alhyejin-blog

[alhyejin-blog]

[alhyejin-blog]

alsejin:

“Can I join you?”

Sejin’s already claimed her spot with the permission she knows she doesn’t ever really need. Hasn’t needed. Tense is nothing more than a continuous bond that sticks for years on end, nothing less than the woman’s stare from what seems like thousands of miles away. She only sits when she’s finished acknowledging the stillness in her eyes, a smile of her own crass enough for the other to decide, realize it’s nothing but a welcome home, darling.

(but only if you remember what that’s like,)

“I’m joining you.” This, an exhale. She pushes stray strands of hair away from her face, other hand occupied with a menu for distraction’s sake. A convenient occupation. Her lanyard hangs heavier than the burdens of this past week alone, an impending weight on her shoulders replacing it in purpose upon shifting her gaze at the not-stranger’s hands. Her neck next, cheeks after. She’s sullen, or so she won’t confirm out loud, and Sejin’s never been so disturbed at how much all of it is a sight for sore eyes.

Then again, she’s seen worse. Hopefully you have, too. My condolences while we’re at it.

Back against the cushion of the plastic-clad booth, Sejin looks at her with a full bottom lip. Had she desired to be less than sincere, said lip would be stretched, the corners of her mouth up and tight. But no, none of that. Not here anyway. It’s just them. Though, never really two. Since then.

since then, since then, since then,

“Seems you have no intention of choking to death even now.” Her smile pulls, disappears just as fast. “What a mighty fine record, that consistency.” I’ve had my hand at it, too. Silent punctuation. Time waltzes at the tip of her tongue when she can’t decide between prolonging her need to keep quiet and interrupting it with whatever folks deem a sign for I’m happy. 1, 2 3, 1, 2 3, 1, 2 3, 1 - inhale, sigh. Her chin’s on her palm, elbow on the table. Fondness on a whim. “Why are you one-upping me in looking this bothered over steak?”

From a different angle, under a different set of hands, at a different time, they wouldn't be two people but a single capture, frozen in some frame of space, the ink faint and fading.

They'd taken the pictures on a Thursday. The peak of autumn. The light pad through fallen leaves. Honeyed sky haze. A breath, the fresh taste of apple still lingering around the red of an open mouth. A day when the skin they lived in didn't feel so tight. When she was a girl, and she was a girl—

(A girl, a girl, a girl, only a girl.)

A change in perspective is supposed to make all the difference. But what's different?

(What difference does it make?)

The sensation that washes over is familiar, tepid and off-color, shell-shocked state drained out to the dullness of feeling underwhelmed.

Fanfare for reunions is only reserved to those she'd never given another thought to, wouldn't care to. But then there's her. There. Then. At the back of her mind, a snaking in, a total fallout. A pattern of comes and goes, like some phantom thing that can't decide whether to stay or go.

To the surprise of no one, Sejin has already made up her mind.

It's in her character to be quick in motion, anyway. A habit of hands picking things up then setting them down: the menu. That lazy, Cheshire drawl. This invisible pendulum placed in between, swaying for each lost second. Her expression says your turn, and she caves in to the pull.

"You're keeping count, that's just as impressive." The knife slows, but only marginally, only enough for her to see. Hyejin lifts her gaze, then locks it in full. It's you never quite reaches completely. Instead: Hello again.

(And again, and again from the first hour to the last because this will always be here, lodged in too deep to dig out.)

"Because it looks like shit." She skewers it up anyway by the fork, slides in a bite. Tastes like shit too.

Careful eyes flit to the column of her neck, the dangling strip of blue. "What are you, a nine-to-fiver? How professional." 

Another piece, chew and swallow. Affection rolls off of her curt and uninspired. "It's so unlike you."

[alhyejin-blog]

@alsejin​

It’s a sign of the times, so they say. Or more accurately, how they like to say it. Language is fickle like that—the right shape, the right angles; all that precision for naught the second it’s wedged in where it shouldn’t.

Case in point: the two men at table 3, the only ones in this diner brave enough to carry their voices as loud and open as they do. Hyejin in her half-attentive state catches on in threadbare snippets, tail-ends and ribbon strands cut too hastily. Without context, they loop around the same idea: for every counted misery, there’s always the shelling out of some small dime-a-dozen wisdom.

Pending divorce, a marriage on the rocks, it’s not over till it’s over.

Niece number two, stepmother one and only, stage 3 and 4 respectively, only the good die young.

Major corporate corruption, laid off just last week, a sign of the times.

