5threquiem

[5threquiem]

soojung:

( … ) “You’re not bad at all, you know. At this dancing thing,” she says, the tease in her eyes and her smile. “I bet this is how you get all the girls to fall for you at parties. How many dances does it take? Two? Three?” Just a few more minutes.

the god gives and the god takes — but if there is one thing that belongs solely to man, then let it be volition. in this way, the god presents the choice: leave behind your earthly treasures so you may ascend to the heavens to be one with the lord, or let the things of earth bind you so you may return to the dust in a pillar of salt.

come, child. choose. the god will honour it.

here now, his left hand against hers and her touch, it draws. it doesn’t pull away like it used to. there, the hand on her back, featherlight to betray his hesitance. slowly, like he’s bracing for the draw back. slowly, like he fears that the firmness of his touch will somehow — or perhaps, once again — bruise the softness of hers. slowly, like is this okay? like are we okay, now?

and now, pressing into her back, all at once. kim seunghan sees it now. all this while, always alone in his room, he’d believed that it was his frost that had turned her cold. how naïve. as it turns out, it is her warmth that holds firm, now thawing his smile.

seunghan chuckles to himself, head bowing in relief. “none, actually,” he corrects, and though he tries to hold the boyish grin back, he fails. somehow, he doesn’t mind it. “i haven’t danced in awhile. didn’t see a reason to,” and perhaps, if not for the mask, she’d glean the fondness in his gaze. perhaps, if she looked hard enough, she might even spot the sincerity of it. in the pause he purses his lips, as though in thought, “but you’re reminding me why i liked it. in fact, i almost feel stupid for forgetting.”

he’s not talking about the dancing.

so now, the choice. the music ends, and behind them are people leaving the dance floor, but seunghan stays put. if it is his life that the god wants, then he can have it. if it is his soul, then he can have that, too. seunghan will stay here. her, in his earthly hands, which also lies his freedom to choose. now, gazing upon her, he feels the salt burning in his throat.

somehow, he thinks he likes the taste of it.

“and you?” the music resumes and he pulls her closer this time, his touches certain as it was, all those years ago. “do you always go around bewitching strangers at parties? or did you save that specially for me?”

[5threquiem]

yohan:

( … ) He doesn't quite feel the sting of tears until he's dragged toward the entrance, cold dry breeze stuck on his skin, all the while a pair of hands pull his thrashing form back with all their might. "Let go of me, dammit!" He pushes forth another command, hoping it would work as well as it did moments earlier.

all that exists, only exists because the god deems it so. here, the god moulds all of creation with his perfect hands, that which he inspects with his indefectible judgement and deems it worthy of life. even pain. even death. even grief. do not think to decipher the god’s rationale. man only need know that the god can do no wrong, and so all that exists serves a purpose higher than that which man can understand.

now here, cocooned at the core of him, is his grief. he understands this to come from the god and so, in some way, it is made holy. and perhaps it is just as well. because if not for its sanctity, then suppose there would be no reason that he should continue to harbour this grief. suppose he’d know, then, to rip it violently from himself, no matter the spectacle that comes with the tearing.

suppose, nothing short of jin yohan.

the man demands to be released, but only when they are away from the crowd does seunghan unhand him. he is violent in his conduct, features curling to betray his frustration. somewhere is the sound of ripping. this one doesn’t come from yohan.

“what the fuck do you think that’s going to do?” the rebuke is pushed between barred teeth, the knight hovering over the rook, “hyungseo is dead. all your screaming won’t bring him back.”

believe him — he’s tried. grief, while holy, is no less agonising. and is it not like man to seek the soothing balm? mind the rip. seunghan pulls his fingers through his locks, attempts the steadying sigh except it shakes all the way through. “let them say whatever they want to say. no one can understand him. not even us,” he concedes, his tone thick with melancholy. the scoff that follows is absent of mirth, “that was the whole point of him.”

and it is futile, no? to try to understand the god. once, alive. now, dead in the water.

seunghan fetches his box of cigarettes, flicks the lighter, and takes a drag. he watches the smoke swell into the air and it reminds him of that night, the fog of his breath billowing against the backdrop of the lake. it’d been just as cold then. “jung yoojin is a real fucking piece of work,” the utterance offhand, said under his breath. the knight turns to the latter, concern resting along the brow, and finally, he holds his cigarettes out to yohan. if he is not to rip it from himself, then he might as well indulge it a little. misery, company — all that.

