suspension.

srkiyong:

"i like hanging out with you anyway." she informs him as he grins wryly at her, insists that he has had no luck in order to be stuck like this. "its a bummer you don't appreciate met the way that you should." she adds in wistful complaint, lowerlip jutting out slightly as she tilts her head to the side, hair spilling over her shoulder only to tousle, tangle into knots and waves and curls thats to the gentle wisp of the wind. kiyong is mischief to his core, slanted smiles and wicked eyes, and she wonders sometimes how she fell in with such dubious partners in crime. she could have been a quiet soul - nerdy and prone to too many hours bent over a tablet but, no, her grandfather's spirit was too strong in her, her own strangenesses awoken by the oddness of their little city.  "besides, you find my enthusiasm endearing." she adds brightly, as if it were an incontestable fact, shifts to hop down to the playground surface to retrieve her bag.

kiyong is awfully pretty now, with his head tipped back and a ring of smoke around him like a halo, obscuring sharp features in an almost artful manner. its the kind of thing she'd like to draw, so she focuses in on it, on him, just for a moment, gaze like a shutter to capture the picture of him, store it in her memory. she moves to sit beside him again, hands off the flask and exhales softly when his tone shifts. they deal with things in different ways. kiyong is desperate to avoid his memories, miso finds herself desperate to drown in her own, to explain and understand, to categorize and articulate. "not really." she admits, lets her head drop for a moment, gaze examining her toes as silence shifts, settles heavy between them. "i'm sorry. i just - " she exhales, "i want answers, you know? i just want answers." she pushes her hand back through her hair, rights herself once more, shifting to thump her shoulder against his with a little chuckle. like she can forcefully laugh it away.

it doesn't work though, because his tone pulls flat and hard, one she is all too familiar with, knows she's struck a nerve. she's worried him - and she knows that, and she hates that, but she hates the unknowing more. hates the indifference everyone leveled at the loss - oh, the forest, another victim, how sad...but how routine. how ordinary. just another little girl lost in the forests. "I just hate how...how no one even blinks, you know? its hard to raise kids in iri, oh man, always wandering into trouble. and...and dying. kids just die here. people die - or just vanish, go missing, whatever. and no one...its just so normal no one cares. no one cares enough." she stresses the final word, with a sort of earnestness. sometimes she wonders if she feels too much, enough for all the glazed over emotions of the town, all bundled into one.

"i know its stupid. i...i probably wouldn't even do it, honestly. i've had years to go in there, after all, and i still haven't. not for...long enough." she points out, takes another gulp and hands it away, a burn down her throat that almost soothes. "it might be nice. " she decides after a moment of silence, shifts her hand to slip it into his, fingers tangling together, palms pressed tight. "if miyeon thought it was fairies. if she thought she could find them, in the forest. she loves that kind of stupid shit." she sniffs, quick, "it'd be nice if they compliment you up until the end of it, too, you know. whatever it is. maybe it isn't the worst way to go. i just." she pauses, exhales and leans her head against the other's shoulder. "i just wish that i knew what happened to her."

( once upon a dream.

eunbyulsr:

miso bends over the tablet, tired eyes squinting as she wields the stylus-slash-pen between her fingers, etching practiced lines to bring her little band of heroes to life. its some time nearing two in the morning, and she's desperately wishing it had been a fourth sunday - what she wouldn't give for an extra hour in her evening to meet her deadlines. of course they're self imposed, in fairness. she's the one who decided to publish a new chapter ever monday, wednesday, and friday, but now her readers expect it, and she needs the money, needs to be reliable and consistent, and on the whole its a lot of pressure sometimes. especially when she's been horribly blocked up on ideas all week, which means she's nearing the end of her pre-planned material, scrambling to figure out what to do next.

the next thing she knows, she isn't drawing delicate bows and magical girl weaponry anymore, she's blinking her eyes open in the middle of a meadow. it smells of lavender and pine, even if the sky is an odd sort of shade, even if all the light seems to spill from the sky itself. it has her energized immediately, pleased and suddenly enthused. of course- the dreams, she can bring the dreams into the comic! instantly, she holds a sketchbook and pencil in her hands, begins to swoop lines over the page to capture the ideas suddenly bursting from her, a desperate hope that she can embed the ideas in her muscles, recall them when she wakes.

