crimsoncoatedconscience

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

` they say there's a fine line between love and hate, and they're right -- you're on that side ( l o v e ) and i'm on this one ( h a t e ) ,

movie therapists tell all the sad and hate-filled main characters to write down their feelings in letters, or journals, because it'll "help." i really don't think it will, but that's more because at this point i don't think ANYTHING will help me. but if there's even the slightest chance...you should, right? i know that's what some people would say.

dear yura-noona,

you're literally the shittiest sister someone could ever have, and i hate you. i guess that's not what little brothers are supposed to say to their sisters, but. there you have it. you're a piece of shit, and sometimes i wish you were dead--or better yet, never born.

but at the same time...i really dont. i dont wish you were dead. i dont wish that you were never born. i dont hate you. not at all. and i hate THAT. i still remember hiding from mom together under your ugly barbie blankets, i still remember that time you played doctor and helped me when dad went a little overboard. i still remember singing to the few disney movies we had, and watching all your bad tv dramas.

i'm not saying everything was perfect, because it wasn't. you hit me almost as much as mom did, and we screamed at each other more than we talked normally, and i still remember when you threw my toys into the fireplace and lied to dad's face just so that he'd hit me instead of you.

it wasn't great before high school, but it wasn't the worst either. and then you did some really bad things to me in first year. things that i didn't realize were as bad as they were, until i got some...better people in my life.

...you and your "girls." ...they still give me nightmares, sometimes, when i can actually sleep. and it all only gets worse when i see your face on the news sometimes, but despite everything...im not mad. i dont hate you like i should. and i watch til the end of the broadcast, every time, just to be sure you're okay.

because you know...i get now, that it's not you. that it's mom, that it's dad. and you were just doing what you had to, to save yourself. and now that im...in a better place i guess, i realize just how shitty that is, but i'd have probably done the same. so i can't blame you.

and i dont hate you. i HATE that i dont hate you, and i hate that i still worry about you.

i hate MYSELF because i still love you,

- chanyeol

dear baechu,

i still can't believe how much i fuckin miss you. i don't think youre supposed to write to dead people, like im pretty sure thats bad and weird but i just. there's so many feelings, and this is supposed to be an outlet, and if you were here right now, i. i dont even know what i'd say. i think about it a lot--what id say if i woke up one day and you werent actually gone, and everything was okay again. because its not even close to okay right now, and i dont think it ever will be again, but...but im trying. because. because "take care?" was one of the last things you said to me, and its one of the only things that stops me when i get...bad. and then i think of that, but it just makes me so sad i actually want to die, but i CANT. ...i wont.

and if you were here again, id tell you that i hate how much power you still have over me, even if youre not here, and-- no. no i wouldnt. id tell you how sorry i am that im a piece of shit, and that im sorry you ever got involved with me in the first place, and that im sorry you suffered so much because of me. id tell you how sorry i am that i got you KILLED. that i couldn't help you because i was fucking LATE . AGAIN.

and id apologize for being the absolute shittiest oppa on the planet, and for just...everything. im still sorry i kept you waiting at graduation. i bet you looked wonderful, before all your flowers wilted, and you got upset because i didnt remember until several hours after the fact. im sorry you never made it very far into college, or pursued any of your dreams. im sorry that it was because of me, and that i took your whole life away. im sorry that you never got to do what you wanted, and that its because i had a few shots too many and spent too long falling on my ass in the crowd while they were MURDERING you.

im sorry that i was just that much too late one too many times, and i HATE that youre dead because of that. if i hadnt been drinking, or gone out at all, youd still be here, trying to get me to wear nicer shoes, and be more polite, instead of in the cemetery, and im just--im so sorry.

i still love you more than you probably ever knew, and i dont know the words to express how sorry i still am that i killed you and how much i HATE M Y S E L F for it.

- with love, chanyeol

dear zitao,

i actually dont know what to say. i think youre a pretty awful person--maybe worse than me, and im not sorry that youre dead. im only sorry i spent so long on you when i dont think you really deserved it, and im sorry about how much pain you ve caused sehun and im angry actually that you just went and got yourself killed after ruining everything--ruining ME. ruining sehun--one of the only people breathing on this earth that means anything to me.

but more than that, i hate MYSELF for getting involved with you and not getting out sooner, and ruining my relationship with yura-noona--the only person from my family that actually matters to me.

now that the shock is gone, the hurt gone, and now that im thinking clearer because i have to be sober, because you fucked EvERYTHING up im not sad anymore. im not upset. not that you're dead--only that your death caused sehun more pain than it had any right to and he almost DIED because of it.

and i guess more than any of THAT, i hate MYSELF for introducing sehun to you, and bringing you home, and into our lives and i hate that if it wasn't for that, sehun wouldn't have tried to kill himself.

sometimes i wish i'd never actually met you. so many things would be better, but even still.

i hate myself because i miss you.

- cànliè

p.s. im also sorry for all the times I hurt YOU and all the pain i caused--without thinking about it, and intentional. im sorry that you suffered because of me, and im sorry that i made everything as shitty as possible for a long time before i pulled my head out of my ass. im sorry that you were miserable enough with me to go to others for basic things like comfort or sex, and i hate myself because I did that to YOU.

and i hate that if your father hadn't come and murdered you because of reasons i still don't really understand, that you'd have probably killed yourself because of me anyway. so im sorry. i hate that im sorry, and i hate that any of this ever happened at all.

and i hate myself because maybe i'm the shittier person and you didn't deserve anything that happened to you after all.

dear sehun,

i dont even know where to start. im sorry that im an awful hyung and im so so thankful that you're still alive and here with me, and im sorry that you've had to suffer so much for me. when we were younger, i didnt realize just how much you would come to mean to me through the years--i didnt know that standing up for one scrawny kid and scaring the bullies off would lead to what we have today. and im not even sure what it is--its more than friendship, but i cant say you feel like family because my family is...well, you know. that's why you're here, with me. rather than with yura-noona.

and even if it left me with a scar, and even if it's what led to the start of everything going bad with her, and my parents--well, more than it already was--i dont regret saving you from her. part of me thinks i should. part of me thinks it was really stupid. i didnt know you. all i knew was that you were kinda lame, and couldn't take a hit for shit, and that you seemed like a nice kid, and i still have no idea why i went against the only person at the time that meant anything to me--the only one that was kinda on my side, sometimes--just to help get you out, but. i'm glad i did.

i don't know what i'd do without you. we have our moments, sure, but you help keep me grounded, keep me sane...keep me alive. sehun i cant even count the number of times i wanted to just end it all, and didn't because of you.

because you believe in me. you trust me, even after i failed you too many times to keep track of. you're there for me, and im sorry that i'm not always there for you. im sorry that i dont give you 100% like you give me, and i'm sorry that i dont always notice things, and that i'm the shittest hyung you could ever get stuck with IM SORRY.

...im sorry that i was almost too late to save you when you...yeah. i'm sorry i wasn't there sooner. i'm sorry that it happened because i ...brought zitao home,a nd got us into this mess in the first place. i'm sorry that i couldn't do better for you, that i cANT do better for you, and im sorry that you're stuck with me, and all of the pain that comes with me.

im sorry that i've failed you so many times, and im sorry that i've broken almost every promise i've ever made, and that i can't always keep you safe, or happy, and i'm sorry that i'm not superman, and i HATE that i can't be.

you're the best thing that's ever happened to me sehun, and im sorry and i hate myself because i must be the opposite for you. im really trying harder to be the person you make me out to be, and i hate that i can't achieve it. im sorry.

- chanyeol

dear joohyun-noona,

im sorry that we met the way we did. but im thankful that you helped me, instead of turning me away or leaving me to just...yeah. and i dont have the words but...thank you. without you i'd actually be dead, and even though it hurts and im more ashamed than i know how to say, i'd rather feel that than be, you know..gone. so thank you. thank you.

thank you for believing in me too, and for always saying the nicest things, even though i dont deserve to hear them, and i don't understand how you mean them. i know youre sincere, i just dont know how or WHY. im a monster compared to you, and i dont understand how you havent run screaming yet, or why you insist that im not because i AM and.

and i hate that i can't believe you. i want to noona, i do. but i can't, because there's just so much bad, and so many things i've done wrong, and i just. between stitches and real food and crashing on your couch ive come to love you a lot more than i have any right to, and im sorry that i dont deserve what you give me in return.

im sorry im always a mess, and taking up your time, and getting your clean floors dirty. im sorry that i cling, and break down too often, and i know you say you dont mind but how can you not? i haven't done anything in return except give you headaches, and i hate that.

i hate that you say nice things about me, that you tell me nice things, and make me think that i can be something better than i am, and i hate myself because i can't live up to those standards.

i hate myself even more because i know, if i really tried, i probably could. but im selfish, and there's so many things wrong with me, and so many things ive done WRONG that i dont...i dont deserve for things to get better. i dont deserve to try harder and turn things around, and i dont deserve the good that would come with that.

i dont deserve you at all and i hate myself because i can't let you go.