[5threquiem]

sowon:

( … ) she looks up at seunghan, trying to gauge his reaction for a moment before turning her gaze to the other masked faces around the room, looking for signs of recognition in the rest of the populace. "what good are a news anchor and a younger sibling who doesn't even like their job at a place like this?" she asks rhetorically, "especially when a girl who definitely hates one of those people is running the invitation list."

if there is to be one language spoken by all of god’s servants, then let it be fallacy. like this, it becomes their nature to believe that all prayers answered are the works of god’s hands. by the same logic, the same prayers forsaken are evidence of god’s guidance, lest you be led astray by your own, mortal wants. in this way, all realities culminate to a single truth: absent of logic, the lord’s followers will believe that which satisfies the god.

hallelujah.

suppose it is fitting, then, that kim seunghan falls to this same fallacy.

“or maybe, byeol’s lost her goddamn mind,” the emphasis pushes past gritted teeth, and if that alone is not enough to betray the irritation, then suppose the way his grip tightens around her hand will suffice. seunghan looks down at her against his chest and sighs, the tension giving way to resignation, “jung chanyeol is here. your jung chanyeol.” in place of blame is incredulity, and in this way, seunghan makes the distinction for her benefit.

“what do you, soojung, chanyeol, and byeol have in common?” the rhetoric hangs in the space between them, abruptly ballooning when he cues with a quick, “turn,” and spins her. by the time he pulls her back, she is an inch closer, his hand a touch firmer around her waist. romantic, perhaps. but more importantly, discrete. seunghan leans closer and lets the words fall into her ear, “club rules dictate that when one of us is in need, the rest of us are inclined to help. but when you have two opposing parties reaching out for a favour, which one do you stay loyal to?”

“that mansion on jeju. it was junpyo’s, wasn’t it? and now, we’re all on byeol’s guest list.” he straightens, eyes searching her gaze for that spark of recognition.

now, the fallacy — “whatever’s happening was initiated by someone in the club, but more importantly, someone close to your direct chessmasters.” the pause he holds is well-timed. long enough that she catches up. short enough that he doesn’t. “what was yul’s relationship like with his chessmaster? do you remember anything from when you were initiates?”

[5threquiem]

soojung:

( … ) She supposes she’s being a bit unkind, having him try to parse fiction from fact. But then again, who didn’t like a little give and take? Here, she’ll even help him out. Reaching a hand up to his face, she makes a show of brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead (imaginary, of course), tucking it behind his ear with a soft touch before pulling back to look him in the eye. “You had a hair there. I promise.”

it is typical for the god to be equated to his goodness, but make no mistake — what makes a god is power. it is the ability to shape realities within one’s hands, and just as easily, to break them. when one manipulates realities, one, too, manipulates that which is good and evil. in this way, god creates goodness through the works of his hands, that which yields the saints. but before this goodness comes power, comes god.

somewhere in the ground lies the body of noh hyungseo and here are the knight’s eyes, tender with grief. nam soojung brushes her knuckles against the lines of his face and like this, kim seunghan can no longer recall what they’re here for. by the works of her hands, she erases all trace of his encumbering grief.

is this not power?

she retracts the hand and he intercepts, his fingers desperately seizing the palm. like this, she yields her saint and in this moment, kim seunghan is convinced that he will spend a lifetime worshipping at her feet. “what am i going to do with you?” the rhetoric is breathless and here, his wide eyes search her gaze. as though in awe. as though in regret, that the lord had presented herself to him, and in his foolishness, he did not see. seunghan slips his hand into hers, fingers gently interlocking, and he reaches up to cradle her face in his other palm. “you’re such a bad liar, nam soojung.”

he guides their interlocked hands to her waist, and the way he pulls her towards him is firm. closer, closer, until he feels the curve of her body against his. the palm angles her face up towards him, and the thumb brushes gently first against her cheek, then the bottom lip. “i wanted to do this when you were sober,” he admits in a whisper, a light chuckle accompanying as his gaze falls to her lips, “but if i don’t kiss you now, i’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

once, he was blind, but by the works of her hand, he sees. and kim seunghan isn’t the sort to deny the god twice. so he does. lips against hers, he kisses her over and over again. here, they arrive at her temple and he is a sinner begging on his knees. as is customary, absolution may only be granted from the god’s lips.

