hansolbe

[hansolbe]

hansol doesn’t see it.

maybe it’s because he’s not a part of this high society of visionary thinkers. or maybe it’s because he’s dumb as fuck. either way, he looks at the red circles with skepticism written all over his face as she explains the contrast between shape and colour. if he really, really wants to, then he can understand where she’s coming from. but as it is, he can’t look past the fact that they’re just—quite literally—a bunch of circles.

even his drunken splatter pieces are more appealing, and he doesn’t consider himself anything close to an artist. maybe he should ask his mother to put his work up—ha!

“you’ve got to be gaslighting me.” he lets out a scoff, though more out of amusement than disbelief. “did my mother pay you to say that? y’know what, i wouldn’t put it past her—she’s got a knack for glamourizing the mediocre and upselling to unsuspecting clients.” that’s probably why his father married her, now that he thinks about it.

hansol raises an eyebrow. “so are you a plant? you can tell me. it’s not like i’m the main clientele for this exhibit anyway.”

she's seen a fair amount of rude people at galleries before. of course, chaerin did her best to avoid them because she already had too much on her plate with all the socializing she was forced to do. however, as a fellow artist, she couldn't just stand around and watch this poor old artist getting unfairly criticized for the work he's put on display.

"the color and shape tell the whole story, don't they?" as someone who mostly worked with paint herself, she never drew a single stroke without a thought. color combinations were chosen after hours and hours of deliberation, and she's had to restart many of her works because she didn't feel satisfied with the way what she drew actually looked on the canvas compared to her head.

"you have to think of it this way. why circles out of all the shapes in the world? what does a circle really mean? to me, circles are harmonious. they're peaceful because they have no real edges. nothing too sharp about them. that kind of shape is contrasted by the color red, which is usually used to represent rage, anger, or sometimes even death. they're almost like an antithesis. complete opposites that come together to create a whole."

with that, she looked at the artist first, offering him a gentle smile before turning her head to note the rude guest. "how's that for an explanation?" this is probably the most talking she's ever done at an event like this, and she's hoping an old professor doesn't track her down or something because she really doesn't want to discuss more art tonight. not after all this.

[hansolbe]

“rough night?” hansol humours before snapping his fingers twice at the bartender, make it quick. “you heard the guy—actually, hm. nah. switch that. let’s do two shots vodka, two shots peach. he’s got stiff shoulders, so we gotta loosen him up a bit. … hey. what’s that look for? don’t worry, i’ll take care of him. you know i always do.”

as far as his ticket into heaven goes, that’s his only saving grace. he looks after those he takes under his wing. well. until he’s distracted. but nothing’s gonna distract him from jaesung tonight, so it’s fine.

the shots slosh and splatter against the bar top. for once, he doesn’t make a fuss.

“you’ve done shots before, yeah?” hansol hands jaesung one of the four. “vodka first, chase with soju. it’s peach flavoured, better than coke, trust me.” he raises his shot glass. “cheers.”

"i was since i got here."

his smile brightens as he lets himself press closer to hansol. maybe he just liked the attention from the older male but he wasn't going to say so. he thought he made it pretty obvious anyway. "all yours and i'm fine with that."

jae knew how hansol got and he wasn't going to say no to him. if anything he was all for the opposite especially if it meant he got to be around him more.

he let the other take his drink, an amused look in his eyes before a laugh escaped him. "it was what i was given. i wanted to be surprised." he admitted. maybe that's why he hadn't been drinking at it fully. he was used to other flavors of alcohol much more. jae ignored any looks thrown in his direction as he close to hansol. no one else was gonna get his attention, only the other male beside him at the moment.

he ignores the way his heart from from the squeeze to his shoulder. there was no need for him to be like this. he knew how hansol got so he needed to keep himself in check. "a vodka would be nice. been a bit since i've drank that."

[hansolbe]

re :

“if i want to try falling?” a giggle escapes her lips “not on purpose, but i’ll take your word for it, if i’m about to fall you’ll save me?”. “ah, stand still” ria raises the hand she’s not holding with, letting it land on the other’s head, fixing his hair with one hand “that’s better” she smiles to the other.

hansol wonders what that’s like—having a brother, having a family that cares enough about his well-being to teach him things. perhaps he would be a much better person, had they actually raised him.

