MISERY.

[crelliott]

creunxce:

( ✉ ➝ put the phone down )  ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) that doesn’t change anything ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) it doesn’t change *us* or *you and her* ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down )  ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you asked me before ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you and i?  ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) we have no future

[ imessage :: eom taeri ] how can you be so sure? [ imessage :: eom taeri ] that we have no future together? [ imessage :: eom taeri ] whatsoever? [ imessage :: eom taeri ]  [ imessage :: eom taeri ] you don’t really believe that [ imessage :: eom taeri ] do you?

[crelliott]

creunxce:

( ✉ ➝ put the phone down )  ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) i dont need saving ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) i dont need to be saved from the decision *i* made ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) we dont *belong* together ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you dont see the kind of shit we put each other through? the kind of person i am when im with you?? ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) none of that is ok ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) its ugly and i hate it ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) i fucking hate what being in love with you does to me

[ imessage :: eom taeri ] [ imessage :: eom taeri ] [ imessage :: eom taeri ] i’m not me if i’m not with you [ imessage :: eom taeri ] you know that, right

[crelliott]

( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) like *this* ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) like --drowning. i feel like im fucking drowning ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) is it my fault then?? ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) i know what i said ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) one month ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) ok ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) just because i dont think we should be together doesnt mean im over you ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) doesn't mean you can parade your new love life all over like it doesnt fucking hurt me to see

[ imessage :: eom taeri ] and what do you want me to do?[ imessage :: eom taeri ] save you?[ imessage :: eom taeri ] just say the word, eunice, and you know i’d come running[ imessage :: eom taeri ] give me one good reason why we shouldn’t be together[ imessage :: eom taeri ] just one[ imessage :: eom taeri ] because if you’re not over me[ imessage :: eom taeri ] and if i’m—[ imessage :: eom taeri ][ imessage :: eom taeri ] why did we break up

[crelliott]

( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you are so fucking unfair ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you like her? you really like her? ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) how can you like her when im still like this ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) like-- it's so fucked up ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) you're so fucked up ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) how is it that im the only one fucked up over us ( ✉ ➝ put the phone down ) fuck

[ imessage :: eom taeri ] what do you mean?[ imessage :: eom taeri ] like what, eunice?[ imessage :: eom taeri ] please enlighten me[ imessage :: eom taeri ] because as far as i remember, i was the only one fighting for us about a month ago[ imessage :: eom taeri ] and *you* were the one who shot us down

[crelliott]

stay

[crelliott]

crsydney:

   WINTER, 2014.

                    a girl and a boy meet in the owlery. 

                                                                         — “i like you.”                                                                          — “i’m datin-”                                                                          — “n-no—i-i know! i just wanted you to know.”

                                                   …i just wanted you to know.

               ( you will always fall in love,                  and it will always be like having your throat cut,                  just that fast. — C. VALENTE )

                                                                     / / / 

  WINTER, 2018.

    the cast of characters remain the same. tale old as time. boy and girl. winter wonderland backdrop. castle in the mountains. blue and green. sydney jung and elliott baek. perhaps, two names that are hardly ever entwined.

    boy and girl—and she, like mother and father, bastardizes the age old love story all too easily.

    it is astounding the amount of change (and naught) that has occurred since her confession. astounding how quickly hollows of her chest fills up to the brim with love (soft touch, tender heart, candy kisses) and how quickly it leaves her depleted with a crushing loneliness (she has never known heartbreak till she pushes her heart in the hands of woobin, till he crumbles their love to nothing). 

   how quickly, since then, had elliott baek exited her thoughts, out of sight out of mind, determined not to ache after something that evades her so. what’s not hers will never be hers.

   how quickly, now, he enters her mind. living, breathing, hurting. more relatable in this very moment than she could ever think someone to be.

    sydney could see it in his eyes. feel it in the unyielding tenderness he speaks her name in. tenderness formerly held for another. tenderness that makes her bones shake, insides churn. it is not her tenderness to hold, to press against the crux of her chest, but sydney (the fool, the softhearted, the hurting) teases herself with the prospect of it being just that anyway. 

   just for her. only for her.

   is it so wrong to want that for once?

    his question shakes her core. she doesn’t know. hasn’t ever known. that is, the folly of a girl loving, girl bore of disarming smiles and foolish beliefs. 

   does she still like him? she isn’t sure.    does her heart ache from biting cold, from daunting loneliness? yes, a million times yes.

