bite the hand

that feeds you

[96ymh]

hihi everyone it's kira and i'm here to bring you mr yoo "idk i just work here" minhyuk aka the university librarian!! under the cut are a few bullet points abt his past and personality but generally, his mind tends to be a little bit here and there for personal reasons (aka he's deluded himself into thinking he's content with his life) but he's v diligent with his work so chances are you've probably run into him at the library and he's refused to write off your one day late library book :^) i'm super excited to meet you all get the ball rolling so pls feel free to dm me or like this post and i'll dm u <3

background - only son to the yoos, a family of extremely wealthy lawyers and mugunghwa natives (though he personally does not act like it) so you'd expect him to be doted on but

was neglected heavily by his parents until he showed signs of childhood pyromania around the age of five/six, after which they stuck him in every counselling service possible. not really the epitome of familial love

although the fires he started didn't hurt anyone except himself and they were kept a secret within the family, word leaked out to the yoos' extended family (including the nams) and he was essentially ostracised by his aunts and uncles, being the subject of conversation every family event he dared to turn up to

his parents unsurprisingly lost any semblance of fondness they had for him, particularly when he showed no signs of academic excellence and instead preferred to spend his day painting, not really having an aim in life like the rest of his cousins. his parents often reminded him that he wasn't as talented as his great great grandmother, which unsurprisingly did little to affect him

(tw parental death) just sort of got used to being there like an unwanted addition, the classic black sheep of the family trudging his way through high school with absolutely no dreams or aspirations until his parents abruptly die when he's seventeen in a car accident

at this point, his pyromania had been cured long ago but his extended family members used it as an excuse to get disinherit him from the lineage like they wanted to all along, leaving him with only his family home and 0 time to grieve

barely managed to graduate high school tbh and worked odd jobs around the town before living in the house alone finally got too much and he packed up to move to seoul, where he continued to be a busybody

busybody meaning he rented out some tiny one bedroom apartment with windows that didn't close properly and picked up every part time job possible, living paycheck to paycheck, painting with shitty 10,000 won paintbrushes in his spare time

decided to move back to mugunghwa a couple of years ago and picked up a job as the full-time (🎉🎉🎉) librarian at the uni! currently living at his family home which he really really hates but when he's not working, spends the day doodling on every surface of his house

sort of regrets letting his family kick him out that easily and he wishes he would've made more of an effort because life for the past nine years has been almost unbearably hard, though he'll never admit it. can't really afford to go back into education but thinks being able to read books for free all day is close enough so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

that's pretty much it up until the fire which he was honestly the luckiest victim of (sorry jisoo 😵‍💫 and gws mina 😵‍💫) didn't know jisoo too well so he isn't affected on a personal level but definitely shaken by the events and the resurgence of fire in his life has left him feeling more antsy than usual. if you ask him about that night, 9/10 chances he'll lie and tell you he doesn't remember anything. the remaining 1/10 is when he ignores your question and tells you your book is overdue

personality wise - someone who's given up is the easiest way to describe him. think early morning cigarettes, the faintest traces of paint smudged across his fingers, a heavily read book with cracks down its spine and yellowing pages, keeping the windows open even when it's raining, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, feeling your hands go numb from the cold

pessimistic beyond words, though that stems more from the events of his life than something innate in him. withdrawn because he's sort of been alone for almost a decade and communicating with others is still new to him though human interaction is something he craves, aloof in the sense that he never seems to be quite here. seems constantly lost in his thoughts but is perceptive and picks up on things melting away into the background, including the group of students who just tried to sneak tteokkbokki into the quiet study room

most of his work hours are spent reading books at the counter or putting returned books back into their places on bookshelves. rarely starts a conversation first. sits on campus during his lunch break and has developed a habit of watching the students live their lives with a vague sense of jealousy, particularly towards the red and green club

sort of just feels stuck in his life. there's nothing propelling him forwards or backwards but instead of admitting that he's hopeless, he tells himself that he should be content with what he has

has probably also eaten every brand of ramen and triangle gimbap so if you want suggestions he's the guy

if you recognise him from high school he will do a terrible job of pretending he's a different yoo minhyuk

mina.