... nah! he’d still be a sack of shit. song hansol was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and an audacity that could very much rival that of his narcissistic father. maybe with time, he’d mature and mellow out like his second eldest brother did, but the time is not now; he’s still got a good ten years to fuck around and find out.

speaking of that.

“he sounds like the overly protective type.” his smile mirrors her own when she goes to fix his hair. “does he know how to fight?” … not that hansol’s looking for trouble. why on earth would he want that?

[hansolbe]

boyfriend? his eyebrows nearly shot off his face. boyfriend as in boy? as in guy? as in a whole man with a—okay, let’s not get carried away. it’s weird to put too much thought in whatever goes on with his good mate’s love life—but boyfriend?!

in true overreactive fashion, hansol scrunches up his nose and lets out a dismissive scoff, very obviously feigning contempt. “so you’re tellin’ me you’re into guys, but not me? what, am i not your type? i’m offended.” he keeps his little act up for all but two seconds. an ever familiar grin splits across his features as he reaches over the table and smacks stevie in the arm. “kidding! i’m kidding. relax, man. i’m happy for ya. who’s the lucky guy, though? have i met him?”

right as he asks that, the waitress returns with their milkshakes.

she doesn’t pay them any special attention. rude!

“don’t waste your efforts,” hansol says dismissively, watching her disappear behind the counter. “she wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. said she’s done her time with fuckboys—but i’m not a fuckboy, right? be honest with me.” he sits forward, folding his arms over the table. “how long have we known each other? couple years now? so you know me, yeah? in your honest, humble opinion, am i?”

stevie hums, shrugging his shoulders and glancing down at his menu when hansol declines to talk about it-- only to slowly grin to himself when the other begins to continue his story anyway. "okay, okay," stevie nods along, listening as hansol gets into it.

"you were networking, i get you..." stevie nods, seeing where hansol's going with this. it's a tricky situation, and it can only go a number of ways. he grimaces none the less when he hears the altercation that came from it, giving a low whistle. "damn."

stevie notices the waitress at the same time hansol does, an easy smile crossing his face that only grows wider when hansol is scolded. "he's just excited," he placates, before rambling off his order.

stevie hums, blinking at hansol curiously as he hands off the menu and considers the question. the off the market one makes him pause, brows furrowing before a laugh leaves him.

stevie looks back at the waitress, then back towards hansol, and then is unable to help the snort that leaves him. "i'm good. been busy. working, grinding, the dealio." stevie assures, shaking his head. he rubs his neck as he begins to address the next part. "i'm off the market, actually. i have a boyfriend." it feels nice to say, proud and open and off his chest. stevie smiles to himself, leaning back in the booth. "why don't you got shoot your shot?" he challenges back, grin turning cheeky. "i can play wingman if you want."

[hansolbe]

with one last hard kick, the intercom crackles. a woman’s voice comes on, but the static eventually makes her cut out—though not before he catches the words fire and soon. great! whoo!

“did you hear that?” hansol throws his arm around the girl and shines his phone light at the intercom. “we’re gonna die in here—just you and me—burnt into extra crispy lil chicken wings.” but c’mon, fire? surely, there are better ways to get them out.

unless.

unless.

hansol lets out an exasperated sigh, his arm slipping off from her shoulders as he slumps against the elevator wall. “sorry, miss. seems like you’re caught up in my father’s latest attempt to dispose of me.” it’s his shot at a joke that doesn’t land, considering … well, everything. “ever thought you’d die like this?”

hyejin lets herself listen to hansol speak though it there wasn't much else she could do at this time. anything was better than her mind focusing on the increasing fear hitting her. though it didn't stop the way her eyes would widen at hearing what happened. "that sounds awful." hyejin couldn't imagine something like that happening to her especially from family. it would make her not want to be near anyone in her family ever again.

her own trauma that caused her fear of this situation was from a total accident but it's something she still thinks about to this day. it makes her want to get out of here more. she may seem calm on the outside but it's tearing her up on the inside. anything was better than being stuck in this elevator. someone had to sense something was wrong soon, right?

hyejin can't help but flinch a bit as she hears the kicks. she gets why he's acting this way. they need to get out of here and she's ready to just let the sink to her knees and give up at this point.