   “i—” she tortures her lower lip, eyes lowering in thought before she speaks again, meek. “w—why?” why, me? elliott’s popularity knows no bounds. the ravenclaw is willing to bet her life on it. why she’s the one he stands before completely baffles her.

   “are you—uh—still in love with her?” sydney retorts with an edge that her mother would be proud of, a rare peek of courage from an otherwise compliant girl. “…e-eunice, i mean.” even then it doesn’t stop the seed of guilt that roots itself at the base of her spine. the way she whispers her name, as if hesitant to commit a crime. 

    is this a crime? what she does. what he’ll do. 

    sydney doesn’t wait for an answer (the silence is thick, heavy, telling). 

   “don’t.” don’t love her. is he not deserving of someone that’ll love him back? is she not? “i-i mean—you—i—i just think you can do a lot better, elliott.” sydney whispers, dollish eyes rolling all over, the floors, her boots, the ceiling; unable to even set themselves on the slytherin’s robes. 

   what kind of demand is this?    what kind of right does she think she have?

   her grip tightens on the herbology textbook pressed against her chest.

   “t-that’s just my opinion, anyway… you don’t have to take it.”

                                                                   ♚

are you still in love with her? don’t. you can do a lot better, elliott.

it’s not that he doesn’t believe her, doesn’t trust that her words hold the purest of intentions (is well-aware that sydney jung, of all people, was the least likely to lie for her own benefit). that he doesn’t know that she knows---that everybody knows---that his love of five years has done nothing but pull and tug and cut at his heartstrings, one after the other, for the past three.

                              has done everything but give him what he desires the most, closure.

because, see, that’s what elliott’s problem is; not the fact that he still loved eunice eom, but that he loved her too much. that’s what’s wrong with love; for once you love someone, no matter who they are---no matter what they’ve done---you’ll always let them destroy you. every single time.

because the memories, the hope is enough to let him endure the pain, grit his teeth and tighten his jaw if it means being together. for a life with eunice eom---a life he has long remembered and forgotten so easily---was lovely; and when he says lovely, he means doves and lilies, and velvet, and that soft pink ‘v’ in the middle of the word coupled with the way tongue curves up to the long, lingering ‘l’ right afterward. their life together was alliterative, and when he thinks of all of the little things which will die---now that they can no longer share and nurture them---he feels as if they are dead, too.

                                                                     elliott and eunice.                                                                      elliott, and eunice.

can she see it in his eyes? in the way his body tenses and breath holds at the mention of her name? can she sense it---the mourning, that is? for the passing of something that was all too long yet all too short at the same time (has not received a proper burial, let alone any recognition)?

                                                                you’re the one who can do a lot better, sydney.

and he relents, folds to the fact that this isn’t fair to her as she, a figure of warmth and bright, deserves better than this, deserves someone who would pick her first.

                                                           could elliott baek love sydney jung? he’s not certain.                                                            but he sure as hell is going to try.

“syd--” he starts, voice hoarse yet steady. he steps closer to her, hesitantly, eyes searching for hers as his lips part in anticipation. “i know i don’t deserve it, but all i want is for you to give me a chance---four years ago, i may have made the biggest mistake of my life by rejecting you, and all i’m asking for is for you to let me make it up to you, to let me fix it.”

doesn’t he deserve this, too? doesn’t his own misery warrant this affection they’re both willing to give and receive?

“i know i’m a little late, but i’m standing here---in front of you---to tell you that i should’ve chose you, syd. i like you.”

[crelliott]

passion

                                     do all (lovers) feel helpless and valiant in the                                      presence of the beloved?                                                         — j. winterson ( @crsunmi )

                                                                    ♚

it was getting to that part of the night---when rather than being at a party, one seemed to be living inside it; consumed by the bright lights and champagne bubbles that decorated the hall, the intrigue of anonymity kept partygoers bolder than usual. 

the vivacity of the masquerade reminds him that it was, though unseemly as such, a beast of its own, snaking and heaving in upon itself, where one had to keep moving or risk being caught in the coil---or, even worse, spat out---and so move elliott did, lips dawning a more saccharine grin than usual. 

he was the kind of content that was tolerant of the unexpected but begging for the familiar; his lady in red was vacant by his side, mingling with those he was well unacquainted with (considerate of his disdain for strangers and small talk), so silver mask and black dress shoes led him to the perimeter of the room in search of hues of purple and white, of someone who entertained loneliness far longer than needed to this evening.