just as soon as they come they vanish, however, momentarily chased away by the distraction of a voice, ringing pretty and tentative from behind her. miso's head turns instinctive, curious, head tilting to the side to examine the other girl, a slight squint. she's seen her around before - iri is small - but the only people she's ever dreamed with lately tend to be, well, a bit more important to her. she supposes it makes sense though, perhaps its just the luck of the draw.

"yes, well, nice to see you also." she replies easily, a quick chuckle on her lips, twisting towards something like a scoff. "have you dreamed the meadow before? I haven't, in a bit. its awfully nice right?"

secrecy.

srjaesung:

jaesung is stupidly handsome, even prone on the ground in the middle of a dying land. the red glow of the sun paints him over in bronze and gold, and miso takes just a second longer to move, to act, to speak - just to look. it had all been so terribly easy once, being around him. smiling with him, laughing with him, loving him. but she complicated it, ruined it, as she does everything, and now they limp along, lingering beside each other, grasping at a past that escapes them. "don't pretend you don't dream about me." she teases easily, extends a hand to pull him up to his feet,  a grin widening on her lips as he groans and grumbles, smirks easy at her, its his go-to expression; wielded like a sword, worn like a shield.

it suits him at least, fits with the way his eyes glitter with mischief, and something sadder - a darker and deeper expression that layers beneath outward extroversion. he never fought the breakup, never asked her why, seemed to take it all in stride when she came back to him anyway, without the labels. but it was easier for her to write it off as punishment for herself. of course he wouldn't mind. of course he wouldn't fight it - why would he? why would anyone? maybe that helped drag her back in anyway, sliding under his sheets late at night, when kiyong is out with remi, or busy, or asleep. when the quiet of the world makes it seem like it could be just them again, and no one else.

she likes this dream, she decides, exactly because of that. because of the quiet around them, the still surety that in all this world, they are the only two living beings. its the only way the world makes sense to her; in isolation, and with him. "i dreamed myself a better outfit, which helps." she informs him, when he turns to scan the city, laughs quick. "but its kind of beautiful, right. everything is so still. like its just us." she explains, reaches over to grab his hand on instinct, wind tousling through their hair, the quiet howl of it through the crumbling buildings, "lets explore." she adds, tugs at his hand before she pauses, a contemplative look crossing her features before she examines him, dreams him into a pair of well fitting black leather pants and a snug white tshirt. "now you're a hot explorer, cmon." she hums, nose scrunching playfully as he squirms in place.

you’re one of god’s mistakes

srjaeho:

living with her two best friends is perfect.

okay, its mostly perfect. her two best friends happen to also be full grown men, which takes it down a notch, and jaesung spends more time on his hair than she does, and kiyong is such an emotional rollercoaster it can be tiring, and there are always socks on the floor and beer cans around, but on the whole, its great, it really is. its not great for keeping secrets, but that's another story.

for the most part, miso loves living with them because she hates being alone. it makes her skin crawl. the quiet, the silence, the stillness. she's an extrovert to the extreme, and an emotional leech. she needs people around her, with her, needs to draw that energy from them to keep herself going. left alone too long, she starts to implode. it begins with boredom and restlessness, escalates in to anxiety and the fluttering beat of her heart as she remembers, acutely, each of her sins, replaying themselves behind her eyelids, threatening to drag her down. whispers in her head promise her failures and rejection, detail the punishments she deserves for her myriad transgressions.

to combat them, when there are no available options physically, miso turns to the internet. with both the boys out for the night doing who knows what (or who), she finds herself scrolling, scowling, through instagram, snapchat, twitter. she updates here and there, blindly pins a few pictures, opens her empty texts for the hundredth time before she sees his name. "jaehoppa" with a heart, a skull and crossbones, a kiss. opening the conversation reveals what she knew already - he's on a date tonight, with his girlfriend. her lips quirk slightly and she looks at the clock. 11:30. maybe he's thinking he'll get laid tonight.

