chrjiho

[chrjiho]

SABRINA.

it’s too early for the sun, too late for the moon. like this, the sky looks pitch black. sabrina stares at the empty night, tries to make out shapes in the dark.

she’s procrastinating.

she sighs over words she can no longer understand. words swimming in textbook swimming pools, diagrams starting to look like paint splatter. if she stays she’ll drive herself crazy, so she gets up to leave. ties her hair, slips a packet of cigarettes and a lighter into her cardigan’s pocket. she’s out the door in a second.

the hallways are empty. she knows it’s late, but the quiet still comes unexpected. like this, the silence practically echoes off the walls. she puts her hands into her pockets and heads for the fire exit, for her usual spot. 

( not that she smokes secret cigarettes out of sheer stress often enough to call it her usual spot. )

the hallways are empty. she can’t get the thought out of her mind. she walks, walks, walks. her slippers suddenly too loud. sabrina hugs her arms around herself, looks behind her. 

she’s surprised there’s nothing there. relieved. 

then, taken aback by how stupid she’s being.

and she doesn’t believe in ghosts but she can’t shake the feeling that someone’s looking at her. peering into the dark to see her. she starts to feel like she should run. then, a man’s voice echoes through the darkness. she can’t tell if it’s coming from up above or down below.

with shameful hurry, she shuffles towards the door and makes a mad grab for the handle. she needs air. yeah, air will help. clear her mind. remind her ghosts don’t exist and no one cares enough to stalk her. but mostly that ghosts don’t exist.

stairway metals cling and clang under the soles of her slippers as she speed-walks up the stairs. then she sees it. a dark figure above her, occluded by stairs and rails. she’d squint at it if she wasn’t so irrationally afraid and out-of-her-wits tired. sabrina freezes, staring at the thing on the stairwell and praying to god it doesn’t start moving towards her.

praying? god? ghosts? it all starts to feel like a crazy dream. if she wasn’t so shaken up by the events of the night and the triple espresso shot she had for dinner, she would pinch herself. 

and there he stood, a staggering ( comedic ) one sixty-seven centimeters, lean and cloaked in blackness from the loose fabric of his hoodie. when a feminine face was revealed in the darkness he let out a breath of relief, a thought pinging of how stupid he was for assuming a ghost due to.. reasons? just because? for fun maybe? it took a second for him to process her body language in response to his, frozen up and eyes widened and he quickly pulled his hood down, a shock of short, blonde hair that resembled an early 2000′s slim shady, neck tattoos, and wide-framed glasses revealing themselves from the shadows. “ woah, wait, totally friendly. “ he says, hands coming up innocuously.  

suddenly instead of making him look large, his clothes dwarfed his actual size in the light, anything that looked even potentially frightening melted away in the flushed-red relief of his face and the huff of a laugh at his own momentary insanity. he wondered if she was scared because there was a man wearing all black running full speed down the stairs towards her or because she was also thinking ridiculously along the lines of ghosts or mothman ( possibly even zombies. )

probably definitely the latter.

he stood there nonoffensively for another moment before shifting, feeling suddenly very awkward knowing that he got caught flexing his nonexistent track muscles around the building for seemingly no reason. his eyes caught on the girl again after a moment and, yeah okay, she was pretty, he wasn’t fucking blind but he knew just standing there and staring at her wasn’t gunna make her any more comfortable so after a seconds pause he clears his throat, breaking eye contact to fumble his cigarette pack from his pocket, voice coming more like a question than an invitation when he says, “ i was just going out for a smoke if that, uh... interests you? i swear i’m not weird, just like, really tired. “

[chrjiho]

with: @chrsab

he was used to night time, the spotlight of the streetlamps, sky vaguely dotted with stars and drowned by draining nightlife of seoul as the bars close ( his included ), picking little pieces of glass out of the bottoms of his nonslips and cleaning spilt beer out of a black button down. he was used to things being a little too quiet, the apartment complex he lived in usually completely shutdown by the time he finished showering, even the residents throwing parties or enraptured by the late-night reruns have fallen asleep near sick buckets or comfortably on the couch.

he stepped out of the apartment with wet hair, drowned in a big sweatshirt even in the midst of summer, the air the hallway a little heavy, slightly warmer than the solid twenty celcius he liked to keep his living space. the door opened a little loudly, the sound almost echoing in the hall, cigarettes buried in his pocket, tattooed fingers wringing. however, this time as he moved to exit the building he heard the sound of another door closing. it made him pause for a moment, head tilted like a dog hearing a car pull up in the driveway. he turned to look, seeing no one else.

now normally he wasn’t someone easily paranoid, he knows other people live here, he knows other people have fucked up schedules, but his routine was usually so foolproof, so absolute, that it sort of unsettled him. he opened the stairwell door and paused another moment, hearing more shuffling and then nothing. a normal person would’ve rationalized this, and really, he tried, but something about the time of night and the lack of physical proof of another person skulking around the halls lead him to quickly believe he was being haunted by the spirit of some sickly victorian boy. he felt the urge to do the horror movie thing that got people killed, the old, reliable ‘ who goes there? ‘ that would end in him being dragged down the stairs by his feet.  

he didn’t, however, instead letting the stairwell door close slowly behind him and deciding to haul ass down the stairs in a way that made him feel kinda fucking stupid.

but hey, survival first and nonexistent badass reputation second.