[hansolbe]

“bingo.” hansol breaks into his classic shit-eating grin. “surprised? you wouldn’t be the first. people usually look at her, then look at me, and i can see the gears turning in their heads when they try to make sense of how someone so soft-spoken and put-together can birth —” he makes a gesture at himself. “— such an insolent prick. their words, not mine. don’t have to feel sorry. i wear that title proudly.” he throws her a cheeky little wink before motioning a nearby server over.

the server in question gives him a short nod and hurries off. she returns not a minute later with two empty champagne flutes and an unopened bottle of sparkling ice wine.

“private collection.” hansol presses a finger to his lips as if to say let’s keep this between us — but it’s no secret. the staff always keeps a stash of sweeter options in the back in the off-chance he shows up. “trust me, you won’t like what they have going around. all dry, blanc de blancs. i’m convinced everyone’s only pretending to like it ’cause that’s what’s considered respectable taste.” he offers her a glass.

as he takes a sip of his own, he tilts his head in the direction of the gallery.

“so which one is yours?”

“so i really am that obvious…!” bora can’t help but groan and cover her face for a moment when hansol calls her out. him saying her fumbling was ‘cute’ only makes her pout. “well, i’m glad somebody enjoyed that…”

once he sits down across from her, she peeks over at him to take in how he’s dressed. she feels even more plain in comparison to this guy, who’s definitely one of the more extravagantly dressed people there tonight; no wonder he could easily pick her out among everyone there. but she nods at what he says; she couldn’t imagine how people within the art world did this all the time.

she opens her mouth to defend the other art in the gallery, but what comes out a second later is a giggle. after covering her mouth with her hand and shaking her head, she drops her voice to a whisper. “i really shouldn’t laugh, but… you can kinda tell when someone’s just doing art for the sake of money rather than because they actually love it, right?” she pauses for a second in thought, glancing around. “like… it’s fine if they want to make quick money, and i’m sure someone will pay plenty for a lot of these paintings! but there’s something just… materialistic about it.”

bora gets so caught up in finally getting to breathe around someone that she almost forgets what he actually asked her. “... huh? oh, um, the owner of the gallery came across my paintings in a cafe…” the half-truth, which is what she’s been saying all night. sighing and putting her head in her hands as she speaks the other half, “... and i work at that cafe, which is how she met me.”

a beat passes, before she looks back up at him with wide eyes. “wait, the owner is your mother?”

[hansolbe]

“uh-uh. you don’t get to do that.”

hansol tightens his hold on luciel’s hands and swivels them in a half-circle so luciel’s now the one skating backwards. it’s a more difficult maneuver since he won’t be able to see where he’s going, but that’s the point. you’ll have to trust me, it’s meant to say.

“i told you a looot ‘bout me, so now it’s your turn.”

a glint in his eyes is the only warning he gives before he starts pushing luciel to go faster, all while rapid-firing questions.

“why is your name luciel? what does it mean? est-ce français? is that a name you were given, or do you have a korean one too? why is thinking a luxury to you? what is it that you don’t wanna think about? aren’t you being a little contradictory? you say you don’t dare to think about it, but you’re wearing scents as a reminder. so which is it?”

hansol abruptly stops. the momentum brings him a step too close.

“and what’s your deal with rain?”

luciel hums as he skates forward, assisted by hansol. he glances at their hands, briefly thinking about how he’s holding onto the boy’s hands so easily. “i’m not so demanding, i’m just not used to it,” he gives a sigh. “this side of you is odd, i’m getting the chills down my back,” he says lightheartedly, obviously not being serious about it.

the boy takes a while to think, about those feelings. is it anger and spite that comes along with the pain? when it comes to himself, luciel has many questions that aren’t aired out, questions that are left unanswered. “is that so? that’s pitiful, hansol,” luciel murmurs as he listens to his words, shifting his gaze into hansol’s eyes. “am i supposed to say… ‘oh no, i’m so sorry, hansol’?” a genuine question. he doesn’t means to downplay what hansol has gone through, but he’s heard of this story occasionally.

then his lips curls into a soft smile, whether it’s fake or not, it’s up to hansol himself to interpret it. “it’s a beautiful name, and a symbol of your blood connection,” luciel feels the grip tightening softly, for barely a moment, that he brushes off as just hansol pulling him along.

he always wondered, how’s it like to have blood-related parents. his own threw him away, in this season of cold.

