#wingedvictor

[viragosoul]

*   out of time    ⏤⏤⏤⏤    @wingedvictor​

all directions eventually lead her to nam minjun, and she can’t fucking stand it.

siyeon holds trust in patterns, motifs in life; things don’t come to people in a repetitive nature out of plain coincidence. no, call it the universe’s way of getting your attention, trying to spur you in the right direction. it’s somewhat of a rule that she has a steadfast belief in, as it always seems to eventually work in her favor in the end. but within the proceeding months of their break up it feels like this same rule is working to her detriment instead ⏤ seeing him in the red and green meetings should be more than enough exposure. does she really need to catch glimpses of him in the hallway while moving from one classroom to the next? or even on the field during soccer practice, despite the fact that they are on two distinctly different teams? it becomes increasingly laborious to pretend that minjun is a breeze of the wind and not the only man that has managed to actually sweep her off of her feet, despite that phrase not matching the minjun of mugunghwa.

and it feels like the more she tries to fight the universe’s demands, the stronger it’s pull becomes. as such, it doesn’t make any sense that he out of all people would also have the same idea as her, showing up in the exhibition hall dangerously close to midnight to get a headstart on setting up for opening day; especially since the main reason for being here this late was to avoid him, among other reasons. it also doesn’t make sense that minjun’s space seems to be only an arm’s length away from hers, making it impossible to not have fleeting moments of eye contact while working amidst the tranquil stillness, thankful that indistinct lighting above hides the abrupt flush that runs through her body at every startling meeting. can you act like you’ve been alone with an ex before, self? thanks.

time passes by like that for a bit, siyeon focusing on her own project at hand and assuming he’s doing the same. but there comes a point where things are no longer working the same way it did while she was in the studio. it’s as if pieces are falling apart, unable to stand up on their own, which would require a little extra work to hold it steady ⏤ a two person operation instead of one. absolutely not. her back remains to the only person that could help her at this time while she busies herself to work on it on her own, groaning each time the structure falls to the ground with a cling clang that rips through the serenity. by the third time of the same, she sighs. “i wouldn’t ask if i didn’t need this,” siyeon says, voice deadpan as she turns to face minjun, swallowing the lump of inconsistent emotions that comes with not working through a sudden break up, “could you just⏤ hold this for me while i put this together?”

[dia1tone]

INT. SON FAMILY RESIDENCE - EVENING @wingedvictor, nam minjun approx. 3 months after jisoo’s death

outside, the sun is setting. 

jiyeon lies on her side, hands between her thighs, as she contemplates the ability to pack someone’s entire life away using just a dozen carboard boxes. 

the threadbare clothing, the middle school medals, the collected knick-knacks; all gone save for the lingering dust to show that he had really existed at all.

in retrospect, it was likely not healthy for her to wallow for as long as she did. but what part of guilt or grief was ever truly reasonable? 

the minutes tick by, voices from downstairs carry. 

“why aren’t you saying anything?” the voices continue and she meets eyes with minjun. there’s a deep sigh sitting in jiyeon’s chest. minjun leans against the doorframe and jiyeon sits up. 

a whisper of a smile unfurls on her lips as she invites minjun to take a seat in the space next to her. “you forgot the fourth step creaks.” a sad realization, a reminder that they all change and forget and grow and become the adults they said they never would. 

“i missed you,” i miss being a child, i wish i had done things differently; why must this be the life i live? “how was your summer?”

[invalidater]

for @wingedvictor​.

it’s a well-known fact that junjae’s not the most dedicated team player – he barely shows up for soccer practice, and when he does, he’s late half the time. jisoo was no big fan of his, and honestly, junjae knows at the back of his mind that minjun probably isn’t either. 

not that it fazes him. what’s important is that junjae likes his new soccer captain much more, regardless of what he thinks of him. minjun doesn’t nag at junjae the way jisoo used to, doesn’t mind when junjae saunters into the soccer field thirty minutes after warm-ups have ended, and most importantly - never says anything about junjae’s behaviour to the school. so even though junjae’s still reeling from the shock of his ex-captain’s death, uncomfortable with the knowledge that someone he knew had passed away in this very campus, he can’t deny the fact that he’s enjoying the soccer team’s new leadership style much more now.

the cherry on top lands right in the palm of his hand when he walks into the band’s practice room, fifteen minutes after practice has ended. here’s the scene he’s met with: two esteemed keepers of mugunghwa with their clothes off, one taken and the other who just so happens to be the new captain of the howlites. interesting, junjae thinks, as he shuts the door slowly after the shocked faces of miyoung and minjun are recorded in his mind. 

call him despicable, but junjae would do anything to benefit him. so he keeps mum about what he sees, knowing that this information is worth much more than a moment of gossip spread in the hallways. and after soccer practice the next day, he stays back in the locker room, casually tapping away at his phone while he waits for his beloved captain to walk in. “hey cap!” he cheerfully waves. “thought that you and i might have some things to discuss.”

