fc change to gong yoo, + 40 years old, happily married, police officer
has the worst spotty memory ever - because he only remembers the weirdest things like , intimately caressing people in odd places ( sil was really touchy-feely ); blood on his hands and a dead body ( sil was trying to rescue someone ); and feeding his dog... strange meat ( sil cooked with non-traditional animal bc ~creativity~ )
so naturally, gin assumes that he’s an godawful person who targeted young people, killed them, then butchered and fed them to his dogs???!! he also assumes that he joined the police force to cover his own ass - and all of this was “suppressed” because it’s just “so, so terrible!!!”
that aside.... plots pls? :’)
HIS WIFE ( or partner ) PLEASE, he absolutely adores them, maybe childhood friends to lovers even?? super cute but they both have... dark secrets? 👀
HIS PATROL PARTNER!!!!! they cruise around the city getting into shenanigans. i would love a good cop - bad cop dynamic, but im sO down for dumb cop - dumber cop bc can u imagine, ,,
someone in the mafia that he thinks has dirt on him, so he’s doing special favors / giving police intel to them so they won’t uhhh expose him
since he’s like 40yo... he can lit be someone’s actual or adoptive father if they’re younger than 20 LMFAO
ok but someone he has memories of being intimate with... ( read: someone sil slept or held hands with ) but he’s been married all this time?!??! he feels so bad for “cheating” but he keeps running into them, and now he’s t o r n
PLEASE SOMEONE BE HIS THERAPIST, doesn’t need qualifications. could be a nun even, he doesn’t care as long as they promise that they won’t tell ANYONE else what he tells them...
omg someone he has memories of taking advantage of ( read: someone sil led on ) but that someone doesn’t remember him so now gin is like FKJDJSDKFJKD DO I IGNORE THEM??? IS THAT RUDE?? ok hiiii WAIT WHAT IF THEY SUDDENLY REMEMBER??? TT______TT
gin takes in so many strays so what if he accidentally pet-naps ur pet
alternately: you see gin get mauled to death by his 12 dogs and 7 cats because they suddenly don’t like him??!?!
he ”accidentally” stalks u and breaks into ur home because inner sil is VERY attracted to your soulstone
vermilion must die. pspsps someone come murder gin. or drive him to off himself.
ok im out of ideas but im down for anything esp torture murder and angst bc this is mafia verse :”) lets get it
when blood pools from a wound, it is a deep crimson.
when blood strikes a hard surface, it turns a bright, bright scarlet.
he sees the spatter before he sees the sacrifice; it decorates the walls, dresses the fine furniture. the living room, once a gentle, comforting blue, has welcomed yet another red guest.
“... what are you...”
he crouches next to the mangled mess that is his adoptive father’s head and hair. it’s the only part of him that’s bashed into the ground by the fallen tree -- the very same tree that they had planted many years ago for his adoptive mother, who wanted to play mahjong outside but found the sun ‘too blinding.’
thunder claps.
the ceiling cracks.
“... please help...”
his fingers tremble as they reach out to trace the silenced veins along his father’s arm. down, down, down to the pale palm, then back up to the weakened wrist. his thumb hovers the bit of flesh that separates him from a pulse.
he decides not to check.
he already knows.
( it also rained that day, fifteen years ago. )
with his fingers still curled around his father’s own, he slowly sinks to his knees and lowers his head into the cold hand.
he’s been dead for a while.
immediately, no doubt.
( sirens blaring. people screaming. a car smashed into the hardened earth, headlights first, wrecked beyond recognition. freak accident, they said. such was fate -- his soul was meant to bleed red. )
too late.
always too late.
“... sil... help me...”
please.
( what are you doing? why... are you standing around? help them. that’s my father -- my mother -- they need help. they need -- why - why are you just standing there? do something. you’re a medic, aren’t you -- they’re bleeding - look, they’re -- look at me. why are you just -- do something -- DO SOMETHING ALREADY. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE HELP THEM THEY NEED HELP THEY NEED --- )
SHUT UP.
calm down.
( we’ve never encountered this before. we don’t know what else to do but pray. )
the voice to his far right grows desperate.
“... sil, please.”
annoying.
“i can’t breathe. i can’t -- please.”
persistent.
