâd be this close to losing her job right here and now. âi just mean to say, theyâre patching him up right now, so you donât have to worry too much.â sheer willpower keeps her from slapping herself, or from just slinking away into the on-call room and spending the remainder of her work shift holed up in there.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN.
every second with her feels like the first time. every moment with her is that single moment all of his addictions are about getting back to. sheâs the first time that no subsequent time is ever as good as. and heâs no churchgoer or god-fearing believer, but he imagines this is what it feels like being in a confessional. this being pulled into the dark, this getting drawn away from the crowd. this being swallowed by silence.
this waiting. this praying for release, this hoping for redemption.
ây-yeah, imagineââ he laughs, the choked sound in his throat caught between awkward and unsure and wanting. heâs distracted with gauging, trying to figure her out as thoughtless steps kiss her shadow. suddenly, he feels breathless, like heâs been running for miles.
they turn a dead-end, a corner in the room farthest from the stairs, and he takes the chance for a break. when he reaches for her hips, he feels as if he has finally caught up to her. theyâve walked only a few steps, but thereâs a pleading in his eyes, like heâs asking her to stop. just a second. pause. for a breath.Â
a second passes and itâs not enough, and so hyun puts his other hand on the other side of her waist. he pins her ever so gently against a wall painted over with the shadow of a display case set in front of it. here, where the light canât reach them, it almost feels like theyâve sunk to the bottom of the ocean. pulled each other there. here, he has to take deeper breaths. here, itâs too dark to think. all it takes is his gaze falling to her lips, and hyun canât help himselfâhe crushes their lips together in a kiss.
this is that first time. that first kiss, that first breath of air. this is that single moment all of his addictions are about getting back to. this is the first time that no subsequent time is ever as good as.
and he kisses her over and over until his lungs burn for air. hyun pulls away and drops his mouth to her neck. one arm circling her waist, free hand dragging up her thigh until heâs hiking up her skirt. âthis is what you wanted, right?â he says, voice dangerously lowâalmost someone else. but heâs the same boy who canât seem to get tired of telling her he loves her, and itâs in the way his hand stops wandering, like heâs asking for permission.
hyun pulls away a painful inchâto look at her, like heâll wait to hear her say it.
( his heart completely melted by the sight of her, it takes all of him not to ruin the moment with a million gentle professions of love. )
starved for his touch even though she had already been holding on to his hand so tightly for twelve hours, any sense of sujeongâs rationality had already been cast aside at the gates of the louvre. by now, sheâs surrendered full rein to the heat gradually rising deep within, no longer able to hold herself back when his lips falling upon hers is an all too welcome reminder of just how far he can bring her. the beat of her heart hammers louder and louder against the low rumble in his voice, and itâs so loud in her ears that she swears itâs echoing in the emptiness of the space around them.
everything darkened in this corner, everything closing in around them, soft hums leaving her parted lips are the only sounds she can afford to make when she leans into his kisses, into his touch against her bare skin, everything about him all consuming to the point of disregard for reality. this is cha hyun, always two steps ahead of her in the cat-and-mouse game they play. and this time, sujeong can no longer bear to deny herself of himâhailing the white flag now, sheâs all too willing to let herself be caught, all too willing to tangle herself up in him once more. sujeongâs eyes flutter shut as she gives in, and her head instinctively leans back to expose more of her neck, more of herself to him.
when she finally finds the strength to push a word past the weight lodged inside her throat, her voice is barely louder than a breath, âmore.â but itâs just enough in the silence that surrounds them. âi want more,â in her winding consciousness, her hands speak up for her too, one reaching out for his to guide it further until she feels his fingers dangerously close and hooking around the white lace of her thong, another slowly wandering his chest. she trails along his jawline with tender kisses, stopping just shy of his earlobe when she leans in closer and grazes her teeth along it. âwhat about you, hyun?â fingers now wrapping around the nape of his neck, thereâs a slight tremble in her voice, and all the yearning thatâs been slowly swelling beneath her facade of detachment threatens to brim over in this very moment.
âtell meâwhat do you want? or better yet,â she pulls apart from him slightly, just enough to meet his eyes once more with an impassioned, almost pleading gaze. âshow me.â
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & SABRINA.