[96ymh]

minjun.

[ ... ]

and so, minjun doesn't say a thing. instead, he focuses his attention on wiping his face with the back of his hand, willing his skin to soak up his perspiration. "i'm not the one that is hurt." he rebuts, nodding in the direction of minhyuk's bandages. "are they from the fire?"

minjun's concern startlingly reminds him that the road to hell is paved with the best intentions, a slippery slope that he only finds himself sliding further down the longer he stands there like animal caught in a trap. the more the other talks, the more the burden of an overdue conversation presses down on his shoulders and it somehow feels like they're saying everything but nothing at the same time. he places himself in minjun's shoes and supposes panic and the fear of an open ending is something that necessitates hammering down your estranged cousin's door when the clock's just struck one in the morning, but minhyuk thinks he left half of his mind back at the staircase earlier that night because his mouth opens and closes with no words.

he doesn't know what to say. most of all, he wonders whether minjun would've done this eight years ago if he had known how things would turn out instead of offering radio silence. it feels much too little much too late and he'd be lying if he said the sight of the other on his front porch doesn't leave a bitter taste lingering in his mouth the way it had all those years ago, that same drop to the pit of his stomach and teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

"okay." he says, words feeling like cotton in his mouth. it feels like someone else is talking for him, the ringing in his ears only worsening every time he tries to say anything. "yeah ㅡ it was near the library. one of the accommodation blocks. i don't know, i just saw and smelt smoke coming from somewhere."

but minhyuk can't penalise him. he's never been able to and he still can't now, the resentment itching at his skin subduing with a sullen sort of fatigue. he's sick of having to act like caring for each other is something that should be stigmatised and kept in the shadows of their family.

he can't put it into words, of course. the only problem is that he can't quite put it into actions either.

"i'm not injured." intuitively his arm moves to behind his back, like minjun's eyes hadn't already caught sight of the bandages. there's a sort of sardonic irony to this, and his gaze flickers over to where he knows there's a scar underneath the fabric of minjun's shirt, some old wound like some twisted gift minhyuk had left him. the subsequent breath that comes out is shaky, defensive. "it's nothing."

"i'm not the one that looks like they're going to pass out any second." there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before, like he's sharpening his words to twist like knives into minjun. the remainder of the anger minhyuk wasn't able to tuck away into the corners of his brain. "what do you want from me, minjun? i'm fine."

you're too late is the silent addition to the end of those words. he's not as merciful as he thought he was.

[plctwists]

for @wingedvictor​​

mina can count on one hand the number of times she held a proper conversation with minjun before jisoo’s death. their interactions have always been limited; exchange of waves during the rare moments she graced jisoo’s football matches with her presence, sharing shots of tequila and concerned “you sure you’re okay?” at after-parties, tipsy smiles with kiss-swollen lips whenever she crashed their dinner plans. no one can fault mina for that, really – jisoo’s presence had always felt disproportionately large, coruscating colours so vivid it reduced everyone else around him to a shadow.

sometimes, mina wonders if she was supposed to despise it - hate the way he unwittingly dulled her blaze into nothing but a mere smoulder. truthfully, it’d been quite the contrary; in fact, she’d been enamored by his mercurial highs, the kaleidoscope of impulses and affection he had in him – a capricious, blinding force of a boy.

minjun is not jisoo - not even in the slightest. maybe that’s why she doesn’t shift her gaze away when he stares at an intensity that prickles her skin (and perhaps, the intoxicating rush of how illicit these inactions are play a factor as well.) there’s something irrevocably bewitching about the tenebrosity in his eyes and the hollowness in his smile, much unlike jisoo with the fervent glint in his eyes and his self-assured grins. an ambiguity that reminds her of herself, one that she seeks to unravel. (when she looks at him, he doesn’t speak - just dares her to try.)

and so, they meet. again and again and again. sometimes under falsehoods and other times, under truths, stretched so far to the point of disbelief. jisoo left this at your house, can i come pick it up? jisoo loved eating this, i don’t think i can finish it by myself - can we grab a meal together? they don’t do anything - they never do, but the deceit that inundates their time together and the ghost of their touches is enough of a sin.

they meet again today. mina says she can’t bear to use the brushes jisoo gifted her. asks if he’s got any to spare. minjun doesn’t question her - he never does, just shows up at the studio as if it’s an order, old tools steadily clasped in his hand.

