darling, darling

lee soojin | 26 | medic

[adsoojin]

[text]: We played rock paper scissors to see who would get a piggy back ride home. I’ve never been so broken.

( → yejin ) aren’t they like( → yejin ) twice the size of you( → yejin ) stretch it out, man ( → yejin ) and sleep. if you wake up a pole in the morn( → yejin ) might b a problem come see me 

[adsoojin]

[text]: I know it’s 3am, but come over and cook for me.

( → nam ) i don’t havev( → nam ) ingredients( → nam ) okfine i’ll make ramyeon if you got beer ( → nam ) ...and eggs but not hard boiled( → nam ) that kind is shit

[adsoojin]

[text]: My dick just got serenaded.

( → yongster ) why would you tell me( → yongster) that. ( → yongster) did i say i wanted to know?…( → yongster) who was it tho

[adsoojin]

[text]: Are we going to end up in the hospital again?

( → baozi ) we’re not gonna fucking,, how can you think like that ( → baozi ) it was oNe time goddammit ( → baozi ) totally safe. only one guy died but he was just being stupid

[rpmememaker]

SUPER TEXT LIST! (Texts From Last Night Inspired)

[adsoojin]

adversekrp:

[text]: Are you lost?

[text]: NO! That was a typo

[text]: Did you buy it?

[text]: I think I’m a mermaid

[text]: I know it’s 3am, but come over and cook for me.

[text]: Too lazy to booty call, so have this text instead

[text]: Need to bury a body, it’s urgent.

[text]: Are you sure there’s no monsters?

[text]: It was an accident.

[text]: lol fuk da police

[text]: send me a picture and i’ll be home quicker ;)

[text]: DO NOT READ THE LAST MESSAGE IT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU

[text]: Well maybe I broke my tongue!

[text]: Please tell me you’re free today! I’ve got some big news.

[text]: Got a spare ticket, do you want to come?

[text]: Do you have a spare mankini I can borrow?

[text]: Is fancy dress allowed at the wedding?

[text]: I was using my old baby blanket as a makeshift skirt because no pants

[text]: We were banging then all I remember is coming down hard and smashing my top teeth off his forehead… I just rolled off and tapped out.

[text]: Like alphabetically, I’d say a t?

[text]: I’m sorry if throwing up in the back of your dad’s car ruined our friendship :(

[text]: there is absolutely nothing wrong with two grown men staying up all night singing karaoke and drinking out of juice cartons. don’t judge me.

[text]: I found a door knob in my purse this morning, I hope whoever it belonged to doesn’t need it today.

[text]: Do you know where I am?

[text]: My wedding is in 5 hours and I have no idea where I am. Help!

[text]: We played rock paper scissors to see who would get a piggy back ride home. I’ve never been so broken.

[text]: Is “head down ass up” an appropriate way to say good morning?

[text]: That is definitely not healthy, in fact I’m not sure it’s legal to send that sort of picture?

[text]: There isn’t enough cookie dough ice cream at home, so I’ll be heartbroken tomorrow instead.

[text]: Not sure if I took a nap or went to another dimension

[text]: ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION!

[text]: No no don’t leave me, who’s going to walk me home

[text]: She wheeled me home in a trolley and sad she loved me, I think I win.

[text]: My dick just got serenaded.

[text]: I ate the whole wheel of cheese. Help.

[text]: I’ve been hiding under the bed for the past 20 minutes, and now they’re getting into it and it’s a little too late for me to jump out and surprise them. So expect live sex updates

[text]: The fridge is fully stocked. I’m either hallucinating or this is a miracle

[text]: I need you to help me clean the house because I have visitors in less than an hour???

[text]: Your brother is at the front door—WHAT DO I SAY?!

[text]: It’s all fun and games till someone says you’re so pretty they could punch you and they, you know, punch you

[text]: I’m in A&E but I don’t really know why

[text]: Went to bed with a 10, just about woke up with a 2 and a half

[text]: I think I’m officially a homewrecker because his wife just walked in screaming and he said it’s not what it looks like. I mean what else could it look like? I wasn’t trimming his hairs with my mouth?!

[text]: My night ended with me crying in a gutter, I hate you.

[text]: Don’t talk to me! You tried to trade me for a glass of wine and a cigarette!

[text]: I promise I’ll get everyone to jelly wrestle with us xox

[text]: I am armed with a crown, a sash and a bouquet of flowers. Don’t test me.

[text]: I think I got married last night?

[text]: I think I got married on impulse last night…and after looking a second time, I don’t think I’ve made any mistakes.