[5threquiem]

aera:

( … ) “seunghan oppa.” finally seeing him in person instead of a kakao profile picture makes her smile. however, her smile is all teeth, like fangs poised to sink into the slightest opening he showed. surrounded by the other students, kim seunghan is effectively trapped by social niceties and common courtesy to have anywhere to run from her. just where she wants him. aera gives him a once over, shooting the girl beside him a short glance before blinking innocently up at him, head tilting. “haven’t heard from you for a while.”

devote yourself to the lord, and he will pay it in proportionate misery. see, how as you give, so will the god take. if not your wealth, then your children. if not your children, then your good health. and is sacrifice not a kind of worship?

kim seunghan devotes himself to the good lord. even in the face of his best friend, now dead in the water, his death publicised and made a mockery of by the sacrilege in snu’s courtyard — he, the good and faithful servant, endures. pay no mind to the tenderness under his eyes or the way he hangs his head low — grief is to be expected, but what matters is that he is present in this lecture hall. what matters is that he persists despite.

the lord pays devotion in kind. the more he worships, the more is asked of him. kim seunghan passes the first trial, so as the lord is wont to do, he tosses him the second.

this one arrives in the form of moon aera. here, her lips part to reveal the glinting teeth. it is easy to mistake her smile as one of warmth — after all, she preens and plucks herself to ensure that she is pretty as they come — but seunghan knows her pride better. moon aera will not be ignored, no matter how he tries.

here is the trial as ordained by his mother — no, the good lord. maintain his efforts to woo the moon girl, even in the face of his grief. and how will seunghan fare?

“aera,” he returns when she calls to him, though in being weakened by his grief, it is absent of the usual inflection. he does not think she will take kindly to this. neither will the god. somehow, seunghan cannot find the strength to care. “it has been awhile,” the agreement betrays the resistance to yield. his gaze shifts to his classmate beside him, if only because she touches her palm to his elbow to indicate her leaving. the disruption is only momentary, but the indisputable shift in attention — suppose she might not like this, too.

“you don’t have classes on this side of campus, so i assume you’re looking for me,” he acknowledges, tone matter of fact and he puckers his lips almost in resignation, “well… you found me.” now, the belated smile. suppose the timing was important to convey the authenticity. “how can i help?”

a pity that seunghan makes it so far, only for the lord to find him wanting.

[5threquiem]

pray you are not taken by the devil’s deception. he will come to you when you are at your weakest, just as he had done to the good lord who had, once, taken the shape of man and in doing so, endured the weakness of flesh. here, he will offer you the remedy to your immediate suffering. pray you do not fall to this temptation. though it may appear kind to the untrained eye, the devil has but one motive: to steal. to kill. to destroy. from his lips he offers you the world, but peek behind them and you will find the tongue salivating from his ungodly appetite for your soul.

kim seunghan swears he saw the devil. in fact, he is looking at the back of him now. go jihoon strikes a commanding presence, but it is kim yul that the knight looks at as he stands amid the crowd, now unmasked. around them is a tangible tension, shoulders stiffening and heads bowed — is this debasement not a kind of death? yes, kim seunghan sees it now. there, the corners of yul’s lips turn upwards into a unsettling smile. some will claim it to be a trick of the light, but seunghan knows better.

mother had taught him better.

at some point, go jihoon runs his mouth dry. do not ask seunghan for the details — he is too busy watching yul leave. he excuses himself and slips quietly behind, only making himself known inches from where the light from the ball streams into the darkened hallway. here, he digs his fingers into the latter’s bicep and wrenches him forcefully back.

“it’s you, isn’t it?” seunghan accuses, his gaze murderous from where it peeks behind the mask, “you fucked off to the states eight years ago when hyungseo was buried along with his name. now you’re back, and how convenient — so is he.”

the man releases his hold on his older half-brother in a manner that is not unlike a shove. he sees it now, the devil’s motive — to throw him off his game, if only so yul may steal his inheritance from right under him. mother was right. seunghan steps forth, hovers over his half-brother with barred teeth.