“help me, i can’t... sil, please--”
“wait your turn,” he snaps, his eyes sharp as they find his adoptive mother’s own. “i’m with another patient.”
her expression scrunches, her lips quiver. she utters his name once more, pleading him to pity her.
he lets her beg.
chaos reigns,
but he finds peace in a silent prayer.
dear deity, if you’re out there -- ( please save their souls. they’ve ascended too young, and they’ve left behind a -- )
( they told him that his parents’ bodies were too damaged, too disfigured to prepare for burial. natural would be best, no need for rituals. but he was his father’s son, the mortician’s apprentice; he refused. at fifteen, he stood between his parents’ beds and cleansed their charred bodies with a steady hand and a shaken heart. then, he sent them away. far, far away. )
again.
a curse.
he raises his head,
and presses his lips upon dampened knuckles.
he tells him goodbye one last time.
...
...
...
that woman is relentless.
she gasps as he approaches and grapples at the hems of his trousers, her cheeks now stricken with unsightly tears.
“sil... sil --”
all things considered, she is a good person. she doesn’t make trouble, doesn’t do much -- but she loves her family more than life itself. he can tell by the way her body is angled toward her husband, how her arm is stretched beyond comfort in a futile attempt to share her warmth in his last moments, how her --
he steps closer.
she sucks in a breath but doesn’t make another sound.
he reaches down and grabs the piece of the brick wall that’s crushing her entire body. as he begins to hoist it upward, slowly, slowly, he hears a distinct crack.
she screams.
he drops the bricks without thought.
“... ah, sorry.”
he removes his heel from her rigid fingers and finds distrust in those dark eyes.
“i’ll get you some ice.”
her mouth falls open as if she wants to chastise him for his senseless priorities, but in a smarter move, decides to let those reprimands die on a paralyzed tongue. she waits for his return -- minutes upon minutes, a dreadful drawl -- but he doesn’t come back with ice as promised. instead, he’s empty handed.
“you don’t look well.”
she doesn’t speak. she only glares, her gaze glazed over with frustration. in retrospect, he’s not entirely sure if she can speak with the weight now shifted over her chest.
he lowers himself to her level.
“... gale would be devastated.”
he brushes her hair aside.
she leans away -- in vain.
his thumb ghosts along her slender wrist.
pum pum, pum pum...
“i’ll look after him.”
pum pum... pum pum...
“you don’t have to worry.”
her eyes squeeze shut.
pum... pum...
he places a single mahjong piece at the center of her palm -- a trinket he’d picked up when he wandered the house for ‘ice.’ her fingers twitch, but they’re too broken to close around her one comfort.
[ & ] “ i’m not here to entertain your fantasies about anything. you can kill that thought in your head. i’m not going to give you my number either.” jaehyuk folded his arms, his chin tilting slightly as he stared at the man coldly. “ so as i said before, nicely, fuck off.” his eyes creased into crescents, corners of his lips curving into a amiable smile. “i don’t know you, or whoever you are, whether you’re a saesang or just a stalker that’s overly interested.”
saesang.
stalker.
which one are you?
neither.
( he doesn’t want to flatter him. unless, of course, there’s intent. )
“is that what you call loyal fans?” he asks, lighthearted, loosened -- as if he’s still joking with a close friend. “always the heartbreaker.” never the heartbroken.
not yet, at least.
...fans. even after some time, the word bites him: claws at his skin, shreds through fine cartilage -- a carnage so intimate, it bleeds into his conscious.
( the corner of his mouth twitches. not sure what she they see in you, he murmurs just loud enough for only jaehyuk to hear. )
his smile returns. he is not a fan nor is he a friend, but he’ll play any role if it gets him a little closer.
“you should be kinder, hyuk-ah.” he tilts his head to indicate the young patrons with their phones out, all recording every subtle snark and whispered word. “without loyal fans, you’d be... underground.”
he lets the last word linger for a moment longer before turning to the barista, who seems far more amused than annoyed. “not too pleasant before his morning coffee. we’ve all been there. let’s, mm... let’s get him a large, extra sugar, extra milk.” his gaze trails back to jaehyuk. “extra sugar, so he can be a bit sweeter.” and extra milk so he can grow a bit taller.