â Â Â âș Â Â for @primrcsiesâ
iâll try all i can to find a soft place to land
( iâm holding a heart here in my hand )
sabrina with sujeong
from the wreckage of her life, this is what she decides to salvage: perfect wavy hair down to her waist, fresh new auburn dye job, black cocktail dress that hugs her like a second skin. this is what she decides she canât lose in the fire: impeccable red-manicured nails, expensive red lipstick, posture made perfect by black louboutins. sitting at the bar, holding herself back from waterboard-death by martini, sheâs a monument to all the values the old money philanthropists of this nightâs charity dinner hold dear. to sitting still when all you want is to melt into the floor and disappear. to showing up no matter what, even while youâre busy trying to dig yourself out of your own shame and humiliation.
the end came so fast, she wasnât sure what had happened until it was in the newspapers the next day: Parkâs daughter, fiancĂ© break up. (that very weekend: Park announces campaign; daughterâs engagement.)
no one cares that youâve been bled dry when youâre dripping with this much residue of wealth and free time. from the remains of a love she tried to build, torched by the very person she thought sheâd spend the rest of her life with, this is what she decides to save: some old, powerful familyâs hundred-year-old heirloom. a diamond so big you can see it from space, so old it predates the stars. a promise so everlasting, it has spanned generations.
histories and traditions she still thinks can keep her safe. insulate her, forever. she wraps herself up in all of it as if anything can keep her warm. staring at the rock on her finger, sheâs not lost in thought. just lost.
someone tries to take the barstool next to her and sabrina swats them away with a tap to the arm and a dismissive wave of the hand. âiâm waiting for my friend,â she tells them. they look at her, offended. âshoo!â she rephrases, wiping the hand sheâd touched them with on her skirt. they scoff, and leave.
stressed out by any amount of confrontation, sabrina picks up her drink and takes a much-needed sip.
within the confines of her head, it made sense. treading water to keep herself afloat all this time, sujeong has long grown accustomed to making her way through life with blinders on. and so within the confines of this mind-numbing escapism in which she keeps her eyes shut and the world ceases to exist, it made sense to run at the first sight of trouble. at any sight of trouble. the coming of age films make it seem easy, like an earth-shattering awakening thrusts you into some higher level of consciousness. in reality, it creeps up. in reality, itâs all just paralysing at bestâso in the face of agony, of heartache she never had the stomach to deal with, what she does is she takes flight the moment first light come around.
the thing she fails to take into account is, in reality, the protagonist and the antagonist are indistinguishable roles. because in her story, she rationalizes it all well enough, justifying the heedlessness in wiping her presence off the face of the earth, jumping on whichever flight and whichever shift she finds available. but she returns to find that in sabrinaâs story, this scene is painted with over a hundred missed calls and at least a few hundred more texts, all having gone unanswered. reality is quicksand trawling her further into the mayhem the more she tries to fight against it.
âheard you were waiting for a friend,â sujeong sidles up to sabrinaâs side, sitting herself down on the barstool, and her fingers move quick to signal at the bartender for a drink, not wanting to waste more time than she already has over the past few weeks. âtook me a while, sorry. there was traffic?â a little lift of her shoulders, and thereâs a sheepish smile to follow her attempt at a wisecrack, at easing the tension she knows will definitely be soon to come. but really, itâs not like any amount of apology or superfluous jokes can negate the way sheâd forgone her best friend all for a stopgap getaway, a temporary one-way ticket out of life.
so she swaps it around with some bit of sincerity, too. âbut iâve got tonight all freed up for you, and iâm here with my feet on the ground and everything. humor me?â and she raises her glass mid-air, as if it was a peace offering, because everyone knows cheers is synonymous with iâm sorry.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HYUN.
...
already, he feels restless. a flight attendant passes by, asking champagne or caviar. âyes,â hyun replies, raising two fingers and giving her a smile. universal sign language for two please. this is someone who has flown first class his entire life. âthank you,â he says. this is someone who has had to be polite for most of his life. and every time the same attendant walks by with the same question, he gives her the same reply.Â
âyou know,â he turns to sujeong, mind wandering. really, all he can think of is her. âiâve never actually been on a flight you were on. i mean, when youâre at work.â thereâs endearment in his eyesâthe kind that comes naturally to people who are too far gone. three flutes of champagne ease his nerves, turn him back to comfortable and playful. âshould i get on one sometime?â his voice lilts low, and the corner of his lip upturns, like heâs teasing her. thereâs reminisce in his eyes, like heâs remembering how she looked the last time he saw her, âyou look good in uniform."Â Â
or maybe nostalgia, like heâs missing her even when sheâs right next to him. or maybe sentiment, like heâs thinking of her even when heâs not thinking at all.