[text]: My mouth tastes like poor choices

[text]: I didn’t let go of the mechanical bull, but they had to pull me off because…it was rough just the way I like it and I think that showed?

[text]: If I say it was accidental you’ll just say I’m lying

[text]: There is an alarming amount of glitter in my…everywhere

[text]: You’re my hero

[text]: You’re the worst thing to ever happen to me, thank you

[text]: Have you ever had a good idea in your life?

[text]: Are we going to end up in the hospital again?

[text]: It’s not a good night if I don’t end up crying into your mother’s lap.

[text]: Mark my words, your dad will be my sugar daddy, he’ll marry me and you’ll have to call me momma bear and I will interrupt your sex life with condoms and condiments.

[text]: I may be allergic to nuts, but not his.

[text]: She high fived me out of pity

[text]: You walked in wearing nothing but a beekeeper mask

[text]: You just walked in, rated their performance, dragged in three other people to clap for them, then walked back out.

[text]: You kept calling me baby Jesus and trying to see what wise men had to say about my hair…

[text]: I am a responsible adult. I tied up my hair before I puked

[text]: I am a responsible adult, I brought home a lost kitten and let it shit in your room

[text]: I accidentally talked myself into a threesome, when did I become so smooth?

[text]: It may or may not have been your sister…

[text]: It may or may not have been your brother…

[text]: If you’re not coming over with food, don’t come over at all

[text]: Call me and get me out of this conversation NOW. My co-worker is talking to me about her birds having sex again…

[text]: Buy me a helicopter, I will give you the last slice of pizza. pls. this is important. okay maybe the crust?

[text]: Let’s never forget the time I met you while you were running down the street naked and in handcuffs.

[text]: I tried to put lipstick on my eyeballs, help.

[text]: If you don’t fuck me hard, rough, and senseless the minute we’re alone in your room, I’m returning you to the boyfriend store

[text]: I accidentally sexted your mum, I’m sorry xox

[text]: There can only be one screw up per family and I was here first. Get your shit together bro

[text]: I feel like you’re pretending I didn’t bail you out of jail last night for trying to staple a cushion to the top of their car so you had a “comfy place to sit”

[text]: You climbed the fence and then started crying because you were scared of hamsters, I really don’t know what you took, but you need a babysitter.

[text]: I wish we could all take a bath together. Not in a “let’s fuck” way. But in a relaxing drunk in the tub sort of “let me wash your hair” way.

[adsoojin]

black & blue

@adxsejun

she’s bitten by a wolfish pain, the kind sharp and searing, fingers hovering over a saw-tooth incision, gritting teeth && scowling threats in low tongue. still, not enough for her to begin slipping from reality, and nowhere near the point when her senses will dull into smudges and incoherence. she hears them, watching with strained eyes: men and their roughed up voices, brawn and nothing else, and the young initiate who had accompanied her on this business venture. unharmed, she hopes -- the last thing she needs is a whimpering, broken boy, if not dead one. at least for today.

the situation is simple for someone discerning enough to think: it is impossible to take them on successfully, not with her skill and their numbers, and neither has the proposal panned out -- with little room for further insistence. “fucker,” she breathes, careful to keep their eyes averted, hands which light up cigarettes like candlesticks. must she flee before their anger maximizes, having realized a tiger like herself would refuse to part without death or a deal? a choice not necessarily for her sake, but the soldier who eyes the bloodied knife with a sick sort of fear, the kind which leads to intrepid and often, reckless action. more than anything, she cannot afford to take responsibility for someone who’s murdered the wrong people at the wrong place. 

six eyes glow, expectant, preying on any indication of aggressive intent. it’s a give & take business, after all, and she has everything to relinquish and near nothing to benefit. “let’s go --” a cutting statement, contradictory strength from the ruptures of pain which seem to radiate throughout her entire leg. the last of her boldness dissolves, and she’s pulling the young man along, around the corner and into the open streets before he does anything they’ll both regret. besides, their trouble will not end with cutting a girl; the tigers are known to be especially thorough when repaying debts. “scram out, kid, and go directly home. don’t even speak of this.” 

it hurts, of course it does, like walking with a rotting limb and brittle bones, though likely nothing more than a muscle injury. if his aim was to temporarily cripple, she would not have left with only this. unpleasant and elongated minutes pass before she slips from a taxi into the lobby, inconspicuous as blood trickles into the dark fabric of her pants. if anything, it’s the metallic odor which would attract attention, but in the recesses of night, no witnesses stand to observe.

she’s peeling off jeans in exchange for shorts && ease of access once in the safety of her home; what had been painted messily with gore, pretentiously urgent, transpires to be a meager laceration barely five centimetres deep. her concerns lie more with bruises sprouting over her jaw, knuckles chafed && raw from personal hits -- to which bandaids and ointment will serve the only panacea. a knife wound, on the other hand... before she’s given time to inspect the area there’s an abrupt sound at the door, unsure, a presence she questions. 

she has not been expecting visitors.

retying the cloth, irritation seeps through a previously bitter expression and soojin drags herself to the entrance, examining her guest through a monitor. a groan -- then hesitation. at last, easing the door open, her cautions keep much of her frame still in the shadows. “what do you want?” 