- chanyeol

dear yongguk-hyung,

i really dont know what to say except im sorry. i know you tried to help me in school and i really do appreciate it. even if it seems like i've thrown away everything you tried to help me with, its not because i hate you or what you tried to teach me. i just. bad things happened, and i hate that everything we did together just...fell away. i dont even know a good phrase for that, because nothing stuck, and im sorry for that too. that im a fuck up and a failure, and i hate myself because all i did was waste your time--time you could have used to make money off of other kids who actually had a future.

im sorry that i couldnt live up to what you wanted, and im sorry that we met again in the way we did, and i hate how awful i've become, and how awkward it is, and i hate that you look at me the way you do, but i dont hate you hyung. i hate ME.

i hate that im worthless, and useless and that i'm the actual biggest screwup ever, and im sorry that i broke the promises i made you. im sorry that i couldnt do better. and im sorry that you have to see me like this now.

every time i see you, the shame and regret and guilt are almost too much for me, and im sorry that it gets in the way of anything you try to say to me now. im sorry that i cant listen like i should, and i hate that i've disappointed you so much. ...and not just in school. or based on how many english words i remembered from our lessons.

im sorry that i'm an embarrassment, and that you have to deal with me again, and im just. so sorry that i didn't live up to your expectations.

i'm sorry that i can't be the person that you wanted me to be, and i hate myself because i still want you to treat me like i am.

- chanyeol

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

she can hardly breathe; his arms are holding her tight against his warmth and she feels that sense of utter completion that comes with being held in chanyeol’s embrace. eyes squeezed shut, and just /inhaling/ the scent of him, listening to the strange stutter of his heartbeat thudding loudly into her ear as if trying to reach her, she’s wrapping her own arms around him, /melting/ all the icy shards in her heart. she thinks she could stay like that forever, but she needs to tell him exactly how she feels because he’s stammering out apologies she no longer needs. she opens her eyes, and suddenly he’s all aglow with /pink/, what looks like a steady, thick curtain of cotton candy and cherry blossoms around them both as he tells her something nobody has ever told her before- and it knocks all the breath out of her. she stares, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the tendrils of pastel rose-coloured smoke curling around her fingers and arms, because she’s suddenly become someone’s /everything/, and that someone is /park chanyeol/, who’s radiating so much love. for /her/. she’s going to /die/. “chanyeol,” she whispers, her gaze flickering over his face. he’s so, so beautiful to her, over all the years she’s known him, and it’s as if she can see the span of all the years passed - chanyeol blurting out, “you’re pretty” at their very first meeting, chanyeol laughing at her incompetence with a bow and arrow before he shot an arrow into the lake, chanyeol grimacing at her very first attempt at making valentine’s day chocolates, chanyeol leaning in for their first kiss, followed by their second, third and fourth, then chanyeol running his hand over her hips with wonder at all the marks he’d made on their very first sexual experience- and now chanyeol telling her he needs her as much as she does, bursting with colours of love. he’s staring back at her, as if he can see all the way inside and he likes, no, /loves/ what he sees, like he doesn’t think she’s like her dad, and she isn’t - because nobody’s loved him the way chanyeol apparently loves her. it’s staggering, and she can hardly believe what she’s seeing, despite it being in the air all around them. “yeol,” she starts again, her voice soft. “i couldn’t live with myself if i hurt you and drove you away from me- what i did, with jimin… i’m sorry. and those words, when i said i didn’t want you touching me- that was a lie. right now, with you holding me, it’s the best feeling in the entire world, and i could never hate you, because-” she breaks off, trying to steel her nerves, her heart leaping to her throat and she feels dumb and ineloquent, unable to put in words the /depth/ of her feeling for him. how can she put into words how she’s never felt this way before, it’s bittersweet because he means so much to her in what she’s deemed as a meaningless life, and how she never even imagine finding something so pure, so /real/, after going through one too many failed relationships and been the witness of too many drunken affairs? so she settles for a, “you’re my everything too, yeol,” with a small sob-slash-laugh as her eyes fold into a smile, burying her face back into his chest, sure that her cheeks are now reflecting the colour of his pheromones.

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

she can hardly breathe; his arms are holding her tight against his warmth and she feels that sense of utter completion that comes with being held in chanyeol’s embrace. eyes squeezed shut, and just /inhaling/ the scent of him, listening to the strange stutter of his heartbeat thudding loudly into her ear as if trying to reach her, she’s wrapping her own arms around him, /melting/ all the icy shards in her heart. she thinks she could stay like that forever, but she needs to tell him exactly how she feels because he’s stammering out apologies she no longer needs. she opens her eyes, and suddenly he’s all aglow with /pink/, what looks like a steady, thick curtain of cotton candy and cherry blossoms around them both as he tells her something nobody has ever told her before- and it knocks all the breath out of her. she stares, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the tendrils of pastel rose-coloured smoke curling around her fingers and arms, because she’s suddenly become someone’s /everything/, and that someone is /park chanyeol/, who’s radiating so much love. for /her/. she’s going to /die/. “chanyeol,” she whispers, her gaze flickering over his face. he’s so, so beautiful to her, over all the years she’s known him, and it’s as if she can see the span of all the years passed - chanyeol blurting out, “you’re pretty” at their very first meeting, chanyeol laughing at her incompetence with a bow and arrow before he shot an arrow into the lake, chanyeol grimacing at her very first attempt at making valentine’s day chocolates, chanyeol leaning in for their first kiss, followed by their second, third and fourth, then chanyeol running his hand over her hips with wonder at all the marks he’d made on their very first sexual experience- and now chanyeol telling her he needs her as much as she does, bursting with colours of love. he’s staring back at her, as if he can see all the way inside and he likes, no, /loves/ what he sees, like he doesn’t think she’s like her dad, and she isn’t - because nobody’s loved him the way chanyeol apparently loves her. it’s staggering, and she can hardly believe what she’s seeing, despite it being in the air all around them. “yeol,” she starts again, her voice soft. “i couldn’t live with myself if i hurt you and drove you away from me- what i did, with jimin… i’m sorry. and those words, when i said i didn’t want you touching me- that was a lie. right now, with you holding me, it’s the best feeling in the entire world, and i could never hate you, because-” she breaks off, trying to steel her nerves, her heart leaping to her throat and she feels dumb and ineloquent, unable to put in words the /depth/ of her feeling for him. how can she put into words how she’s never felt this way before, it’s bittersweet because he means so much to her in what she’s deemed as a meaningless life, and how she never even imagine finding something so pure, so /real/, after going through one too many failed relationships and been the witness of too many drunken affairs? so she settles for a, “you’re my everything too, yeol,” with a small sob-slash-laugh as her eyes fold into a smile, burying her face back into his chest, sure that her cheeks are now reflecting the colour of his pheromones.

