Tʜᴇ Sʜᴀɴɢʜᴀɪ Bᴏʏ

Fade to black. Hwang Minhyun. 깡패

[acosminst]

ʀᴡ ▪ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ▪ ᴍʜ

[jkjkjjkjkjk]

With everything that’s on his mind, Ryeowook is still not sure he feels like talking, even with someone else starting the conversation. He’s never been one to be rude on purpose, though, when he can avoid it, so he lets out a slow sigh and lowers himself down to sit next to the other. He’s going to have to suck it up this time and talk anyway; maybe it’ll help somehow.

The concrete ledge is still a bit damp where he sits, and he groans softly in slight annoyance when he feels a bit of water soak through the cloth of his jeans. His irritation fades quickly, however, because he finds it almost impossible to be angry when he’s somewhere like this. Too bad he can’t say the same thing for every other emotion swirling in his head at this moment.

"I like tall buildings and city nights and I suppose it’s relaxing in a way. Inspiring too I guess, at least it can be from an artist’s point of view. Can’t say much for everyone else, though." He leans over and watches the people on the sidewalk move about. "I’ve never been afraid of heights either and being on the ledge gives a better view than just looking over it." His work is automatically the excuse he gives for almost anything, because it always makes sense. Artists are often considered to be a part of the crazy people in this world, sadly. 

"Name’s Ryeowook, by the way. Yours?" He takes another look at the other and observes him a bit more closely this time, taking note of every important detail about him. Who knows, he might end up running into him some other time, and he certainly didn’t want to be caught fishing for the right name. "Why are you up here then?" 

Maybe they’ll have something in common, after all, he’s up on the same roof isn’t he? He has a unique personality, which is already a thick stroke of luck for Ryeowook, because he’s not sure he could have handled someone who seemed like some sort of cookie cutter copy of everyone else on the planet tonight. “If you’re up here then I can’t be too crazy.”  

[acosminst]

"Not usually available to the public."

A smile tugs at his lips and he's inclined to laugh, even if it's just a little. There's something about the surreal feeling of sitting up here that leaves him in a rather jovial mood, more so than usual, at the very least. He turns his gaze to the inky sky. The stars are easier to see from up top; less light pollution in the way, but they're still few and far between.

"I'm up here because I'm always up here. I live in one of the apartments downstairs." He can feel the eyes on his face and half of him wants to shy away, but the other half is a little less modest. Overall he remains as relaxed as he has been. "I like to listen to them. You know, down there. People. And to the quiet that follows when they all head to bed."

He doesn't see a problem with telling the truth this time, because it's a relatively innocent reason. It doesn't give away any details about him, like his name or his job. He is anonymous, prefers to stay that way. He won't be seeing this guy again, anyway, unless he decides to appear up here again. Next time he'll have to run the other off. For now, he's content with just sitting.

"So I wouldn't say I'm not crazy. I hope they put us in the same ward when we're admitted."

He elbows Ryeowook gently, in a vain attempt to be a little friendly. He decides that he likes this guy so far. Not enough to allow him to continue hanging out here, but enough to maybe stand his company for the rest of the night.

"What kind of art do you do?"

[acosminst]

ʀᴡ ▪ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ▪ ᴍʜ

[jkjkjjkjkjk]

As a child, life in the city held little appeal to Ryeowook; but now, as he strolls precariously along the edge of one of the tallest buildings here, he wonders what had ever deterred him from it. 

Of course, after he’d spent time in the country with his grandfather, he’d grown to appreciate the city just as much as everything around it after his grandfather had told him that he’d have to see the beauty in everything if he was ever going to be an artist. He had certainly learned since then. 

Below, he hears the wail of police sirens and the wet noise of rubber tires traveling along rain soaked concrete. Together, with many other sounds, they create the song of city nights, a song that happens to be one of Ryeowook’s favorites. 

People look like ants from the ledge of the building he stands on and, for a moment, he wonders how long it would take him to look like a squished ant from here. Probably only a few seconds, but it wouldn’t surprise him if his heart stopped from the fall before he finished counting.

Thousands of thoughts race through his head and millions of individual noises, both loud and soft, make their ways into his ears; however, they still are not enough to drown out one particular set of memories and feelings from his childhood that plague him until this day, even though they took place years ago. With a sigh, he steps a bit closer to the edge and looks down. 

Heights have never been something to scare him, that had become evident when he’d crawled over the railing on his mother and father’s twenty-seventh floor apartment and hung on the outside with one hand. He’d claimed that he was trying to swing onto his grandmother’s balcony two floors below, but his mother wouldn’t listen. 