[chrjiho]

hello!! i’m kat (21+, she/her, est) and i’m bringin’ in this (many-a-time recycled) king jiho !! my pages are a wee-bit lengthy so im gunna try to condense the info under the cut. ill be sending out some messages for plots later today ( i’m about to head to work but i wanted to make sure i threw this up first ) !! pls reach out if anything catches ur eye !! also if you wanna reach me on discord my user is kat#1056 !! tw for substance abuse mentions !!

update: oversight and my links were wrong but i have Fixed them 

profile / biography & interlude / wanted connections

hes 28 so he graduated in ab 2011

he was a really good student back in the day, a little more on the quiet side, always a really nice kid

lived with his dad in the little restaurant he owned, mom was never in the picture

problems started when he went away to college and started Wildin’ Out and got into a lot of trouble, fell into a bad crowd, ect.

developed some substance issues and sorta.. flunked out of school. he didnt really tell anyone outside his college crowd about it although his dad did eventually find out

more or less stayed away from home since, moved around, did his military enlistment, was in and out of rehab for a hot minute

now hes mostly clean and sober (still drinks, smokes a lot of cigarettes, but thats the extent of it)

was coerced to move home by his dad and he did bc... cant say no to dad ( mr. park is the real hero of this story <3 )

has basically JUST returned home in time for a good ol’ reunion that he definitely doesn’t want to go to ... thats the gist i do think. lets plot !!

[chrjiho]

& PARK JIHO + SOCIAL MEDIA

bonus: listen to the playlist here!

[chrjiho]

◤ like/reblog if u use/save ◥

[chrjiho]

I THINK I AM GOING TO CUT MY HAIR

[chrjiho]

                       HEADCANONS WEEK #1: DECEMBER

what are your muse’s months aesthetics like? anything that applies to both your muse’s character and the month?

aesthetic: frosted windows / numb fingers / empty coffee cups / crackling fireplaces / lost loves / fuzzy socks / layers of jackets / darkened skies / crisp air / fresh snow / awaiting spring

Keep reading

[chrjiho]

                     HEADCANONS WEEK #2: ROMANCE

is your muse romantic at all? or do they fully enjoy the single-life?

romance. oh, how he hungers for it, the red, pomegranate stained fingertips always within reach, grasping for straws and falling empty through the air. 

he’s always been a romantic at heart and lonely by nature, searching not necessarily for his “one true love” but instead someone who can tolerate him as well as he promises to tolerate them. to be loved, to be needed, to not be so alone. it’s sensationalized by movies and music and social media, and perhaps having a single father didn’t help, since he was a child looking up at a lonely aging man, growing up and moving out – leaving him more solitary still. jiho can’t imagine it, doesn’t want to as even being on his side of things fills him heavy with guilt, but day by day it becomes more of a reality through the pins and needles of heartbreak and aching and failed relationships and aching and pining and even more aching still. he found love many times in many different people, and he believes it solidly for each of them to this day, but he’s a black hole for affection, regurgitating it onto lovers and friends until ( and maybe he’s just being cynical ) they get bored of him, until they realize maybe he’s not so great after all.

because, well, what’s the fun without the chase? 

Keep reading

[chrjiho]

[chrjiho]

MESSAGE FROM THE MUN:

well howdy, im back !!! i just finished moving yesterday and have had a crazy two weeks but im excited to start writing again !!! im gunna start working on some replies this morning and sending out messages to everyone i havent gotten to talk to yet  💖

[chrjiho]

                     HEADCANONS WEEK #2: ROMANCE

is your muse romantic at all? or do they fully enjoy the single-life?

romance. oh, how he hungers for it, the red, pomegranate stained fingertips always within reach, grasping for straws and falling empty through the air. 

he’s always been a romantic at heart and lonely by nature, searching not necessarily for his “one true love” but instead someone who can tolerate him as well as he promises to tolerate them. to be loved, to be needed, to not be so alone. it’s sensationalized by movies and music and social media, and perhaps having a single father didn’t help, since he was a child looking up at a lonely aging man, growing up and moving out -- leaving him more solitary still. jiho can’t imagine it, doesn’t want to as even being on his side of things fills him heavy with guilt, but day by day it becomes more of a reality through the pins and needles of heartbreak and aching and failed relationships and aching and pining and even more aching still. he found love many times in many different people, and he believes it solidly for each of them to this day, but he’s a black hole for affection, regurgitating it onto lovers and friends until ( and maybe he’s just being cynical ) they get bored of him, until they realize maybe he’s not so great after all.