“you’re asking questions i cannot answer, does it pique your curiosity so?” luciel muses. “it’s unfortunate, i’ve never dared to think about it. it is too much of a luxury for me.”

[hansolbe]

re :

she’s immediately surprised at the stranger’s words, mouth wide open, eyes even wider, what did they say? seira had guessed wrong, they seemed like a nice costumer, apparently not. “ah, i know all about the not so coffee tasting drinks, i personally don’t like coffee myself” she attempts to smile, still surprised at the earlier words, even if they weren’t meant for her. “we have a bunch of different smoothies and some iced tea, how does that sound?”.

smoothies. fruits. his mortal enemy. except grapes. grapes never did him wrong, but no one’s putting grapes into a smoothie.

“what ‘bout milkshakes? hot chocolate? cappuccinos are basically hot chocolates with coffee, yeah?” actually, it’s mocha, like the mocha he’d originally ordered and disliked, but what does he know!

a thought occurs to him then, and he leans forward, his face now brightened from his previous piss poor mood. ( what can he say, a nice lookin’ girl giving him attention is like soup for the soul. ) “how ‘bout you make me your favourite? something sweet ’n refreshing. just — no fruits. sent me to the hospital a couple of times, and i’d hate to ruin this perfect day with an emergency. you get me, right?”

the real story was that he ate too many fruits high in fiber, and eight-year-old hansol knew fuck-all about what the nurses were telling him, so he simply declared war on the entire category.

[hansolbe]

“what makes you think this is about you?”

hansol taps the lollipop against his lips, which remain stretched in a not-so-subtle shit-eating grin. seeing sua hold herself back from giving into the disdain that’s evident in her glare is like having an entire cake to himself; it’s a feast for the eyes, and it tastes just as sweet. “you don’t think minyoung can pull me on her own?”

he can leave it at that, send sua on her way with something to dwell on, and call it a day, but where’s the satisfaction — where’s the thrill in that?

“she talked about you, y’know. told me a lot ‘bout ya. how you kept goin’ after the guys she was into, how she never once stood a chance with you being around, stealin’ all the spotlight. the guy you went home with last night. did you know she was wanting to talk to him? worked up all that courage, and you swiped him right in front of her. tsk tsk. what kind of friend are you?” that was not at all what minyoung spoke of, but what’s the harm in a little exaggeration.

“poor girl, so plain and boring compared to pretty and fun sua. she went on and on ‘bout that, and y’know what?” he pops the lollipop back in his mouth and crunches it between his teeth. “she’s right.”

hansol tosses the stick into the small garden of daisies by the door side. then with his now free hand, he reaches up, the back of his fingers ghosting along the side of sua’s face. it’s almost comical how affectionate the gesture comes off. “hair’s in place …” he grabs her chin, turning her head ever so slightly, his eyes brushing over her features. “face still pretty …” he leans in, drops his voice to a low drawl. “… and a bad mood. he didn’t fuck you right, did he?”

a short laugh escapes him, a sickly cherry sweet.

“should’ve gone home with me, dollface.”

picture this, she's eleven (give or take!)-- and the girl at school with the pretty pigtails points and says my mom said we should be nice to you because your parents left you. she says a lot of stuff after that, but sua doesn't remember what she was spewing at the time. words and bits come to her, sad and mean and accident through the ringing in her ears and the blood in her mouth. she doesn't remember throwing the punch, but she remembers the feeling of her knuckles splitting when it happened.

it's a familiar rage. her fingers are starting to curl into a fist as she stares-- eyes darting from hansol, to behind him where minyoung no doubtedly is. hansol's greeting makes her eye twitch, but she's still stunned and seething, quiet as she tracks every motion the man makes. he's grinning,so smug that it makes sua's teeth grit. she wants to punch him in the same way she did that brat in primary school. the same way she wants to hit minyoung when she sees her face pop over his shoulder, answering to dollface. ugh.