[ & ] The orphanage hadn’t been this lively in a while, and it made Rue smile. “Would you care to join me for some refreshments in the garden? It seems you could use a break and the day is still young. I’ve just made a fresh batch of lavender earl grey– I won’t boast of the quality, but the leaves were picked right from the garden, very refreshing on a day like this.”
dr. lee was a good man. he had a heart of gold and a gleaming soulstone that reflected its brilliance to the very core. sil, in particular, could see the brightness brimming in the old man’s eyes whenever he spoke of his work; he liked helping others, healing them. even on the loneliest days, when it was just the two of them at the clinic, dr. lee’s aura warmed the space from wall to wall.
but sometimes -- sometimes, dr. lee was too concerned over trivial matters.
it worries me that you are -- you’re misinterpreting.
repetitive inclinations of a specific behavior -- i am uncomfortable that you would even insinuate something as vulgar... especially when it concerns someone i regard as my second father. dr. lee, what are you seeing that we do not?
sil, i’m only looking out for -- i think you have overworked yourself this past year. perhaps an early retirement...
( one day later, dr. lee handed in his notice. )
( two weeks after, sil took his place. )
&
“it must be difficult to care for so many,” he muses, pouring her a cup of tea, “but you’ve done well. they’re fine children.”
he pushes the teacup towards her, along with a box of sweet pastries he’d brought to share. “from emma’s. their earl grey tea biscuits would pair well with your brew.” what a coincidence.
out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of someone staring from a distance -- little rei, the eldest of the bunch.
he raises an eyebrow and gestures the boy over.
rei flees.
this one doesn’t like you.
“fifteen years ago...” he starts, his gaze finding rue’s once more. “i buried his father. i didn’t think he would end up here, though.”
a pause. he decides not to elaborate.
“... many of them consider this their permanent residence. i’m curious -- where do the children go when they’ve outgrown their home?”
[ & ] “ are you bleeding?” oracle interrupts him, taking a step forward and narrowing her eyes into the probing depths of his. but upon hearing her name, nyla comes bounding up and easily hops up to her back, finally slinking around oracle’s shoulders to settle down while eyeing the can of tuna in his hand. “ this time i’d like you not to lie.”
tell her it’s just a scratch.
... but that isn’t the whole truth, is it?
she told you not to lie. a simple request. it’s courteous to comply, especially considering how she’s only been good to you.
his gaze lingers for a moment more, his eyes delving a little deeper than usual. he looks at her differently these days -- back then, in their younger years, he used to fixate on her small, delicate hands. he used to listen to her prayers, watch her lips as they whispered good graces. now, when he looks at her, he’s curious. curious about what she’d say, curious about how she’d react.
drip.
there’s a small stream that runs along the lower east side. it would’ve been easy for him to take a quick detour to clean his wounds and wash away all worrisome evidence -- but he opted to bleed.
drip.
tell her. tell her that it’s ---
“just a scratch,” he says, placid and poised. “don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.”
he raises the canned tuna closer to oracle’s shoulder, right under nyla’s nose. hesitation, intuition. of course. a feline’s sense of smell is far superior.
drip.
mistake.
a bit of red weaves through the intricate fabric of oracle’s robes. he drops the cat food without consideration and latches onto the small splotch -- and in doing so, his wrist twists over to reveal a sizable gash across the back of his hand. blood beads, threatening. it’ll surely scar.
“let’s get you to a sink.” he rubs the cloth between his fingers. the red stays. ( he knows it would. ) “quickly, before it stains.”
[ & ] he was sitting there, sighing, head in hands, too many thought troubling him once again, and as he was sitting there, emotional, he feel a sudden hug. mingming doesn’t completely know how to react, he isn’t used to touch (except for when it comes to sex and flirting), so without giving it much thought, he bites the shoulder of the other, not too hardly, but enough for it to be felt. immediately after he looks at sil, what in the world did he just do?
mingming is prettiest when he cries.
he had seen it once before -- those mischievous eyes glazed over, tears welling up, trapped behind a prideful prison. he remembers how a single drop had managed to escape at long last, how it rolled down an untouched cheek, leaving a temptuous trail in its wake. at the time, his hands were still. he didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to disturb that steady descent.
--- should have. should have reached out. should have captured that rare moment of vulnerability. ( rub it between his fingers, let it seep into his skin. )
he comes around often. when mingming calls, he clears his schedule. he’s always there -- no matter what hour, what night, what reason. he leads with questions and lends an ear but unfortunately, to no avail; mingming refuses to show him what he wants to see.
denial.
depravation.
it only agitates a strange, simmering desire.
this time, he lets his appetite rouse. he crosses the boundary mingming had set for them and pulls him into a tight embrace. his lips part to offer a few kind, comforting words -- but they cease when he feels pain blossoming in his right shoulder. ah.
he reacts without thought.
instinct overwhelms, and all too suddenly, he finds his teeth bared against mingming’s throat. courtesy becomes cruelty. he bites back, hard. it’s not enough to draw blood, but mingming will have to get creative with excuses.
he releases fairly quickly but his mouth lingers, taunting.