[adsoojin]

adhxdes:

@adsoojin​

Hades looked up at Soojin and chewed at his lip slightly as he lay back and gave her a nod. “ You’re not gonna like this but you’re blessed with seeing my annoying but handsome face once again ” he murmured as he propped himself up and gave her a small smirk. “ which by the way, least i’m not injured there this time ” he commented before gesturing to his leg with a huff. “ i sprained it, its not too tricky a wound this time but there’s a bit of glass stuck in my foot and it just needs some support and its swelling ” he shrugged apologetically before winking at her. “ at least you get to torture me a little with the ice for the swelling for taking up your night ”

she doesn’t have to look to recognize his sound, still concentrated on scrubbing bloodied hands clean, eyes chasing plumes of red fluid swirling down the drain. he doesn’t usually come this late, not when there’s a reason for visiting at all, and in one leisurely motion she turns && assesses him -- what seems ordinary likely proving otherwise upon closer inspection. “i was already not liking it the moment you came in, you know.” the water subsides to a trickle, and then nothing, and in those heartbeat seconds they both know she’d help him nonetheless. it’s her job, and this is hades, after all. 

an often playful boy, one she catches herself often viewing as more of a younger sibling than comrade. even now, the corners of her lips twitch upward as she dries her hands before examining the injury with her fingertips. “thank god --”  a honey drizzled voice, ladled with exaggerated sap. “-- our precious hyeokie doesn’t have to be as much a pain in the ass this time ‘round. don’t even wish for it if you know you’ll regret it.” fucking glass. she can’t decide what’s more irritating to fix. roughly placing an ice pack over the faint blooms of discoloration spotting around his ankle, she peers into the wound, simultaneously tugging nitrile gloves over cold hands. “how’d you even walk here, kid? it’s in pretty deep; that’s why you’re bleeding so much.”

[adsoojin]

between lines

[adsoojin]

adxyong: 

he finds difficulty in moving, not just because his head aches, terrible pounding against his skull in waves, but because it’s warm. she is warm, she always has been, in ways she often doesn’t seem. in ways the world doesn’t seem to notice but he always does. he wiggles closer as she softly speaks, his body revolts but he’s slowly becoming used to the quiet war his body wages on the world. he peeks an eye open to look at her, finds her looking back, and he’s frozen in thought for a single moment. a wave of uncertainty, of inexperience, shock settling between pain and soreness. he is lying in bed with soojin, not as usual. with her sweater on, her baggy sweatpants, tired after a long day of work but not wanting to go home just yet. gnawing on a sausage and making snide remarks his way. but nearly naked, kissed by morning light, most probably kissed by him last night. she wouldn’t even have had to ask for him to move his arm, but she did just as he draws it away with deceptive quickness, the electric shock of realization quite literally felt down his spine. he temporarily shelves thoughts of his nausea, begs his migraine to wait, as she seems to work things over just as much as he is. he can read the thoughts on her face, but without clarity. as if knowing the sun is the sun, but not quite how it works, just how far away it is.  he tries not to take offense to her tone as he peels himself back to his side of the bed, now spread out on his back, taking a single moment to lazily drag the sheets to cover himself, less to preserve modesty, mostly because it was growing cold. “i feel the same way, as if i’d sleep with you.” he snorts out, and it’s half truth. the idea of sleeping with her was laughable, even yesterday he would have died a withering death laughing over the mere prospect, but yet, here in the aftermath, he questions it. at the very least, it’s no longer funny. it’s more worrisome. the one thing she says that rings true, he is indeed not lonely enough to sleep with his best friend, and it was a mistake, but one that makes him think. one that makes his body burn, an odd tingle of wonder. had it been pleasant? how had she felt in his arms, did she find time even during such illicit acts to case her sassy words and bright eyes his way? or did she put those aside for the time being? treat him not like a best friend but like a proper lover? she snaps, loud and sharp and he hisses, careening himself up much too quickly, but on instinct. his head spins but he’s no longer lying, he’s no longer so close that he can smell her, feel the radiating warmth. “you’re the one killing me.” he sniffs, risking a glance back at her and feeling the impact of her all the way down to his toes, looking like a painting, a messy, steepled painting that he wouldn’t be able to forget. he pushes himself to stand, swings his legs over the side and up to his feet in a clean swoop. one that breaks off into a wobble on his feet as his migraine pulses, a groan parts his lips.  “okay,” he says suddenly, loudly, like an epiphany. “so we slept together…” he reaches a hand to massage his tense shoulder muscles, aching from a night of use. he turns to look at her, as usual, bared and exposed, not bothering to cover himself up. “it’s not like you really see me as a man. blame the alcohol not me.” he smirks, a pale thing, weak in the face of his headache and the truth of the topic.