it's bold, even for minyoung to invite her in so brazenly, but it's probably not as bold as sleeping with someone your friend's been interested in-- or was. maybe the girl was more cunning than sua took her to be, as spineless and kind as she liked to seem. "so much for girl code," sua scoffs under her breath as she watches minyoung dart away. coward! at least face me yourself! she wants to yell at her retreating back, but that would mean breaking face in front of hansol, and sua would rather put a gun in her mouth than do that.

slowly, sua's eyes drift back to man in question, frowning as she pins her glare on him. honestly, if she thinks about it-- maybe minyoung was powerless. hansol's good at talking, knows what people like to hear. minyoung was probably helpless against whatever string of pretty words the man had likely pulled right out of his ass.

"you're starting to be a real thorn in my side, you know that?" sua bites out, voice low. it stings for him to go after someone in her circle of friends, close enough to her that she can feel that it's personal. she's already suffering through a hangover and lack of sleep, and noe she has to deal with this? "so, what? i don't give you enough attention, so you decide to go fuck one of my friends?" a disbelieving laugh leaves her. it's diabolical in a way sua wishes she did it first.

minyoung still hasn't come back down. sua wonders if she will, with how fast she scurried out of here. exhaling sharply through her nose, her jaw clenches as sua folds her arms across her chest. "did you at least pretend to care about her? or were you too busy thinking about how mad this would make me?"

[hansolbe]

hansol is an eyesore. cheetah prints, silk trousers, a fur coat slung over one shoulder — it’s boastful and boisterous, much like the man himself. he caught the attention of the distinguished guests upon his ( no less than grand ) entrance, but that attention soon trickled over to someone else: a girl in a clear hand-me-down black dress and wobbly heels.

“you’re not from around here, are ya?” he doesn’t mean locationally. “those got you lookin’ like bambi on ice. no offense, it was cute to watch.”

hansol tosses his coat aside and takes a seat on the opposite end of the plush bench, his eyes closing as he leans his head back against the wall. “tiring, isn’t it? all this fake flattery is giving me a damn headache.”

a moment later, he muses, “youth is in the mind.” the theme for tonight’s exhibit. “otherwise known as a collection of artwork made by trust fund babies going through a quarter-life crisis ’cause they haven’t made a name for themselves in anything more than shoddy golfing and shady gambling. art’s the easiest. anyone can throw paint on a canvas and claim that it represents ‘the fragility of the soul’ or whatever the fuck that guy was going on about.”

he cracks one eye open at her. “you’re obviously the exception. how did my mother find you?”

for @hansolbe (contrast)

with the art gallery’s doors open to the many invited wealthy art appreciators, it had finally come time for the newest exhibition to begin. soft piano music filled the building as individuals have their attention to each piece, but one of the stars of the exhibit was internally dying.

bora knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime; she never expected an art connoisseur to be interested in her work. her biggest issue was the fact that, well… she simply felt out of place there. she could see the unimpressed look in their eyes when they spoke to her. it didn’t help that her mother’s black dress was obviously not as expensive compared to the other guests’ high-end formal clothing. there was something nagging at the back of her mind: “what are you doing here?”

but right now, she had more pressing matters to deal with than fighting her own self doubt. such as… how walking in these uncomfortable heels was the second worst part of the night! “ugh, i don’t think i’m ever wearing these again…” mumbling to herself as she sits down on one of the gallery’s plush seats, bora closed her eyes with a sigh.

her small moment to zone out is interrupted by someone calling out to her, but he didn’t sound like the elegant and softer voices that were accompanying her all night. with bora’s eyes blinking back open, she looked up to the voice since she didn’t quite hear him. “h-huh?”

[hansolbe]

“my brothers used to lock me in wardrobes.” ah, yes. nothing says hello, nice to meet you than casual trauma-dumping. “you know the wooden antique ones? the ones with a latch so it couldn’t be pushed open from the inside? yeah, sometimes when they didn’t wanna hear me, they’d shove me in one of those and i’d kick and scream at it for who knows how long ‘til the housekeeper came around and found me.”

the story changes a bit every time hansol tells it. sometimes, he’s playing hide-and-seek and got trapped in a wardrobe. sometimes, it’s actually his father that threw him in. he doesn’t remember the exact details. all he knows is that it happened once, twice, several times – enough to trigger a creeping, crawling sense of dread that he’s very much trying to ignore. it doesn’t work. ignoring, that is.