[ & ] “the next exams.” the words tumble smoothly from his lips, tone soft and volume low as it always is. as if he is unused to using his words and yet he still speaks with the grace of someone trained in speaking. “i will be presenting a new original for the next performance in three weeks.”
will you come?
look at him.
look at how he looks at you.
sil doesn't consider himself a prideful man -- but if there's one thing he can take pride in, it's his ability to read the ‘unreadable.’ while he can't precisely decipher the subtleties in hui's expressions, he can - at the very least - discern rhyme and reason in the depths of those dark, dark eyes. will you come see me? will you listen?
he doesn't respond to that silent question.
he doesn't have to; his answer has always been the same.
--- close.
he draws in close.
close enough to trace every shadow.
close enough to caress every blemish.
he commits it all to memory -- each inch of skin, these perfect imperfections, details of a face he once sought to mark. the feelings no longer linger, but the intention persists.
his hands find their way to hui's cheeks, his fingers flutter along a sharp jaw. he disguises the intrusive act with simple lies: “you seem unwell. are you taking care of yourself?”
pum pum, pum pum.
a normal pulse, a ghastly touch. his thumb drifts along the side of hui's throat and pauses right above the collarbone. he eases.
[ & ] “You know I love you, right?” Gale beamed, eyes curving. This was the telltale sign that he was about to bolt from the table. At least he chewed and forced the first initial bite down his throat. Spitting it out altogether would be rude and to be honest, Gale didn’t want to seem…ungrateful.
it’s unfortunate just how delightfully predictable gale can be.
the roaming eyes, the restless laughter. all subtle notes -- silent to the inattentive, yet striking to the intuitive. he’d spent the better half of his years watching him, studying him.
he knows what he likes.
who he adores.
when he wakes, where he goes, why he cries.
it’s really unfortunate, isn’t it? that you know him almost as well as he knows himself. he can’t hide. at least, not from you.
he stands, drags his chair over. wooden legs scrape wooden flooring. they settle in the space right beside gale’s own.
“it’s not good to waste food.”
his arm slides around gale’s shoulders. he doesn’t keep a firm grip, though, and instead lets his hand linger in the peripherals.
fork prods flesh. it swipes across the fennel purée. “you haven’t tried it with the sauce. a little bit of sweet will offset the strange. they’re best enjoyed together.”
[ & ] “Arrest him! Cuff him!” The woman insisted, clinging to Sangwook’s waist. “I am sure he was going to take me home and…” With a sharp turn of her head and a deep sigh. “You must know what I am getting at, officer. That man has impure intentions! I can see it in his eyes!”
Right, well, there certainly wasn’t enough grounds to arrest anyone. Sangwook peeled the woman off of him (with some difficulty) and introduced himself. “Can I ask you both a few questions?” Police presence wasn’t great for the business, so he pointed directly behind them. Yep - the police station was right there across the street. About a thirty second walking distance away. In fact, this cafe was a popular one for hungry officers craving pastries and lattes. If this man truly had some nefarious plans, then he had balls wanting to carry it out right here in the broad daylight, right across the police station and surrounded by people.
should’ve taken her to an upscale eatery. should’ve worn your silk shirt. your gold wrist watch. should’ve listened less, talked more. should’ve told her that you’re a doctor, not just a medic. it’s not a lie. not entirely. she would’ve gone for a doctor. she would’ve gone for silk and gold.
why humble yourself? did you really think mediocracy would impress her? you should’ve known. this isn’t your first meeting. nor your second. nor your third. you should’ve known what she likes. how she’s like.
he lifts his head and offers the policeman a strained smile at the interrogation request. “of course.” always happy to comply. ( not that he has a choice. )
it takes him a moment to tidy up their table -- stack the plates, fold the napkins, push in the chairs -- then a moment more to make his way across.
“expressive, isn’t she? that’s what initially attracted me to her,” he says, lighthearted, pleasant. small talk, his forte. “had i taken her to a finer restaurant, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so inclined to end our date as abruptly.”
he pulls the door to the station open.