what strikes sujeong in the moment is that the only kind of love she has ever known is the taste of raw honey against the sharpened edge of a blade. thatâs her mother smiling and cooing at her in the cot, except her sole intent is to show her off to the other housewives that have come for brunchâso that they can say, oh, what beautiful eyes she has! thatâs her father reminding her to doll up for the dinner events, only to act as if sheâs invisible when theyâre seated at the table. ( yes, heâs actually forgotten to introduce her on more than just a few occasions. ) thatâs falling asleep next to the boy of her dreams, all wrapped up in his arms as his gentle, resonant voice whispers all the lies sheâs ever wanted to hear, only for him to have seemingly clean forgotten her for another girlâs embrace the next.
still, all of that becomes easy to disregard when sheâs with him again like this. whatever it is, the atrocities of this world spinning around them or every single way in which he has hurt her, everything grows faint at the edges, everything pushed into the peripheral of her mind when she throws herself into the furnace once more and his face is all that matters. an innate taste for pain guised as passion, and hyun becomes a dagger she ungrudgingly plunges into her guts and twists inside herself. deeper and deeper still, even with her bare hands smeared in the vermillion red of blood; maybe thatâs just the kind of love sheâs only ever known.
so yes, she decidesâshe loves him. she loves him in a way she never has with anyone else before, in a way thatâs so intricately tied to whatever warped semblance of self-identity sheâs got left.
yet the matter of the fact is she just canât bring herself to tell him that again just yet, canât bring herself to utter the words which sound this wretched to her own ears. so her fingers run tenderly over his cheekbones, gentle as to be almost imperceptible, right where the sun hits from beyond the window to her left, and she decidesâthis will do it for her, the light her mangled soul could never have the ability to summon will do it for her. âif you ask nicely enough, maybe someday iâll wear it just for you,â her free hand now moving to wrap around the stem of her wineglass, a swig of the champagne follows her light voice, and sujeong moves to nuzzle the tip of her nose against hyunâs before she leans her head against his shoulder.
the smile against her lips feeling like itâs spread all throughout, warmth reaches to even her toes, and his presence is grounding like a tether to the shaky ground beneath her feet. every fiber of her being leans into the warmth of every touch he has to offer, sujeong shifts lightly in her seat, if only to nestle closer towards him, and her eyes begin to flutter shut before any realization hits. her pulse stilling to tranquility, falling asleep when sheâs next to hyun has always been this effortless.
getting lost in him has always been so easy.
ââ
the next time her eyes feel like theyâre fully open again, sheâs standing at the entrance to the louvre, the slow lull to her breathing revealing the incredulity that brims over from within as she squeezes hyunâs hand, still firmly wrapped in hers. (the only time she let go was when theyâd gotten to the hotel room and had to unpack.) between the beauty of the splendour to the building they stand before and the gentle warmth in his gaze, sheâs rendered inarticulate for a moment, though her whirlwind of emotions erupt in the delight thatâs materializing across her features. âhow did you know?â she asks, only to realise right after the redundance of the questionâof course he knew that she would have wanted to be here, of course he could read her heart like itâs his own, and so what she says next is simple. âthank you, hyun. you make me really happy. really.â
open truth spilling forth without so much as a speed bump to set her back, sheâs lucid dreaming in a reverie come alive, and sujeong finds herself all too quick to whisk hyun away. wandering further and further down unfamiliar steps, her fingers tug impatiently at hyunâs sleeves, feet quickening in a bid to seek out a quieter spot just for them. and it turns out, the basement is a lapse within the teeming crowd. âitâs quiet here,â she turns around to look at him, her smile growing as the weight lifts from her chest. sheâs never been one for crowds, always leaning more into the muted moments of intimacy, always wanting hyun to herself. âlike weâre the only ones around.â
then, without breaking eye contact, she draws closer, her featherlight touch trailing across his jaw when she leans in and plants a soft kiss right at the corner of his lips. âi mean, can you imagine? we could do whatever we wanted here, and weâd be the only ones who would ever know.â the curve of her lips deepening, a vague notion of temptation simmers beneath it, and sujeong twirls around on her heel once more. this time, her light steps take her away from him and further down, knowing that heâll follow.
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⥠ ăTHATâS WHAT YOU GET.
