take me back.

i'm not the only one left, right?

[anthropocentrik]

taeilyoo​:

If anyone were to ever ask him who had really done it, Taeil would say it was love that had raised him. That every weekend morning love would wake him, then linger within the serene lustre of their sunbathed kitchen. A tender hum caressing past her throat as she went about breakfast. After some time, more love would filter in and intertwine with the first half, sharing whole kisses Taeil could somehow tell they never tired of. Love would pack his tiny backpacks and bring him to school as much as they would carry him to the beach in summer, where they would hold hands for hours and watch him play until his knobby little knees buckled and freckles darkened. When it snowed, he’d find love snuggled by their fireplace, though after a some years he’d grown too large to tuck himself between them the way he’d used to as a child. Needless to say, regardless of their title as a married couple and them slowly becoming more engrossed in work as their firstborn aged into independency, love was happy. Despite, it never once ceased to exist.

On the contrary, Taeil believed that the minutes–hours, days, weeks–spent apart brought his parents that much closer together as lovers. So long as they came back together in the end, the empty space meant next to nothing. And he was right to believe so, because that’s exactly what it was. In the eyes of a teen who knew little of what it meant to love and wed, even while raised by love itself, what his parents had was the true ideal. In the eyes of an adult who still knew much too little, they had what he thought transcended all expectations and constraints that came with the traditional definition of what marriage was supposed to look, or be like. Rarely did Taeil witness a fight, even if he, too, started seeing them less and less. Even when they did, it was never about the nature of their relationship. They made it look and feel entirely unimportant, the rings on their fingers—a title that served only one purpose and that was to start a family. Nothing less, or more, and through them, Taeil had eventually came up with his own definition of marriage.

He didn’t look at it the way others did; a seal that officialized a magical forever between two lovers, a pact that traps two people into polar roles they could only escape through divorce, which to some, was as good as death. It came to him more like a luxury. At times a show, an excuse. Even a setup, under tragic circumstances. To him, Hansol’s wedding had simply been a luxury–a bit of a brag notwithstanding their pure intentions. Their love was already real and beyond what marriage could possibly offer save for the freedom to conceive, and Taeil could see it all.

Except what he saw had made him unexpectedly jealous, because despite being older than Hansol, whom he loved dearly as a friend, he hadn’t yet what the other did. He was far from it and naturally, as much as he denied himself of it, his pride was hurt to witness a luxury he didn’t have. His drunken haze had made him selfish, to want to get even no matter what extremes it took for him to do so in such short timing, or who’s hearts it would break along the way, including his own. And with the perfect opportunity at hand, a gorgeous heartthrob with his soothing voice and seraphic eyes, named Haru, he’d decided it a good idea to chase what happiness he longed for as well, even if the sentiment was a benign concept for him after all.

But jealousy and alcohol never had mixed well in Taeil’s body, and from that alone, many mistakes were born that night. Not everyone sees things through his lens, and even less of an handful would bother to save room in their own narrative to genuinely understand his perspective. He didn’t know what kind of person Haru really was in that regard, but it also didn’t matter, did it? No matter which way the cookie crumbled, what he’d done, no matter how exhilarating it’d felt in the heat of the moment, was unfair for Haru.

For all Taeil knew, Haru probably thought he were serious even in all his drunk glory, or maybe wanted it to be so. For all he knew, Haru would never forgive him for it, no matter how many times he could empty his lugs with apologies. For all he knew, Haru was a serial killer.

Gawking at the smudged sharpie scribble on Haru’s finger, before he could swallow around the dreadful magnitude of their reality—there’s even a peculiar soreness he’d never felt before coiled in his ass cheeks—he thinks no, not with those hands. Then he swallows, literal and visibly, Adams apple jerking through the lack of moisture in his throat. “We got engaged…” he repeats Haru’s words, again, and again, and again. Until the thick fog plaguing his throbbing skull begins to dissipate into tattered memories full of blotches; of sharing champagne with Haru and his girlfriend Dani, of the way Haru smiles like he’s trying to melt a glacier. Of the puzzle of their hands fitted in each other, his warmer, but Haru’s grip more secure. Of kneeling, Haru agreeing. Of laughter and the moon.

“Fuck,” As though the ground had suddenly been pulled from under his feet, a strange sensation starts in his chest and rapidly fans out across his sternum, twining in his ribs; like he’s being swallowed from the inside out. Plain, unchallenged regret. Not because he didn’t like Haru, but because he’d given into all the bottled negativity he’d tried to refuse before dawn had come and somehow roped Haru into the mess. Now Haru was staring at him, pretty even when he were on edge.