[ ... ]

“i haven’t yet,” she replies, gaze roaming his workspace. takes her time before eventually resting it on him. an undeclared proclamation of sorts: you are not important to me.  “it must be so nice working in a library! you get to be with all this magic,” she marvels, fingers absentmindedly trailing a book left on his counter. 

read: don’t fucking test me.

"uh. wow, the labyrinth of suffering. how profound, i think."

minhyuk likes to think he's slightly above calling other people delusional but what-the-actual-fuck-is-wrong-with-her is the main thing coursing through his mind when she continues to smile at him in that saccharine way, voice pretty to anyone else except him. her fingers brushing over the books stacked on the counter makes him flinch, if only because there's a brief flash of a memory he had tucked away into the corners of his mind, those same nails digging into his arm when she had stumbled for a lifeline all those weeks ago. maybe he's the delusional one for thinking he'd be able to sit through a conversation with her without avoiding the elephant in the room for once.

the thing is, it would be so much easier if she would just tell him what she wanted from him in the first place. if she wanted his silence he'd happily give it to her without a second thought, if she wanted to know what he remembered he'd tell her everything, if she wanted the fucking book that he was hiding behind his desk to take home later that evening he'd maybe give it too. anything that would mean the awkwardness between them would shatter and he wouldn't find it so hard to ask her whether she was okay or not.

after all, it's not often he gets to face his past head on like this. he only hopes that she has the same desire to move on instead of letting it shackle her. "can't really complain. it's quiet and i don't actually have to do much, so. probably not the same for you guys, right? with your assignments everyday, and that."

some part of him thinks she enjoys this. being mysterious, elusive, some book that can't be read, view that can't be seen. he realises a beat too late that he had been staring at her far too blatantly, eyes focused on the corners of her mouth like he was waiting for something to crack. the resulting smile is only slightly less forced, because he sees someone watching them curiously from the corner of his eye. "thanks for the offer, though. i'd love to pick your brain sometime, too."

he's sure she wants to pick his ㅡ and pull it out his head, whilst she's at it. probably even more when he opens his mouth again.

"actually. are you free for lunch now?" he half expects her to say no because she's busy, or something along the same lines with much more profanity. it doesn't stop him from asking anyways, chin balanced on his palm when he blinks. "we could grab some sushi and head over to one of the rooms to brainstorm."

[96ymh]

kojirō.

[ ... ]

the song ends and kojirō is helping himself again, hand reached out to minhyuk. over minhyuk. his thumb and the curve of his knuckles brushing lightly against minhyuk’s skin as kojirō retrieves the earbud. lingering, deciding he isn’t afraid and squishing up minhyuk’s cheek with a gentle press of his thumb. he laughs and pulls his hand away, “like it? the song.”

what kind of person are you?

it's hard to answer a question you'd much rather avoid. minhyuk thinks the question is one he could lose sleep over, but he knows he still wouldn't be able to find the correct words to describe himself in a way that would be anything other than disappointing to kojirō. he doesn't know who he is with everyone else around him; he doesn't know who he is with kojirō, even. all he knows is that whatever shade of minhyuk he is with him, it's enough to want the other to keep coming back. keep thinking of me like this, he wants to say, a lump suddenly forming in his throat that he can't swallow his words around, keep thinking of me in a way that makes you like me.

instead, kojirō opens his mouth to finish the rest of the question and minhyuk's cheeks are aflame with embarrassment. he feels caught.