“you’re the rat.”

TO THE DEATH ft. kim seunghan & @heirdrop's kim yul

[5threquiem]

PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP.

“hello, this is officer park donghyun of seoul metropolitan police. we’ve been trying to reach you regarding the noh hyungseo case. the case has recently been reopened as some new evidence has come to light. we would like to invite you into the station for a voluntary interview to clarify a few details from your previous statement. please contact me at your earliest convenience so we may book in a time. you can reach me directly at this number. we are aiming to conduct this interview sometime next week. thank you for your cooperation. we hope you have a good day.”

“…seunghan? seunghan. what is it?”

where was he? start with the obvious. here, leaning forward on the couch, a hand gripping his phone until the knuckles pale. mother, now beside him, an anchoring hand digging into his shoulder. seunghan looks into her eyes, notices how the concern etches into the wrinkle between her brows.

“they’re reopening the case,” he parrots, only remembering to shut his phone when prompted by the click, “hyungseo’s.”

“what?”

there is something to be said about the way she stands while he sinks into his open palm. a pity seunghan doesn’t have the words. mother paces in front of him, her arms crossed.

“did they say why?”

“something about new evidence.”

“about your involvement?”

the words die in his throat. his mother holds her position in front of him — looking down upon him — and there is a twitch in her jaw that catches the light. like always, it is him who yields the stare.

“i… i don’t know.”

she doesn’t conceal the sigh. seunghan doesn’t look up again. not when he hears her breathing deepen. not when he hears her footsteps resume along the marble flooring. like a dog, he only responds when spoken to.

“it’s yul.”

seunghan stills, brows furrowing.

“why now?” she prompts, her tone forceful, “what’s changed in the last eight years?”

it’s instinct, the way he shakes his head. “but… i don’t —”

“seunghan. your father is sick. the company will go to one of his sons. you. or him. do you understand? hyungseo was your best friend.” she kneels before him, a hand on his knee and another on his cheek. “oh, darling. you’re too soft, just like your father. you can’t let it get in the way of everything.”

only now, does he pull his gaze to look at her, and he finds that her eyes are warm as the palm on his cheek. he leans into her touch, and reaches up to hold with his cold hand.

“you’ve worked too hard for this, darling.”

where was he? now, between the lines.

seunghan nods. against the tenderness of her palm, he grits his teeth. “i won’t let him win. i promise.”

[5threquiem]

pray you are fortunate enough to be martyred for your faith. in this way, the murder and imprisonment of one’s physical body may be viewed as a blessing. do not be mistaken: the boon does not lie in physical suffering or the opportunity to prove one’s devotion to the god — rather, it lies in the god’s mercy for those who leave themselves open for slaughter in his holy name. see, how the lord will send his angels to spare you the hurt.

the god he serves dies in a lake eight years ago, and the sinners gather in desecration of his sacred temple. eight years ago, kim seunghan, in his righteous anger, had stood by the dead god, had stormed the temple to cast out all who dared commit sacrilege. eight years later and again, they make a mockery of the god’s death. they reconvene here in this temple, and kim seunghan finds his strength wavering.

and so, as is the god’s grace, he sends his angels to spare the hurt. in front of him is nam soojung. she stands by the bar, an intricate mask on her face and her back turned towards him, but it matters little how she orients or presents — kim seunghan will recognise nam soojung anywhere. it will take a stronger man to doubt her attendance in this party for businessmen — and perhaps, rightfully so — but kim seunghan is parched in the desert and here she stands, a body of water. and is it not an understanding that angels are not of this earth? yet they roam in deference to the god. as will she.

he approaches, stands right by her and there is a certain silence held between them, filled by the crescendo of a song that reminds him of a simpler time back in his car — one hand on the wheel and another on her thigh. kim seunghan may pretend to have bought into her disguise now, but in this way, intimacy is a water in a dam. simply because he holds it back does not mean that it is not always pushing forth, always feeling for the crack.