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he’s sure he’s fucked up to the point of no return, he’s sure of it. because the door is still closed, and she’s not saying anything, and it’s too quiet, too nerve-wrecking for him, because what if this is it? what if she decides he’s too stupid, too mean, too /something/, and he’s just solidified it? because he can’t think of another reason she wouldn’t say anything, that she’d be so quiet, and his heart sinks because she doesn’t believe him. she doesn’t believe him, and he’s trying so hard not to panic, to blink the tears from his eyes, because “ji, please–” but then she’s opening the door, and he’s bracing himself on the doorjamb to keep from falling into her, eyes wide and breath hitching because she looks so /hurt/ still. messy hair and tear tracks on her cheeks, and it isn’t the first time he’s seen her like this, but it’s the first time /he’s/ been the cause of it, and the guilt chokes him up, making him feel like he’s suffocating because this is /his fault/. it’s his fault, because he remembers the tiny start of a smile that he’d so viciously wiped off her face first thing this morning, words echoing in his head that make his heart ache because he doesn’t really /understand/. /heartless and a heartbreaker/. and he doesn’t know what that /means/ because to break someone’s heart, you have to be– he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought though, because her hands are reaching for him, and he doesn’t know why he’s half-expecting her to hit him–maybe because he definitely /deserves/ it–and he barely suppresses a flinch as her fingers find his cheeks, wiping at the tears he wishes he’d had enough control to hold back. and she’s speaking, words he needs to hear, words he /wants/ to hear. /yeol, i /need/ you/. “i need you t-too,” he chokes out, caving and wrapping his arms around her in a hug he’s sure must be too tight, but he can’t let her go, doesn’t want to let her go because he needs her to know how much she means to him, how much he really needs her. he needs her to be able to /feel/ how sorry he is, how much he wants to make this better. and then he’s pressing lips to her forehead, her hair, her cheeks, fingers curling into her clothes to pull her as close as he can to him, cradling her with everything he is in the hopes that it’ll /help/, even the littlest bit, rambling because he doesn’t know what else to do. “i’m so s-sorry jieun, i’m /sorry/, and i need you so much b-because i don’t know what i’d do without you, because you’re–you’re /everything/ to me, and–” he half-sobs then, hiding his face in her hair, because did he really just say that? out loud? to her? and he knows she said it first, that she needs him, but what if he needs her differently than she needs him, and what if he’s just blown it all? /you’re /everything/ to me/. and she is. she is, and so he needs– “p-please forgive me, i’m sorry.”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he’s sure he’s fucked up to the point of no return, he’s sure of it. because the door is still closed, and she’s not saying anything, and it’s too quiet, too nerve-wrecking for him, because what if this is it? what if she decides he’s too stupid, too mean, too /something/, and he’s just solidified it? because he can’t think of another reason she wouldn’t say anything, that she’d be so quiet, and his heart sinks because she doesn’t believe him. she doesn’t believe him, and he’s trying so hard not to panic, to blink the tears from his eyes, because “ji, please--” but then she’s opening the door, and he’s bracing himself on the doorjamb to keep from falling into her, eyes wide and breath hitching because she looks so /hurt/ still. messy hair and tear tracks on her cheeks, and it isn’t the first time he’s seen her like this, but it’s the first time /he’s/ been the cause of it, and the guilt chokes him up, making him feel like he’s suffocating because this is /his fault/. it’s his fault, because he remembers the tiny start of a smile that he’d so viciously wiped off her face first thing this morning, words echoing in his head that make his heart ache because he doesn’t really /understand/. /heartless and a heartbreaker/. and he doesn’t know what that /means/ because to break someone’s heart, you have to be-- he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought though, because her hands are reaching for him, and he doesn’t know why he’s half-expecting her to hit him--maybe because he definitely /deserves/ it--and he barely suppresses a flinch as her fingers find his cheeks, wiping at the tears he wishes he’d had enough control to hold back. and she’s speaking, words he needs to hear, words he /wants/ to hear. /yeol, i /need/ you/. “i need you t-too,” he chokes out, caving and wrapping his arms around her in a hug he’s sure must be too tight, but he can’t let her go, doesn’t want to let her go because he needs her to know how much she means to him, how much he really needs her. he needs her to be able to /feel/ how sorry he is, how much he wants to make this better. and then he’s pressing lips to her forehead, her hair, her cheeks, fingers curling into her clothes to pull her as close as he can to him, cradling her with everything he is in the hopes that it’ll /help/, even the littlest bit, rambling because he doesn’t know what else to do. “i’m so s-sorry jieun, i’m /sorry/, and i need you so much b-because i don’t know what i’d do without you, because you’re--you’re /everything/ to me, and--” he half-sobs then, hiding his face in her hair, because did he really just say that? out loud? to her? and he knows she said it first, that she needs him, but what if he needs her differently than she needs him, and what if he’s just blown it all? /you’re /everything/ to me/. and she is. she is, and so he needs-- “p-please forgive me, i’m sorry.”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

he’s sure he’s fucked up to the point of no return, he’s sure of it. because the door is still closed, and she’s not saying anything, and it’s too quiet, too nerve-wrecking for him, because what if this is it? what if she decides he’s too stupid, too mean, too /something/, and he’s just solidified it? because he can’t think of another reason she wouldn’t say anything, that she’d be so quiet, and his heart sinks because she doesn’t believe him. she doesn’t believe him, and he’s trying so hard not to panic, to blink the tears from his eyes, because “ji, please--” but then she’s opening the door, and he’s bracing himself on the doorjamb to keep from falling into her, eyes wide and breath hitching because she looks so /hurt/ still. messy hair and tear tracks on her cheeks, and it isn’t the first time he’s seen her like this, but it’s the first time /he’s/ been the cause of it, and the guilt chokes him up, making him feel like he’s suffocating because this is /his fault/. it’s his fault, because he remembers the tiny start of a smile that he’d so viciously wiped off her face first thing this morning, words echoing in his head that make his heart ache because he doesn’t really /understand/. /heartless and a heartbreaker/. and he doesn’t know what that /means/ because to break someone’s heart, you have to be-- he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought though, because her hands are reaching for him, and he doesn’t know why he’s half-expecting her to hit him--maybe because he definitely /deserves/ it--and he barely suppresses a flinch as her fingers find his cheeks, wiping at the tears he wishes he’d had enough control to hold back. and she’s speaking, words he needs to hear, words he /wants/ to hear. /yeol, i /need/ you/. “i need you t-too,” he chokes out, caving and wrapping his arms around her in a hug he’s sure must be too tight, but he can’t let her go, doesn’t want to let her go because he needs her to know how much she means to him, how much he really needs her. he needs her to be able to /feel/ how sorry he is, how much he wants to make this better. and then he’s pressing lips to her forehead, her hair, her cheeks, fingers curling into her clothes to pull her as close as he can to him, cradling her with everything he is in the hopes that it’ll /help/, even the littlest bit, rambling because he doesn’t know what else to do. “i’m so s-sorry jieun, i’m /sorry/, and i need you so much b-because i don’t know what i’d do without you, because you’re--you’re /everything/ to me, and--” he half-sobs then, hiding his face in her hair, because did he really just say that? out loud? to her? and he knows she said it first, that she needs him, but what if he needs her differently than she needs him, and what if he’s just blown it all? /you’re /everything/ to me/. and she is. she is, and so he needs-- “p-please forgive me, i’m sorry.”

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

when his voice comes through the door, it’s closer than she would have expected, and she can almost feel the weight of his body against the door between them, every sob cutting through the wood and into her heart. she’s /hurt/ him, twice over with not only her actions but also her words, and she’s so sickened by herself that she can hardly bear it - she wants to bottle up all the words that she so viciously hurled at him, because she /doesn’t/ hate him, and she /doesn’t/ want him to stop touching her - even now, she wants nothing more than to have him cradle her in his arms, the way she’d thought he’d done last night. it’s in no way an excuse for her actions, but she’d been drunk to the point of hallucination, and she can still recall vague images of chanyeol pushing her down into the soft beckoning sheets, when all along it had been jimin the entire time. she’d even /called/ him by chanyeol’s name, as she drowned over and over again in ecstasy, and she’s flushing at the recollection of the words that had escaped her lips last night. //yeol, please- i /need/ you-// //chanyeol- i love you, s-so much-// the first time she’d ever expressed her feelings for him, and he hadn’t even heard it. she feels a small spark of anger at the fact that jimin had completely led her on, but it’s dampened by the overwhelming amount of anger at herself for letting herself give into the wine so easily, and she’s wondering if /everything/ had been a product of the alcohol she’d consumed. but that’s a ridiculous question, because the fact that she’s agonising over his pain, her heart fluttering at the mere thought of him being just on the other side of the door, of memories that hadn’t even been real, is enough to confirm her deepest, most sincere emotions. she’s in love with her best friend, and once she’s admitted that to herself, it’s as relieving as confusing and painful, because she’s still so /broken/. she wants to believe that she hasn’t fucked it all up, that he still, truly wants to be her friend through all of this, and yet she’s not satisfied with that thought - she doesn’t /want/ to be just /friends/ anymore, and she still needs to be sure she can trust him, even though she already does, because this is /chanyeol/ and he’s /always/ been there for her, even now, trying to make it up to her even though she’d pushed him away. she’s pulling the door open, her sleeves damp, her hair an ungodly mess and her cheeks flushed with exertion from the tears, and she’s face to face with him, because as she’d suspected, he’d been leaning against the door the way she had been. “y-yeol-” she stutters at the sight of tearstains on his face. he’s /never/ cried in front of her, and the heavy clouds of thoroughly depressed and guilty emotions cloaking around him is enough to convince her of his genuinity, her fingers involuntarily moving up to his cheeks. “don’t cry- i don’t w-want you to cry,” she whispers, her heart dropping. “i don’t want to be like my d-dad, and push you away- because yeol, i /need/ you, and i’m sorry.”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