"oh." the subsequent huff he lets out is uneasy, awkward almost, head turned away to the side as though avoiding his gaze means he won't notice the way minhyuk had flustered at the question. his fingers are hesitant when he takes the earbud, whatever initial snarky comment resting at the tip of his tongue dissipating into something else he can't quite put his finger on. he blinks. "i guess so. i don't know about genres too well since i don't really listen to music that much. it all sounds the same after a while."

it's not true, but he feels more silly than not talking to someone about music when that someone is in the music field themselves. as if whatever minhyuk would want to say is worth listening to anyways when there's a handful of other people in mugunghwa alone that would say something of more substance. kojirō makes him feel that way, though; that the latter genuinely does want to listen, that minhyuk's someone who's capable of saying something worthwhile.

like when he asks him now with round eyes what minhyuk thinks of his song. like minhyuk can say anything other than the fact that he loves it and the lump in his throat's only gotten bigger, that he's felt the most comforted he's felt in a while, that loneliness seems only to be a state of mind before he's around the other again. it would be easy to close the distance between them the same way the song fades into the next one. seamless, like it's meant to be.

"it's okay." is what bluntly comes out instead. his skin tingles where the other's knuckles had brushed against it, though minhyuk's too late to slap his hand away when he pinches there. "don't ㅡ don't do that. anyways. yeah, it was good. i like it a lot." then, almost accusingly, as if to change the topic. "i didn't know you played the guitar, i thought you only sang."

he tilts his head, gaze resting on him. "what else are you hiding from me?"

[96ymh]

seina.

[ ... ]

"what are you doing?" mahogany hues flit downwards to the work that lays before him before pulling out her phone, checking the screen for accuracy, "that's not important anymore ⏤ it's lunch time! have you eaten yet? you should say no and that you're gonna take me out to that cute cat cafe that just opened up before it gets too busy." her chin rests upon her palm, grin taking a knowing glint to it because minhyuk will probably give in, she's sure. "you know it's probably better than the stuff you've packed anyway. and you need start eating better. and, and ⏤ i have some tea that i think you'll be very interested in hearing," she says, wiggling the phone in her hand for extra impact, mentally checking off all the boxes that she would pique his interest.

"you know you're in a library, right?"

perhaps the only person whose voice he'd let rise above 40db in the otherwise silent library ㅡ seina has a way of barging into his life with all the flamboyance of someone who knows she belongs there, nestling somewhere comfortable at the forefront of his mind. she's the metaphorical lightbulb that minhyuk needs, a physical embodiment of everything bright and pretty and illuminating in the world. even, maybe even especially when she leans up against the counter with the indicative glimmer of mischief in her eyes, phone held in her hand like his own personal catnip. he says fuck it and bites.

his response is a quiet scoff that he knows she'll write off as nothing more than him trying to be strict when they both know he'll give in anyways. "i'll think about taking you there if you give me my jacket back." he throws her a sideways look when he logs off the computer, reaching out to brush some imaginary dust off the sleeve. "i thought i lost that, you know. when did you even steal it? was it last week?"

he often forgets there's an existence outside the chaos of whatever's going on behind the scenes and shadows of mugunghwa. it's all too natural to find himself caught up in his own head and at times like these, seina feels like a hand pulling him out. he's watching her fondly with his head tilted, eyes flickering to her phone because he knows whatever's in there will keep him preoccupied. dates instead of deaths. normal problems. he's about to open his mouth to tell her about some couple he saw sneaking off between the korean and japanese history shelves when he catches sight of an annoyed student behind her, undoubtedly from the whispers. his first reaction is to clamp his mouth shut and wrap an arm around her shoulders, guiding them both towards the door.

"rock paper scissors who pays this time." he says in a flat tone when they're out of the building, hand tugging at the tips of her hair half-heartedly. "last time i took you out, you made me pay because you told me what you found out would be worth it. 90,000 won was not the price for finding out the janitor was screwing the nurse. everyone knew that."

mingze.

[ ... ]

late hours spent at the library felt fulfilling. the air around mugunghwa was retroactive lately, mingze sits and anticipates. it’s as though everyone’s been treading on eggshells and things had gradually become less important. but passion plateaus into indifference, denial, and finally, exhaustion. “come with me to the workshops if you ever get a day off.” 