because, well, what’s the fun without the chase? 

what is their love-language? words of affirmation? acts of service? receiving gifts? quality time? or physical touch?

gift giving, physical touch, and quality time are all ways he shows affection and are how he processes affection from others. this doesn’t just extend in a romantic sense either, jiho always someone to give presents to his friends and an avid hugger, very affectionate in most regards. he likes to let those close to him know that he cares about them, his circle small enough that it’s not hard to keep up with. 

in relationships, however, skinship is particularly important to him.

what would be the perfect date for your muse?

something intimate, probably staying in and sharing a bottle of wine, telling old stories, the low sound of the television playing in the background, the light of the screen illuminating the room with a far away lamp and a couple lit candles. protected by the cover of night, layers of blankets and pulled couch cushions, a fort the size of his small living room, the smell of good food. red faces from drinking and laughing, messy hair, play wrestling, and half-finished jokes. 

one-on-one time.

does your muse have a type? or do they not care about that?

i don’t think he has a specific physical type for men or women, really. if asked about it he’d maybe say he prefers dark hair or soft bone structures or something vague like that, but he’s mostly drawn to certain traits in people. he likes someone who can make him laugh, as most people do, and he likes a certain level of self sufficiency, he also thinks confidence is really attractive. he does definitely like someone who’s willing to put in a lot of time and effort into a relationship but not to the point where they’re breathing down each other’s throat, he still thinks occasional separate social outings and alone time are important. 

i do also think there’s an appeal to someone who’s hard to get or hard to hold onto but that’s more psychological, he doesn’t consciously search for that, as it really just tends to hurt his feelings. *cough* looking @ u mingyu *cough*

do they believe in real love? soulmates? love at first sight?

the concept is appealing, that much he can’t deny. he would love the idea of a soulmate, someone innately meant to be with him, someone to make everything make sense, to click together perfectly -- but he doesn’t find much truth to it. given concepts of free will and euphoria and suffering and the way life seems to make a fool of itself over and over he thinks that love, already a volatile emotion in and of itself, is a matter of circumstance. there’s never a moment in life where everything lines up perfectly, where you look up at a party with all your friends and lock eyes with some mysterious new stranger and... know. 

that moment where you know and they know and all the sudden all life's burdens don’t matter, all the sudden two people are willing to give up everything they’ve built over their twenty-something years on the planet just to be together... that moment doesn’t exist. it can’t exist, because if it did, why was anyone concerned about anything else? 

but, of course, that’s quite a romantic notion itself, isn’t it?

ironic, coming from someone who’s come so close, who’s met with the same person over and over again through twists of fate, who indeed played out a story of lovers meeting in a bar, simply knowing each other on first glance. it’s hypocritical coming from someone who had to restrain himself from trying to use concepts like having “one true love” to keep his ex with him, who so strongly believed, for just a second, that a relationship was “it” for him, the end game, the absolute happiness. things don’t work out that way, even less so when staking so much emotional stability on it, when putting so much pressure on someone else. 

he’d learned it the only way it’s taught -- the hard way.

so soulmates and love at first sight, those things he can’t find comfort in, can’t believe in their truths with his whole heart the way he’d maybe like to.

that being said.. real love, well, he thinks there’s definitely something to that.

how do they imagine their future? married? single? owning those one-night stands?

he wants to be a husband and father desperately. he thinks he’d be really good at it, but the older he gets the more out of reach it seems. he wanted to settle down at nineteen, he was ready to commit all too easily, so prepared to start the rest of his life -- but things didn’t go quite as planned and now he finds himself a little bit lost, his vision of the future blurrier the closer he gets, the more uncertain he finds himself. he had taken a long hiatus from committed relationships, then when he had finally gotten into one again it failed rather miserably and now he’s stuck wondering if maybe it’s his fault, or if he’s possibly meant to be alone. a truly rather miserable thought for a hopeless romantic.

so at this point, who’s really to say?

[chrjiho]

DANBI.

the stranger spins a story across the city from where they sit, his fingers tucked against her palm. she lets herself get lost in the false memories, snapshots of movie stills in a parallel universe. “ you don’t get tired of trying, ” she agrees, tilting her head in a small smile, tender and knowing. delilah would say this, “ you don’t have to, you know that. ” fingertips catch on the one tracing patterns into her pulse point, tangling them properly in a gesture so fluid and loose it looks like muscle memory, a default state of being. danbi wonders what she’d say, herself. “ i’m not going anywhere. ”

her drink is floral sweet with a tinge of spice, the mouthful she takes going down smooth in the silence when the other takes a breath, searching his eyes for the next thread of their story to unravel. “ i liked the ice, ” she says, “ winter’s always been my favourite season. ” a slow blink towards the windows of the bar, wistfulness dancing across her features, “ but you get cold so easily. ” danbi lifts two fingers to press teasingly against his still-red nose, the gesture so peculiar it becomes affectionate and laughs, light and easy. “ don’t give in to me so often, ” she scolds, tenderness colouring her words as if they’re retracing conversation steps, crystalline lattices of what was and isn’t said. “ so we’ll stay in, tomorrow, where it’s warm ” she murmurs, voice low with a promise she won’t keep, “ and i’ll distract you from the sunrise, too. ”