she feels him and his heat, his body against the bed, against her, against everything, && her skin tingles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. glued hands to her sides prevent every force from touching his face and the soft tangles of his hair, even from pushing the sleepy man away to breathe air that’s not also his. look away, she wants to demand, caught in his expression, a distorted reflection in dark, handsome eyes. and still, if she closes her own she will imagine unspeakable and taboo things -- it’s the tether between gazes which cables down such thoughts, a steadfast warning not to tread further. but the longer she rolls it between her teeth, the more a breath of humor threatens to slip from her lips because fuck -- haven’t they already trespassed such boundaries?  

she could imagine herself with another and be able to pick them apart, dissect them with careful procedure && divulge their heartstrings, reading faces like large print children books. if it had been any other, finding their thoughts before hearing them would’ve been second nature. pity the same does not apply to taejun ( nothing will ever really be the same ), since long ago, since last night. his reaction is exactly in the manner she would predict because she knows him, though it’s herself she does not trust -- a notion she will not welcome like a stubborn child still insisting the world is her own.

her tongue runs over pink, unstained lips, “hey.” slowly rising, sheets falling around her waist. “what’s wrong with me? if i do recall, you were the one who puckered up first, not even after your first three glasses.” paper thin, sallying words. they’re both wise enough to know what’s wrong with him && her, together; like this. she knows he is, or else the time would not be occupied by inquisitions and perplexity, but rather sultry awakenings and morning kisses. probably morning sex, if it’s taejun. 

she falls back in the space vacated by his abrupt absence, hair spilled onto wrinkled blankets. what little restraint dissolves and her eyes waterfall down his body, watching him like a curious sparrow preening her feathers: frequently benign in appearance, threatening in presence, a metastasizing, malignant sort of poise. “put something on,” she mumbles, head turned in his direction, arms fanned out and hung over the mattress. “and don’t face me, brat.” they slept together. it’s truth, so hard-faced and definite -- a manifest, doubtless truth. they would’ve touched && not in a friendly way, not with the shove of hands or arm hugs, but with much more privacy and infinitely personal. what can it mean? a harmless little incident is as she wants to play it, wishing to laugh, naturally, at a comical scene.

she has not been expecting the brunt of the matter, however, the way his unclothed glory would send electric snaps down her spine, how quite suddenly he’s transformed into someone entirely new. not her best friend, a borderline alcoholic manchild; but yong taejun, an often respectable, hard earning individual, whom she has shared a bed with. “god, the things you do to me...” lips parting, she rolls onto her stomach, tumbling dangerously near the edge. has she ever truly seen him as a man, even in this moment? she would like to think never, but she won’t deny recognizing him as one -- a man that does carry his charm. “damn right, but i do wonder: hasn’t anyone thought to fix you and your drinking problem?” she sighs, and bites on other words before she’s suddenly and inevitably on the floor, entangled in linen, bare legs still halfway attached to the bed. 

a pout. “junie...help me up.” 

[adsoojin]

YOU’RE KILLING ME.

@adxyong

[adsoojin]

crossfire

@adwoojin

it’s half past four a.m. when she parts from the building, a willowy profile against subdued lamp light and the smudged cascade of moon. it’s only in the low light she’s ever truly alone, walking her ghosts like prized possessions, walking the street as if an outsider. this time, death follows her – blood, stitches, and death – the former having been a healer’s attempt, the latter a purposeful abandonment ( superficially wounded soldiers filter out. a woman and her team, alike only in profession, relieve three men of their pains. death feasts tonight ). after, she’d been meticulous about the stain, about sheets bloated with human substance and dark wine-like fluid drooling from raw cadavers. after, she’d honoured their memory by scratching their name, robbing their identity, burning bodies so only their spirits remained because such people will not be discovered, such people are not wealthy enough for lavish funerals. such people cannot afford to be enemies of the tigers. but the wicked && scrupulous – they’re all the same, at the end of the day. there’s no rest for either. 