when his voice comes through the door, it’s closer than she would have expected, and she can almost feel the weight of his body against the door between them, every sob cutting through the wood and into her heart. she’s /hurt/ him, twice over with not only her actions but also her words, and she’s so sickened by herself that she can hardly bear it - she wants to bottle up all the words that she so viciously hurled at him, because she /doesn’t/ hate him, and she /doesn’t/ want him to stop touching her - even now, she wants nothing more than to have him cradle her in his arms, the way she’d thought he’d done last night. it’s in no way an excuse for her actions, but she’d been drunk to the point of hallucination, and she can still recall vague images of chanyeol pushing her down into the soft beckoning sheets, when all along it had been jimin the entire time. she’d even /called/ him by chanyeol’s name, as she drowned over and over again in ecstasy, and she’s flushing at the recollection of the words that had escaped her lips last night. //yeol, please- i /need/ you-// //chanyeol- i love you, s-so much-// the first time she’d ever expressed her feelings for him, and he hadn’t even heard it. she feels a small spark of anger at the fact that jimin had completely led her on, but it’s dampened by the overwhelming amount of anger at herself for letting herself give into the wine so easily, and she’s wondering if /everything/ had been a product of the alcohol she’d consumed. but that’s a ridiculous question, because the fact that she’s agonising over his pain, her heart fluttering at the mere thought of him being just on the other side of the door, of memories that hadn’t even been real, is enough to confirm her deepest, most sincere emotions. she’s in love with her best friend, and once she’s admitted that to herself, it’s as relieving as confusing and painful, because she’s still so /broken/. she wants to believe that she hasn’t fucked it all up, that he still, truly wants to be her friend through all of this, and yet she’s not satisfied with that thought - she doesn’t /want/ to be just /friends/ anymore, and she still needs to be sure she can trust him, even though she already does, because this is /chanyeol/ and he’s /always/ been there for her, even now, trying to make it up to her even though she’d pushed him away. she’s pulling the door open, her sleeves damp, her hair an ungodly mess and her cheeks flushed with exertion from the tears, and she’s face to face with him, because as she’d suspected, he’d been leaning against the door the way she had been. “y-yeol-” she stutters at the sight of tearstains on his face. he’s /never/ cried in front of her, and the heavy clouds of thoroughly depressed and guilty emotions cloaking around him is enough to convince her of his genuinity, her fingers involuntarily moving up to his cheeks. “don’t cry- i don’t w-want you to cry,” she whispers, her heart dropping. “i don’t want to be like my d-dad, and push you away- because yeol, i /need/ you, and i’m sorry.”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

when his voice comes through the door, it’s closer than she would have expected, and she can almost feel the weight of his body against the door between them, every sob cutting through the wood and into her heart. she’s /hurt/ him, twice over with not only her actions but also her words, and she’s so sickened by herself that she can hardly bear it - she wants to bottle up all the words that she so viciously hurled at him, because she /doesn’t/ hate him, and she /doesn’t/ want him to stop touching her - even now, she wants nothing more than to have him cradle her in his arms, the way she’d thought he’d done last night. it’s in no way an excuse for her actions, but she’d been drunk to the point of hallucination, and she can still recall vague images of chanyeol pushing her down into the soft beckoning sheets, when all along it had been jimin the entire time. she’d even /called/ him by chanyeol’s name, as she drowned over and over again in ecstasy, and she’s flushing at the recollection of the words that had escaped her lips last night. //yeol, please- i /need/ you-// //chanyeol- i love you, s-so much-// the first time she’d ever expressed her feelings for him, and he hadn’t even heard it. she feels a small spark of anger at the fact that jimin had completely led her on, but it’s dampened by the overwhelming amount of anger at herself for letting herself give into the wine so easily, and she’s wondering if /everything/ had been a product of the alcohol she’d consumed. but that’s a ridiculous question, because the fact that she’s agonising over his pain, her heart fluttering at the mere thought of him being just on the other side of the door, of memories that hadn’t even been real, is enough to confirm her deepest, most sincere emotions. she’s in love with her best friend, and once she’s admitted that to herself, it’s as relieving as confusing and painful, because she’s still so /broken/. she wants to believe that she hasn’t fucked it all up, that he still, truly wants to be her friend through all of this, and yet she’s not satisfied with that thought - she doesn’t /want/ to be just /friends/ anymore, and she still needs to be sure she can trust him, even though she already does, because this is /chanyeol/ and he’s /always/ been there for her, even now, trying to make it up to her even though she’d pushed him away. she’s pulling the door open, her sleeves damp, her hair an ungodly mess and her cheeks flushed with exertion from the tears, and she’s face to face with him, because as she’d suspected, he’d been leaning against the door the way she had been. “y-yeol-” she stutters at the sight of tearstains on his face. he’s /never/ cried in front of her, and the heavy clouds of thoroughly depressed and guilty emotions cloaking around him is enough to convince her of his genuinity, her fingers involuntarily moving up to his cheeks. “don’t cry- i don’t w-want you to cry,” she whispers, her heart dropping. “i don’t want to be like my d-dad, and push you away- because yeol, i /need/ you, and i’m sorry.”

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he’s not expecting a reply. he’s not expecting her to speak to him, or to acknowledge him at all. if anything, he’s expecting silence, or the sound of her sobs, but nothing more. maybe more screaming, tearing him down further, until he’s just a mess of sobbing and incoherent cries like she is, and he’d /deserve/ it. but that’s not what he gets. he thinks it might be, at first, when he hears something knocking against the door, quiet though, and he wonders if she’s just hitting it with as much energy as she can muster, pretending it’s him, and he wouldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t. but then she speaks, low and choked and broken, and his heart aches, and he doesn’t even care anymore if she’s hitting the door, or what she’s doing, because at least she’s /talking/ to him, and it isn’t to leave, or go away. it’s not even more awful words, instead it’s a plea almost, and he chokes, pressing himself to the door as if he can somehow pass through it to hold her in his arms like he wants to, like he /needs/ to. but he can’t, and so his next best option is to just talk to her through the door, and he does, palms pressed flat to the wood as he sinks to his knees, closer to her so that he can hear her better, because anything that’s not /you make me /sick//, or /i hate you/ are words he needs to hear. “i-i know you’re not,” he whispers, wanting to list off all the reasons why she’s not like him, why she’s amazing, and his best friend, and his /everything/, but the words are stuck in his throat because because everything still hurts, and he just doesn’t know how to make her stop /crying/. he does, when someone else has done it, but he’s never /made/ her cry, and he doesn’t know how to /fix/ it. and when she speaks again he wants to laugh, wants to open the door and tell her she looks /fine/ if that’s the problem, /show/ her just how important she is to him through touches and kisses, and he’s never realized how tactile he was until there’s a door between them, and now he has to use his /words/. words that she probably won’t trust, because why would she? he’s just said terribly hurtful things to her, and then denied them, and now he’s going to tell her to believe these ones, because they’re different? he’s nearly choking on despair because he’s /sure/ she’s going to just tell him to leave, scream that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll never trust him again, and it’s going to hurt, it’s going to /kill/ him, but he can’t just rip open the door after she begged him to keep it shut, and he chokes out a sob, fingers curling against the wood as if he’s trying to hold her hands to pull her closer. “i–i won’t open the door, i promise. i know…i know you d-don’t wanna see me right now, and that’s okay because i–i messed up. i messed up, and-and i’m sorry, ji. y-you probably don’t believe me, and i can’t b-blame you for it, and i’m n-not–i’m not mad anymore. i’m sorry for saying things that hurt you, that-that made you cry–i’m sorry. you’re not like your dad, and i didn’t mean it. i–/i’m/ the one that never thinks, not you, okay? i mean, c-come on, we both know that between us you’re the s-smarter one, and oh gods just. just please say something ji, a-anything–”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he’s not expecting a reply. he’s not expecting her to speak to him, or to acknowledge him at all. if anything, he’s expecting silence, or the sound of her sobs, but nothing more. maybe more screaming, tearing him down further, until he’s just a mess of sobbing and incoherent cries like she is, and he’d /deserve/ it. but that’s not what he gets. he thinks it might be, at first, when he hears something knocking against the door, quiet though, and he wonders if she’s just hitting it with as much energy as she can muster, pretending it’s him, and he wouldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t. but then she speaks, low and choked and broken, and his heart aches, and he doesn’t even care anymore if she’s hitting the door, or what she’s doing, because at least she’s /talking/ to him, and it isn’t to leave, or go away. it’s not even more awful words, instead it’s a plea almost, and he chokes, pressing himself to the door as if he can somehow pass through it to hold her in his arms like he wants to, like he /needs/ to. but he can’t, and so his next best option is to just talk to her through the door, and he does, palms pressed flat to the wood as he sinks to his knees, closer to her so that he can hear her better, because anything that’s not /you make me /sick//, or /i hate you/ are words he needs to hear. “i-i know you’re not,” he whispers, wanting to list off all the reasons why she’s not like him, why she’s amazing, and his best friend, and his /everything/, but the words are stuck in his throat because because everything still hurts, and he just doesn’t know how to make her stop /crying/. he does, when someone else has done it, but he’s never /made/ her cry, and he doesn’t know how to /fix/ it. and when she speaks again he wants to laugh, wants to open the door and tell her she looks /fine/ if that’s the problem, /show/ her just how important she is to him through touches and kisses, and he’s never realized how tactile he was until there’s a door between them, and now he has to use his /words/. words that she probably won’t trust, because why would she? he’s just said terribly hurtful things to her, and then denied them, and now he’s going to tell her to believe these ones, because they’re different? he’s nearly choking on despair because he’s /sure/ she’s going to just tell him to leave, scream that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll never trust him again, and it’s going to hurt, it’s going to /kill/ him, but he can’t just rip open the door after she begged him to keep it shut, and he chokes out a sob, fingers curling against the wood as if he’s trying to hold her hands to pull her closer. “i--i won’t open the door, i promise. i know...i know you d-don’t wanna see me right now, and that’s okay because i--i messed up. i messed up, and-and i’m sorry, ji. y-you probably don’t believe me, and i can’t b-blame you for it, and i’m n-not--i’m not mad anymore. i’m sorry for saying things that hurt you, that-that made you cry--i’m sorry. you’re not like your dad, and i didn’t mean it. i--/i’m/ the one that never thinks, not you, okay? i mean, c-come on, we both know that between us you’re the s-smarter one, and oh gods just. just please say something ji, a-anything--”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