“so that’s why —” hansol kicks the elevator doors again, hard. “— I CAN’T —” KICK! “— FUCKING —” KICK! “— GET STUCK —” KICK! “— IN HERE!”

hyejin just wants to push herself into the wall to get away from this feeling overcoming her. she hates it. enclosed places aren't her favorite and the one time she takes the elevator it had to stop working.

once the lights cut off though, she can feel the anxious feeling wanting to hit her. this sucks. she knew she should have taken the stairs instead.

she just watches him press the help button, hoping someone will do something. this shouldn't be happening at least that was what she kept telling herself. she can't stop the way she flinches a bit, trying not to stay as calm as possible even though she knew she was failing.

she had been shaking already and not having a way to get help just made it all worse. how long would they be in here? she didn't want to think about that and instead focused on her breathing that felt a lot heavier than usual.

hearing him laughing caught her off guard. she wasn't expecting that and it just made her wanna stay away from him even more. she turned her gaze away from the light, not wanting to be blind at this moment. "sure, go right ahead. not like we have anything better to do."

[hansolbe]

VALENTINE’S PLAYLIST : love (?) life

burn down this room — ruben you think i like to play the victim, say that it’s clear in how i speak / i’m not leaving quiet, baby / which one of us can scream the loudest?

how could u love somebody like me? — artemas i couldn’t hurt somebody so sweet, but it’s turning me on just watching you leave

why’d you only call me when you’re high? — arctic monkeys now, it’s three in the mornin’ and i’m tryna’ change your mind / left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply, “why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

&

their pov.

honest — kristian kostov what about our promise? what about the things that we could have? / you keep getting better at stories

idfc — blackbear tell me pretty lies / tell me that you love me, even if it’s fake

teeth — 5sos sometimes you’re a stranger in my bed / don’t know if you love me, or you want me dead

toxic till the end — rosé i said “i never wanna see your face,” i meant, i couldn’t wait to see it again / ’cause even when i said it was over, you heard “baby, can you pull me in closеr?”

f**k you — silent child everything you ever loved has tried to escape you, so why would i want anything to do with you?

[hansolbe]

hansol nudges the bridge of his cartiers down just enough to peer over the rim. now that he’s actually looking at her, there’s a strange familiarity in her features, but he can’t quite place where he’s seen her before. sure, he usually encounters upwards to a few hundred people every other day, but a pretty face like this? hard to forgot.

he brushes it off. that’s another thought for another day.

“enlighten me, then.” hansol hooks an arm around her shoulders and gestures towards the painting with his champagne flute. “how would you interpret this?” perhaps if he were pressed to make some sort of judgement, he’d say that the perfect red circles growing larger and more and more distorted could represent anger, but at the end of the day, it’s still a series of circles.

the artist, looking a bit hesitant, opens his mouth to restart his explanation, but hansol shushes him with a single finger lifted from his drink.

“shhh. where are your manners? it’s rude to talk over someone.” the artist shuts up immediately. hansol turns his attention back to the girl. “you were saying?”

despite having graduated, it wasn't uncommon for chaerin to be invited to gallery events. although she prayed that this idol life worked out for her, if things turned for the worst, she'd have to dip her way back into this art world anyway. it's why she kept in contact with professors and peers.

she was at a charity art auction tonight, dressed lavishly for the first time in a while. she's simply admiring the work, taking a look at the small explanations written for each of them when she's taken off guard by the rude remarks made by a gentleman she's never seen before.

now, chaerin couldn't possibly know every single person in this room, but they were mostly friendly faces. this man, however, she's never seen before, and she couldn't imagine who they were that they could exlaim such things so boldly. "i'm sure he has an explanation for every stroke and shape he's put into this piece," she stated, trying her best to keep her composure.

even if he was the world's greatest artist, chaerin couldn't simply stand around and listen to the derogatory remarks being made by him. "you may not want to pay 30 million for it, but someone obviously did. perhaps you just can't understand the world behind this piece."