( đ§: so take a seat, weâre settling the final score / and why do we like to hurt so much? )
sujeong & yoojung â @divenazâ
the dichotomy of fight or flight, head or heart, feet on the ground or head in the clouds is one that sujeong has spent the entirety of her life wavering between. eventually she learns to rest on the delicate balance between, though her bad habit of erring on the side of caution is a merit and drawback all at once. so when she peers into a mirror and stares down the reflection in it, the only image she ever sees is that of a back turned. the hazy dwindling view of a girlâs back, going and then gone. the lingering shadow as she turns a corner.
she never could sketch a self-portrait.
because when the primitive fight or flight defense mechanism kicks in, sheâs always the one leaving. but even then, even when escapism has come to shape the bulk of her experiences, enough repetition of anything yields the inescapable malady of ennui. these days, sujeong comes to find it all tormenting her like a plague. the tendrils of the past never too far behind her, and no matter how much she hastens every step she takes across untrodden ground, all it feels like beneath her feet is needles puncturing skin, blades of grass lined with serrated edges brushing against her flesh. this is what itâs like to have spent every passing second walking on eggshells.
her first instinct when her gaze lands upon an all too familiar face in the crowd is to turn her back. like she has to be the one to leave first.
but the thing about defense mechanisms, about fight or flight, is that itâs beyond cognizance. so, her feet making their way back towards him, damn near running all the way across the arrival hallâitâs all instinctive, like the way she used to always run to him crying first when she fell and scraped her knee. the dichotomy of good and bad presenting itself before her now, and sujeong realises just how bad sheâs always been at picking one or the other. see, the thing about losing someone is that you begin to frame them in the best or the worst ways, and so all she could ever think about when she woke up one day and it seemed like her brother never existed, is how good he always was to her.
yet all she can think about now, is how much of an asshole he was to have left without a word, everything in-between wiped out.
âhyun yoojung,â the syllables foreign against her tongue, her hands tighten into fists at her side as she stands right before who she thinks is her older brotherâthough the past few years have really left her wondering. âitâs really you, isnât it?â a dry laugh rises in her throat. âyâknow, i was beginning to wonder if you were ever real. if i always just dreamed you up in some sort of manic desperation to have someone normal in this darned family. but then i suppose a normal brother would have had the decency to at least say something before he completely disappears for years on end.â
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & HANSOL.
the act of atonement / @primrcsies
thereâs five steps to atonement, and hansol doesnât know any of them. maybe if he did, this would be easier.
thereâs a thin line between boldness and shamelessness, but he thinks heâs long stepped over it with the panache of a charlatan, finding it easier to apologise than to ask for permission in the first place. itâs always been like that; the words âsorryâ undemanding on his tongue as opposed to a âpleaseâ because itâs less difficult to fake an apology than it is a plea. somewhere along the years, he forgot how to differentiate between real and fake remorse.
âsorry,â he says now, genuinely, but itâs the same way someone says sorry for being five minutes late, for forgetting their wallet at home and not the way someone says sorry for making someone haul ass to the hospital at 2 in the morning when theyâre closer to strangers than friends. thereâs an air of silence in the room, save for the methodical beeping of the machines, and he gets the odd desire to pull out the wires thatâs pumping whatever into him. heâs not sure what heâs apologising for. underneath the sheets a hand curls into the mattress with the shame heâs barely allowed himself to feel before â but it burns now, like the gaze sujeong has on him.Â
he remembers the same sight years before, too. the memory is dizzying, vague, expunged from his memory in an attempt to defend the last of his childhood like if he really tried hard enough, he could somehow convince himself it isnât true that sujeong doesnât want anything to do with him. the attempt is fruitless, of course, especially when he has proof right in front of him in the form of her ablaze presence, irritation plastered across every inch of her body. (or is it disappointment? anger?) he finally has the decency to glance up, biting his tongue so hard he thinks he might draw blood, staring at the blank wall behind her like thereâs something that catches his attention more than hyun sujeong.
hansol swallows. the beeping continues. âi couldnât think of anyone else to call.â
letâs get this straightâhyun sujeong is anything but forgiving. anything but generous. falls into anything but the altruism she wears like a bulletproof vest. what she is, is vengeful. is a strong believer in getting even and bearing witness to it. is willfully clinging to a lack of consideration for anything other than her own interests. so letâs get this straightâher soles striking against the pristine white of the hospital floors now, every purposeful step she takes towards the ward and every quiver in the breaths she draws in, thatâs not worry or regret or consternation at the thought of possibly losing bang hansol. for real, now. forever.