he’s not expecting a reply. he’s not expecting her to speak to him, or to acknowledge him at all. if anything, he’s expecting silence, or the sound of her sobs, but nothing more. maybe more screaming, tearing him down further, until he’s just a mess of sobbing and incoherent cries like she is, and he’d /deserve/ it. but that’s not what he gets. he thinks it might be, at first, when he hears something knocking against the door, quiet though, and he wonders if she’s just hitting it with as much energy as she can muster, pretending it’s him, and he wouldn’t blame her, he wouldn’t. but then she speaks, low and choked and broken, and his heart aches, and he doesn’t even care anymore if she’s hitting the door, or what she’s doing, because at least she’s /talking/ to him, and it isn’t to leave, or go away. it’s not even more awful words, instead it’s a plea almost, and he chokes, pressing himself to the door as if he can somehow pass through it to hold her in his arms like he wants to, like he /needs/ to. but he can’t, and so his next best option is to just talk to her through the door, and he does, palms pressed flat to the wood as he sinks to his knees, closer to her so that he can hear her better, because anything that’s not /you make me /sick//, or /i hate you/ are words he needs to hear. “i-i know you’re not,” he whispers, wanting to list off all the reasons why she’s not like him, why she’s amazing, and his best friend, and his /everything/, but the words are stuck in his throat because because everything still hurts, and he just doesn’t know how to make her stop /crying/. he does, when someone else has done it, but he’s never /made/ her cry, and he doesn’t know how to /fix/ it. and when she speaks again he wants to laugh, wants to open the door and tell her she looks /fine/ if that’s the problem, /show/ her just how important she is to him through touches and kisses, and he’s never realized how tactile he was until there’s a door between them, and now he has to use his /words/. words that she probably won’t trust, because why would she? he’s just said terribly hurtful things to her, and then denied them, and now he’s going to tell her to believe these ones, because they’re different? he’s nearly choking on despair because he’s /sure/ she’s going to just tell him to leave, scream that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll never trust him again, and it’s going to hurt, it’s going to /kill/ him, but he can’t just rip open the door after she begged him to keep it shut, and he chokes out a sob, fingers curling against the wood as if he’s trying to hold her hands to pull her closer. “i--i won’t open the door, i promise. i know...i know you d-don’t wanna see me right now, and that’s okay because i--i messed up. i messed up, and-and i’m sorry, ji. y-you probably don’t believe me, and i can’t b-blame you for it, and i’m n-not--i’m not mad anymore. i’m sorry for saying things that hurt you, that-that made you cry--i’m sorry. you’re not like your dad, and i didn’t mean it. i--/i’m/ the one that never thinks, not you, okay? i mean, c-come on, we both know that between us you’re the s-smarter one, and oh gods just. just please say something ji, a-anything--”

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

as she loses herself in the sea of pain, waves of hurt washing over her, she begins to recollect nightmares and memories; and the distinction between the two is so fine, she can barely distinguish one from the other. she can see one so /vividly/, splashes of blood red under her nails as she scrapes at the door, /screaming/ for her father, and all she can hear is the clink of wine bottles, a familiar tune ever since her mother left. she was too young to fully remember what her mother looked like; just an impression of warm smiles and soft hair, but she looks enough like her to have her dad lock her in her room when he’s sober, because he doesn’t like to be reminded of /her/. he’d forget, sometimes, that he’d locked her inside, when he’s too drunk or when he has other women over - women who either let jieun out, only to show her a rouged laugh before pushing her back into her room, or women who scream for her father too - and now she’s shaking so violently that her elbows are knocking against the wooden door. and then she realises that the door is closed - she’s panicking, her fingers slippery as she tries the handle. there’s knocking, not her elbows this time, but chanyeol, and the way his voice breaks over her name forces her to inhale sharply, and she’s breathing again, her fingers aren’t slick with blood, but tears. “y-yeol,” she whispers, her forehead resting against the cold surface of the door, “i-i’m /not/ like my father. i’m n-not. i’m /not/.” she repeats it a few times, as if to convince /herself/ more than /him/. but it’s so /hard/ to convince either of them because she doesn’t believe it - she’s turning into her father, with all the drinking and numerous love affairs, and now, she’s shutting chanyeol out because he’s /hurt/ her, and she can’t /bear/ to see him. //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// //you’re hurt? well i’m hurt too. like father like daughter, what a fucking joke.// //i didn’t do it to hurt you.// the overlap of so many words, so many /hurtful/ words, shadows her every thought, and she’s clutching at the handle like it’s a life raft, and she’s still drowning. “i c-can’t, yeol-” she gasps, “you /can’t/- see me.” she doesn’t quite know what she means by those words, whether it’s that he doesn’t see her for what she really is, a broken girl trying to fix herself by breaking other things, or whether she doesn’t him to see her this way, because she’s vain enough to mind the tangles in her hair and the redness of her eyes, tearstains and blotchy cheeks. she doesn’t want him to see her like this, when she’s too distressed to alter her appearance using her powers, and so insecure about his opinion of her as is. “don’t- d-don’t open the door,” she pleads quietly, and it’s an echo. //you can come out now, he’s gone.// //d-don’t open the door.// //jieun-// //don’t- don’t open the door! he’ll be upset if he sees m-me-//

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

as she loses herself in the sea of pain, waves of hurt washing over her, she begins to recollect nightmares and memories; and the distinction between the two is so fine, she can barely distinguish one from the other. she can see one so /vividly/, splashes of blood red under her nails as she scrapes at the door, /screaming/ for her father, and all she can hear is the clink of wine bottles, a familiar tune ever since her mother left. she was too young to fully remember what her mother looked like; just an impression of warm smiles and soft hair, but she looks enough like her to have her dad lock her in her room when he’s sober, because he doesn’t like to be reminded of /her/. he’d forget, sometimes, that he’d locked her inside, when he’s too drunk or when he has other women over - women who either let jieun out, only to show her a rouged laugh before pushing her back into her room, or women who scream for her father too - and now she’s shaking so violently that her elbows are knocking against the wooden door. and then she realises that the door is closed - she’s panicking, her fingers slippery as she tries the handle. there’s knocking, not her elbows this time, but chanyeol, and the way his voice breaks over her name forces her to inhale sharply, and she’s breathing again, her fingers aren’t slick with blood, but tears. “y-yeol,” she whispers, her forehead resting against the cold surface of the door, “i-i’m /not/ like my father. i’m n-not. i’m /not/.” she repeats it a few times, as if to convince /herself/ more than /him/. but it’s so /hard/ to convince either of them because she doesn’t believe it - she’s turning into her father, with all the drinking and numerous love affairs, and now, she’s shutting chanyeol out because he’s /hurt/ her, and she can’t /bear/ to see him. //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// //you’re hurt? well i’m hurt too. like father like daughter, what a fucking joke.// //i didn’t do it to hurt you.// the overlap of so many words, so many /hurtful/ words, shadows her every thought, and she’s clutching at the handle like it’s a life raft, and she’s still drowning. “i c-can’t, yeol-” she gasps, “you /can’t/- see me.” she doesn’t quite know what she means by those words, whether it’s that he doesn’t see her for what she really is, a broken girl trying to fix herself by breaking other things, or whether she doesn’t him to see her this way, because she’s vain enough to mind the tangles in her hair and the redness of her eyes, tearstains and blotchy cheeks. she doesn’t want him to see her like this, when she’s too distressed to alter her appearance using her powers, and so insecure about his opinion of her as is. “don’t- d-don’t open the door,” she pleads quietly, and it’s an echo. //you can come out now, he’s gone.// //d-don’t open the door.// //jieun-// //don’t- don’t open the door! he’ll be upset if he sees m-me-//