the darkness comes in pieces, soojin pocketing a handful, fingers combing through supple wind when a fleet of lights guarding the entrance rouse awake, flinging unkind and harsh shadows across the pavement. the masked raccoon secreted in the shrubs glowers at her intrusion, though soojin shares the same discontent. here, she trusts in muscle memory to navigate toward the mailboxes, hidden deep around the corner, and the blurry visioned and tired woman eyes the parcels she’s been neglecting for over a week. 

slowly, lazily, letters claimed by her grasp stack upon a box, then clapped loosely between her hands, && it’s almost mechanical the way arms move, feet shuffle, motion which would betray awareness if her gaze isn’t already so careened toward pitted slumber, weariness gloving her fingertips. then, a drip of sound; her keys dive onto the floor but there’s something else, someone she hadn’t seemed to observe. her attention snatches on him, a queenfish to hook and line. a man, piloting her interest: seo woojin, who still haunts her. 

her bottom lip tugs back between teeth, movement insignificant and fractional, before she’s bending down with balanced effort to retrieve the collapse of metal without so much a sound. she cannot think to make any.

[zionqt]

Lee Sung Kyung for Lovcat ♥

[adsoojin]

– OOC. 

hey y’all i forgot to make this before but i’m traveling a bit these next ( and past ) few days so i apologize for not getting back to those i’m plotting with but!! i have laptop access for the day, and i’ll have data for the rest of my trip so hopefully i can get back to all of you! anyway feel free to hmu if anyone wants to plot or chat ;^))

[adsoojin]

hello hello! 'tis i jessie and i am so puMPed for our reopening! i present to u (g)lee soojin, awake and ready to operate 24/7 ;^)) breifo summary of this lil lady below:

runs on adrenaline and alcohol with a pill hidden here and there, totally unhealthy for a woman who’s too health conscious.

coffee is no lifeline of hers, that stuf is bitter af.

organization = key to happiness

along with getting sick 365 days per year is severely allergic to all furry animals – reptiles are nice, yes.

sleep? what’s that?

looks like a cinnamon roll but could kill you, but at the same time looks like could kill you but is a cinnamon roll.

still, her seriousness can sometimes reach an eerie level; she’s the type of silent that stares at you for + seconds and then begins to sterilze the table

has done several transplants for the illegal organ trade, is game for doing it again and fuCK don’t mess wit her but at the same time please do.

creepy? more like Loving™ ;)

so minimalist that her soul is either white or black – on good days.

medic for the seoul tigers, surgical resident in depart. of cardiology ( makes serious $$ i assure u )

a definite sadist. pain equals comfort, but if you’re a torn teddy bear then she won’t hesitate to sew you up.

that being said, she frequently glares and looks like she hates everyone ( resting bitch face ) – chances are, she probably does. unless you feed her.

holds grudges like they’re her ancestor’s last legacy

always appreciates free stuff

hmu hmu!! i’m a slut for plots ( and all things angst tbh ), so i will love u lots if you wanna start something ;)))))))))))) :^) click here for bio and here for plots! 

[ssul]

lee sung kyung for elle

[adsoojin]

between lines

[adsoojin]

adxyong:

he doesn’t say it again. it takes him countless moments, rise and fall of chest and pulse of a migraine echoing through his skull in tandem, before he can begin to pry his eyes open. what was no doubt a long night, passing over to make it a long morning, even as it had just begun. he’s vaguely aware of the ever charming, familiar scent of her, calming almost, as he rolls onto his side in the direction she flees. he doesn’t spot her until she had already clambered away, in the process of covering up with an oversized shirt, his own, the plain undershirt that he wore beneath yesterdays button-up. her shoulder blades protrude, skin looking soft and flawless, her hair a tangled mess, and he gazes with a strange fascination. he manages to keep himself from inspecting much lower, though the dotted line of her spine draws his eyes down with startling intensity, he snaps them back up to her jawline before he can meet temptation. he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t dare, as he watches her daintily sliding spectacles up her petite nose, chasing the motion with words that make his stomach clench uncomfortably. one of his arms is folded beneath the pillow, legs curled, nude form tucked up so that he loses much of his height lying down in the bed. he’s not sure why he feels oddly natural here, not uncomfortable in the slightest, were it not for the pressing fact that they shouldn’t be having this conversation; and that last night ━ which he really can’t positively confirm, but can only suspect had happened, shouldn’t have happened. he can’t begin to summon the answer before she slips his shirt over her head, waterfalling over her torso so that it lands just enough to cover the slope of her hips and backside ━ it probably shouldn’t have had any effect over him, after all, he had seen many a lover or fair women standing in his bedroom, wearing his clothes, emboldened or embarrassed after long night of tantric embrace. usually, he can’t be bothered with taking notice of the way it looks particularly balletic, draping willowy over smaller frame like goddess cloth, far more eloquent than it could ever look on his bulky body. maybe it’s because it’s her. he assumes it must be. some sort of forbidden line crossed that has him on high alert, noticing things he wouldn’t normally, despite the presence of his aching head. he can’t answer yet still as she turns back to face him and he squeezes his eyes closed, less from pain and mostly because he doesn’t want to face her as of yet, content to stare at her back but not apt to meet her gaze, but it’s a mistake. she pounces and he can’t say he didn’t expect it, but he didn’t expect the severity of the currents of pain that shoot through him as she jars him and the world tilts and his stomach upturns and his head revolts with fierce determination. a groan tears through his lips, followed by a grunt. he’s not sure why it always ends up like this with the women in his life; screaming, insulting him, calling him out on his bullshit (for which there’s honestly too much, in their defense). just once he’d like to meet a woman who thought he was a reliable man, like he imagines himself out to be, not an idiot (like he knows he actually is). it’s probably what he gets for surrounding himself with intelligent women who weren’t afraid of anything, least of all taejun the idiot who drinks too much and works too much and curses too much; everything in excess taejun. she’s near the bed, near enough to hit him, not quite hard enough to hurt in most cases, but it’s enough, any degree of abrasive contact is more than enough to have him in pain at the moment ━ his hands shoot out to grab her arms on instinct, pure survival, grabbing her by the upper arms and pulling her down onto the bed at his side.  he bolts her down beneath his arm, like pegs holding in the corners of a tent, softly but hopefully enough so that she doesn’t fly out, fly off on him again. “i don’t remember,” he grumbles, a growl really, because he feels like just a bit more stimulus will have him tossing his cookies all over the place; something he’s certain neither want. “i don’t remember anything, stop hitting me ━ and stop nagging me; did you think i was lying when i said i was dying?” her skin is soft beneath his arm, like velvet.  there’s a burn in his shoulders and thighs, a burn that doesn’t equate to a headache, nor a hangover. a burn that equates to a long night of strenuous activities, a burn that he can very easily explain, he just doesn’t want to. doesn’t want to acknowledge it. (but he can’t not.) a blink later he sighs. “sorry.” it’s all he can think to say. for everything.

she cannot blink before she’s driven into the mattress and once again tucked in his propinquity; it hurts to go down like that, head slammed into the pillows, their softness little of the buffer she had wished for. there’s tenderness at her side, among other things, a sensitivity she cannot identify; “goddamn it taejun, you’re not the only one suffering here,” she scolds, eyes pressing closed, battling what seems like fucking needles piercing her cranium.

then there’s the scent of him, of raw, bone cutting masculinity, knuckles brushed with evening whiskey and resolve surging through pale veins. the truth: his lovers must get drunk off this, intoxicated by a man with all pleasant things personified; the black truth: in this moment, she is still invulnerable to her best friend’s spellbind. there isn’t even much suavity in his current condition, movements undoubtedly delayed by the morning haze and what she would consider a pressing situation, displaying a dilution of motion she’s usually so adept to predict. she’s seen him in worse and in better conditions ( hungover and confused mornings are not exactly the epitome of attractiveness ) -- it’s strange how instantly her gaze now navigates toward his face, the smooth crook of his neck, the bump in his throat which thrums with every utterance. 

his limb is not so much a heavy weight, rather a stubborn strap against her chest: a sort of assurance when sloped against protects tirelessly, eternally. “i’m counting to three and you’re moving your arm,” she threatens, but the fierceness is not so malignant, her annoyance a half-ass attempt as her eyes trail along his contours, the curvature of his cheek, his straight lashes which seem to lower like shutters of the horizon until once again revealing dark pupils. she would know this man in darkness, in war and in ruin, a familiarity she would seek even on her deathbed. his rhythms of breath, the notes in his heartbeat, the manner his hair falls against his forehead upon bringing a glass to his lips ( per late night visits usually accompanied with takeout and a bottle of wine; vodka if feeling exceptionally worn ), the quirk of his lips when amused -- all facets committed to memory, a friend who’s her second nature, her spare heart.