“after you.”
to the far right, a young officer catches his attention. he waves, she waves back. “one of my patients,” he clarifies. still not a lie. they met once at the clinic, then once more at a hit and run. but who needs to know the details?
he leans forward in the seat, his hands now folded on the desk, eyes earnest.
grey.
interesting.
someone with such soft and lovely features should have a brighter soulstone. aureolin yellow, perhaps even scarlet red.
“i should’ve been more attentive to her body language. had i known she wasn’t enjoying our date, i would’ve excused myself.” he tilts his head, his gaze not once leaving sangwook. “i do apologize for the trouble, officer. you must have better things to investigate.”
four faces pressed up against the cafe window, phones in hand, cameras on. they’re whispering to each other, giggling.
“... are you in line?”
oh, no. we’re not, we’re just --
their eyes widen.
it’s him -- it’s you -- Mister Tall VIP.
ah, fans of riot. he gives them a courteous nod of acknowledgement and steps into the small coffee shop. all of a sudden, the world grows louder. this surge of adrenaline. the way your heart races. pum pum, pum pum, pum pum PUM PUM -- is he here? where is he? it’s funny, isn’t it? you hate him for making you bleed, but here you are - so fucking eager to see him again.
( Mister Tall VIP, Mister Tall VIP. )
he’s browsed the message boards, seen the pictures, heard the chatters.
( every so often, at a riot’s concert, there would be a mysterious man standing in the center of the VIP section. this odd observer always wore white, and at an even 190cm, he towered over the fans around him. while most jumped and screamed, waved their banners and filmed, he simply stood there, watching, with a strange smile stretched across his face. curious enthusiasts dubbed him Mister Tall VIP and was quick to conclude that he was only here for - )
“hyuk-ah.” so casual, so civil. it’s almost as if they’re good friends. “what a coincidence.”
the whispering subsides, the line moves up. he orders first despite coming in second.
“medium coffee, two cream, two sugar.” he turns to @cr-darksienna. jaehyuk is much smaller off stage but no doubt as entertaining -- this, he’s certain of. “what can i get you? my treat.”
he’s well aware of the hostility harbored towards him -- but they’re in public and, surely, riot’s not ready for another scandal. his eyes gleam, the same strange smile appears. on stage and off, it doesn’t matter.
[ & ] the waiting room was bustling with life and death and noises that set him on edge in a way he hadn’t thought was possible. hyper aware of every person in the room even though he had just walked in , it is not a place he finds himself comfortable to be in. it is not a place he wants to be in. but yet.
“huiqing.” that’s not what you used to call him. “please have a seat.”
it’s been three years, nine months, and seventeen days. he’s grown into a fine, young man. they both have. death changes people. death of his parents. death of their friendship. who’s fault is that?
yours.
( he’s talking about himself, of course. hui’s innocent. he didn’t know. but even if he did, what could he do? )
“your wrist is giving you trouble?” his gaze flicks up from the nurse’s notes. “let me take a look.”
he draws hui’s hand onto the table that separates them. the fingers feel different. longer, the skin a bit rougher. years of practice, he presumes. his thumb ghosts down and rests against the pulse. it’s not procedure, but he needs to know.
pum pum. pum pum.
his eyes trail back upward, crinkling just a bit around the edges. “it’s not broken.” a small smile. “but you already know that.”
three years, nine months, and seventeen days.
he’s missed so many recitals.
he hopes hui can forgive him.
“you’re still playing.” it’s a question, but he doesn’t phrase it as such. “if you continue to put strain on it, i’m afraid it won’t fully recover.”
he doesn’t let go.
( he shouldn’t have let go in the first place. )
( -- your fault. it’s your fault. you were the one who dropped out. the one who disappeared. and now he’s here. he found you -- at long last. how do you feel? sorry? guilty? you should. asshole. )
the cat stares at him. he stares back, canned tuna in hand.
he reaches out for a pet. the cat retracts, its tail flicking in apprehension.
cautious, wary.
here, food.
it approaches slowly, yellow eyes wide -- they don’t lower, even when the tongue does. a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. he reaches out and --
the cat bats him. claws sinking into flesh, ears flattened, tail tucked underneath. hiss.
he bleeds. his smile fades.
stupid cat.
they don’t like him -- none of them do. felines, canines, birds of prey. what are they so afraid of? what has he done wrong? he has warm food and a willing heart.
drip.
it scratched deep, didn’t it? you’ll be scarred for weeks. your patients will ask. ‘oh, what happened? it looks like you’ve been attacked!’ you tried to feed a feral cat. that’s all.
he straightens up, late lunch in hand. the cat cowers into a nearby bush. he gives it a friendly wave before reaching down to retrieve the barely eaten tuna. what a shame.
the trail leading to the temple grows quieter and quieter. he visits often, though he hates this place the most; his thoughts are loudest here, see.