On the nightstand, Taeil’s phone buzzes one too many times in a row than he could keep up with, giving the impression of an incoming phone call. But when he leaps at it, somehow expecting it to tell him that this was just a dream and he should simply pinch himself to wake from it, he recoils at what he finds instead. Notifications, so many congratulatory messages for a post he’d made some ten hours ago. Congratulations on your engagement. Are you happy now?

Yeah, my ass!

“Jesus fucking christ.” Appalled with himself, Taeil haphazardly throws his large frame back against the mattress beside Haru, pressing his warm shoulders to his, uncaring of the sun in his eyes or the erect abundance of hair on his head. A childish outburst of frustration surfaces shortly after, as he scrubs his face with the heels of his callused palms and jerks his limbs into a fleeting squirm. The phone keeps buzzing on his chest.

After another beat he finally turns to his fiancé, bringing his cheek with him to lay it on the sharp curve of Haru’s shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, a boyish pout stretching at his lower lip. “I remember now more or less, so don’t worry. I’ll get a wet towel to wipe that ring off you in a bit so you can stop feeling uncomfy about it… Before I do that though, did we fuck? I… Like, we’re basically naked. And my ass hurts a little, you know? Too much info but at this point, there’s nothing to hide.”

witnessing his reaction play out felt like being pulled back to the ground or like a rug being yanked from under him. he could feel his eyes well up with tears but it's quickly dissolved with a sniff. he didn't know why he thought the proposal would mean anything past a joke even after the night had elapsed and their hangovers had started to kick in. who was taeil, really? who was he in this situation, and why did it matter so much more than it should? why was it messing haru up to this extent and why hasn't he gotten off the bed to take his leave?

perhaps the negative bias he had about the wedding ceremony the day before was him projecting his inner wishes, the ones that he's never dared to confront. that's why it stung, this moment at hand.

many things have whet his appetite as of late. the dreaded topic of his love life's current has been brought up quite a few times. he'd been asked what he really wanted. he always mistook it as a question to mean career-wise, as that was his undeniable top priority. it's a question he's had to grapple with for years and yet he still didn't know the answer. as far as he's figured out, romantic and sexual attraction wasn't something he was well-adjusted with, if he even needed to be like the general population makes him feel.

his orientation was never immediately apparent by the things he espoused in or what he did as a broad concept, as he sought out "love" in its less traditional sense for the most part. his life was clumsy in this way. he doesn't live for a day or two. even if the seasons changed twenty times, he'd still be the same. his words are clumsy, too. he slurps at the things he'd explain so much that he wishes he could borrow the lips of those more proficient. he is a writer, after all. what he does is write, that's his way of speaking his mind. though it seemed to do with being unsure rather than a dearth of words. a friend did tell him that he looked lost. it was true, incessantly so. but that he acted like he knew what he was doing. that, he didn't.

one thing he was sure of, however, was that in all his experiences in the past, he found sexual activities of any kind to be revolting to a degree. maybe it was those specific encounters that turned him this way. he couldn't exactly say. he wasn't really the type to blame things on external sources. if anything, he hated even considering the likelihood that it might actually be something, someone that wasn't him. he took pride in that to an unhealthy standard.

still, it does not eliminate the possibly of them having engaged in sexual intercourse completely. between the two of them and all the alcohol running in their system, anything could have happened. he does vaguely recall waking up in the middle of the night, but none of the details. was it then that he tore his clothes off? where even were his clothes? in the moment of silence between the question posed, he looked around the room hoping to find some sort of hint but to no avail. the room was in as big of a mess as his state of mind. it was almost like he dreamed he forgot, when dreaming was meant for remembering.

it was this cycle again. one step forward, two steps back, over and over. the phone’s buzzing snaps him out of a trance, only to send him back into overdrive, overthinking what kind of messages he was receiving to elicit such a reaction. this attentive nature to him was a blessing and a curse, because when moments like their shoulders touching happens, everything melts into clarity, even just for a little while, but it also reminded him of an apparent unfamiliarity that, if logic permitted, would have concluded the morning and sent them both back to when either of their lives didn’t have each other.

amidst the bold yet tender gesture, haru finds it in him to calm down with a crow peeking sunlight of dappled woodland, bright and playful. uncharacteristic, almost. it was his soul that was vulnerable and honest. "it's fine. i'll keep it. it's a souvenir." he said softly, palm cupping at the finger in question. "but uh," he started off hesitantly. "what do you remember exactly?" he continued, scratching at his temple. "you know, 'cause... i have my version of what happened, and you have yours. we'd probably figure things out easier if we talked about it, right?"