how can she just simply eschew imagining those drowsy ridicules having turned into sweet nothings, a usual evening wind down ( in which she would trace curse words and crude images along his back, claiming to parallel skills that of a masseuse ) occupied instead with peppered kisses and whispered pleasure, screamed promises? she cannot even stare at him for so long without her mind wandering. 

still, the denial unspools hurriedly from her lips, slick and slippery: “we didn’t. god -- where’s the reason to? and with you, of all people.” an acrid aftertaste sits on her tongue ( perhaps from trying to convince herself, and not the alcohol surely consumed ). “we were fine last night. we couldn’t have drank too much.” except she wasn’t, and she did, and if there comes a need for evidence the demand would be quickly satisfied. twisting to separate herself from him, breaking stiffness to encounter another, she is reminded of misplaced words, respect irritatingly left unmet, the aftermath of a brawl leading to blooming discoloration crept along the side of her torso -- just hours before she’d stumbled her way into his home. focus on feeling and she would realize there is further soreness elsewhere.

“besides. you’re not lonely enough to sleep with your best friend.” she, herself, cannot find any substantial reasoning. “why, because i’m very nearly late for work? or...saekki, i said get up. you’re killing me.” 

[adsoojin]

between lines

[adsoojin]

adxyong:

everything     hurts. he’s engulfed in that familiar feeling of wanting to end his existence rather than drowning in the pain; a splitting migraine, fuzzy thoughts, aching body, chattering teeth. he doesn’t need to question whether he was hit by a car, or thrown out a window, he’s experienced this particular whimsy of life a thousand times.       fuck, fuck fuck fuck, he’s so hungover he wants to DIE. it’s been a long time since he was quite this tortured by a prior night’s escapades. he doesn’t even have a chance to reflect really, to pull the clearest memory out of the fog, gather his wits and try to piece together anything after the breakfast he ate the day before. there’s motion, soft, supple motion, like someone ever-so-gently pressing into him, inhales tickling his cheekbone, a brush of skin as someone shifts in bed. but to taejun, with his splitting head, he feels the movement like a shockwave all the way down to his toes, a grunt leaving his lips as he attempts to wiggle more deeply into his bed, like it’s quicksand, like it can just swallow him alive and put him out of his misery. he’s said it once, he’s said it a million times, & he’ll say it again; he absolutely needs to quit drinking. like, for the sake of all future mornings, if nothing else. somewhere beneath the white noise, the thrum of pain like a war drum, he recognizes that he’s not alone, that he has a lover by his side, most likely. but unlike the eager, genteel embrace of a lover, there is no fingers dancing along his bicep, purple prose and i-had-fun-last-night kisses laid upon his skin. (he’s not sure he’d welcome them right now anyways, with the way his stomach flat out revolts at the slightest jostle.) there’s only the cold harsh reality of cool air hitting his body, washing over him like a wave, riding the grumpy, acerbic growl of a familiar voice.       &&    to think; it could have been a good day. he wonders what God he forsook to end up in this life? it takes him all of 35 seconds to move; he laid there still, eyes squeezed shut, body exposed to the bitter air outside of his warm blanket, trying to pretend life isn’t betraying him. he’s afraid to wait any longer. he doesn’t think he could take the smack that he’s sure might come.             because fuck absolutely everything, he wouldn’t miss that voice if he was in the grave; lee soojin, THE lee soojin, bane of his existence, keeper of his secrets, official ruiner of all things fun (the most fun person he knew, the girl with the granny panties, idiot girl; his fucking best friend) is in bed with him. his voice comes out a grumble, blearily peeking one eye past the crust dried in the corners and hazy, he still had his contacts in and damn they were so dry and uncomfortable, and has he mentioned that he wants to DIE. he immediately squeezes his eye shut again, not brave enough to try opening it to a full-on look. he doesn’t know if he wants to see. “could you maybe shut up, you brat. i’m dying.” he doesn’t even have the energy, or willpower, to lift a hand to cover himself, nudity on full display, and he doesn’t give a damn. he’s far less concerned than he should be by soojin and the possibility of what could come from this, or the possibility of bodily harm or maybe getting yelled at in his condition.  spread eagle, naked in bed with your best friend who you probably slept with last night; not the best way to spend a wednday (is it wednesay? fuck what day is it?) morning. “soojinie, save me,” he pouts, rather pathetically, and if he wasn’t about to die from a migraine, lying in bed naked next to soojin of all people, he might be ashamed of the fact. but he is so he isn’t.. 