she navigates to instagram and posts a picture.

its from a few weeks ago, kiyong sloppy drunk, lips pressed to her cheek, his hand clutched around her waist, her own cheeks flushed and smile wide, hair tousled. she wonders if it will prompt him to text her, at least, considers another picture, gets lost in a thread on a forum when the door slams open, bangs shut, and she sits up wide eyed, momentarily, before her surprise flutters into an expression of smug surety. "i don't know who you're talking about. its just me here tonight, babe, were you looking for one of the boys?" her tone is all lightness and ease, unbothered despite the racing of her pulse, the surge of adrenaline that courses in her veins even as she lays back in place against the couch, lifts her phone to scroll as if unbothered. she pauses, glances up at him. “you look a little flushed, you feeling okay?” 

suspension.

srkiyong:

the sight of the pair together is not something that would surprise anyone. its been this way for years, the two of them - the three of them, with jaesung - against the world. miso had returned from new zealand shattered. years of bullying and isolation, cruelty and hatred, fear and loneliness had left her starved for validation, attention, affection. she had been homesick for iri to the point of illness and with the taint of strangeness on her, the eerie touch of the city woven into the fabric of her being, no one else had ever really understood her. she put people off, in the outside world, weirded them out. they glanced over her, around her, turned away from her. but coming back to iri, to strangeness and wonder, to kiyong and jaesung, it had been exactly what she needed to pull her out of that darkness- and into another. she started acting out then, lashing out and running wild, thriving on the adrenaline and the camaraderie and the attention, and its never stopped since then. she feeds off it, needs it. she feels often as though the moment eyes turn from her, she stops existing - suspended in limbo, lost. kiyong always turns back to her, sticks to her side, slouches into her room late at night to bum a smoke or crawl into her bed, an easy feat considering he's just down the hall. she loves them, her boys, and she needs them.

she and kiyong, though, they share a secret. the kind of secret that could ruin their makeshift little family, crush everything they had all built together, reaffirm both of their worst fears in the process. so perhaps, really, kiyong just gets it - gets her - more than anyone else. he knows her darkest moments, after all. he was part of them.

he tugs at her leg and she slips slightly, laughing loudly and brightly even despite the wobble of her senses and the shift in her balance, fingers tightening against the metal as she straightens herself up, cheeks aching by the time she's stabilized again. she swats a hand playfully at his thigh, pushes at his knee. "jerk." she declares, names him this thing with a smile on her lips, and a lack of sincerity that betrays her amusement easily, if that could even be questioned. her pulse rushes, races in her skin, pounds against the cage of her ribs, the adrenaline flushing her cheeks (an unfortunate tell she's never been able to stifle) and lights brightness in her eyes. "you're such a fucking killjoy." she murmurs, squeezes a hand against his knee regardless. kiyong's relationship with the supernatural is complicated - so is her own. they deal with a similar loss in very different ways, but they both understand each other, at least, enough to play along.

"i'll always share with you, oppa." she assures him in her best saccharine sweet impression of a smitten young woman, bats long lashes at him before she's scrambling back down again, hauls the flask up with her this time, sets the squared off lilac fabric of the bag (a gift from the boy at the top of the structure, in fact)  to rest precariously leaned against the lower rungs. "dunno, so i can say i've seen it? get a picture for the pamphlet, maybe. bet they'd buy it off me."  she makes her way back up and hands it off to him, trades it for the cigarette, breathes in deep, the smell of smoke familiar in her lungs before she exhales slow. "maybe i just want to see if my luck can really get worse." she trails out, examining the glowing ember at the end of her cigarette, glances down at the playground beneath them. she takes the flask from him, fits it to her lips and pulls a gulp. "i want to go into the woods. i mean, i've been in, you know. but deeper. i've never heard the whispers more than barely. i wonder if it gets louder, the deeper you get. i wonder if they say something else, besides the compliments."