"if i ever get a day off." the subsequent snort isn't meant to be mocking but the grin that accompanies it is, voice lowering like the tell-tale sign of the way he starts teasing. he leans against the counter, cheek resting against his hand when he watches the other fondly. "i forget you rich kids aren't used to the humdrum of everyday life. i do doubt it, but if there's ever a workshop after my shift that ends at 11pm, let me know. i'd love to pick the brains of mugunghwa's best."

his fingers are brushing over the sculpture again, its main body held in the palm of his open hand like he'll spot something new about it if he turns it this way or that. maybe he will. there's something different about a ten minute sketch you do during your lunch break absentmindedly and seeing it come to life like this, its existence having taken hours to craft.

he imagines the fascination etched onto his features isn't lost on the other and for once, he doesn't have the wherewithal to conceal it. he clicks his tongue. "is there anything you can't do? how annoying."

ignoring the situation around them is much easier when neither of them mention the cloud looming over the town, despite the fact that he can see the toll of it on mingze, a certain air of fatigue and resignation he can't pin down to just schoolwork. even then minhyuk wouldn't know how to start the conversation, and offering a shoulder for the other to mourn the loss of his friend on hardly seems practical when jisoo's ghost seems to follow all of them around. he might as well still be here.

and at the back of his mind minhyuk knows he shouldn't unlock pandora's box, particularly when he's doing such a good job of avoiding it but he opens his mouth anyways after a few moments of silence.

"hey. i wanted to ask, is everything okay with you?"

[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.

[96ymh]

kojirō.

[ ... ]

“know what? i got something for ya.” he says, pushing his phone toward minhyuk, its screen unlocked and the requisite file an ineligible frenzy between numbers and letters. “it’s not a cover this time. it’s original. i’m not singing but it’s my first time ever producing something. that means you get the chance to tear me down in my most vulnerable state. we both know how much you love doing that, you little, unbearable creature, you.” kojirō sneers. “other than that...? hmm. i could just let you do your job alone from here on out."

"are you ten years old?"

he doesn't have the energy to muster up even the faintest hint of a smile but somehow finds all the vigour to scoff again, hand reaching up before he directs all his force into his index and middle fingers, pushing against kojirō's forehead. anger and insults are the easiest way to veil the pink flush scattered across his cheeks, one he further conceals by turning around to drop the two books into a box under the desk. "at least give me a warning before you're going to push your face into mine. i deserve compensation for that type of scare."

of course, he knows how dull the shift would otherwise be if kojirō didn't appear like clockwork every night, mouth perpetually equipped with snarky comments at the drop of a hat. he supposes there's gratitude somewhere there.

the other's presence feels like an undeserved gift sometimes, minhyuk's appreciation confined to his silence. he thinks that not saying anything is the nicest thing he could do for him, some inherent sort of comfort found in the beats of nothing that pass by when they're perched on a table and there's a shitty pair of 10,000 won earbuds shared between them.

minhyuk doesn't do a good job of pretending like he doesn't enjoy the other's music. what he does do a good job of, however, is pretending that his skin doesn't tingle wherever kojirō brushes against it.

if he doesn't think about it, it isn't there. that's how it works.

"you can't leave. i locked the doors earlier so nobody would distract me when i closed up." he says smoothly, fingers reaching into his pockets to jangle at the keys there. then, like an order more than anything, "that means you have to entertain me, by the way. i wouldn't have let you in otherwise."

and now there's the faint crinkle of his eyes, mouth curving slightly. "mm. you don't usually talk this much before you play your music for me. this must either be the worst or the best thing you've ever produced." he hoists himself up onto the counter, and patting the spot next to him is a habit. "we don't have all night."

[96ymh]

@invalidater / 01.