haru pats taeil's cheek in the most awkward manner. he couldn't recall the last time he'd been skin to skin with someone just like this. it felt warm yet ill at ease, though perhaps his discomfort came from how confusing this arrangement was to begin with or because he was frozen in his spot, insecure about disturbing the peace they laid in. "sad to say, i don't know if we... fucked. i was knocked the fuck out at some point. i don't even remember if i had a dream." he mulled over arbitrarily, followed by a nervous laugh to his own saying, "but that's not important. sorry about your ass. let's get some clothes on and maybe some ice? a hot pack? idunno, fuck if i know what to do with an aching ass."

he abruptly stands up, scratching his head as he aimlessly inspected the room. the state of it was the kind that marie kondo would have walked into with a gleeful smile, saying 'i love mess'. perhaps even she could have done a better job at quickly resolving their uncertainties.

“you wanna help me out or you need a minute?”

[eclipsenoir]

Idiot's guide on how to get engaged. Part two: Effect.

(refs x, x) featuring @anthropocentrik & @nicadanis

It's saturday evening, and suspended between pale, late february skies and the humming earth below, was a momentary sprinkle of snow.

Taeil has been standing in the middle of his bedroom for as long as he can't bother to remember, statued on long legs as though the weather has frozen him in time. A steaming mug of tea silently counts the minutes–hours instead, and weighs his palms as flickering thoughts do his mind.

On the window frame, snow gathers into a soft ensemble. And through the thick glass, arms of moonshine lay outstretched in a chase after his bare back. He feels his nape flush and tingle at the feeling. But if he even registers that strange, brittle touch stroking icicles along his spine, he doesn't show it. He just clutches around the drink, blinks at the suit laid out on his bed and thinks.

Stuck on a page written since four years ago, Taeil wonders about his age and the expectations written between the lines of it. He counts with a dull nail rapping against the base of his mug, how many of the umpteenth times his mother had tried to coax from him any existence of a girl he could remember off the top of his head. I'm getting old, she would say gently, I want to brag about my son's beautiful wedding someday soon. Though he told it with his own mouth, the voice that always lied to her never sounded like his own. Like it rose from someone else's chest, whispered off in the far distance. I'm too busy for that.

He gulps down tea every time a thought passes, as though they were the wispy clouds chasing each other at witness of the moon slashed in the sky outside.

An unfair timeline, posing as an ideal no one human could possibly abide to. Love and it's complexities; of what they personally mean to him. The temperature of his tea drops a bit more, but that incredible degree of sureness Hansol might've felt as he proposed the idea of forever back then starts to bleed into the back of his lids. If he'd ever come across it with a lover himself, or missed the opportunity entirely, Taeil couldn't tell. Is it even as real as we make it?

Hansol had asked him to prepare a speech when they'd met some weeks back. Talk about us, he'd said, expectant. How so? Taeil asked. About their friendship, in relation to the way his friend loves was the final agreement. Taeil had agreed to it, while knowing that by the time he'd run out of words, part of his soul would be left agape. Torn from his roots by his own bare hands, laid out in exposure for the world to grasp at how it pleases. But for a friend as good as this, he'd always endure it.

With his last sip, Taeil finally settles at the foot of his bed, joints grinding in a crackle-pop. Comfort slips back under the bed as the mug falls cold and empty. Hansol and his fiancé had made him this mug for Christmas last year, in a pottery class somewhere in Yeonnam-dong. Hansol says you collect these without knowing you do. Taeil remembers tearing through the snowman flecked wrapping. We thought we'd make you another one for that collection. Thank you, Taeil had murmured. The girl smiled, plump with delight.

It's a heavy thing, the mug, since they made it large and thick to fit and protect the hands it were made for. It'd easily become a monthly favourite.

Taeil's eyebrows knit together at the charming memory, then slant downward as a hostile upwelling of what feels dangerously close to resentment surfaces from the depths. They're hardly in his life anymore, yet reminders like this still linger. Why is that? Were they solely a product of his imagination, or were they as tangible as a scalding mug? Dulcet as a lover's kiss?

Impulsively, he releases the dense cup from his fingers and hopes it does what he needs it to. It hangs in the air for an excruciating interval, though like sensing Taeil's intentions and how regret would wreck him later on, it disappoints with a soft thud as it hits the polished floor between his feet. A far cry from shattering.

As innocent as an object could get, it rolls clumsily until interrupted by the handle, stopping where the moon kisses a silver sliver on the floor. His puppy, who'd been lounging nearby, draws near on all fours for a sniff.

