ooc: hiatus on main for the next few months!
ooc: hiatus on main for the next few months!
ooc: hiatus on main for the next few months!
‘i love you’ not in the sense ‘i would take every burden you’ve ever carried and make it my own’ but in the sense ‘i’d like to share the weight of at least some of them, if that’s okay’
Margaret Atwood, from Ghost Cat in “Dearly: New Poems" (via adrasteiax)
JENNIE for W Korea
the artist, the art.
@nouvelis / yuna
It starts with a kiss.
I just purchased an original Klimt, the aging woman at his feet had sworn desperately. She had stared up at him from where she was crouched, hands rubbed raw, begging, pleading, praying. It’s worth millions — and it’s to be delivered to my estate by the end of the week! Please. My buyer will deliver it herself! Please, please, please. I have a family. My husband can’t know.
It starts with a kiss — and ends with a deep, disappointed sigh from President Shin four days later.
“It’s a forgery,” President Shin concludes, voice resigned.
He waves his hand. Dismisses Samshik who hastily rushes forward to cover up the enormous painting once more.
Save for Samshik’s uncomfortable rustling, the silence in the room becomes oppressive. Thick. Heavy, like summer heat. Jakyeong thinks instinctively of Sanpo summers.
(Back then, the greatest debt he’d need to reconcile was with the crotchety old man down the street who always wanted a discount on his sink cabinets. Mr. Yeom would’ve vomited at the sight of this woman’s overdue tab. They could’ve bought Changhee two – no, three cars with this balance.
Jakyeong feels like vomiting too.)
He really should’ve taken another shot before coming into work.
“It’s a good piece though,” President Shin finally says, the sentiment slow. Measured. Thoughtful? “I haven’t seen a counterfeit this precise since…”
Jakyeong doesn’t need names. He just needs a task.
President Shin’s eyes meet his pointedly.
“Find out where it came from. This may prove to be… useful.”
/
Ssaebi spits onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing Samshik’s leather shoes. Jakyeong doesn’t bother addressing the grumbling and rumbling between the two men. He doesn’t have time for their squabbling.
“Get in and close the fucking door,” Jakyeong says tiredly.
Samshik sniffs.
Ssaebi leers before — fucking finally — hopping into the black sedan and slamming the door shut.
“Her name’s Yuna,” Ssaebi begins.
With every word out of his mouth, the stench of cigarettes and cheap perfume seems to spread throughout the car. Jakyeong twists open the cap off his flask. Takes a long swig. Waits for him to continue.
“I think her mom used to have a name for herself around these parts. Used to play for easy trips, I think,” Ssaebi pulls out a crumpled photograph from his blazer pocket. Holds it out to Jakyeong. Jakyeong doesn’t reach for it. Merely takes another long sip from his flask, instead. Ssaebi is unfazed and he barrels forward regardless. “She’s young, boss. Looked like a kid to me, to be real fuckin’ frank. President Shin really wants us to bring her in?”
Jakyeong swallows slowly. Lets the whiskey linger.
Enjoys the reprieve, it gives him, from the smell of Ssaebi’s breath.
“…Maybe,” Jakyeong finally replies. After a long moment, he reaches over to take the picture out of Ssaebi’s outstretched palm. Studies the woman’s face captured there.
Ssaebi hadn’t been lying. She looks young.
Too young to be caught up in all of this.
Useful, President Shin had said. This may prove to be useful.
Jakyeong pockets the photograph and moves to take another swig from his flask. He frowns when it comes up empty.
“I’ll look into it,” is all that Jakyeong finally says in reply. “I’ll take it from here.”
ara cannot recall the last time vegas was this thrilled about something. for the most anticipated concert in town, or an exclusive party with some of the most revered celebrities in town? sure. but this is just a regular thursday night with nothing particular on the horizon — unless, of course, a special someone is involved and that would explain that indescribable smile vegas is wearing. the tinge of nervousness mixed with enthusiasm. it’s a rare look on her dear friend, but a good one. the actress obliges and strides towards the wardrobe, eyes skimming the organised disorder before she picks a vibrant dress from the bunch. it’s colourful, loud and a little eccentric, risky but a lot of fun, the perfect personification of vegas. “so, who’s the lucky one?” if she’s called in for an emergency on her cherished day-off, doesn’t she at least deserves to know who it’s about? though ara has her theories since the night she saw vegas hit it off with her lovely colleague, she’s still awaiting confirmation. “this, too.” she takes hold of the other’s delicate wrist and puts the bracelet she found on the vanity on top. perfect. “it goes well with that dress.” perhaps she should have been a stylist instead. lips twist — vegas isn't the only one who likes to play detective. “ — and where are you going for the date?”