the movie reel spins to a stop at the bar, tints it the rosy hue of obscure foreign films that believe too much in colour theory. blue turns to purple, lilac sky arcing over as the years begin the age-old routine of changing hands. “ together, ” she repeats, voice a little more certain than his, like she can’t imagine any other state, can’t imagine having never known the man in front of her. “ a good end to the day, and this year. another one together? ” she tilts her head towards the entrance, as if to reference the festivities outside. the two of them stay where they are, ensconced in this indulgent mimesis of passing the year together, untouched by everything but their words.

they’re playing pretend, all just make-believe. the wool of his scarf is scratchy against her skin, old radiator leaking an uneven heat into the bar, the stranger’s chilled fingers on her nape, shouting from outside clear enough through the windows as the countdown begins. ten, nine, eight. there’s a musk from the walls that artificial air freshener hasn’t hidden, some variation of mint from the stranger when she leans in. just fantasy, she tells herself. the lips against hers are warm.

she makes it so easy to separate from reality. 

for just a moment he isn’t himself, the burdens of his daily life dissipated into the ether, the job, the drugs, the money, the friends, family, all of it shrouded, gone into the back of his mind behind layers of fantasy, the soft hum of music broken up by the voices of bar patrons, the vibrations of excitement beginning to creep into the atmosphere. it’s electric, it’s hard not to get caught up in it, so many things happening at once and he’s pretending he’s at all a part of it, as if this is really his life, his plans, ( his fingers pressed warm from her neck through her hair, searching her face as if his life truly rests there ) and of course, her. she’s the centerpiece of all of this, the heroine, the lead girl. she’s who he can spend the next six months dreaming about, dark hair and long eyelashes, an easy smile. she goes with his stories, melts into them as if she too would love nothing more than to live their fake life. for a moment he finds himself so caught up he almost believes it to his core, a soft laugh past his lips, fond, fingers running through her hair, pressing to the side of her face, an intimate, private smile.

from a distance they’re exactly what they pretend to be, a pair, caught up in each other, preparing for the new years kiss as if they’d done it a hundred times, and perhaps, he muses, delilah and simon have. the real them, out there somewhere, anchored here. perhaps memories of amsterdam’s past haunting them, possessing them, it’s the only thing that could explain such sensations, the feeling heavy and pounding in his chest as if he truly knows her, is truly and wholly, earnestly hers. how heartbreaking, how unsound. the way the little voice in his head sat in the back corner, scratching, banging, begging to be heard. it was warning him that this was, though fun, though a truly full, truly temporary happiness, it was going to hurt so much more to go to bed alone tonight. it was going to feel like a departing of a soul, because in the moment, a dewy, tender heart grew next to his own, a memory of the place they both came to — alone. oh to wake up in an empty hotel bed tomorrow, to pack his luggage and return home, to seoul, to the skeleton of his abandoned apartment.

but he wasn’t there yet, and she was still here, and he still wasn’t him, and so with the mantra of numbers playing around them he pulls towards her, a secretive smile in the kiss, his hands on either side of her face, pulling away slightly in a laugh only to press together again. as if they’ve done it a thousand times. as if it’s their very first — somehow both of these things at once, as the new years rings around them, the staccato of breathing, moving chests, the exploding of fireworks and the chatter of bar patrons, shuffling to step outside to watch them unfold, a blast of cool air, sending shivers with the opening of the pub door. though, perhaps, a good cover to the chills he already had, pulling away only a face length, warm breath from human mouths fanning the distance, the blush in her cheeks telling him that they bleed the same, two real, tangible people, meeting in their own surrealist world. 

two real people.

“ happy new year, “ he says, thumb running soft against her face, from jaw to cheekbone and back again, drawing patterns, until he remembers the curve even when she’s no longer there, “ and to another one together. “

[chrjiho]

MINGYU.

( … )

                  his words didn’t seem genuine, but it wasn’t like it was mingyu’s place to ask any more questions regarding the other’s mental or physical well-being. it would be overstepping a line enforced between them that no one dared to cross; and it was probably better that way. mingyu wanted to ask more, to ask whether there was anything he could do to make it better, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not know the reason for older male’s sour mood. it was so painfully obvious, even to someone who couldn’t read other people’s emotions well. even for someone as unempathetic and heartless as him. so, he didn’t ask more about it and decided to move on with the conversation. well, to the best of his abilities. “ i’m glad that work’s been good to you, man. ” never in his life had he addressed jiho by ‘man’, so why was he doing it now? probably nervousness. anxiety. if he was able to even feel those emotions.