"hey. i told you not to move."

to be exact, he had told him approximately eight seconds ago when the student was beginning to stir from his sleep but that doesn't stop minhyuk from scowling anyways, mouth pursed into a petulant pout. he's impatient at best and downright grumpy normally, junjae the unfortunate first victim of his morning short fuse like a deer caught in headlights. it's only at the sight of the other's bleary blinking that he sighs again, biting his tongue.

shame is expensive. so naturally, he can't remember the last time he had recoiled at the sight of someone between his sheets, however rogue last night's choice was. but junjae's made up half of charm (the other half belongs exclusively to his penchant for drawing out an eye roll from the librarian) in a way that means minhyuk can't find it within himself to not startle when he catches sight of him the next morning. he spots the other's cheek pressed against the pillows, and the way he reaches for the sketchbook resting atop his bedside table is just the inevitable next step.

or maybe it's fondness that unsettles him. it's one thing for him to admit he doesn't mind junjae in the dark, but it's another for minhyuk to realise belatedly that he may have bitten off more than he can chew. or maybe junjae has.

it's fine when they're sleeping, really. the issue is just that everyone has to wake up at some point.

there's a childish sort of grumble to his voice when he talks again, unwavering in its huffiness. "you're so annoying." even then there's a brief moment of silence when he's raising his hand to shield the other's eyes from the sun, fingers outstretched with the pencil in between like a makeshift barrier against the light streaming in through the curtains.

his free hand pushes the sketchbook forwards until it's pressed up against junjae's arm, the traces of an unmistakable face etched onto the paper. "look. it's ruined now that i've lost my reference. i'll never draw again."

[victoriajoan]

Vivre Sa Vie (1962) dir. Jean-Luc Godard

[96ymh]

kojirō.

[ ... ] “what’s heorot?” he asks, standing to his feet like a soft-landing amongst the here and the now. “burns down…? you mean the accident? hey,” he shakes his hair free and looks around. “wanna listen to that song? nobody’s here and i did your job for you. i don’t have headphones so my neighbors would complain.”

"maybe it's because i can't afford to be pretentious about anything else." minhyuk's voice only holds as much impertinence as kojirō’s does, his frown matched by tell-tale knitted brows that always seem to make an appearance whenever he's around the latter. as if to prove a point, he drops an extra two books into his box with an obnoxiously loud thud. "you were the one who brought up anti-intellectualism in the first place. don't be ridiculous."

his displeasure is only half serious, really. the other half lends itself to the belated realisation that closing up like this, assisted by kojirō’s presence as a pseudo-devoted-albeit-chatty-assistant at hand on nights where he forces yuri to go home early, is better than shuffling around in silence. from what he can recall as a result of over two years of working here, closing shifts are typically quiet.

this, however, is not.

there's little he can complain about anyways, when he gets the job done twice as quickly and he can hear the other humming faintly across the shelves like his own personal radio. minhyuk finds himself getting used to it the fourth time it happens. soon after, he's forced to discover that the key to never falling into a bad habit ㅡ like subconsciously peeking at the door throughout his shift to catch the familiar mop of blonde hair ㅡ is to drown himself in work so he can't spare a second to think about the disappointment he feels when kojirō doesn't turn up on those evenings. it more or less works, until he slips back into minhyuk's life and the cycle repeats.

he can't (won't) tell him to get out just yet, but that doesn't mean minhyuk won't make it an aspiration to be as difficult as possible.

"what if i say no?" he asks, like the thought of music filling the empty space doesn't cause a palpable skip of his heartbeat. the look he gives him is quizzical, eyes taking in the features of the other's face under the guise of indifference. "what makes it different to anything else you've played for me?"

jiyeon.

[ … ]

his steps are quiet and careful; under the slit of the door she can see him hesitate for a moment before letting himself in. she crosses her arms, defensive, stands up a little bit taller. “i need you to tell me everything you know.”

"i know," he murmurs, his nails digging into the palms of his hand until he can feel the half moon-shaped imprints form across the skin's surface. the least he can do is sound genuinely apologetic and he does, gaze softening where it lands on jiyeon like a silent apology. minhyuk can't remember the last time he had heard her say please. "i'm sorry, i'm trying."

he feels like there's a hundred and one things she's waiting for him to say, and he's finding a hundred and two reasons why he can't say any of them.

it's hard to remember exactly how bridges are burnt when it wasn't explicit in the first place, but he knows the burden of it all fell on her shoulders in the past whilst he had fled at the first opportunity. it's the remaining guilt from leaving her behind that eventually forces his feet to paddle after her, even when he's telling himself that he's in way over his head.

she's always been patient to a fault. he can see it now, still, in her crossed arms, eyes sharp when they're still on him like she's waiting for him to make the first move. he never does.