The memory gives him a laugh, but harsh feelings come with it; because he has neither mother nor father now. One is gone for good and the other is imprisoned, most likely, for the rest of his life. Those facts are what put him in the mood he’s in now, more quiet and apathetic than ever before; and with every memory of his mother and father that flows into his mind, his mood worsens. 

Ryeowook watches as red and blue lights reflect off of the windows of the building in front of him, and he looks down just in time to catch an ambulance flying by. In an instant, more memories of his mother fill his mind. His eyes stay focused on the vehicle until it disappears around a corner, but the memories choose to stay. As soon as he brings his attention back to his more immediate surroundings, he hears footsteps rattling the gravel on the roof behind him. With one swift turn on his heels, he’s facing another man, who begins to speak not long after their eyes meet. 

Usually, he would turn back around, continue what he had been previously doing, and ignore him; but this man seems to have misunderstood the reason he’s standing on this ledge, so he figures he’ll let him continue. Plus, he’d rather it be his decision to jump from this roof instead of someone else’s, if that’s what this man had in mind.  His expression doesn’t change, but he gives a slight shrug in response to both of the other’s questions. If this is how this guy is planning to talk him down from this ledge, then he obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing. Had Ryeowook actually been contemplating suicide, he might have inched a bit closer to the edge. This guy is obviously not very well suited for handling a delicate emotional state.

[acosminst]

A shrug isn't much to work with. He would've gotten more out of a single word or a simple sentence than just a shrug. What to do with that?

He's not entirely sure that he wants to keep pestering this man. He's on the ledge of a building, maybe a few inches from certain death, and he looks about as serene as if he were standing on the sidewalk down below. Something about it doesn't feel right. Still, he figures he's in it this far, he might as well keep going.

"I'll take that as a no, I suppose," he ventures, not sure if his eyes should be glued to the man's face or his feet, watching for any sudden movements, "Looks like I'm going to be a part of the act."

If there's one thing that he's good at, it's thinking things through. Even if this guy isn't suicidal, it appears that he's not going to be stepping down any time soon. And while he might not throw himself out into the night, there's always the possibility that he might lose his balance and just topple right over. Accidental death does not make his rooftop any less of a crime scene. Mine.

He hauls himself up onto the ledge to sit next to his guest and twists around to see the view. The city looks absolutely gorgeous from here. There's a momentary pause as he breathes it all in, and then he returns to facing his roof, back to the wondrous city lights.

"Normally I don't come this far up here, for obvious reasons." Not that he would have any problem with falling - he wouldn't be able to hit the ground. "It's been a while." It's dangerous up here is left unspoken between them, and if the other man has any wits about him, he already knows it. His the backs of his feet meet the concrete at regular intervals as he swings his legs gently forward and back.

"What brings you here, anyway?"

[acosminst]

ʀᴡ ▪ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ▪ ᴍʜ

      Night life.

Nights are what he lives for. The cool air, the city lights, neon signs. He breathes in the parties and the bars and breathes out experiences tinged with melancholy. He likes to watch the world pass him by at night, wishing he could see the stars, and listening to the sounds of the city below. Everything is better when the world is sleeping.

He spends his nights on the roof of his apartment building, a highrise with a good view of the Nakdong. He's not supposed to be up here, but security is shit and he's convinced them to let him stay for a few hours each day. It helps that he has the reputation and isn't afraid to use it, despite the fact that he dislikes needless violence.

Tonight he ascends the staircase and steps through the door to find that his rooftop is not vacant, as it usually is. There's new life, another person, trailing along the edge. His first thought is that the man is going to fall, so he takes a few more steps in that direction. He doesn't like to get involved, but he also doesn't want his sacred place to be a crime scene, and thus inaccessible.

"Were you waiting for an audience to jump or are you just indecisive?"

He's not the most cordial person, by far, but he supposes that can't be helped.

"If it's an interactive show, I've got to say that I'm probably going to try to stop you," he hums, making his way over to the edge where his guest, for all intents and purposes, is standing. "Would that be too forward?"

[obeytheprophecy]

[acosminst]

                  some                       old                           wounds

               ——————————————never truly                             Ｈ Ｅ Ａ Ｌ.

                             & { ʙ ʟ ᴇ ᴇ ᴅ } again at                                        the SLIGHTEST ʷᵒʳᵈ.