                    and there it was. the chance to pour salt in jiho’s cuts. and without hesitation, mingyu grabbed it by the collar, not missing a single beat when he spoke again. “ since you look like you’re not gonna drink much more tonight, i’m just gonna do it for you, no worries. ” a gentle smile graced his features, but in combination with his words, it seemed more evil than anything. “ work has been great. it was a little difficult to get back into the gist of things, but it wasn’t too difficult after all. everyone welcomed me with open arms and was happy to see me back, so i am happy to be back too. ” mingyu’s speech was fast and yet somehow robotic. how was that even possible? he wondered whether jiho knew that he had started up his job while they were still dating, but he didn’t want to reveal it now … due to the off chance that it hadn’t been obvious to the other until now. “ i never realised how many people out there missed me until i got back online. it was surprising. i never realised there were so many people out there who viewed me as someone important … you know, as someone who’s apart of their lives. in a somewhat weird, unconventional way. but still apart of it. ”

a response was on the tip of jiho’s tongue when mingyu continued, his mouth closing again at the question, ‘ anyone to impress? ‘ his eyebrows drew together on his forehead, confused. it sounded... mean. the sort of question that maybe should be avoided in this situation as to not step on toes, but there was something so movie villain about the smile that accompanied it, something that told him it was intentional. but why? what would cause mingyu to say something like that? jiho stayed quiet, head turned like a cat, as if he was struggling to listen to something from far away. he wasn’t exactly hurt by it ( though later surely he would be ) but more aptly confused, as if he was was misunderstanding something. it only increased with comment about boredom, insinuating that he was bored of jiho, hinting that that was the reason they had broken up. 

even if it was true, he wonders, why would he say it? why would it matter at this point? 

it hits in waves as he listens to him talk, first as confusion, then outrage, then hurt, then anger, then confusion again — he can feel it, feel how mingyu’s trying to hurt him and he doesn’t understand it, can’t wrap his head around it. he tries to keep his expression carefully blank, but he can feel how hard he’s thinking showing on his face, lips twitching downwards, eyebrows together. he didn’t do anything to mingyu, he wasn’t the one who hurt him, so why would he do this? what reason? he liked to think he was good to him, caring, affectionate when he wanted to be, when he was asked to be, giving and giving and giving while they were together, never asking for anything in return. he tried so very hard to keep him happy, and when greeted with a tumultuous text message he had simply wished him the best. so what was this? why is he trying so desperately to slice open a barely healed wound? is it because he hadn’t gotten to see him bleed the first time, live and in person? 

this wasn’t at all like the man the knew, the man he was in love with, is still in love with. this was a stranger, and a cruel one, trying to break open his ribcage at a gathering of all their friends. did he just want him to leave? or did jiho do something to warrant it? was the breakup not as sudden and random as it seemed? there was such a sharp tone to the way he spoke, a glint in his eyes that made him think there had to be a reason, something outside general pettiness or a underlying evilness, a trait he’d never seen in mingyu before. he didn’t want to believe that maybe mingyu was a hurtful person all along, that the moments they spent together were for show, couldn’t believe it so readily. not now, not like this.

and mingyu ends with a bang, talk of his work when jiho specifically mentioned he doesn’t want to hear about it, the warm welcome he received upon coming back. old words echo loudly in the silence between, ‘ i’m not gunna cam anymore, i’m all yours. ‘

he hesitates, not sure how to ask what he wants to ask, how to word the things bouncing around in his head, the struggle, the misunderstanding, because all he wants is to understand why this happening, what’s going on in mingyu’s head, something that he once had the privilege of seeing and understanding, somewhere he was so very recently allowed. now there was a wall between them, one that mingyu was chucking bricks over to see where they land, hoping they hit him on the way down.

why?

his voice is thoughtful, light and familiar, almost intimate, “ what’s going on here, why are you talking to me like this? “ he asks, gesturing between the two of them, tone surprisingly soft and questioning, not accusatory but instead curious, a low conversation as if they’re hidden under covers, “ are you mad at me, min? “

[chrjiho]

KYUNGMI.

shit shit shit shit shit. kyungmi swore with every step, sprinting as if she was being chased. she was late—beyond late—like two hours late. an online work meeting that the boss specifically requested everyone to be on time—especially kyungmi, as it’s not her first time being late. being on time or earlier was the minority. but she’s been given two warnings for her tardiness, and this certainly will be the last straw. nothing can get worse than this.

she could see the building approaching, already garnering multiple excuses to justify her delay. her pet (that she doesn’t have) needed to go to the vet. her grandmother (that she doesn’t have) fell and was sent to the hospital. or a fire in the complex, so she couldn’t enter the building until the fire department declared it was safe. she’ll pick one depending on the boss’s anger.

the doors in clear view when a voice yells, “ watch out! there’s— ” but a foot was already in the air. her three-year-old running shoes lost it’s traction months ago, so the liquid on the smooth cement sent her leg further than she anticipated—almost cartoonish. the next thing she knew, her back is hitting the ground. the impact hurt, but she laid there, not in pain but disbelief. her clothes were soaking up—whatever this is. it was sticky, and that wasn’t very comforting. all she could do was lay there staring at the night sky, wondering why the man above hates her so much. “ please… i don’t want to know what this is. “