“don’t just stand there, looking at me.” closed! / @f8less
despite the lack of vocalisation, he knows better than to believe that the guilt has left yunho for good.
he knows he’s right.
forgive me, for all the things i did. but mostly the things i didn’t do.
“there’s no need to apologise. it’s not your job to babysit me when i grow up.”
not his job to take care of junso the way he did — most idols are mere colleagues, after all. pitiful young things pitted to compete against each other before their fates become entwined for the formation of a group awaiting debut. many get along fine, some do not, with curated gestures of affection acted for the cameras to fuel fans’ delusions. but it’s different with them — it’s always been different. everything happened organically, from the initial hesitance to yunho finally yielding to his vexing, yet inescapable charms.
yunho is as close to a brother he’s ever got, still he doesn’t owe him an apology.
“i don’t know what’s a nicer way to tell you this, but you don’t owe me anything. you think you owe everyone a piece of you, but you don’t.” it is true that he has missed yunho terribly, but never has he felt entitled to his attention when the older has so much on his plate that requires his full attention. “i just want you to be okay — that’s all i want.”
❛ forgive me, for all the things i did. but mostly the things i didn’t do. ❜ accepting! / @protcsts
HWANG IN YEOP MARIE CLAIRE KOREA / May 2021 Issue › ph. Kim Hee June
she would rather not tell him about the dream where she loses him again.
so, a pointed look is all she gives him when he points out her glaringly obvious clinginess, before she detaches her limbs from him in a silent protest and stretches her arms like a cat. “i didn’t realise it’s such a crime, clinging to someone i married.” in a drunken daze, but a marriage nonetheless. who knew she’d be tied to someone in this way one day and accepted the fact fully? that she would be this comfortable with the idea of wasting away a perfectly tranquil sunday morning in the most mundane way possible, hiding away from the drizzle that drums carelessly on the sheets of glass.
it’s terrifying, still. when she thinks too much about it. it’s why she’s stopped.
hazy-eyed, she taps on an empty spot on the mattress, content when a loitering hera catches the cue soon enough and hops to nestle next to her. perhaps this is why she’ll always prefer cats to humans — they just know. “maybe i should cling to you instead. daddy doesn’t want to play.” she whines, overly theatric as she wraps her arms around the ball of fluff, as though her human companion is forgotten entirely already.
❛ well, you’re extra clingy today. ❜ accepting! / @cvvalier
this is insane. absolutely, fucking crazy.
the worst thing about it all? there’s not a glimpse of guilt that kyungsoo feels. why should he feel bad, when it’s only him reuniting with the love of his life? why should he feel bad when it feels so right? it’s as though the world withered away in black and white, but with him, all the colours come to life.
they could be taking a brisk walk home like any ordinary night, but he is having the time of his life. the easy chatters, the laughs that come without a hint of pretence — it has always been this natural, this effortless when he’s with eden.
what is there to feel bad about it?
“you said you still have a week left, didn’t you?” then, what? he doesn’t want to think about it. he doesn’t want to think about anything other than to just be. rumination about the future can come and ruin him some other day. nothing matters more to him now than what is right in front of him. shuffling feet stop in front of the door, the designated place to say their goodbyes. but eden’s hand is still entwined with his and he cannot remember the last time november felt this warm.
calloused fingers find eden’s cheek again, before they pull him close for a goodnight kiss that leaves him breathless once again. it has always been this easy, losing his mind for him. the whole world disappears in the blink of an eye. there is no one left, no one else but them. “well, i guess this is goodbye.” he drawls, words damp in the little space left between them, his lips still not quite leaving the other’s before he whispers, “ — or do you want me to come inside?”