Anticlimactic, and a balm to his bitterness. It brings him back to earth, where sighs with sudden exhaustion. Loneliness weighs his bed with its knees and pulls him back into his pillows, and Taeil simply obliges–settles for a dreamless sleep. But as rarely as they come, tonight, he dreams: of plunging his fingers into the earth and gripping an earthquake in his palms. Of never letting go.

—---—

Taeil never minded a freezing cold morning. He liked watching his breath smoke through the air, and tasting pinpricks on his tongue every time he spoke in and out of turn. The breeze catches in your lashes, flaps at the bill of a hat and ices tears across the cheeks of weeping children. It also intertwines between fingers like a lover not wanting to stray too far, and hides with coy intent underneath long, quivering coats and padded jackets. Coming along with it, illness. Or worse–that relentless sense of inner solace that can be bandaged only after the passing of snow.

Most, it drives where warmth can defrost the creeping numbness in their limbs, soothe the ache in their hearts; usually where the fragrant scent of grinded coffee beans and baked bread stirs harmoniously in the air, if not tucked further under the covers.

For today in particular, the cold morning brings with it love. Unconditionally, and forevermore.

The ceremony unravels around them like a peacock fluffing out its iridescent tail. Nothing short of ethereal, suave and composed. Taeil witnesses the beginning of a beautiful journey within the featherweight steps of a pianist as she graces her tiny side-stage, sweeps her black satin dress to the side with confidence and sits with her hands braced, ever so gently, over the polished keys.

The world withholds a breath, and a second of suspense shivers across the entirety of the wedding hall before the pianist begins to play. The band bracketed along the edge of the stage follows her lead shortly after, an elegant chorus of cellos and violins unraveling into a sonata Taeil can't name, but appreciates nonetheless.

Flanking the centered aisle are two elongated tables, black tablecloth neatly draped over them for the obvious purpose of blending in with the meticulously lighted venue. Reserved for an explosion of brass candelabra that are flocked by fresh arrangements of flowers each. Parallel across the ceiling hang long strings of fairy lights that remind Taeil of the wispy arms of a wisteria tree. The air conditioned breeze pushes so subtly against them that their swaying goes easily unnoticed–as though rain had come to a pause in time overhead, curious of what becomes of the world before the initial splatter.

A brief introduction from the host delicately plucks the groom from backstage. Hansol ascends the back end of the aisle, achilles heels chased by a spotlight. As if purely drawn to him by nature, radiance accentuates his refined beauty and opulence of the tux enveloping his broadness, as smooth and black as a starless evening sky. The entire venue greets him with a vibrant, deafening tide of a round of applause, and with the regality only a prince could muster, Hansol drops into a humble bow.

Taeil claps his hands so hard he's almost surprised they don't kindle fire by the time he's finished cheering for the bride, who appears a few heartbeats later. More beautiful than Taeil ever could've admitted of her before, she's fitted in a dress that embodies the polar opposite of Hansol's suit. Taeil marvels in awe at how it shudders and pleats around itself as she clears the stage to her husband to-be; equivalent to a whirlwind of shimmering stars, or a condensed supernova. Rested on the stiff volume of her crown, a delicate tiara skewers the air, perfectly compatible and present as her star-dress.

Together, they're the beginning of an end, and the end of a beginning. A dark knight who'd swallowed an erupting star in his arms.

A searing kiss seals the enchanting promise of forever between the young lovers, and simultaneously deepens the fresh gap arching in Taeil's soul. Like twisting a knife in a fresh stab wound, it deepens and weeps. When the time to congratulate comes again, Taeil claps with every ounce of bittersweet bliss he'd gathered at home and brought with him within the reserve in his heart.

In his head, he pretends his hands are mallets and his pain hovers between them, and with each thunderous strike, he's being forged whole again. Even if he knows it's not so simple.

Ten minutes, the announcer says. He has ten minutes before reception to somehow turn the bitter film on his tongue around and stitch away the pit. To find a silver lining.

So ten minutes before reception officially begins, Taeil harrows a waiter for a shot of whiskey he thinks he desperately needs. I'm afraid we don't have whiskey, sir, the young man says politely, likely trying to avoid trouble for premature labour. What kind of wedding doesn't come with at least a single bottle of Jack Daniels, Taeil says with a quiet ferocity that wins him the discussion. The waiter folds himself in a curt, yet apologetic bow, and returns two minutes later with a proper whiskey on the rocks.

Unhesitating, Taeil downs it with his eyes hard-pressed on wisteria lights he'd been staring at for almost two hours. He blames the tears that cling to his lashes on the agonizing, knife-cut burning sliding down to the bottom of his throat.