[hansolbe]

“you were looking for me?”

and there it is — that cocky son of a gun grin that flashes the top row of pearly whites, his trademark gotcha. he throws his arm around jaesung’s shoulders and pulls him in close so he can tell him, all hush now, “you’re mine tonight, ‘kay?”

... not that jaesung has a choice. everyone here knows that once hansol’s arm is around someone, that person is off-limits. ( of course, he welcomes any and all attempts. that just gives him – as the law puts it – reasonable cause. )

“whatcha got here?” hansol plucks the drink out of jaesung’s hand and throws it back, his face immediately scrunching up at the taste. “you like this? jae. c’mon, now. let’s get you something better.” he tosses the glass aside and drags jaesung over to the bar, where he then greets the bartender with a holler. “good to see you alive, man. that cut looks nasty. but hey, glad you’re back at it. the temp was utter shit.”

“get me the usual? double for him.” he gives jaesung’s shoulder a squeeze. “what’s your poison, baby? gin? vodka?”

not being one to miss out on having a good time, jae knew he had eyes on him. it definitely was what he was going for but he wanted the attention from only one person. he hadn't seen him yet so he preoccupied himself by enjoying a little drink that he had gotten a bit ago.

sure he didn't interact with many around and ignored all the looks from other guys around but it didn't stop the playful grin that spread across his lips. he doesn't even notice someone draw near until he feeling himself getting grabbed around his waist.

he feels himself almost jump but stops once seeing that it was hansol. he almost wants to roll his eyes but instead just gives the other a pout before it morphs back into a smile.

his cheeks become a bit red as he looks at the other a bit fondly. "you like it? seems i caught the attention of the one i wanted." he teased a bit. "i was wondering if i'd get you to come over. didn't see you when i got here."

[hansolbe]

VALENTINE’S HC : on love

hansol was raised in a wealthy transactional family, so he only understands relationships as a means to gain favour and solidify power. his father was a huge influence for this sort of mindset, having married his first wife for prestige and his second wife to secure access to powerful politicians. his second wife, hansol’s mother, let it slip that he wasn’t wanted, but needed.

what he thinks is “love” is actually feelings of ownership, but his love is fickle. he gives in too easily to temptation, always chasing what’s exciting at the expense of those who genuinely care for him. but he doesn’t abandon, not entirely, and especially not if you have something to offer him. he usually comes crawling back with sweet talk.

on that note, if anyone confesses to him, he might fuck around and confess too without really meaning it. … then he’ll dodge any conversation of making it official. it’s not consciously intentional on his part, but he does string people along and take advantage of their love.

if he confesses, don’t believe it.

but in the rare instance where hansol actually does like someone, buckle up, ’cause it will get messy. he doesn’t know how to have genuine conversations about feelings because he throws out the word love so easily that it loses meaning. it’s likely that he’ll drag this someone through a lot of pain before it eventually becomes a boy who cried wolf situation, where he’s insistent on his love, but they don’t believe him anymore. ( side note ~ if this is something you’d like to explore, hmu. i’d love to torture him with unrequited love because hey, it’s deserved. )

hansol doesn’t look for love, and he doesn’t truly believe anyone who confesses. this is because deep down, he doesn’t think he’s meant for it. his family, who are supposed to love him the most, have turned their backs to him. he knows that they see him as a blemish they can’t get rid of, and that’s what he’s afraid of — he doesn’t fear abandonment. he fears being tolerated.

[hansolbe]

ah? was that exasperation he just heard? has he finally broken through the ice?

“so needy,” hansol drawls, gliding back over to luciel to take both of his hands. then, with slow, graceful steps that is very unbecoming of his usual rambunctious flair, he starts skating backwards and pulling luciel along.

“is it really pain that keeps you alive, or is it anger? spite? i told you about my old man, didn’t i? how he used to lock me out, send me away, had me thrown in the water under the guise of teaching me how to swim. he wanted me gone. i’m sure he still prays for it now, but god hates him even more than i do.” he barks out a laugh.

it’s not painful for him to recount these memories. they’re just funny little anecdotes that he sprinkles in here and there for the occasional shock effect.