❛ i don’t want to let go. i’m not ready to say goodbye yet. ❜ accepting! / @protcsts
i heard you can help me find what i’m looking for.
there is something off about this man. despite the tailored suit with a price tag enough to send shivers down most people's back, the fancy car that earns admiring glances from passerby near without fail, everything that affirms that he is someone who belongs in this world of high art and pretentious, snobby patricians, something tells her he’s anything but.
she cannot tell what it is yet.
is it the way he carries himself? the way shadow lightly sways in the depth of his eyes? the way that the same shadow tells her that if there's somewhere else he could be, he would be there in a heartbeat?
his hands.
yes, his hands.
they are too calloused. too rough around the edges for him to be one of them.
he is not one of those men who collects for a living or has all the time to squander on loitering about galleries and museums, but someone who works for them.
someone who squanders his own time for them.
someone who gets his own hands dirty for them.
what a pity.
she, too. what a pity indeed.
“depends on what you’re looking for.” is her crisp reply. a hint of a smile underlines her voice, before the corners of red lips lift in a calculated move. “but i’ve been told i’m a great searcher.” searcher. fabricator. it’s all the same. whatever it is that the seeker seeks, she will bring onto canvas and breathe life into with the strokes of genius. over-the-moon about the masterpiece they have managed to secure and can soon brag about to their impressionable friends, they will walk away satisfied, as will her greed. a temporary joy, but a joy nonetheless. it’s great doing business with you. my pleasure, always. with a smile practiced to perfection, she extends her hand earnestly, the trace of trepidation nowhere to be found on the beautiful façade. “choi hyejin, but you can call me lea. how can i help you?”
@deulgaae
haneul feels more at ease in seojung’s arms. he does. he just feels a lot all at once, and even though having his friend so close is starting to settle him, he still pulls away to look at seojung with watery eyes and a wobbly lower lip. “i didn’t know what to do,” he offers as an apology. though, he guesses it could be expected that he’d go to seojung first for anything because he has. many times. but it’s only because he knows, and he shows up for haneul time and time again. still, he’s very honest: “you were the first one i thought of.” and while he’s being honest, he does feel a little guilty for pulling seojung away like this. and now that he’s looking— actually looking— at him, he frowns, knowing how tired he must be, and standing with haneul despite it. it makes him wonder if that’s just something normal friends do– if it’s just something they do. either way, his arms relent around seojung’s frame just to grab his arm instead. he was to leave, of course, and they can’t possibly climb out the window while haneul’s doubling as seojung’s backpack. because, obviously, that’s the only way to escape this party without his mom getting upset. obviously. “the keys are— shit, the keys are by the door.” haneul sees them in his brain, hanging happily on a silver ring where he’d placed them before being swept away. just thinking about how far they are from leaving has his eyes watering again, and he smushes his face against seojung’s shoulder. “i wanna leave, seojungie. please.”
it doesn’t matter how many times the same scene unfolds in front of his very own eyes, it breaks his heart nonetheless. he supposes it can never be easy, watching someone you care so deeply about fall apart on the same day every year. he knows the workings of haneul’s mind, knows that at this moment, he would begin to feel guilt sinking in. guilt about burdening someone, anyone other than himself. he knows because it is often how he feels, too. but things like that do not apply to them, it shouldn’t. “oh, are they?” a shame. “it’s alright, we can use mine.” there’s no way on earth that he got here any other way, his manager would flip if he knew about the idol’s whereabout in this hour on a hectic week. seojung’s eyes wander to the window, before the idea gets wiped off as soon as it emerges — gruesome fractures and both of them getting an earful from the company during the comeback week sounds far from ideal. he might act impulsively sometimes, but even he knows that’s a terrible idea. his hand pats haneul’s head on his shoulder, as gently as one comforts a child awake from a nightmare — if only it’s that simple. if only this is the kind of heartache you can wake up from. “let’s use the back door.” he suggests. “or i can distract your mom when you grab the keys. she seemed happy to see me.”
Mary Oliver, from One Or Two Things in “Dream Work” (via adrasteiax)