“minjun,” she greets, knowing very well that every word that leaves her lips is an entrapment for him to plummet into, a treacherous dance that they’ve both entangled themselves into. neither of them are ever truthful with each other, shades of gray amidst the black and white letters, a language only they can decipher. “thanks for making the time for me, i know you must be busy.” looks up at him through fluttering lashes, bloodshot eyes, her gaze lingering a second too long.

[acrosol]

10:52pm on september 12, 2022 @ outside of the son's residences. // for @wingedvictor

lashing out at a friend was so unlike her. and yet the inescapable chaos of the dinner night somehow influenced yua's critical thinking skills in the worst way possible.

"minjun?" it was difficult to make out the face of the shadow a couple of metres away from her, so she takes a couple more steps until she recognises him. "minjun, we need to talk."

yua felt incredibly guilty for the harsh words she had pierced him with just a couple hours before. it was painfully evident in her body language: with her arms behind her back and her head hanging low in shame, she tried her best to make herself disappear into thin air. but no matter how hard she tried, yua was still here and she still had to clear things up between the two of them. no matter how awkward it would be.

"i'm really sorry about what i said earlier, i honestly don't know what came over me."

if she recalled correctly, the pair had never had an argument before-- and even though her verbal attack from earlier could hardly be labeled as a real argument, yua still felt as if there was an invisible brick wall between them. she didn't want to imagine what she would feel like if they were to ever get into a real fight.

"the dinner was just a little bit ... much for me. and then i also just had this stupid unnecessary argument with nika, you know ..." yua can't help but sigh. if there was anyone she was used to fighting with, it was her own girlfriend. "you know how awfully impulsive i can get when i'm nervous. i end up saying things i don't mean and then i regret them immediately after. just like right now." yua walks a couple more steps so she finally stands in front of minjun. "i'm just ... really, really sorry for what i said earlier." then she holds out her pinky like she is urging him to intertwine his with hers. "friends?"

[dia1tone]

to: @wingedvictor, @moonflcwrs, @plctwists, @viragosoul, @godhe4rt, ...

jiyeon [22:54] : hey, guys. sorry for the super late text. jiyeon [22:54] : with everything that's happened recently, i thought it'd be nice for us to get together. jiyeon [22:56] : i'd love to be able to host you all in my home and take a moment to reflect on the past few months. jiyeon [22:57] : please let me know! have a great night :-)

[96ymh]

minjun.

[...] please open the door. please be safe. please don't leave me. he utters silently, desperately, like a prayer to the gods. he wants to cry out, to call out his name and have him respond to it like he always did, but nothing could leave his mouth. not a word or sound. he could only do what he always does best, silently moil until he's heard, to keep pounding until someone comes, or until he breaks the door down. he can't stop, and he won't stop. not until he knows he's okay. he's already left him once, he can't have him leave again.

it's much easier to find hate where it's the residue of love.

he finds out in his seventeenth year that he can convert one into the other like clockwork and it comes to him naturally afterwards. he can't go to school anymore because he doesn't want to see his friends pity him. he can't work at his ex-favourite convenience store because too many people recognise him. he has to leave mugunghwa because the ghosts of the past won't stop pulling at his bones, and he feels sick whenever he sees his remaining family, tethered only by blood and nothing else worthwhile.

you're the worst of them all, part of him had wanted to say to minjun just to make the other feel as hurt as he did, you just fucking stood there and did nothing. except he could never bring himself to say it because he always freezes in front of him, mouth opening and closing with the heavy weight of unspoken apologies. the exact same way it does now when he opens the door, hands shaking.

there's a ringing noise in his ears that he attributes to the thunderous bangs of minjun's fist against the door. "what?" the word sounds distant even to himself and he can't swallow around the lump in his throat that feels alarmingly close to bile. each new detail of minjun's that his eyes catch reveal something more worrying than the last. the shaky sort of desperation that envelopes him, how he's not blinking, how minhyuk can see the thin sheen of sweat on his neck.

he thinks it's the smoke from 308 still fresh in his memory, everything veiled with a choking cloud of grey, that impairs his rationality because he reaches out automatically before stopping short of holding the younger's arm. his fingers only brush against his skin, and then he pulls back jerkily enough to startle even himself. "what's wrong?"

the crawling, slow realisation that he can't hate his cousin is bitter. but realising his cousin can't hate him either is arguably even worse. he's still found himself avoiding minjun like the black plague for the last two years, words clipped because he knows speaking too much means spilling too much. because he knows that if he catches minjun's eye across the library, neither of them will acknowledge it. because he knows that the best solution is to act like the familial relation everybody else acknowledges has flown over their heads.

he can't ignore it now. "i don't understand. what do you want from me? did somebody hurt you?" when there's no response, his voice comes out sharper than he wants it to, sick with worry. "minjun!ㅡ answer me."