or so she likes to thinkâshe likes to tell herself this is just seeking redress.
but maybe the way sheâd jumped out of bed the moment she saw his contact name flash across her screen, or the way sheâd barely bothered to look at the clothes she hurriedly grabbed from her wardrobe as she damn near ran out the door says different. and maybe the way her mind canât help but to drift towards the notion of what itâd feel like to lose a friend youâve technically already lost betrays the amount of regard she still holds for him.
sheâs standing before the door now, and she can see him laid out in bed, and all she can think about is how people would move on from something like that. or how they donât. in the same moment her hands reach for the knob and pushes the door open, sujeong draws in a long breath, like preparing herself for battle. and she hopes she never has to find out. the sound of the minute and second hands making their rounds around the clock wildly loud in her ears, she only stares at him, the silence all too stifling. all too heavy.
then she swallows.
âwhat are you sorry for, hansol?â her voice weaves together the syllables of his name for the first time in years, and itâs a prompt for something moreâsomething enough to show just cause for all the elapsed years standing between them. âfor calling me? or for calling me only now?â itâs like looking into the desolation of a night sky devoid of stars, the way his vacant gaze seems to look right through her. âitâs been ages since you last spoke to me, and the next time you remember that i exist, itâs because youâre half-dead?â and the hint of hurt in her voice, no matter how wrapped up in hostility, has her taking a step back, further away from the edge of his bed.
it seems distance has become all she knows of this friendship.
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⥠ ăLIN & NICK.
( đž for @primrcsies )
...
with a long sigh drawing out of his pursed lips, he looks around to spot a dark haired woman sitting at the very end of the booth. i guess itâs worth a try to entertain myself with someone who might be wishing they were elsewhere but here like me? not one to randomly approach strangers, he figures, why not change that tonight?
âis this seat taken?â a kind, cautious smile stretches through his lips, hoping it doesnât come off as anything but friendly. he clears his throat and meets eye to eye with the other party guest, adding with a tinge of humor sparkling in his eyes, âiâm in desperate need of company and you seem to be the only one not too crazy about the dance floor finally inviting us in.â
nights like this, she shifts in her own skin. uneasiness in every shaky step she takes until she reaches the bar counter, languid slouch in her shoulders more wretched than chic, and itâs all a flashback to the first time a boy breaks her heartâat fourteen, someone tells her theyâve grown bored of her, and lin learns that the fate of a pretty face is to be nothing more than a plaything. and so even on a night like this, heartbreak on her sleeve and melancholy stamped across her hung head, she approaches it all the way she approaches anything on any other night.
see, this is someone who has spent all her life running in circles around other people. her consciousness gathered within hours and hours lost to striking poses on thin sheets of paper, dressed to the nines in clothes that are just as flimsy, material or otherwise. and thereâs always a script to these, vaguely worded instructions on who or what sheâs supposed to be. and on a night like this, sheâs the embodiment of lonesome ennui.
itâs hard not to develop a flair for the theatrics when your gaze is supposed to hold a different sentiment every few seconds, when every flash of the camera corresponds to an identity change. something like the way she is tonight, all forlorn and pitiable, works best when people are watching. when thereâs an audience. for someone like the way lin is, nothing is ever real until someone else sees it, too. perception is a funny thing like that.
a photographer once told her that sheâs a work of art. and so here she sits, her dinner gown of the night all haute couture and disinterested existentialist, in display like a brilliant artefact of sorrow for the assemblage of equally resplendent spectators to her craft. admittedly, she could have just skipped the event. but again, who would lin be if not for her showmanship, pushing herself all the way out in her pursuit of perfection? even if turning up at this event meant moping around all night, at least sheâs seen doing it. at least there are eyes on her.
said photographer told her that sheâs made for the cameras, too.
and she canât deny it, maybe a part of her hoped that a distraction would come her way tonight. a distraction just like the clean-shaven male standing by her side now. an elbow propped along the edge of the counter, lin slides a palm beneath her cheek as she tilts her head towards him, a slightly raised brow betraying her interest. she takes him in for a momentâher eyes, just as bleary and unfocused as her mind dazed over from the glasses of wine sheâs been downing, sweeps across his features and thereâs the slightest flush that rises in her cheeks.
and now her lips no longer feel like her own, as it unwittingly mirrors the smile stretched across his. âwell, itâs been empty all night,â her free hand giving a wave towards the seat beside her, indifference is hard to keep up when the extending edges of her lips are vying with the ache in her heart, and the latter fights a losing battle. âdesperate need of company? thatâs a surprise,â the question lends itself to her growing curiousity, the inscrutable charm to his dark eyes drawing her in. âjust doesnât seem like something you would be lacking inââ with a face like thatâ âbut iâm not complaining.â
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & SAERIN.