They shake their heads in unison, in agreement; indeed, indeed, as if enlightenment is just that easy. As if putting it out there for the world already makes it all better. Maybe for them it isn’t about if it’s better, but whether or not it feels like it. Which in some ways it does, goes down the stomach bourbon smooth, but there’s something too casual about it, too stubborn. As stubborn as a bad habit.

Which is exactly what it is: a bad habit.

Leave it to language, really, to be full of them.

The night blurs, with the quality of flickering TV static; clarity, then disconnect. Moments where her hand doesn’t quite feel like her hand and neither does the reflection on the smudged window. Sometime along this dead crawl of the hour the men have left, their table empty. Hyejin’s eyes have been her plate for awhile now, dipped drowsy, cutting a long overdue meal into charred, bite-sized pieces.

Wandering doesn’t come as soon as she’d like it. The air stills, natural to this sort of 1 a.m., but there’s something pulling at her. Hyejin is slow to be compelled enough to look, but when she does, she can’t move. 

Skeletons shut in the closet, burdens buried six feet under, confessions spilled without a single drop of blood. She’d been prepared before, as time had allowed for it. But not for this. 

Never, ever, for this.

[alhyejin-blog]

@aljiwon

Saturday night starts off generously, held by the bottle green neck of Chamiseul and filled right up to the thin crystal rim, round one followed by the second. Looming over the roof is the sight of a full, dewy white winter moon, but after a couple of shots, it only fails to hold up against the bright burn of this room. There’s comfort in a joint as busy as this one, warm with the smell of fried batter and salt and everything a flavor way too red to be healthy—enough so that Hyejin feels the tension roll off of her shoulders like it’s nothing. 

She takes all of this in like it’s nothing. 

“Jiwon-aaah,” Even the gravel in her throat has loosened, smoothed out by the clear taste of soju. When everything else is deceptively composed—upright upper half, clothes pressed wrinkle free and neat—it’s the single thing to betray her. "Should we get one more?“ 

[alhyejin-blog]

hello it’s me again with character number 2 because @alminseok just wasn’t enough (whose intro i rewrote cause i had a barely functioning brain the first time around so pls read for updated info and a vine). like to plot or message me directly. overview, app and plots are all linked, so lets get this show on the road! 

and look another gif:

beautiful

born in taebak but was then relocated to a more rural part of gangwon. both mom and dad were at a critical point of their careers where it was work work work constantly and couldn’t dedicate an adequate amount of time to look after her, so she was raised by her granddad on a farm until age 6-7

took her back when things were finally stable to chuncheon, except she’s never really quite adjusted ever since? but ‘cause hye stayed out of harm’s way, any real concerns were just chalked up to her being an “oddball” child and left it at that

has an older sister but she’s been away from home for a looong time

reputation of being the lone wolf…dark horse…a little intense, intimidating but people didn’t actively go and try to mess with her. whatever pent up aggression was put to good use in sports so really she has volleyball to thank for keeping her in check lmao

was there the night of that sexual assault case in '08: knows the victim on a very personal level. doesn’t dwell on it in solitude because the guilt would eat her alive

has always had a talent for analysis and putting things together so reporting seemed like a good place to start!

snu alumni, was part of the school paper both in highschool and college. landed a few jobs with a couple of major news outlets, but with the amount of corruption, beating around the bush and insulting her sense of “journalistic integrity” she got pissed and went rogue (independent)

came across her first big scoop COMPLETELY by accident. took the nation by storm and the process of it all/aftermath kind of maybe fucked her up just a little. or a lot. again, she doesn’t think about it too much and has moved on

currently working under gobal news, which was set up by lee sangho (who, for some background, is the reporter known for the famous 2005 "samsung x-files” story as well as his coverage of sewol), with another case in the works

for her it’s less about justice and more about getting to the root of some long ignored story and exposing it in full. what’s important is that it gets heard first, the other stuff can be dealt with later

just like her granddad in terms of personality; he’s your typical, rough around the edges war vet, and it kind of rubbed off on her. she always looks like she’s about to snap or seen some shit but uh yeah!

her job is literally all she has and the day she puts that pen down is the day she’s packed six feet deep into her grave

“the limit does not exist”

focused. assertive. may not be the most empathetic, warm, sunshine and daisies kind of person out there? but when you have her attention she will listen down to the last breath you’ve got

the dog in this vine probably

also the gif on this

[alhyejin-blog]

[alhyejin-blog]

No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That’s how your whole life will feel some day.   This is all practice.

Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters (via bookmania)