“a selfish part of me hopes you came alone,” he confesses, finger tapping against the bar as he briefly places an order for his glass of red. finally, he turns to address her, leaning his weight against the bar, “otherwise, whoever left you here is a fool.” now beside her, seunghan lets his gaze trace deliberately along her features lest this is the last time he gets to see her like this — content, like this.

do not be fooled by his composure. here, watch him take a breath and see the way it shakes. seunghan steadies himself in the exhale, “care to dance with a stranger?” and he holds a hand out. here, pushing forth. here, feeling for the crack.

she always loved to dance.

GOD SENDS HIS ANGELS ft. kim seunghan & @cataclyisms's nam soojung

[5threquiem]

[5threquiem]

when one king falls, another will rise in his place. in such a time, there will be many who will vie to sit on the throne, but of them, only one will be god’s chosen. to this heir, you will find the lord’s discernment. through his divine wisdom, the new king will rise, and by this same token, he will exercise his power, that which submits to the lord’s will.

the kim patriarch is soon to pass and here, it sparks the battle for the throne. kim seunghan, the diligent son who had stayed by his father’s side, through sickness and health. kim yul, the prodigal son whose return prompts a celebration and a slaughtered calf. of which is god’s chosen?

the distinction is found in the lord’s discernment. here is a dance of smoke and mirrors, and in this masquerade, there is no telling which is which. yet, see how a masked guest walks by the knight and it begs him to stop in his tracks. this is a party for businessmen, and though sowon had clued him in on her suspicions for the night, there is no evidence quite so convincing as the attendance of the man he suspects this guest to be.

so he tails. past the crowd, into the clearing, and eventually they arrive in a darker, more private corner of the room. seunghan stretches his hand out and yanks at the latter’s shoulder, gaze searching for recognition from beneath his brow. the man is masked, still, but suppose the fact matters little against the lord’s divine wisdom. seunghan pulls his hand back, as though scalded, and he spits a damning, “you.” it was him — jung chanyeol. teeth gritted, features curling in revulsion, “how the fuck did you sneak in here?”

SONS OF SOLOMON ft. kim seunghan & @ciiielos's jung chanyeol

[5threquiem]

soojung:

( … ) “I’m nervous.” Let it go unsaid that in part it’s because of him. Fuck her, she’s never been great at hiding her heart, sleeve notwithstanding. “I— ugh.” Her hands twist as if to expel her anxiety, the only thing to show for her effort being the crescent shaped indents on her palms. In a huff she sinks further into the sofa, head lolling over the backrest as she looks over at Seunghan. “This is really hard.” As if the detectives would make it easy. Be a big girl, Soojung. “Can we try again?” And, in a moment of levity, a smile and a tease. “Be a little nicer this time.”

there will come a time when your life will be asked of you. the nonbelievers will station you by the city gates, pull rocks from the mud, and they will stone you with it. when the time comes, you will ask your god for mercy, and he will not grant it. rather, he will remind you that this is the cost of your salvation. look in the sky, find the shapes in the clouds that will ease your suffering, and endure.

kim seunghan turns to the sky, and all he sees is her. from this distance, the cumulus clouds appear as versions of the crescents of her eyes when she smiles, the beating rain a merciful reminder of the tempo of her laugh. she washes away the blood.

he doesn’t know how it started, but he knows that he never wants it to end. so today, tonight, in front of her. there is nothing charitable about his help. here, her in front of him — she doesn’t know it yet, how it is her who is doing the helping. her who is easing the suffering. her who is helping him endure.

soojung whines, and seunghan hides the reflexive grin in his glass of wine. “i think…” there are papers filled with interview questions scattered between them on the couch, and they’ve barely gotten through the first page. seunghan gathers them in his hand and places them on the table, “…that it’s easier to tell a lie when most of it is true.” he reaches his fingers towards the base of her wine glass and slides it towards her. “by the time your nerves catch up to you, you’re back to telling the truth.”

as is the nature of a dying man, he’d turned selfish in the name of survival. it is what he deems this guise of helping her. really, seunghan had only really thought of himself. but now, confronted with her nerves, he realises that she, too, is reaching in the sky for something to hold onto. suppose it’s the least he can do for her.

“shall we give it a go?” he suggests, and there’s this way he says it, eyes shut and head shaking at the reminder, “not hyungseo. pick anything else.” brows knit momentarily in thought, “anything present.”

seunghan pulls his gaze back to her. “tell me a half-lie, soojung. or — scratch that.” a smile, “tell me a half-truth.”