the final vestiges of languid slumber and morning insentience dissolve like a magic act; arms stretched out, eyes blinking fully and rapidly and batting off disbelief, she cannot process his voice so early in the a.m. ( it could well be past noon, in which case she is fucked ), much less the nondescript, fuzzy and freakishly tangible outline of his naked body and it in full glory. “say that again, you punk.” slim, pale fingers tame her hair ( there’s hesitation when she wants to neaten the dark strands of his own, and better judgement drew her hand back), bottom lip pulled between her teeth – there’s no fucking way it’s actually taejun. perhaps a lookalike, maybe an impostor, another man with uncannily similar features and that same deep, saturated voice, husk sanding the edges of his words. not taejun though. they couldn’t have. 

rarely can she be defined with mess, always straight-faced and perfectly composed, a cruel sort of girl with blood stained hands and a feral gaze. anyone would know there’s a blizzard behind those lips, icicles forming with every articulation of her mouth, yet somehow taejun makes simple inebriated intercourse that much more embarrassing, so much so she’s left speechless and still legally blind. it’s always been humor with them, no boundaries nor professionalism, informal speech and nights spent ( almost too conveniently ) slurping up noodles and finding sleep in the company of each other – her own panacea for insomnia and midnight dread. but therein lies the issue: they’d never slept together, and most definitely not naked. 

if it isn’t her pride, it’s self-respect – slipping from the sheets with the image of a bashful lover, shame is instead swapped with stubborn dignity. a random shirt ( likely his from a recognized scent ) brought to her chest becomes a fluid, casual movement. small steps backward toward the kaleidoscope of light flung through the window; shuffles across the floor, waiting for a signature of a purse; fingers, a crane, peering through its contents until she’s finally able to slide thin frames up her nose, rings of precision at last brought back into her vicinity. somehow there’s a stone of disappointment burrowed in her stomach, and then there’s that faint alleviation with the truth of him, of her closest friend who gifts her bizarre trinkets and fucking elderly underwear: the beige, hideous kind. he’s a salve for the worst burn, an addictive, intoxicating relief she sometimes so zealously seeks. in fact, they’re so unconventional it is almost hilarious how these two manage as friends. 

it’s impossible – “did we do it?” the inquisition rolls from her mouth a small, weightless thing, teetered on the edge of doubt, a sprinting manifestation surely of their own separate thoughts. in the momentary diversion she tugs the soft fabric over her body ( not that he’s only ever seen her completely clothed, probably ), shaking –  kicking – him. “get your ass up, taejunie,” she cannot deal with this right now. “god, i keep telling you your system can’t fucking handle alcohol. you’re such a kid.” what a makeshift reply, a blunt bruise in the stead of quick wit; curses would never escape so blatantly either, but then again, soojin is just soojin in his company.  

[adsoojin]

between lines

@adxyong

she’s been told recounting how a dream begins is an impossible endeavor; in medias res, per say, now when referring to the nature of remembering the previous night. a dreamless, cautious girl, it takes seconds to gather fragments of a drunken memory, making vain attempt to puzzle together what little pieces make sense: the clink of soju bottles, midnight sonatas, slurred pleasure and unforeseen intimacy. and then...what else? trapped in the state of thinking whilst not comprehending nor cohering, her mind remains untenanted of logic with its still-current occupants of alcohol and whatever else of a vice she’s been intoxicated with just hours prior.  

a cold hand shifts against a warm chest, and she would nestle closer to the pleasant heat of the body beside her own if the realization doesn’t dawn so heavily, so unexpectedly. feminine eyes pry open, peering through dark lashes and the discomfort of poor eyesight. the bed at once feels too hot for an otherwise breezy room, and -- shit, one movement and she knows she’s bare down to the bone. a dried up, wrinkled contact lens clings to her cheek as she leans toward her bedwarmer, squinting, trying to gain visual clarity of this blurry faced man. her nose brushes against what she assumes to be his neck as she fights the impulse to feel the features of his face beneath her fingertips, instead straining her eyesight further another degree to at least acquire some kind of recognition, an identity to a shape. would this be her colleague? a flirtation from the downtown bar? tousles of dark hair intermix with her own, and she begins to notice evident handsomeness in his face--

taejun. the name arrives like a bullet train, a fucking fast one, and his presence begins to fill the empty voids of which had clogged up her memory. perhaps she should be relieved, now with the knowledge that she hadn’t done the dirty deed with a creepy, more sinister individual, but instead reassurance is replaced with dread; the onset of a chaotic morning is inevitable and completely undesired. “taejun, you brilliant man,” she drawls, meaning much of the opposite, uncaring whether he’s just as much aware as she, “tell me you know why i--” a hand immediately retracts and pulls the blankets to reveal his equally nude body, “and you are naked in the same damn bed together.”