“ woah, are you okay? “

he had never, in his whole life, seen someone eat shit so royally. it was... artistic. nuanced. absolutely unreal. he would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so shocked, if he wasn’t so intent on not laughing. it was an admittedly comical scene, like icarus with her wings melted in crimson around her. he could see it being a painting or a funniest home video, a youtube clip or maybe the cover of a movie poster. he hasn’t entirely decided when his mind catches up with him and he runs towards her, hovering nearby and reaching out a hand to help her up if she should take it. 

his eyes take in the mess of her clothes and the, frankly, worrying nature of her posture. he’s surprised she didn’t get the wind knocked out of her with how hard she landed. he feels bad, of course, but he’s also so focused on keeping his lips from curling that he can barely talk right. he’s worried about her, of course, but the fall keeps replaying in his head in high definition and it just gets funnier and funnier every time, and what she said when he finally spoke didn’t help. 

he hesitates not sure if she was being sarcastic or not, finally getting himself under control when his voice comes lilted, apologetic, “ well, it’s, uh, cranberry-grape? “

[chrjiho]

JANGMI.

                       SHE WAS looking forward to a nice day out in the city. she didn’t have much on her agenda, so some sight seeing was in order. jangmi hadn’t been a resident of the vibrant, vivacious city for too long which meant that there were still so many monuments that she wanted to see ( and that her father wanted photos of. ) being a tourist in one’s own home was an odd experience, but she had gone through this before … although maybe not firsthand. growing up in the picturesque jeju, jangmi was no stranger to people coming from everywhere just to see the sights and engage with the locals. now it was her turn. oh, this was going to be so fun !!

                       THE SIGHT OF JIHO caused a smile to bloom on her face as she gave him a fun little wave. however, the smile wavered the moment she noticed some odd shade of red all over the ground – and him. most rational people would perhaps wonder if he’d spilled something, but not jangmi. in fact, jangmi’s instincts kicked in and her mind landed on the worst case scenario. ❝  oh my gosh !! did you get sick ??  ❞ she looked at jiho with wide, worried brown eyes. she frowned as she reached out to touch his forehead to feel if he had a fever. ❝  here, let me help you with those. if you needed someone to go to the market for you, i would have. did you text me and i didn’t see it ?? ❞ jangmi set down some of his bags to search through her coat’s pocket for her phone. it had been acting rather weird lately, giving her notifications whenever it felt like as opposed to whenever they came by. ❝  what’s that – what’s that smell ?? do you smell something sweet ??  ❞

-

at first he’s confused by jangmi’s reaction, the girl running over to him as he finished disposing the shattered carton in flurry of concern and hysteria, footsteps heavy as she checked his temperature, her words processing maybe a bit slower than usual due to the time and his flustered state. it takes him a second to catch up but when he does he shakes his head, a hand going to her shoulder in an attempt to calm her, a bit of a laugh coming past his lips almost involuntarily, “ no, no, i’m not sick, everything’s fine. “ admittedly, it was sort of endearing that she was so worried about him. it made his mistake a little more bearable, jangmi always being good at cheering him up. a little light in the dark.

“ that -- “ he said, gesturing to the mess staining the concrete, “ is juice. “ he informed her simply, a smile still pulling the edges of his lips, “ but i still probably could’ve used some help at the grocery store because i clearly did a poor job carrying everything. “ he admitted, a small shrug on his shoulders, “ i’ll text you next time anyways. “ he promises, ruffling her hair briefly before turning to pick up some of the bags off of the concrete. “ sorry for freaking you out, though. “ it comes honest, apologetic, his eyes falling to the rest of the his groceries when he says, “ do you have a few minutes to help me take these upstairs? i clearly need supervision and you’re the best candidate for the job. “

[chrjiho]

MINGYU.

( . . . )

                     “ i’ve been good, thanks. ” it wasn’t a lie. he’s always been good. in fact, he had no idea what it meant to not be good — his parents had taught him that it was impolite to load your personal baggage onto everyone you met. he was taught to reply with ‘ i’ve been good, thanks. ’ or ‘ i’ve been fine, thanks. ’ and it just stuck, even after all these years. “ how have you been? ” mingyu wasn’t expecting to hear a genuine reply and if he was being honest, he only asked because it would have been rude not to. nonchalantly scanning the other male from head to toe, he noticed that he was more than just uncomfortable. all he wanted to do was to embrace jiho in a warm hug and tell him that everything was going to be alright again, that they could go back to the way things were. but he knew that it wasn’t possible, so he took a small step back instead. it was crazy to think that just a few weeks ago, they would have been in each other’s arms, annoying all of their friends around them. he wondered what this must have looked like from the outside looking in. he wondered what their friends were thinking right now; surely they were watching the scene unfold. he would have done the same, too. mingyu shifted his weight from one foot to the other, awkwardly shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans as he struggled to maintain eye contact. “ how has work been? you know … with your new hours and all. ”