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

as she loses herself in the sea of pain, waves of hurt washing over her, she begins to recollect nightmares and memories; and the distinction between the two is so fine, she can barely distinguish one from the other. she can see one so /vividly/, splashes of blood red under her nails as she scrapes at the door, /screaming/ for her father, and all she can hear is the clink of wine bottles, a familiar tune ever since her mother left. she was too young to fully remember what her mother looked like; just an impression of warm smiles and soft hair, but she looks enough like her to have her dad lock her in her room when he’s sober, because he doesn’t like to be reminded of /her/. he’d forget, sometimes, that he’d locked her inside, when he’s too drunk or when he has other women over - women who either let jieun out, only to show her a rouged laugh before pushing her back into her room, or women who scream for her father too - and now she’s shaking so violently that her elbows are knocking against the wooden door. and then she realises that the door is closed - she’s panicking, her fingers slippery as she tries the handle. there’s knocking, not her elbows this time, but chanyeol, and the way his voice breaks over her name forces her to inhale sharply, and she’s breathing again, her fingers aren’t slick with blood, but tears. “y-yeol,” she whispers, her forehead resting against the cold surface of the door, “i-i’m /not/ like my father. i’m n-not. i’m /not/.” she repeats it a few times, as if to convince /herself/ more than /him/. but it’s so /hard/ to convince either of them because she doesn’t believe it - she’s turning into her father, with all the drinking and numerous love affairs, and now, she’s shutting chanyeol out because he’s /hurt/ her, and she can’t /bear/ to see him. //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// //you’re hurt? well i’m hurt too. like father like daughter, what a fucking joke.// //i didn’t do it to hurt you.// the overlap of so many words, so many /hurtful/ words, shadows her every thought, and she’s clutching at the handle like it’s a life raft, and she’s still drowning. “i c-can’t, yeol-” she gasps, “you /can’t/- see me.” she doesn’t quite know what she means by those words, whether it’s that he doesn’t see her for what she really is, a broken girl trying to fix herself by breaking other things, or whether she doesn’t him to see her this way, because she’s vain enough to mind the tangles in her hair and the redness of her eyes, tearstains and blotchy cheeks. she doesn’t want him to see her like this, when she’s too distressed to alter her appearance using her powers, and so insecure about his opinion of her as is. “don’t- d-don’t open the door,” she pleads quietly, and it’s an echo. //you can come out now, he’s gone.// //d-don’t open the door.// //jieun-// //don’t- don’t open the door! he’ll be upset if he sees m-me-//

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he knows he should have expected it. should have, but he /didn’t/, some part of him still hoping that he hadn’t done irreparable damage, and now…now he’s– now he’s windmilling a little bit to keep his balance as she shoves at him, the action hurting as much as if she’s physically burned him, rather than just pushed him away. and that’s bad, the thinks–it’s the worst. she’s never pushed him away before, never so vehemently, and maybe if he was in a less shocked state of mind he’d have fought a little, tried to keep a hold because without her in his arms he feels like he’s falling, nothing to ground him to keep him from sinking into memories and emotions he’d never wanted to revisit again. but she’s not in his arms–she’s standing before him, angrily wiping away tears that /he caused/, and speaking. no, she’s not speaking, she’s–/attacking/. she’s attacking him with words, and he knows he dealt the first punch, so to speak, so he shouldn’t be surprised, but he /is/. he’s surprised at the irate tone, surprised that it /hurts/ so much, the words hitting him as thoroughly as if she’d slapped him, and he winces, recoiling and trying so /hard/ not to just gasp and cry and curl up into a ball to become smaller because– /“(don’t //touch// me) you little fucker, do you want to be hit?!”/ /”(don’t //ever// talk to me //again//) or i’ll cut your tongue out, how’s that?”/ and then there’s more words, cold and harsh and freezing him on the spot. unable to breathe, unable to look away as she flings such awful things at him, and he panics. he panics, because he knows he didn’t mean a damn thing he said, but what if she /does/? his good-for-nothing father is the god of /madness/, and it makes sense if he loses his cool sometimes, but her parents /aren’t/, and what if she /means/ it? /”gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/. i hate you.”/ and he’s so hysterical as she turns away from him then, as she /walks away from him/ that he half wants to shout back that there’s a fine line between love and hate, and is she /sure/, wants to make an awful, awful joke about how /them’s fightin’ words and come at me bro/, but he doesn’t want to fight with jieun. he wants to fix this, make it better between them, prove to her that he’s /not/ like his father, that he doesn’t think she’s like /hers/. and then he’s laughing because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do to show her that, palms pressed to his eyes for a second to keep his own tears at bay, to compose himself, because he knows if he runs after her right this second, he’s just going to say more things he regrets, hear more things from her that he can’t bear to listen to, because the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground in a mess of tears and self-loathing right this second is the fact that jieun is just as hurt and it’s /his fucking fault/. /actions speak louder than words/ is a phrase he’s heard, and he repeats it almost like a mantra in his head as he follows after, consciously working to take deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate and send himself into a panic attack, even though he’s resting precariously on the verge of one anyway. and it doesn’t get any better when he just finds the doors to her cabin shut, and the only kind of solace he finds in that is that most everyone else is out for breakfast and it’s just them. hopefully. he has to take a deep breath as he approaches, raising shaky hands to knock on the door–loud enough to be heard, but lightly enough that he hopes it comes off calmer and more composed than he feels. loud isn’t something that she needs right now, and he wants to /fix/ this, not make it worse. but the words are still stuck on his tongue, because he has no idea what to say. he could say /i’m sorry/ a thousand, thousand times, and she probably wouldn’t believe him. and so he finds himself leaning his head against the door, tears involuntarily trickling down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose as he knocks again. “j-ji-jieun?” he starts, voice terribly choked, a spike of fear shooting through him even though he’s /pretty sure/ that /she/ won’t cut his tongue out for talking, even after she said not to. “ji please come out, i–i need to see you.” because talking isn’t going to get him anywhere in this state, and he needs to /show/ her, although he isn’t sure how to do that either. he supposes he’ll wing it when the time comes. /if/ it comes.

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

he knows he should have expected it. should have, but he /didn’t/, some part of him still hoping that he hadn’t done irreparable damage, and now...now he’s-- now he’s windmilling a little bit to keep his balance as she shoves at him, the action hurting as much as if she’s physically burned him, rather than just pushed him away. and that’s bad, the thinks--it’s the worst. she’s never pushed him away before, never so vehemently, and maybe if he was in a less shocked state of mind he’d have fought a little, tried to keep a hold because without her in his arms he feels like he’s falling, nothing to ground him to keep him from sinking into memories and emotions he’d never wanted to revisit again. but she’s not in his arms--she’s standing before him, angrily wiping away tears that /he caused/, and speaking. no, she’s not speaking, she’s--/attacking/. she’s attacking him with words, and he knows he dealt the first punch, so to speak, so he shouldn’t be surprised, but he /is/. he’s surprised at the irate tone, surprised that it /hurts/ so much, the words hitting him as thoroughly as if she’d slapped him, and he winces, recoiling and trying so /hard/ not to just gasp and cry and curl up into a ball to become smaller because-- /“(don’t //touch// me) you little fucker, do you want to be hit?!”/ /”(don’t //ever// talk to me //again//) or i’ll cut your tongue out, how’s that?”/ and then there’s more words, cold and harsh and freezing him on the spot. unable to breathe, unable to look away as she flings such awful things at him, and he panics. he panics, because he knows he didn’t mean a damn thing he said, but what if she /does/? his good-for-nothing father is the god of /madness/, and it makes sense if he loses his cool sometimes, but her parents /aren’t/, and what if she /means/ it? /”gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/. i hate you.”/ and he’s so hysterical as she turns away from him then, as she /walks away from him/ that he half wants to shout back that there’s a fine line between love and hate, and is she /sure/, wants to make an awful, awful joke about how /them’s fightin' words and come at me bro/, but he doesn’t want to fight with jieun. he wants to fix this, make it better between them, prove to her that he’s /not/ like his father, that he doesn’t think she’s like /hers/. and then he’s laughing because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do to show her that, palms pressed to his eyes for a second to keep his own tears at bay, to compose himself, because he knows if he runs after her right this second, he’s just going to say more things he regrets, hear more things from her that he can’t bear to listen to, because the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground in a mess of tears and self-loathing right this second is the fact that jieun is just as hurt and it’s /his fucking fault/. /actions speak louder than words/ is a phrase he’s heard, and he repeats it almost like a mantra in his head as he follows after, consciously working to take deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate and send himself into a panic attack, even though he’s resting precariously on the verge of one anyway. and it doesn’t get any better when he just finds the doors to her cabin shut, and the only kind of solace he finds in that is that most everyone else is out for breakfast and it’s just them. hopefully. he has to take a deep breath as he approaches, raising shaky hands to knock on the door--loud enough to be heard, but lightly enough that he hopes it comes off calmer and more composed than he feels. loud isn’t something that she needs right now, and he wants to /fix/ this, not make it worse. but the words are still stuck on his tongue, because he has no idea what to say. he could say /i’m sorry/ a thousand, thousand times, and she probably wouldn’t believe him. and so he finds himself leaning his head against the door, tears involuntarily trickling down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose as he knocks again. “j-ji-jieun?” he starts, voice terribly choked, a spike of fear shooting through him even though he’s /pretty sure/ that /she/ won’t cut his tongue out for talking, even after she said not to. “ji please come out, i--i need to see you.” because talking isn’t going to get him anywhere in this state, and he needs to /show/ her, although he isn’t sure how to do that either. he supposes he’ll wing it when the time comes. /if/ it comes.