( and yet, his grip tightened ever so slightly around luciel’s hands when he spoke of them. it was subtle — so subtle that it could’ve been the wind. )

“you’d think that i would hate my name since it’s a constant reminder that i’m his son, but i adore it. song hansol. i love it ’cause i know he hates it. i know he regrets passing down the family name to me. and that’s spite, darling.” the last part he sing-songs in english.

“so what is it really? anger, spite?” hansol raises an eyebrow. “regret, or fear?”

a nice way to say ‘weird’, luciel thinks to himself. on several occasions, he’s been called weird, for not fitting into the norm, perhaps. it’s something that has stuck onto luciel since he was a kid, and also a reason why he was isolated, until he learnt how to play the role of an obedient, good boy.

then there’s genuine curiosity — is luciel torturing himself? he wonders. “does bad memories always have to be suffocating?” he skates forward a bit. “isn’t there a saying… pain keeps you alive? maybe it’s like that. reminding myself of bad memories keeps me alive.” it eats at him, and consumes him, but even then, those are emotions, negative or not.

luciel skates a little more, momentarily lost in thought. just as he does, he loses his balance, not completely. he sways, and then wobbles, shoulders tensed up. he manages to prevent a fall, he wouldn’t have liked to get his pants wet or anything. letting out a sigh, he turns to hansol, “it looks like you’ll have to keep holding onto me, teacher.”

[hansolbe]

“i don’t want to talk about it,” hansol huffs, waving him off.

... except he does want to talk about it, and it’s evident in the cheshire grin that inches across his face like some shoddy villain from a bad horror flick.

“picture this.” hansol kicks back on his side of the booth, arms sprawled out across the top of the seat and table. “me, dressed as i am, mindin’ my own business, y’know, as i do. and this guy — he had a girl with him, and she recognized me. said she liked my remixes, so of course i invited her to the blackout ’cause i’m dj-ing there tomorrow. asshole of the year didn’t like that. he got right in my face and started accusing me of the craziest shit. and next thing i knew, security was pulling me off of — hey, sugar. working late these days, aren’t ya?”

he beams up at the waitress who smacks him with her order pad, telling him to quiet down, he’s disturbing the other customers. his protest is lost to her pointedly turning to stevie to ask, ‘ready to order?’

after she scribbles a few words down and takes her leave, hansol lets up. “how ‘bout you? what have you been up to these days? you still in the market?” he leans across the table and lowers his voice, his eyes flicking over to the waitress who’s punching in their orders. “she’s got a thing for clumsy blondes.”

stevie won't lie, he's pretty tired post practice-- but the prospect of meeting up with hansol was too exciting for him to turn it down. when's the next time he's going to see him? stevie can spare a few hours of sleep and hanging out with his boyfriend to check in on a friend. he makes it to their meeting place in one piece, thankfully; fatigue be damned.

when hansol does arrive, throwing an arm around stevie's shoulders-- he laughs out in greeting, returning the hug with an added pat to the back. "i'm good, i'm good!" he gives the other a thumbs up once they've parted from the hug, adjusting his grip on his board. it's a damn accomplishment for stevie to finally start getting to placed without sporting an injury of any sort. he used to run through boxes of bandaids and rolls of bandages a year ago. now it's on a much more-- he'd probably consider normal rate for skateboarders. "it's nice to see you, man!"

hansol's sporting only a minuscule amount of injuries today-- and stevie thinks that should be a progress check for him too. they're at a diner rather than a hospital? stevie would consider that a win in his book.

once they're settled inside, stevie looking over the menu-- he looks up as hansol speaks, then back down. "i think once? i definitely got a milkshake. not cookies and cream though..." he think it was probably some kind of candy concoction, he's sure. "that does sound good. you said their burgers aren't any good?" stevie's never been that big of a burger fan; a burger is a burger to him, honestly. if he's hungry, he's hungry.

after a moment of scrutinizing the menu in thoughtful silence, stevie chances a glance back up, then flips the menu. "so did you eat shit somewhere, or...? that lip looks nasty. slash pos."