...
the next words cause her to swallow down a scoff, instead tilting her head to the side as her grin grows. thereâs no audible reply from her, silence there to keep the other woman company, anticipating the reflection upon that sentence, a rhetorical question lingering between them †why wouldnât you remember, sujeong? you tell me. iâm curious. but if itâs one particular thing that continues to leave her dumbfounded is the sheer audacity sujeong continues to maintain. the combination of abrupt form of skinship and the sudden interest within saerinâs life causes her body to freeze upon impact, mind wondering if this behavior was actually successful within anyone else besides dim witted men. she should be angrier at this, in all honesty, but she finds herself releasing an exhale instead †identical to the type of exhale one makes when a person is out of their league, but you canât exactly say that to their face without being the mean one.Â
â⊠right,â eyes dash from her occupied arm to the woman attached to it before slowly shedding herself from the otherâs grasp in a slow manner, trying her best not to bring attention to what could be an embarrassing moment, âif you were really interested that question would have been asked around six ⊠seven years ago, maybe? or is there a reason that youâre suddenly interested now after ghosting me right after graduation?â now itâs saerinâs turn to bring the indifference, straightening out her evening dress before her eyes narrow in on her expression. âbecause this whole charade is to tiring to keep up sujeong, i mean honestly. was i really just a speck in the sand to you?â
â
shoulders laden with an undeniable weight, by now sujeong learns perfectly, much like pavlovâs good little dog, to acquiesce in the fate of finding herself pawn in a game she never agreed to play. endlessly relegated to the powerless role of a spectator in her own life, and she spends years committing to memory the presets in every single one of her predetermined social roles. the cost-utility analysis was always clear in her mind, being the right-hand man to ryu saerin goes like this: front row seats to the perversion of reality on the highest rungs of hannam highâs social ladder, her parentsâ approval at the dinner table, and the withering of a self-identity. like every other tight corner she forced herself into, friendship never amounted to anything more than convenience. especially not one with saerin, designated dreamy it girl of hannam high.
it took just as much out of her as it did with learning to unlearn it all.
and as cynical as it sounds, it turns out saerin was just the easiest to discard first.
thereâs a lot she could say about it all if she really wanted to, but all sujeong has ever known are political twists and turns in conversation. and of the many unspoken rules, thereâs one most apt for here and nowâpeople only ask questions about other people so they can talk about themselves. which is to say, the notion that saerin might actually care about her side of the story never even surfaces. âso thatâs where everybody went. i was just wondering why i havenât had a chance to take a breather yet, but now i know itâs because everyone else has forgotten about work,â light-hearted laughter trails her voice, all airy and shallow, another look of jest weaved into a smile. she spends the greater part of her life feeling like sheâs six feet underwater sinking into a bottomless pit of nothing at all, suffocating beneath the veil of false pretense, and sujeong starts to realise laughter might just be the only sound left she can make that people will actually listen to.
âiâm kidding,â like itâs all in good fun. her hand raised mid-air, a dismissive wave sweeps it all away, the same way she did with every piece of memory that has seen even a flicker of saerinâs shadow. this is what itâs like to have been told bedtime stories of deception and opportunism. âbut not really. i meanâyou know what itâs like, of course,â the corner of her lips following the rise and fall of her tone, and she reverts to pandering once more. âeveryone wants to be in the committees, but once theyâre in, not everyone wants to actually do something.â
around and around and around, she turns herself about in circles. old habits die hard.
saerin as the axis, and all sujeong ever does is circle it. all sujeong ever does is keep herself at bay. her parents say itâs the right thing to do, that only by keeping herself visible will she do the hyun name proud. all sujeong ever does is lie, even to herself, and so she follows suit, yields without so much as a grumble. it eats away at her, the guilt of denying herself a mind of her own, and at some point it becomes a noose around her neck. at some point, she wanted nothing more than to break free. at some point, a friendship like what she had with saerin grew to be revolting. the real question, now, isâhow much does she want to tell saerin?