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

he knows he should have expected it. should have, but he /didn’t/, some part of him still hoping that he hadn’t done irreparable damage, and now...now he’s-- now he’s windmilling a little bit to keep his balance as she shoves at him, the action hurting as much as if she’s physically burned him, rather than just pushed him away. and that’s bad, the thinks--it’s the worst. she’s never pushed him away before, never so vehemently, and maybe if he was in a less shocked state of mind he’d have fought a little, tried to keep a hold because without her in his arms he feels like he’s falling, nothing to ground him to keep him from sinking into memories and emotions he’d never wanted to revisit again. but she’s not in his arms--she’s standing before him, angrily wiping away tears that /he caused/, and speaking. no, she’s not speaking, she’s--/attacking/. she’s attacking him with words, and he knows he dealt the first punch, so to speak, so he shouldn’t be surprised, but he /is/. he’s surprised at the irate tone, surprised that it /hurts/ so much, the words hitting him as thoroughly as if she’d slapped him, and he winces, recoiling and trying so /hard/ not to just gasp and cry and curl up into a ball to become smaller because-- /“(don’t //touch// me) you little fucker, do you want to be hit?!”/ /”(don’t //ever// talk to me //again//) or i’ll cut your tongue out, how’s that?”/ and then there’s more words, cold and harsh and freezing him on the spot. unable to breathe, unable to look away as she flings such awful things at him, and he panics. he panics, because he knows he didn’t mean a damn thing he said, but what if she /does/? his good-for-nothing father is the god of /madness/, and it makes sense if he loses his cool sometimes, but her parents /aren’t/, and what if she /means/ it? /”gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/. i hate you.”/ and he’s so hysterical as she turns away from him then, as she /walks away from him/ that he half wants to shout back that there’s a fine line between love and hate, and is she /sure/, wants to make an awful, awful joke about how /them’s fightin' words and come at me bro/, but he doesn’t want to fight with jieun. he wants to fix this, make it better between them, prove to her that he’s /not/ like his father, that he doesn’t think she’s like /hers/. and then he’s laughing because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do to show her that, palms pressed to his eyes for a second to keep his own tears at bay, to compose himself, because he knows if he runs after her right this second, he’s just going to say more things he regrets, hear more things from her that he can’t bear to listen to, because the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground in a mess of tears and self-loathing right this second is the fact that jieun is just as hurt and it’s /his fucking fault/. /actions speak louder than words/ is a phrase he’s heard, and he repeats it almost like a mantra in his head as he follows after, consciously working to take deep breaths so he doesn’t hyperventilate and send himself into a panic attack, even though he’s resting precariously on the verge of one anyway. and it doesn’t get any better when he just finds the doors to her cabin shut, and the only kind of solace he finds in that is that most everyone else is out for breakfast and it’s just them. hopefully. he has to take a deep breath as he approaches, raising shaky hands to knock on the door--loud enough to be heard, but lightly enough that he hopes it comes off calmer and more composed than he feels. loud isn’t something that she needs right now, and he wants to /fix/ this, not make it worse. but the words are still stuck on his tongue, because he has no idea what to say. he could say /i’m sorry/ a thousand, thousand times, and she probably wouldn’t believe him. and so he finds himself leaning his head against the door, tears involuntarily trickling down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose as he knocks again. “j-ji-jieun?” he starts, voice terribly choked, a spike of fear shooting through him even though he’s /pretty sure/ that /she/ won’t cut his tongue out for talking, even after she said not to. “ji please come out, i--i need to see you.” because talking isn’t going to get him anywhere in this state, and he needs to /show/ her, although he isn’t sure how to do that either. he supposes he’ll wing it when the time comes. /if/ it comes.

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

her world’s crashing down, everything out of focus from the tears blurring across her vision, and it’s a chaos of pain and panicked colours. she reaches up to angrily wipe her eyes, when she’s gathered gently in a pair of sturdy arms and his lips are pressing on the crown of her head, murmuring incomprehensible words - she can’t hear them over the loud roar in her ears and the words ringing over and /over/ in her head, an awful cacophany of //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// the cloud of indigo and cerulean bruising the air around them in a thick, almost palpable haze tells her that he’s hurting too, perhaps as much as she is, but she’s too wrapped up in her own pain, retreating back rapidly into her cracked shell, to pay it any attention. his touch both comforts and repulses her; despite everything, the ache in her heart dulls slightly under his touch, and she’s /horrified/, she doesn’t want to consider the consequences of such a feeling and she’s pushing him away, barely meeting any resistance as she shoves at all six feet of him. “don’t /touch/ me,” she snaps, fingers shaking as she rubs at her eyes, glaring up at him even as fresh tears replace the ones tracing down her fingertips. there’s nothing worse than love turned to a need for revenge, and she’s lashing out at him with words, words that she’ll later regret, but for now, they’re spilling out of her in a torrent. “don’t /ever/ talk to me /again/. you got one thing right, i clearly wasn’t /thinking/ when i decided to trust you with- with anything.” her tone’s colder and harder than she’s ever heard herself speak before, but it’s not enough to shake her from ploughing on with her path of destruction. “should have /known/, like father, like son. heartless and a heartbreaker. was this all just for good fuck? just so that you could manipulate the little aphrodite girl with daddy issues and get her into bed with you? gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest as if to hold herself together, because she feels like she’s breaking apart. “i hate you.” and then she’s gone, feet tripping in their haste to her bed, ignoring the stunned glances of her siblings and other campers as they all begin to make their way out of their cabins for breakfast. the door of cabin ten slams shut behind her, and she drops to the floor, back against the wooden surface as she curls up in on herself and begins to cry in earnest, wanting to cry herself into oblivion, because why does love have to be so difficult?

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

her world's crashing down, everything out of focus from the tears blurring across her vision, and it's a chaos of pain and panicked colours. she reaches up to angrily wipe her eyes, when she's gathered gently in a pair of sturdy arms and his lips are pressing on the crown of her head, murmuring incomprehensible words - she can't hear them over the loud roar in her ears and the words ringing over and /over/ in her head, an awful cacophany of //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// the cloud of indigo and cerulean bruising the air around them in a thick, almost palpable haze tells her that he's hurting too, perhaps as much as she is, but she's too wrapped up in her own pain, retreating back rapidly into her cracked shell, to pay it any attention. his touch both comforts and repulses her; despite everything, the ache in her heart dulls slightly under his touch, and she's /horrified/, she doesn't want to consider the consequences of such a feeling and she's pushing him away, barely meeting any resistance as she shoves at all six feet of him. "don't /touch/ me," she snaps, fingers shaking as she rubs at her eyes, glaring up at him even as fresh tears replace the ones tracing down her fingertips. there's nothing worse than love turned to a need for revenge, and she's lashing out at him with words, words that she'll later regret, but for now, they're spilling out of her in a torrent. "don't /ever/ talk to me /again/. you got one thing right, i clearly wasn't /thinking/ when i decided to trust you with- with anything." her tone's colder and harder than she's ever heard herself speak before, but it's not enough to shake her from ploughing on with her path of destruction. "should have /known/, like father, like son. heartless and a heartbreaker. was this all just for good fuck? just so that you could manipulate the little aphrodite girl with daddy issues and get her into bed with you? gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/," she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest as if to hold herself together, because she feels like she's breaking apart. "i hate you." and then she's gone, feet tripping in their haste to her bed, ignoring the stunned glances of her siblings and other campers as they all begin to make their way out of their cabins for breakfast. the door of cabin ten slams shut behind her, and she drops to the floor, back against the wooden surface as she curls up in on herself and begins to cry in earnest, wanting to cry herself into oblivion, because why does love have to be so difficult?