"tell you what?" he furrows his eyebrows until there's a crease drawn between them, and suddenly he wishes the distance between them was more than the length of the table. minhyuk doesn't know whether to be relieved jisoo's all she wants to know about, or whether it's just another cause for concern. at the back of his mind, the faint smell of the smoke from that night returns. "jesusㅡ jiyeon. i already told the police everything."

it's too awkward to say he's worried about her, and he doubts jiyeon's patience extends to him asking whether she's been taking care of herself or not. he'd be lying if he said he can't sense that she's stretching herself thin, or that it doesn't worry him at all. he swallows.

"i wish i could tell you what you want to hear, but i can't. i don't know anything."

mina.

[...]

light, breezy smile pulling on the corner of her lips. an innocuous invite or an implicit dare to confront her on her act. “i’d love to pick your brain for ideas, let me know when you’re up for it!”

he decides early on that kim mina scares him.

not in the typical, here-one-second-gone-the-next, jumpscare type of horror. the horror she imparts onto him is something that crawls slowly, seeping into him with a sort of discomfort that first starts when she tells him she'd love to talk over ideas with him. it seeps in further when she tells him that two weeks later too, and the week after. never mind the fact that she doesn't actually mean it, because she wraps up the offer with a pretty smile like that makes everything alright. he doesn't have the heart to tell her he's not buying whatever frontage she puts up against the rest of the world, nor does he think she'd care.

it's only after that night that there's a different light shining on her now. her façade's fractured into a hundred shards ㅡ each one reminds him of the twenty second of june, her fingers leaving behind marks of soot where she had clutched at his arm, the choking sounds when she had been heaving for air instead of the smoke billowing through her lungs.

there's a part of him that itches to reach out to her just because she's etched into his brain like a record on repeat, but he wants somewhere private without so many craning necks.

unluckily for him, she has the subtlety of a bull that's plundering its way through the metaphorical china shop but he's not much better when it comes to plastering a mirrored forced smile on his mouth, hand raising awkwardly. he's mustered up the remaining shreds of energy he has left and yet somehow he just knows he doesn't exude half the brightness she does, calculated as it is. "oh. hey."

he pushes up his glasses, fingers drumming on the surface of the desk absentmindedly as he fixes her with an inquisitive look. "i'm okay. how have you been?" even though he genuinely wants an answer to the question, there's only so much he can do to conceal his stiffness, and the next sentence is a complete stab in the dark in an effort to match the jolliness she's imbuing onto him. "did you get your assignment for next week done? i don't want to take your attention away from the important things."

read: what the fuck are you trying to do?

mingze.

[ ... ]

reaching over the counter, mingze scans his books back into the system (it’s mostly to kill time but he also wants to help his friend). he scans his student identification card and taps print to skim over the receipt for books he still had out. “i can’t find that art history anthology,” he admits. his face is solemn but for a second, the corners of his mouth tug upwards to reveal mingze’s failed attempt at concealing mischief. “i’ve done mugunghwa a favor.” and then he adds: “may i check out the…” he adjusts his glasses to read the computer screen. “other three copies?”

minhyuk likes to tell himself that he's pretty used to the general tiredness and apprehension that weighs over his entire body at this point, seven years having been more or less enough for him to adapt to everything that had drove him out of mugunghwa to begin with. unsurprisingly, subsiding in a perpetual state of wanting to run away doesn't do much to help whatever clacks away at the corners of his mind when he's left alone with his own introspections.

which is most of the time, and times like now when the library's more empty than usual because there's some party across campus that minhyuk swears he can hear from where he's housed between bookshelves. jiyeon and mina's words ring in his ears like some distant, hazy memory he can't quite forget but is trying to lest he gets too involved.

something tells him he's going to be implicated regardless. it's always the same sinking feeling that he gets in his stomach, some eerie premonition he can't leave behind with the books he's tucking back into their respective shelves.

when he gets back to the counter, there's one more person than there was when he had left it. his immediate reaction is to nudge mingze away from the computer with a half scoff.