âwhat are you talking about?â her lips going askew, a faint frown plays at its edges in a feigned expression of confusion and concern. old habits die hard.Â
âiâm pretty sure this is all just a misunderstanding, saerin,â she says her name like she didnât type every letter of it into a search box in her contacts list, in her social media following lists, so she could block out every possible way of contact. ( only she did. ) âi mean, itâs easy to drift away after high school, isnât it? you grow up and become an adult, you get busy. sometimes you forget to keep in contact with people. but hey, if you missed me, all you had to do was tell me!â a hand brushes down her hair, faux bravado passed off as poise, and the note of levity in her tone is perfunctory at its core. âthatâs what reunions are forâweâve got the time to catch up now, havenât we?â
every strained syllable falls short of the superficial warmth she means to reach, of the fond old friend persona she tries to act the part of. but old habits die hard. but as out of practice as she clearly is, as far as the cracks are reaching in the glass armor she tries to shield herself in, sujeong still canât seem to stop playing the game. all too brittle now, but itâs sheer obstinacy left thatâs desperately holding it all together.
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⥠ ăSUJEONG & NABI.
...
ears pick up the sound of someone calling out to her, but nabi is too immersed within a chain of quote tweets between a couple airing out all their drama in the aftermath of a break up †for a split second, she almost doesnât recognize the voice, almost finds herself annoyed that someone interrupted the first form of entertainment that sheâs found all night. but sujeong has always appeared like water in the desert, a form of solace that shows with the way her features instantly brighten with her presence. âwhat, tired of being miss congeniality?â the woman plays back, patting the empty chair next to her in hopes that the other takes a moment to step back as well. itâs not hard for her to pick up on her best friendâs energy once theyâre together, noticing how something feels off despite the lack of anything alarming within her tone. the focus turns to her words instead †if thereâs something thatâs really bothering her enough to speak up, sujeong will do it. âso what you trying to get into?â she questions, leaning closer to the other while matching her grin.
( translation: iâm bored. you wanna fuck some shit up? )
â
caged within this flowing silk, everything fabricating a cozy bed of grandeur sheâs supposed to settle into with ease, it doesnât take much to feel like nothing can touch her here. not when every glimmer reflecting off the immaculate suits and dresses under the chandelier and every inconsequential remark passed off as sophistication only play their individual parts in a relentless power struggle for the spotlight. something bigger than themselves. something that reaches far beyond their grasp of understanding. in the highest rungs of the pecking order, losing track of your consciousness is easy.
really, whatâs tough to swallow is the pill of sentience. the awareness that youâve only got so many seconds allotted to you in this life, and youâre wasting this much of it here. it pricks at her, that awareness. it sticks like stubborn leftovers in the cavities of her teeth. the name of the game is dignity, decorum, honour. and through the night, sujeongâs smile stays pressed into her cheek, gleam in her eyes filled with that all too familiar sense of charm her father wields best. because she knows it all, knows just how to serpentine her way through the night. after all, she has spent the better part of her life trying to emulate her father.
she only wishes she didnât. not when the cruel hands of reality are constantly tugging at her, pulling her out of the safe space that is oblivion. itâd be easier if the pain felt less like a thorn in her flesh and more like one of those slash wounds you get in nightmares where the perfect serial killer of your imagination catches up with you. because the more farfetched it gets, the easier it is to shut off and feel nothing. but when everything revolves in a cycle of monotony, trapped within the predictable merry-go-round, it hits harder than ever. so she finds her way to the only other person in this room sheâs sure needs exactly what she needs as well.
âtruth be told? iâm tired of everything,â she easily confesses, her smile now vague, tired, lackluster. nabi has always been a pillar to lean on in times like these, and sujeong does just that. though she leaves it imprecise, she knows thereâs more than enough said when nabi comes so far past her guarded defenses. one hand tapping a rhythm against the tabletop and another hand circling the rim of the wine glass she set down earlier, sujeong finds the rarest sense of comfort just being by nabiâs sideâitâs enough to bring back a flicker of life in her vacant gaze. âwhat do you say we get out of here and go have some fun? the art room isnât too far away, and i havenât painted in a while,â she perks up, smile growing. old habits die hard. âdonât you think the architecture here is just a little too behind the times? i think itâs in dire need of some colour.â
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