Immediately after reception officially begins, Taeil briefly excuses himself from the table for three and goes to find Byeol. Framed in a barstool and the midst of gulping down free rosé wine, Byeol looks the same as he always did since Taeil had first met him in high school; clad in a sharp poise, his shoulders squared and his hair a stylish sprawl on his head. He's blonde now, but somehow, Taeil swears he could recognize that small head anywhere.

A pang of overwhelming nostalgia seizes Taeil's bleeding heart in a joyful interlude.

He goes for the shoulder, dropping a sudden, firm clap on the stern shaping of it. Squeezing hard. Startling, the hyung almost chokes around his next sip, if he doesn't spill it first. A humourless smirk climbs his plain, youthful features once recognition visibly settles in his consciousness–in those brown, tiger eyes of his. With a fox's mischief, Taeil responds with a cheeky smile.

"Doing drugs I see."

"Really?" Byeol starts, a rapid-fire string of blinking fanning out his blatant incredulity, "That's the first thing that comes to mind when you get to see me for the first time in almost two years?"

"For what reasons would you dye your hair blonde other than all that's suspicious?" Taeil considers him for a moment longer, then says, obnoxiously, "Even your fucking eyebrows. It suits you, though."

This earns him a flat grin, which dusts off another shelved memory in Taeil's head. Byeol's smiles, no matter the volume, always crescented his eyes. Taeil could never figure out if it were because of the swell in his rounded cheeks, or the broad grins he always had to offer. Like unsheathing a secret weapon from his sleeve, his boyish joy could slice a heart tender.

Finally, Byeol chastely elbows the younger in the ribs. "You were always such a pain in the ass."

"So were you... But I missed you, hyung. It's nice to finally see you again."

"Likewise. And great speech, man." Byeol says, "Didn't know you could talk like you have a girlfriend trapped some thousand miles away from you, and can only express your debilitating pining through writing her letters."

"Thanks." Fondness uncoils inside Taeil, tender as a bruise. As though following a sort of instinct, he slots an arm around Byeol's shoulders, "You were my inspiration, since that really does sound like us."

"Please, you might be huge but if anything, you'd be the girlfriend."

"I agree, actually. So tell me, boyfriend, about the kinda' drugs you've been doing."

This time when Byeol elbows him, he really makes it count.

Five more shots of hard whiskey and a glass of champagne are enough to introduce blinding disorientation. Byeol made drinking in excess dangerously easy, and Taeil was sure that if the hyung hadn't the need to drive himself home without an accident, they would've galloped into a rate that likely could result in them passing out at the bar. Or tag teaming the bartender if he were to start refusing them any more drinks.

With a feline's politesse, the latter eyeballs Taeil from below his curved eyelashes as he fills one last glass goblet with champagne, which Taeil had demanded be expensive. Emboldened by Byeol's splitting, Taeil saw the ten percent chance of his ability to carry six—one for each shot of whiskey he'd taken so far—by himself with an extra zero, poorly drawn at the end. So he'd ordered six of them for no one in particular, just to prove a point.

He sprawls out lengthy fingers and fits delicately carved stem necks up to the crevices and, with a considerable amount of faith in himself, lifts them off the bar counter. Gravity betrays him as they immediately stagger and spill some, costing the exasperated bartender his sanity, surely. But without a single care left to give, Taeil squares his shoulders and walks away with champagne a haphazard spill down his suit sleeve.

Like this he circles the guest area twice with an infinitesimal slowness that spares his head a spin, before he names himself confidently lost. With so much whiskey thickening his blood and the wetness now sticking to his arms, he would rather sit with a stranger anyway. One of them in particular, actually.

After having passed him once with a stunning girl hooked to his left, the second time Taeil circles back on burning heels, he finds him alone. Another blonde boy, jagged hair a shade darker than Byeol's and showing signs of overgrowth at the roots. In his head, Taeil convinces himself that this was fate's handiwork, if only to grant himself more courage to approach. Plus his wrists are starting to tire.

"Hey. Do you need some company? I do."

Sporting a coquettish grin, Taeil greets with the tone of a man who's already known the other for many years before. The champagne spills a lick one last time as he dismounts them on the table's surface. "Pardon my Italian, but if I don't drink all these, the bartender will probably find my address and come beat my ass. Help me out?"

Haru, he calls himself. And successfully pushes Taeil further into the clutch of his confusion about what it is with modern day musicians and dyeing their hairs in fifty shades of pasta.

They fall into each other with the ease of a biscuit being buttered, even if the conversation initially ranges on the typical side. Inevitably, Taeil understands, as there was no other way to break the ice between two strangers at a wedding but to introduce themselves, and talk about the tedious. But he's also well acquainted with the virtues of giving volume to flat things.