"no, you can't. a favouritism charge is the last thing i need on my shoulders right now." he says flatly, deadpan tone betrayed by the way the tips of his mouth turn up in vague amusement. it's only after that he catches the sculpture sitting on his desk, and he tilts his head curiously.

if his eyes brighten a little, he hopes mingze doesn't mention it for both of their sakes (mainly minhyuk's. he doesn't think he has the energy to be embarrassed.) he's leaning in, thumb brushing over a side of the sculpture tentatively like he's testing out how fragile it really is. "how'd you make this?" it comes out more accusatory than anything else, the inevitable consequence of him trying to express any sort of awe whatsoever but he has faith the other's learned to decipher the layers of minhyuk's admiration by now.

"i almost didn't recognise it. can i keep it?"

[96ymh]

kojirō.

[ ... ] “this one your favorite or what? bet you love a good hero story.”

“did you now?" minhyuk hums under his breath. he's indifferent but makes an effort to sound like he's mildly convinced, eyes darting up only briefly to catch the characteristically pleased look kojirō has on his face. the clock behind him ticks the twenty third hour of the day when his fingers reach for the book, flicking through the pages until he gets to the last one. the consequent snort he lets out is even more unimpressed, corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. "what happened to the last 2900 pages? hrothgar didn't show military prowess then?"

the first move is to settle for the traditional cold shoulder, eyes stuck on the screen in front of him as though looking vaguely busy will convince him to leave. unfortunately for him, the library's unnaturally empty and he knows all too well how nobody can ignore kojirō. not if he wants to be heard, anyways.

he doesn't really have a second move, and biting his tongue is a reflex action.

"i hate them. don't project just because you're looking for a hero." his tone is light when he logs off the computer and drops the book into the box he heaves over onto the counter now, pushing the other on the shoulder after like that's enough to displace him from propping himself up.

minhyuk blinks at him, head tilted towards the box. if you don't want to be kicked out, help me put them away. "heorot eventually burns down, by the way."

[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."

jiyeon.

[ ... ]

the reasoning is purely selfish. jiyeon knows, rationally, that it was a freak accident and jisoo its unlucky victim. but a less rational part of herself craves to know all the answers, to leave no stone unturned and no thread loose. selfish, purely selfish, yet she finds herself at the library’s front counter anyway.

minhyuk regards her carefully, stiffly, from the other side of the counter. “i need to talk to you.”

there's sometimes moments in life where the world abruptly tips out underneath your feet, like a missed last step on the stairs, getting up too quickly and feeling the blood rush to your head, going to investigate a burning smell and being one of two to survive a fire the campus golden boy doesn't.

minhyuk feels like he's been living in that state for the past three months of his life. tilted, unsteady. he supposes a rational part of him had known it would be too far-fetched to expect everything to return to normality so soon, but the irrational half had been all too convincing.

he's miles away in his head but he hears her before he sees her, tell-tale clack of her shoes against the library floor a foreboding countdown. he doesn't really like to call it running away when he thinks it's something that's necessary for his own peace of mind and self-preservation, but son jiyeon comes around the corner with the panache of a woman with a goal and he suddenly really, really wishes he had gone to the canteen earlier.

"uh." the computer unhelpfully tells him he clocked out for lunch three minutes ago, and he wonders whether he can sit still and cope with an empty stomach for the rest of the day. even then, something tells him the uneasiness that currently resides within him doesn't stem from mere hunger. the easiest option is for him to lie through his teeth. "i'm kind of on my shift."

a beat of silence passes as if to further emphasise how flatly his words had fallen, and minhyuk promptly cringes. he knows there's a hundred and one reasons jiyeon would want to talk to him and even though one stands out, that does little to placate his gnawing anxiety. through the biting of the inside of his cheek, "i mean – don't you have class?"

[lovestereo]

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