“hello again.” his face softens at the sight of @crivory. oracle, they call her -- but to him, she has always been a lovely farrah. he lifts the bag in his right hand. “care to accompany me? i brought lunch.”
drip. drip.
he raises the canned food in his left, palm faced up, shielding those bright red claw marks. “is nyla around? the one i met along the way didn’t seem to like tuna very much.”
a lone pigeon with a brilliant azure stone sits perched on a branch just out of reach.
what is it doing up there? won’t it come down? troublesome thing.
its beady eyes follow his outstretched hand. he feeds it fennel seeds, then crouches down to scatter the rest around his feet. it recognizes him. of course, it does; he’s been feeding this one for some time now.
he whistles a gentle melody, reminiscent of an old lullaby that once echoed through a place called home. the pigeon flies down for the feast.
how is it? i harvested these myself.
it coos in delight and continues pecking at the feed. good. he reaches for it slow, cautious -- the wings flutter -- it jumps back --
was about to fly away from you -- right after you fed it. right after you spent time scraping seeds from stem. right after you -- how ungrateful.
he latches onto the small creature.
the pigeon trills.
“shh.”
&
“a new recipe,” he says, placing a dish in front of @cr-azure. “the fennel sauce may be a bit of an acquired taste, but you’ll find it suitable once paired with the rest.”
he eases into the opposite seat, his eyes falling to the plate for a moment before flickering back up to gauge gale’s reaction.
“... how is it? the meat.” he leans forward, his gaze keen. “i harvested it myself.”
wassup my sluts, this is tea back at it AGAIN :o) my twt @ TEAHEE__ but im a-ok w/ tumblr dms as well ~ anywho this classy lad is vermilion red, representing passion vs. wrath. he goes by sil - medic by day, househusband by night :3c
he spent half of his life with the dead and the other half with the living;
his father was a funeral rite mortician who cleanses and prepares bodies for their final departure ( ref: nokanshi ), sil grew up assisting him
but then his parents died in a freak accident
he was taken in by gale’s parents - of which the father’s a doctor; so sil traded in sending souls off to saving them
pretty decent upbringing, pretty decent life, pretty decent guy
as long as you’re not too fazed by him making really intense eye contact... or invading your personal space... or caressing...
appreciates The Voice’s creations a little too much and may become infatuated with a unique physical characteristic you have ( be it something normal like your eyes or your hair; or something a lil more intimate like your tongue or your pulse)
takes care of people! cleans! cooks! he creates beautifully plated dishes, but his cooking is a toss-up. 50% chance it’ll take like heaven, 50% chance you’ll end up at the hospital rip
but he’ll make it up to you by tidying your home and giving you massages and piggy back rides :’)
genuinely enjoys helping people, so catch him volunteering in his free time
mostly calm -- but when he’s angry or aroused, the rim around his pupils glows a soft red, so he can... never truly hide his feelings
has a really loud inner voice that aggressively articulates his thoughts. he tries not to listen to it though, ‘cause The Voice told him not to trust himself 😔
super tall. like. 190cm / 6′3″ tall. this is important bc if you’re short enough, he will use you as a headrest :3c endearingly ofc
always wearing white or light neutral tones; he only wears black for funerals ( of which he tries to attend every single one... )
plot bunnies ---
you’re reckless; he patches you up again and again
your pulse is irregular; it intrigues him, he wants to study you, examine you
you went on a date with him, and he cooked something awful
you went on a date with him, but he’s making you feel uneasy
you went on a date with him, and for once, it’s not him, it’s you O___O
co-dependence - you’re drowning, he’s burning. this isn’t anything good.
once upon a time you knew him intimately, but something happened and now he bears a grudge that carries through the universes. ( tell me, how many times do i have to kill you for you to understand? )
he kabedons you for absolutely no reason LMAO
his parents and someone you’re close to died on the same day, so once a year, the two of you reunite at the graveyard / temple
he shows up at your relative’s funeral but he’s not even on the guest list??? mf just here to watch
his inner voice is loudest when he’s with you ( read: he loses control )