Haru smiles warmly, and soon after, Taeil discovers he has an equally rich laugh. In his blurry drunkenness, he reminds Taeil of pleasant summer days. The blazing sun baking his cheeks tan, pronouncing the freckles on his face and back. The smear of a soft-serve melting faster across his knuckles than he can eat it. Squeezing clammy palms together in midst of trapping a sunset within a kiss.

Most of these pleasantries would be lost by morning to plot holes in his memory, full pages torn in the middle of a long journal entry. Taeil almost considers mourning this fact as their absorption wears on in between pauses for breath, an excess of champagne and him meeting the lovely girl Haru had brought with him. Dani, a stunning young woman who makes a lot more sense at Haru's side than he ever would.

But then, spending the fraction of a second staring at Haru's hand with his jaded eyes, a brilliance occurs to Taeil. Epiphany wholly encouraged by intoxication alone, as he abandons all logic under-fire of alcohol. If the casuals will only be but a speck tomorrow, why not attach some extravagance to it, and while at that, a name? So it would be more memorable. Tangible, even.

After all, this was a wedding. Glorious and formal at every angle anyone could peer at it from. An event fit for the celebration of love, which was something to be found at any given second, if the illusion of free will ever allowed it to be. And just like Hansol and his wife invited them to share this moment, every other one of them should count as well.

In his chest, his heart begins to gallop as a mad horse at mercy of swelling adrenaline. While the world flocks and flails around them with indistinct chatter–less than a blot caused by spilled ink to Taeil, he turns his entirety to Haru and pins Haru's palm against the table with his own. Their pulses intertwine, and it sends the soft, fleeting hairs at the back of his neck into a bristling frenzy–a flash of lightning cutting through his veins.

Sitting straight, the corners of his mouth curl towards heaven. "I have a fine idea."

The chair almost flips over from him standing, and he wobbles on the way down to the knee that doesn't mysteriously ache every evening. All throughout, he awkwardly brings Haru's hand along, even when he rummages through the manpurse strapped across his chest for a sharpie.

"Earlier I circled this room twice, but every time I came back around, I could only look at you. I think that means something special, right? Sorry, Dani." Taeil's tongue lulls around his pronunciation, lisp thicker than usual, but his eyes hold a sort of obscure sincerity in them that he won't be able to explain by breakfast. He uncaps the sharpie, spits the cap itself at Haru's feet and draws a shaky circle around the circumference of his ring finger.

"For what it's worth, I'm asking your date to marry me. Will you, Haru?"

After Haru's earnest acceptance, the world starts to spin and transition much too quickly than he can keep up with, from a serene stillness to a jarring haste, like a running scene filmed handheld. The beautiful venue spirals out of his grasp, until Haru is the only thing left. The waxing moon their witness.

Next thing he knows, he wakes with morning knocking on his eyelids, a skull-splitting hangover that renders him completely useless, and a blanket hogger for a fiancé. If it weren't for him being right there, Taeil would've thought the that sun had hopped out of the sky and plummeted all the way into his bed.

For the first time since his first shot from yesterday, Taeil searches for the gap in his soul and finds it there still. Except no longer does it weep, or throb as much. Probably this guy's doing, he thinks, as he watches him wake with remnants of their night still whole on him.

Might this be sort of forever his good friend Hansol was talking about?

[anthropocentrik]

one of two.

ft. @taeilyoo & @nicadanis

there was nothing quite like the experience of knocking on someone's door, guitar in hand, while tidied up in a suit and tie. it felt like prom night all over again. everything seemed better then—more permanent and constant. life was perfectly assembled by routine. sure, he was pulled in opposite directions round-the-clock but it's what kept him upright. nowadays, every deed, every task, every feeling was fragmented; waxing and waning. life itself has ceased to operate as a coherent whole nor a linear experience. he has loved his memory of childhood for so long and so dearly that its foundation would crumble like rotten wood at any attempt in seeing things for what it is. he lays the blame for the termites at the feet of time, or at least his brain does.

breathe, haru. breathe.

the trees danced into the welcome frosty whispers, each branches bare and clean, naked in their bold brown hues. february was kinder, the promise of horizon-rested springtime nestling closer to the tells of green leaves and farther from the wintry wind. he didn't mind the wait and he wasn't so cold either, considering his body's sympathetic response to the adrenaline release. any longer he stays out and his armpits would be embellished with a circle stain of sweat. he's hoping she's out before then because the suit was only borrowed after all.

after what felt like an eternity of pacing back and forth, and cycling through thoughts of nostalgia to distract himself from the shakes, the door finally opens. he's greeted by rosy stains and quivers, soft glitter like moonlight on the sea, a woman so sublime in every way. the day before, haru did wonder how he had never thought of dohee in any way other than a friend. they've known each other for years. in fact, she was one of the very few of his closest friends. and yet, he was nervous just before this moment. maybe even more now.