[5threquiem]

yul:

( … ) it's the closest he can get to a compliment.    anything else would be closing the gap.    they're both smart and charming,    quick and adaptable.    yul is prettier but seunghan is taller.    dad raised one with the kim family's silver spoon and the other clawed his way back into the fray with pure grit.    the choice gets blurrier and blurrier the more he goes on.    that's the opposite of the goal.    so there goes his mission for the night,    yul supposes    ⸻    to serve as their father's handy dandy magnifying glass.     and,    in a stunning display of brotherhood,    seunghan will assist him.

it is important you realise the futility of peace. how the devil, before the fall, had concealed his sacrilegious ambition to amass his loyalists for the revolt. how the lord, all powerful and all knowing, had let him. in this way, it is important to understand peace as an impermanent façade. here, in the tenuous peace before the revolt, the son of morning smiles at the god, and the god smiles knowingly back. this does not make the devil any less the devil. this does not make the god any less the god.

kim seunghan watches this tenuity play out in front of him now. there, kim yul is smiling from cheek to cheek in the backdrop of an excessively decorated rooftop bar, and the boy wishes that his older half-brother would stop trying so hard. in this company, there is not one person who doesn’t see right through him.

kim yul, no less the devil. their father — well… he is still god, no? seunghan had once thought his father to play a dangerous game. the wilful ignorance of god is afforded to him by his omnipotence, how he may cast the devil out of his plane in a single decree. now that seunghan’s looking at him, the kim patriarch has never looked so weak. there, the man smiles at the both of them, and seunghan finds his faith momentarily shaken.

“brother,” the boy echoes, his tone absent of the chipper in yul’s delivery. the impassivity stays stubbornly pressed into his disposition, from the rigidity of his features to the insincere, “glad to see you back.” there, their father still looks upon them, still smiling, and it is at this moment that the boy realises that the man he had feared growing up is ill, and in saying this, painfully mortal. fine. so their father lacks the omniscience of god. seunghan will show him.

“the states not treating you well?” he questions, his eyebrows raising to play at concern, though see how the right corner of his lips turn an ounce upwards to betray the smirk, “if you ran out of money, you could’ve just told me. i would’ve sent you some.” the hand raises to pat yul’s bicep, and he puts his force into it as he utters the aggravating title once more in mockery, “brother.”

“shall we?” now, smiling innocently, seunghan holds his hand out and directs yul to the table, never mind that it is yul that is hosting, and seunghan that is the guest, “we don’t want to keep father waiting.”

[5threquiem]

did you see noh hyungseo at or near the lake at any point?

here, the one thing entrenched into all life forms: self-preservation. now, hand him the knife, and watch how he’ll sink the blade into himself. “we were at the lake together — hyungseo, hajoon, and i. we were there till sundown.” there, in the officer’s eyes, is the light. seunghan subjects himself to its glare, tears the clothes from his person, and he prays to the god. does the red of my blood please you, mother? “hyungseo wanted to stay to explore the lake, but i needed to leave, so we left.” and is it not what the god asks of her people? to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the god. only then, will the god be convinced of your devotion. if it is the club that his mother wants, then he will fetch it for her, even if he has to kill himself for it. “the three of us were meant to meet up later that night, but hyungseo never showed,” the monotonous tone betrays the rehearsal, as the void in his eyes, the absence of the soul, “well… that’s hyungseo for you. we never thought anything of it.”

[5threquiem]

can you describe your relationship with noh hyungseo?

“hyungseo is…” he pauses, chest rising to give way to a sigh, “was a dear friend.” here is the deal: bubbling up are his emotions, and kim seunghan only knows how to kill it. this murder is taught to him by his good mother. there is an older boy who lets his emotions overcome him, and in all ways including this, kim seunghan must be better. but what does it say of him, that despite the killing, here, the emotions subsist? when the vision turns cloudy and the nose burns. seunghan pinches the bridge of his nose and hangs his head, and he swallows it all down. he tries to get his hands wet again. “i knew of him, but our paths only really crossed in snu,” his breath hitches and he pauses, wipes away the tears. weak. disappointing. here, the rasp to betray his surrender, “forgive me.”