jiho’s hand reflexively went back to his hair, running his fingers over it a little nervously, a sort of laugh past his lips, “ oh yeah, i had some help with it, “ it at first comes bashful, admittedly the compliment feeling familiar, a moments peace from the intensity of the conversation, the first hint of a genuine smile, what little of it he could muster with crested eyes and small show of teeth. for a moment they lock eyes, two grins, it stirs a quicker heartbeat in his chest, the sort of look they gave each other before wrestling on the couch or giving each other stupid hypotheticals ( ‘ what the fuck, you said you'd sleep with my dad for a thousand dollars? ‘ ‘ i’d sleep with your dad for free, he’s a stud. ‘ ) the smile he had when he left notes on the bedside table, ‘ do you like me? yes ( ), no ( ), or maybe ( ) ? ‘ or when he came home and found boxes checked with doodled hearts and emoji middle-fingers. for a second he pretends, basking in a moments normality, before he thinks better of himself, before the party finds itself creeping back into his psyche. his expression mellows into something more somber, reality snapping back around him, less tangible, a clear of his throat, eyes not meeting mingyu’s face suddenly, glancing around at their other friends for a moment, talking and laughing, having a much better time than the two men are, when he says, “ think i wanted to, uh, try something new. “ 

he was sure mingyu could relate.

he won’t meet his eye for another long moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. he can’t look at him because it’s fucking killing him. this would be easier if he wasn’t so damn good looking, it was like he was crafted by a horny greek god, always dressed business casual. it pissed him off because he liked it so much, because he’s standing here trying to get a grip while mingyu was fine, seemingly entirely unbothered, untouched. “ not really worried about finances at the moment. “ he says without elaborating, almost as if to shrug the conversation off. then all at once jiho’s eyes snap back to mingyu’s, tense, something sparking behind a usually calm stare, mistrustful, angry, hurt, but just as fast as it’s there it’s gone, fading back to mundaneness, carefully blank. mingyu was always good at that -- provoking emotion, manipulating. what could’ve possibly possessed him to say that? did he want to argue? was jiho not hurting enough for him? his reaction not visceral enough? did he want him to cry? to beg? 

he swallows down hysteria, insanity, frustration. he can’t give that sort of satisfaction. instead all he says is, “ that’s... wow. “ his voice is carefully flat, hollow, his eyes searching mingyu’s for something. after a moment he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, sighing, he closes his eyes, his fingers pushing up his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose for a moment, regathering himself. he doesn’t know how else to respond so he leaves it at that.

when he looks back up he nods slowly, ‘ i’ve been good, thanks. ‘ a useless answer to a stupid question, small talk. he’s making small talk with mingyu, an absurd concept, something a few weeks ago he would’ve thought was impossible. they didn’t even make small talk when they first met, immediately falling into jokes and pressing weight to each other, arms coiled around waists and playful shoves. the two people standing on the rooftop were complete strangers, a severed bond creates an atmosphere that isn’t at all pleasant but instead painful, every second of the interaction another turn of the knife in his chest, bleeding out onto the gravel, insides poured out in front of him as if asking mingyu, ‘ is this enough for you? it’s all i have left to give you, ‘ but he knows in his heart of hearts that even from that he would recoil, leave him up here to die. oh, to be kissed goodbye one last time. desperate.

he doesn’t know how to tell mingyu he’s been sleeping on the couch because he doesn’t want to see the empty side of his bed or how to tell him he bought sheets in the brightest, ugliest orange he could find just to blind himself from the emptiness of his room. he doesn’t know how to express the fact he forgot how to be alone, that he forgot what it was like before mingyu because for everyday for ten months they were together except to work, that now he has to leave the television on when he’s home otherwise the silence crawls under his skin, up his spine, and digs loneliness into his mind until he can’t stand it anymore. he doesn’t know how to tell mingyu that he’s dreading his upcoming birthday, that a day that was already so tainted by his past his is now also a reminder that he couldn’t be good enough for yet another person. he doesn’t know how to tell him that he misses him everyday, that he had to delete his number to stop from bothering him. he doesn’t know how to say these things so he doesn’t, not even able to completely mask the exhaustion in his voice, a resigned sigh, sinking further into his sweatshirt, head tilted he says, “ i’ve been... awesome. really, really, awesome. “ because everyone knows what ‘ awesome ‘ really means, and he can’t bring himself to lie, knows it would be stupid to even try. mingyu was always good at seeing through him anyways.

work. that was another issue he doesn’t know how to begin talking about. he missed two days after mingyu left and then spent everyday afterwards begging his coworkers for shifts, slamming double after double until his body ached, until he had no left over hours in the day to do anything else, to think about anything else. he was hitting fifty hours a week, he had planned on working tonight too, avoiding the party, but his boss made him take off, he was killing them with overtime and he ‘ quite frankly was worried about his health. ‘ 

“ yeah, work’s good. “ there’s just a moments pause, since when can he not talk to him? he can’t even muster basic conversation, his hands disappearing back in his pockets, fingers squeezing together until they go numb, he says, “ this is where i’d be polite and return the question but i’d need to be significantly drunker to handle that conversation right now so i’m not going to. “

[chrjiho]

HYUNMIN.