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

her world's crashing down, everything out of focus from the tears blurring across her vision, and it's a chaos of pain and panicked colours. she reaches up to angrily wipe her eyes, when she's gathered gently in a pair of sturdy arms and his lips are pressing on the crown of her head, murmuring incomprehensible words - she can't hear them over the loud roar in her ears and the words ringing over and /over/ in her head, an awful cacophany of //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// the cloud of indigo and cerulean bruising the air around them in a thick, almost palpable haze tells her that he's hurting too, perhaps as much as she is, but she's too wrapped up in her own pain, retreating back rapidly into her cracked shell, to pay it any attention. his touch both comforts and repulses her; despite everything, the ache in her heart dulls slightly under his touch, and she's /horrified/, she doesn't want to consider the consequences of such a feeling and she's pushing him away, barely meeting any resistance as she shoves at all six feet of him. "don't /touch/ me," she snaps, fingers shaking as she rubs at her eyes, glaring up at him even as fresh tears replace the ones tracing down her fingertips. there's nothing worse than love turned to a need for revenge, and she's lashing out at him with words, words that she'll later regret, but for now, they're spilling out of her in a torrent. "don't /ever/ talk to me /again/. you got one thing right, i clearly wasn't /thinking/ when i decided to trust you with- with anything." her tone's colder and harder than she's ever heard herself speak before, but it's not enough to shake her from ploughing on with her path of destruction. "should have /known/, like father, like son. heartless and a heartbreaker. was this all just for good fuck? just so that you could manipulate the little aphrodite girl with daddy issues and get her into bed with you? gods, chanyeol. you make me /sick/," she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest as if to hold herself together, because she feels like she's breaking apart. "i hate you." and then she's gone, feet tripping in their haste to her bed, ignoring the stunned glances of her siblings and other campers as they all begin to make their way out of their cabins for breakfast. the door of cabin ten slams shut behind her, and she drops to the floor, back against the wooden surface as she curls up in on herself and begins to cry in earnest, wanting to cry herself into oblivion, because why does love have to be so difficult?

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

chanyeol can’t breathe. he can’t breathe because he is pain and panic and rage and /pain/. jieun’s face, the hurt that /he put there/ is too much for him. the fact that /he’s/ the one that upset her so much, that /he’s/ the one that fucking made her /cry/ has him choking back hysteria because he /fucked up so bad/. he’s supposed to /help/ her, to try to /protect/ her–he’s the one that’s always, /always/ been the one to cheer her up after every failed boyfriend, after every time one of the other campers says something stupid and insensitive, and now he’s no better than them. in fact, he’s /worse/. he’s so much worse than them, because jieun is the girl who–who’s his /everything/, and she’s crying, she’s choking back sobs, and when she stumbles past him he feels like he’s been broken from some kind of trance, gasping in hyperventilated breaths because no no nononononono– if she leaves now, he’s probably never going to get her back, and he’s still mad at her choice of bed partner, still frustrated and upset for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, but the fact that she’s walking away from him /crying and in pain because of him/ is one that he can’t ignore, and he’s very nearly running after her, trying to catch her in his arms and pull her close because physical comfort is the only kind he’s any kind of good at–probably the only thing he’s good at at all. “ji-jieun,” he starts, voice choked, soft. soft because he needs to be soft, he needs to swallow his pride and apologize and stop /hurting her/ before she hates him just as much as he hates himself. “ji, please i’m sorry–i didn’t mean it,” he gasps, the words rough with the emotions he’s trying to hold back. “i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it i didn’t mean it i swear i didn’t mean it i didn’tididn’tididn’t–” and he can’t stop spilling out half-formed words, nose pressed to the crown of her hair because he’s sure that if he does, she’s going to say things that he /really/ doesn’t want to hear–things that will probably b r e a k him more than he’s broken /her/. “ji, please, i’m–i’m so sorry–”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

chanyeol can’t breathe. he can’t breathe because he is pain and panic and rage and /pain/. jieun’s face, the hurt that /he put there/ is too much for him. the fact that /he’s/ the one that upset her so much, that /he’s/ the one that fucking made her /cry/ has him choking back hysteria because he /fucked up so bad/. he’s supposed to /help/ her, to try to /protect/ her--he’s the one that’s always, /always/ been the one to cheer her up after every failed boyfriend, after every time one of the other campers says something stupid and insensitive, and now he’s no better than them. in fact, he’s /worse/. he’s so much worse than them, because jieun is the girl who--who’s his /everything/, and she’s crying, she’s choking back sobs, and when she stumbles past him he feels like he’s been broken from some kind of trance, gasping in hyperventilated breaths because no no nononononono-- if she leaves now, he’s probably never going to get her back, and he’s still mad at her choice of bed partner, still frustrated and upset for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, but the fact that she’s walking away from him /crying and in pain because of him/ is one that he can’t ignore, and he’s very nearly running after her, trying to catch her in his arms and pull her close because physical comfort is the only kind he’s any kind of good at--probably the only thing he’s good at at all. “ji-jieun,” he starts, voice choked, soft. soft because he needs to be soft, he needs to swallow his pride and apologize and stop /hurting her/ before she hates him just as much as he hates himself. “ji, please i’m sorry--i didn’t mean it,” he gasps, the words rough with the emotions he’s trying to hold back. “i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it i didn’t mean it i swear i didn’t mean it i didn’tididn’tididn’t--” and he can’t stop spilling out half-formed words, nose pressed to the crown of her hair because he’s sure that if he does, she’s going to say things that he /really/ doesn’t want to hear--things that will probably b r e a k him more than he’s broken /her/. “ji, please, i’m--i’m so sorry--”

[crimsoncoatedconscience]

chanyeol can’t breathe. he can’t breathe because he is pain and panic and rage and /pain/. jieun’s face, the hurt that /he put there/ is too much for him. the fact that /he’s/ the one that upset her so much, that /he’s/ the one that fucking made her /cry/ has him choking back hysteria because he /fucked up so bad/. he’s supposed to /help/ her, to try to /protect/ her--he’s the one that’s always, /always/ been the one to cheer her up after every failed boyfriend, after every time one of the other campers says something stupid and insensitive, and now he’s no better than them. in fact, he’s /worse/. he’s so much worse than them, because jieun is the girl who--who’s his /everything/, and she’s crying, she’s choking back sobs, and when she stumbles past him he feels like he’s been broken from some kind of trance, gasping in hyperventilated breaths because no no nononononono-- if she leaves now, he’s probably never going to get her back, and he’s still mad at her choice of bed partner, still frustrated and upset for reasons he doesn’t want to think about, but the fact that she’s walking away from him /crying and in pain because of him/ is one that he can’t ignore, and he’s very nearly running after her, trying to catch her in his arms and pull her close because physical comfort is the only kind he’s any kind of good at--probably the only thing he’s good at at all. “ji-jieun,” he starts, voice choked, soft. soft because he needs to be soft, he needs to swallow his pride and apologize and stop /hurting her/ before she hates him just as much as he hates himself. “ji, please i’m sorry--i didn’t mean it,” he gasps, the words rough with the emotions he’s trying to hold back. “i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean it i didn’t mean it i swear i didn’t mean it i didn’tididn’tididn’t--” and he can’t stop spilling out half-formed words, nose pressed to the crown of her hair because he’s sure that if he does, she’s going to say things that he /really/ doesn’t want to hear--things that will probably b r e a k him more than he’s broken /her/. “ji, please, i’m--i’m so sorry--”

keep your friends close, and your enemies closer -- but not that close

she’s stunned. she can hardly believe that this is /park chanyeol/ standing before her, his lips pale with what she assumes to be anger, and she can almost believe that he’s half crazed right now, and that’s what she wants to believe, because it /hurts/ when he throws her hand off, as if her touch /disgusts/ him. every word that comes out of his mouth makes her flinch; he’s never /ever/ sworn at her, and he /knows/ just how she feels about the aphrodite stereotype of dumb blondes. he’s always defended her against such jokes from the athena cabin, and treated her with gentle words, and suddenly he seems very intimidating and not like her best friend at all. “chanyeol-” she begins, shaking her head numbly as if to try and physically shake his words off, when he says the words that hurt her the most of all. //your dad never meant to hurt you, did he?// ouch. she can tell from the horrified silence that immediately follows, along with the slight pull on his expression that morphs him back into the chanyeol she knows, but she doesn’t /want/ to know him anymore, this boy who’s just attacked the one weakness she’s entrusted him with, and /only/ with him. there are tears blurring her sight before she can will them away, and she’s stumbling away from him as if he’s wounded her, and he /has/, more than any knife or any arrow possibly could. images of her dad stumbling in through the front door, heavy with drink and girls, young enough to be her sisters, hanging off his arms, come unbidden into her head, and she’s feels /sick/. it’s contrasted with an image of her, knocking back tequila shots one by one, falling into a heap of laughter and lipstick with a boy she’s spent her entire time at camp insulting, with chanyeol, and the similarity between the two images makes her gag, her hands flying to her mouth. but all that escapes is a muffled sob, and she’s pushing past him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes that remind her so much of her own, back in the mirror at home, and she /hates/ it, hates /him/ for making her feel this way, but more than anything, she hates herself. “excuse me,” she gasps, out of habit more than anything, blindly stumbling down the path to her cabin. and there’s a phrase running through her head: only those you love have the power to really hurt you, and that’s exactly what chanyeol’s done.