breathe, haru!

with the clear of his throat, he's back to earth. "look at you." he teased, though he truly did admire the ensemble she had picked out for herself. the riff of look at you girl by chris ledoux plays in his head and he hums out loud to it. his hands instinctively positions his guitar then his fingers strum to the melody. "just look at you, girl, standin' here beside me. starlight on your hair, lookin' like a dream i dreamed somewhere." he sings along, swaying his body while sporting a cheeky grin, and communicating with his eyes for her to follow suit. and she does, as this was their dynamic since the beginning of time. the pair's bond had been hinged into haru's existence as one endowed from both their passion for music. they were born with a number of vibrations which their sadness brings into relief. they carry within them all the music they have never heard in their lives, which lies at the bottom of the abyss of memory. they had even formed a band together, as every teenager’s rockstar dream.

what's the occasion? a wedding. he doesn't remember the last time he had attended one. it was good material for writing, but not good enough to go out of his way. people watching was accessible and required no effort apart from leaving the comfort of his home. attending weddings meant he had to actually make friends, outside of the connections he had relevant for work. he was equally uninterested in that as he was about dating, or as he keeps assuring himself anyway. again, to dispel his doubts on needing more regular human contact, he persuades his mind to think he only needed dohee among a few others. she would probably gladly agree, jokingly or not. so arm in arm, they arrive at this event.

the ceremony was unremarkable to say the least. the scale of it frivolous. to haru, that is. to the bride and groom, this must have been a dream come true. they detail their first meeting, emphasising that this man was her ideal type, as if he had just marked off a check list. haru thought it was shallow, but he decides to spare dohee with his reign of dread. he's thinking she's enjoying this, somewhat. they barely spoke about matters of the heart, but he could see her smiling every so often. he unknowingly mirrored it each time. 

the reception was spent cheek by jowl, not leaving each other apart from the periodic restroom visits. but it only takes dohee one trip for haru to get approached by a stranger. taeil was his name. it wasn't everyday that haru meets someone so forward. maybe it was the copious amounts of liquor, which makes him see the appeal of wedding parties. things were free and served in excess. but it had also been a while since he last laughed this much. the feeling lingers and he starts to think through a screen, embedding the memories as if they were being recorded. he was on the outside looking in and the pages of the script were being laid out squarely. his attention had been stolen and dohee was left sidelined, haru doesn't even realise. 

the rest of the night went on, conversations piling along with the alcohol, overriding some of the words exchanged as an effect of the intoxicant. next thing you know, haru has the ink of a marker lined through his skin and around his ring finger. it was almost like a prank, but taeil's proposal sounded so sincere in the moment. haru does the unthinkable and says yes. taeil does the unexpected and announces their little agreement, which he thought would stay private at least for the night, but it doesn't take a second longer. haru's hysterical laughter from two ticks ago turned into an awkward one as he finds himself standing in the middle of the crowd of snickering critics.

party's cut short when taeil starts to threaten the lives of everyone involved in the mockery and they leave the premises with just the two of them. caring for the drunk man that stood five centimeters taller than haru was too hectic for him to remember who and what he came there for. he essentially spends the night babysitting his future husband, the guy he met just a few minutes short of three hours ago. what the day that comes next held for the newly engaged couple, he tried predicting restlessly in bed as they both laid. aside from the soul-muddling snores that would occasionally disrupt the contemplation, the rest was hazy. 

haru wakes up practically naked, disoriented, and just looking for answers the messy room nor his sleeping 'fiancé' could explain.

[entretuyyo-letras]

Love is a sweet misery...

[eclipsenoir]

(@anthropocentrik)

The morning sun slashes backhanded across Taeil's face from between the poorly drawn curtains. It dips warm, saccharine fingers within the creases on his face, bringing to surface a pleasant ardour on his cheeks that would've been comforting only in absence of the agony currently gripping the walls of his skull.

Instead, his eyeballs throb from back to front under the subtle heat as it seeps below his lids and further beyond, encouraging his headache, drying his mouth further. So much that despite the deadset weight pinning down his limbs, Taeil finds himself forced to shift out of place and, hopefully, back in the shade.

An attempt to swallow around a sluggish tongue results in him silently choking on the dryness that'd settled in his throat throughout the night, which further emphasizes how many layers of fucked he really is. How did he even manage to make it home without killing himself or at least someone else, especially now, was beyond him.