[5threquiem]

did you notice anyone acting suspiciously after noh hyungseo was reported missing?

you must excuse him — kim seunghan is not usually a violent man. but there is something to be said about the way his fists curl in his pockets, how the fingers dig into the tender of his palms and how his knuckles tremble. you must allow him this. there is a man dead in the water, and here is a grieving friend. ahead of him are the police, firing their questions and in his ear are the members of the club. in his ear is his mother telling him not to fuck everything up for a boy. noh hyungseo was more than just a boy, but suppose the club, too, is more than just a club. his mother more than just a woman concerned for her own child. “i apologise, officer,” he mutters low under his breath, his anger poorly bridled, “but i wasn’t exactly paying attention to anyone else. if you recall, my best friend dropped off the face of the earth and now, he’s dead.” kim seunghan is not usually a violent man — but suppose kim seunghan is also not usually himself. and when has he ever had the agency to come as he is? even coming undone by grief, kim seunghan wouldn’t recognise the man he sees in the mirror.

[5threquiem]

is there anyone else you believe we should speak to?

perhaps it is fitting, given his origins, how kim seunghan recognises an opportunity when he sees one. the man meets the eyes of the officer from beneath his brow, and squeezed between his gritted teeth is the blatant and damning, “jung chanyeol.” do not mistake the subtle twitch of his expression as one of self-satisfaction. remember: there is a man left for dead in the water, his body bloated beyond the point of recognition. and how many times will the members of this godforsaken club make a mockery of his best friend? kim seunghan may have his own petty qualms with jung chanyeol, but this, here — this is all for hyungseo.

“yunhee may think she’s a good actor, hanging off of hyungseo’s arm the way she did at the resort — but i caught chanyeol skulking around.” seunghan lets the pause sit briefly between him and the officer, his gaze tracing the lines on the latter’s face if only to spot his tells. “i don’t think yunhee has it in her to do anything to hyungseo. bar the fact that he’s a strong guy, she’s still too soft. but chanyeol…” a scoff, “he always hated hyungseo. i wouldn’t be surprised if the piece of shit was fucking his girlfriend just to prove a point.”

[5threquiem]

taeri:

( … ) "God, I'd rather shack up with some fucker than keep explaining myself to this board," Taeri says, abrupt and disdainful. It's a joke before the words even finish spilling out, lips twisting at the thought. "Easier to get rid of one body," she says, looking moodily at Seunghan.

perhaps it is the irony of god, that he would find the need to prove himself to his own, flawed creation. such is his descent into the body of mere mortals. there, through the god’s hand, he makes the blind man see and the deaf hear, and in turn the people of his own church stand aghast, likening his holy works to that of the devil. it matters not, the miracles that the god performs. in the end — until now — they pay this with crucifixion.

if kim seunghan is to struggle to prove himself to his father’s board, then suppose he should take comfort in knowing that he is not the first. before him, kwon taeri. before her, the god.

now he’s watching her discuss her ideas for kocho, elbow on the edge of the table as he rests his chin against his knuckles, and here, the right corner of his lip twitches. do not misunderstand the smile — kim seunghan thinks the chessmaster brilliant in her own right, and the proposal is no less innovative coming from her mind. but it is here that he is reminded of the folly of man — how they lack the capacity to understand the plans of gods, and so in their pride, they write it off as unachievable fantasy.

“come off it, taeri. you and i both know you can’t get away with murder,” seunghan jests, amusement traced along his smile, “your pride won’t let you.” and is it not like his chessmaster to want it all to herself, and to achieve this by her own merit? to then put her tongue to it, if only so she may claim the feat to be that of her own, rightful doing? see, how it is through her betrayal of his disgrace of an older half-brother that she dominates the knights of the club. see, how she associates with seunghan now, blatant and without remorse.

fuck it. “so they won’t buy your idea,” seunghan summarises, pulls his hands from the table and sits upright, “let me.” and it is a fine proposition, no? if kwon taeri, by her own merit, manages to secure a deal with the kims, then kocho will have to take her seriously. “with your idea, i’ll win over my father’s board. with my name, you’ll win over kocho’s,” he proposes as he leans forth, cards on the table, his chin in his grip. perhaps it's time for the gods to stop trying to prove themselves to mere mortals, and to start playing amongst themselves. “it’ll be just like old times.”