╰ ☆ ❛ a rare occurrence, hyunmin slips into the ether of time with serenity. a person entertaining a date with the freedom the next short while. a day without official schedules, it’s lamentable the favourite contacts on his phone are unavailable to mingle. for a man who nourishes himself with familiar individuals’ presences, constant rejection is an accidental stab to his ego.

     but an inconvenience won’t knock his psyche to the ground. or even a few disruptions. he can spend time alone, for once. he can’t remember the last point he’s walked the area for hours by himself. so hyunmin resolves to visit a quieter district in search of a new form of tranquillity. yes, a simple but excellent idea. he reiterates this mindset as his unique mantra, repeating it many times in his brain. it’s the product of self-assurance to flip the frown formed on his face.

     self brainwashing is a successful feat. the tiniest tug upward on the corners of his lips as he watches the doors ease open with much reluctance as if gripped by the arthritis of old age. the break is far too limited to waste mulling over the preceding discontents.

     hyunmin doesn’t pay an abundance of attention to the crowd hovering inside. the years spent on public transit, through childhood into adulthood, erased faces from strangers. each individual an extra in the backdrop until interaction. eyes glance around for an empty seat, and luck is on his side today. either he’s early or the odd occasion gives him the chance to relax instead of jamming himself in a crack of space, seeking small pockets of air.

     fingers slide across the phone screen, searching for a place to eat once he reaches the station. there’s a modest jolt, an inconsequential force to his body, signalling the train’s begun the journey. his heart thuds to the rhythm of the lull. when the raucous, metallic shriek heralds a sudden stop, hyunmin lurches with the noise. his head breaks free from the bubble of focus he’s encased himself in.

     the operator’s voice rings loud with an announcement and the euphoria which once lived underneath his skin escapes. his outward features stay indifferent, but disquietude grips his frame. at least he’s not by himself when he hears the fellow beside him speak out. a renewed horror would grip him if he was the only one sitting in a pool of anxiety.

     ❛ i know right? ❜ his mouth moves before he thinks, the lingering child within him gripping onto the nearest person as a temporary makeshift pillar of support. hyunmin studies the stranger’s appearance for the first time. not a shallow character judging someone by first impression. looking over, he merely holds a drop of hope the guy will converse with him through the aching long wait. ❛ thank god i don’t have any appointments. do you have any plans? i hope nothing urgent. ❜

the train is filled with the hum of surprised noises and chatter, occasional outrage in the form of people in suits with shiny hair and expensive phones, whisper-shouting on the line with bosses and coworkers. someone’s getting their macchiato cold, someone else is missing a pitch meeting, someone’s gunna be late their daughters birthday party. the energy inside the car he’s sat in is different now then it was before, a once quiet hush, every passenger avoiding each other’s eye now colored with low whispers and shared looks of disbelief. it only takes a mutual inconvenience to bring people together, the human race always geared towards whining, him included. the train had just stopped moving and he already couldn’t wait to get home and explain the situation to a friend. he could hear the dialogue playing in his head;

                             ' what did you do all day? ‘                 ' mostly sit around complaining about things. ‘                             ' yeah? how’d that work out for you? ‘                ' well, can’t complain. ‘

after a moment he tucks his phone into his pocket, figuring he should probably start conserving battery life too, not at all sure what was gunna happen from here. it could end up being a short break in which he just needs to make some small talk for a half hour then they’re on their way or it could be a whole ordeal complete with naps and train food which doesn’t, in fact, sound like the way he wanted to spend his day. he would much rather be napping on his couch and eating take out food.

jiho had never considered himself claustrophobic or anything but there was something about being stuck in a giant tin can with a bunch of strangers that made him a little nervous, hands running over the thighs of his jeans, leg shaking just a little bit. this was gunna be a long few hours. he sipped at his coffee cup, holding up the bag containing his croissant between tattooed fingers. “ listen don’t tell anyone but i have food rations. if shit hits the fan, i got you. “ he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, humming after, thinking. “ not... really? i mean i work tonight but that’s in like five hours, if i’m still here by then i might as well pass away. “ he says, something of a laugh present in his voice as his eyes take in the stranger as well. 

he looks nice. it’s not a super complex or introspective assumption to make but jiho’s a pretty simple dude, being nice is all it takes to really get his attention. he waves a little, “ i’m jiho by the way. i figure we’re gunna be here awhile so it might be nice to make allies before it gets all train to busan up in here. “