A brittle groan rises around the thought as he rolls over on his side and brings long legs along to twist in his comforter. How the soft fabric crunches aloud in the otherwise quiet bedroom and falls in a tender flush around his thighs confirms suspicion number one; save for his boxers, he'd stripped completely bare sometime in the middle of the night, though he couldn't remember at all the time he'd seen on the clock in light of waking up.

The comforter catches in something as he wraps it up to his shoulders in attempt to hide from the sun, which, after some absent minded consideration, brings about suspicion number two: what was it exactly that fought him back for it, if not himself? The only time that ever happened was when someone else came to spend the night with him. His justification for his failing memory is that he would very well remember their face, recognize the way they smell–especially in the case of sex. But for whatever reason, now, something feels off.

Claws come to his fuzzy mind. Large, otherworldly claws from a monster that was only supposed to be existent in a children's storybook he'd read a thousand times before. His heart rabbits in his chest, unsuspecting. Though when he finally musters up the courage to uncoil himself out from under the covers like a restrained spring, it's not the boogeyman he meets with a loud yelp, peacefully nuzzled in his pillows as imagined. But a man, named Haru.

Haru with the same feature he possesses himself; a small freckle on the tip of his nose. It looks prettier on Haru's handsome face in broad daylight than it does on his.

"What the fuck..."

In his head, Taeil licks his thumb and starts turning pages backwards. Rapidly. Desperately. It pronounces his headache by a tenfold for nothing, as in the end, all his efforts yield is more pain, both in his heart and his head, and a mounting sensation of dreadful confusion. He snatches away the covers starts to shake Haru instead, demanding answers.

"YAH, wake up. WAKE UP! Did you follow me home? Why are you here? Have you been in my fridge—"

[anthropocentrik]

haru had spent the past few years trudging along in his lonesome, convinced that he could do it all by myself. it applied to all aspects of his life—work, love, even with friends. and sometimes there is nothing but days and their ruthless abundance. the night before was as exhilarating as his days would go; the first time in a while that he's really thought about dressing up, preparing for something special, trying to look good and hoping to impress. it was all for dani and no one else. he didn't know anyone but her at this wedding, and it didn't matter because her company was enough. not to mention she looked stunning in her pink mini dress. the lights reflected in her jewelry, making her glisten in the floor as if she was incandescence herself. he was nervous for a reason, proven by the sight beheld.

several things go wrong in between that makes his eyes go black at the memory. fast forward to the morning after and he's left with nothing but his boxers, stiff muscles and a strained throat. seeing the man next to him, he pondered quietly. everything about him was like champagne—golden skin, lush hair, and misty eyes, utterly intoxicating and far out of haru's league of life. the tender parts of the evening reaches beyond himself and emerges back into his mind. at least for a beat before he remembers the crowd's laughter over the declaration that made him red to his ears, immensely embarrassed as a child that wet his bed.

he knows what happened between them was just an event and not a symbol—just something that happened, or something taeil did, something haru did too or simply obliged to, and not an inevitable manifestation of his failure in life generally. but when haru gets up to his companion's frantic calling, it was like going through it all over again. in a way, very few people truly cared what happens in his life. it's one reason he doesn't think to share much outside of the walls of his room and his studio, dreading the superficiality that broadcasting his activities will be met with; a quandary not often heard of with celebrities, as he is one regardless of how much he forgets. an amplified vanity was a requisite occupational hazard.

in this instance, he could pretend he was just as clueless as the other about what had happened. he was a little tipsy after all. his mind was stuck somewhere between 'what the hell are you doing here?' and 'why the hell are you so beautiful?' but he was aware neither of those would have satisfied the questions being asked. he can't possibly expect taeil to wade through the language and understand his heart, especially in such a confused state. "i'm awake! jesus..." he insisted plainly.

he swallowed, neck tight. the rays of the sun peeking through the curtains stretched endless before the pair, strangely peaceful in juxtaposition of the way the air turned taut and electric at the words. "we got... engaged?" he points at the scribbled ring on his finger in an attempt to jog taeil's memory and help with his cause. haru's voice was filled with hesitance. this moment has rendered him brittle and he was terrified of how much the alcohol has blurred taeil's thoughts about the best parts before this dawn.

[valtsv]

when someone asks me what i've been up to lately and i say "just chilling" i mean this

[thoodleoo]

yknow it's a real shame that romans didn't have access to australia specifically for augury reasons. i really wish i could have seen a roman augur have to deal with australian birds. like imagine trying to properly interpret an omen from a fuckin. cassowary

[fatenumberfor]

jung jinhyeong for eyesmag

[vangda1e]

Jung Jinhyeong at Naver Now

[aletheyass]

How did you learn to analyze art?

just look at it innit