                                                                         ( ravenclaw reminded slytherin of how he                                                                            needed to dance with hufflepuff at least                                                                            once, painted a picture of her attire and                                                                            demeanor for future reference---as if he’d                                                                            ever forget. )

outstretched hand reaches through the crowd---manages to find her, even with half of her features obscured in the darkness---and exaggerated bow before her makes his jaw surrender, letting light laughter loll out before his throat clears and his back straightens.

                                                           “may i have this dance?”

[crelliott]

stay

                                   you can forget that other people carry                                    pieces of your own story around in their heads.                                                          — d. caletti ( @crsydney )

                                                                     ♚

how does one heal a broken heart? tape it back together---the broken pieces, that is---in hopes that the mismatched gaps and misshapen shards could somehow come together to be whole again?

                                                                how does one heal a wound you can’t even see?

for one can cut the body, and it will heal---but do it over and over again, in the exact same spot, and you will scar.                                           the heart cannot be so different.

leaves behind a section that’s all bruised and battered, purple and dull, to indicate faint heartbeats and slowed breathing. in order to heal, you must first hurt---disinfect the cut with the bittersweet reality of what it means to be lonely, bandage it up with denial and disillusion, and you’re well on your way there. elliott baek was well on his way there.

                                                                                                                          maybe.

through ancient columns and dimmed hallways, the slytherin finds himself in an uncharted territory of navy and gold. his own emblems, entwined with emerald and silver, contrast against the decorated patterns of the wing, and, for once, the upperclassman scowls at the natural attention by those passing by.

fret not, for he didn’t just venture into unwelcoming land without a mission in mind, did not forget to scan the crowd for five feet and four inches of raven hair and contagious smiles. ( her presence always found elliott easy, little hummingbirds for a voice echoing within the four walls, accompanied with that bright ray of light that always seemed to appear whenever she stepped into the room. ) he spots her, and for a second---just a second---he thinks:

                                                                                                                         what if?

lets the question motivate his actions, push him through the rows of students to lead her to the side and away from the pack of changing classes. determined gaze turns mischievous grin, and elliott baek knows no fear.

                                               “syd---” he starts.                                                ( since when has he said her name with                                                  such gentleness? such tenderness? )

                                               “remember when you said you liked me? ... is that still true?”

[crelliott]

the remains of

[crelliott]

creunxce:

                                                                       ☾

       it’s not that she doesn’t understand the words that passes his lips. that her drunk haze makes it impossible for her to register three simple words. words that hardly matter in the grand scheme of of things. this whole party in new year’s honor. the weeks spent ripping and shredding every bit of ache for him. three words. and it’s as if he’s threatened to shatter every little bit of this grandeur of an illusion she’s built up for herself.

         hold what little resolve she has left within the his hands and crush it into nothing.

       he’d always been cruel. relentless. it’s the snake in him. eunice knows his personality well, just as she did her own—the telltale thump of her heart at his touch, feet following his lead as if caught in a spell—she is a woman weak for him despite everything.

        and it is that that tears at her the most.

       years have passed—and yet nothing changes. yet her skin still tingles at his tongue, pure fire still courses through her veins, still burns her chest and all the oxygen in her lungs. breathless. being close to elliott leaves her breathless. leaves her defenseless. exposed. 

      how dare he. eunice could think of nothing more—chooses to focus on nothing more but anger in the cocktail of emotions that stirred within her—how dare he do this to her? what gave him the right, after all. to come here now, demanding answers to questions neither of them dared to consider anymore?

       what gave him the right—after submerging himself in the presence of another to forget her—to come here and ask her this now?

       what does it matter, what they were now?

      “i can tell you what we’re not.” this, she starts with a bite she knows she’ll regret. with bitterness tucked under her tongue.  “we are not lovers anymore, we are not even friends—” eunice shakes her wrist free of his grasp, teeth sinking into her inner cheek. 

     the monster in her skin roars, a resounding noise that shakes bleached bones, threatens to collapse in on her heart. 

                                                                                      don’t do it.                                                                                       but you want him to suffer, don’t you?

     “we are nothing to each other now.” 

            word of caution: it doesn’t matter if you loved him. still love him. time won’t change.                                                                                                                      you can’t go back.

                                                               ♚

falling for eunice eom was like pulling a loose thread, stitch by stitch, patiently but earnestly. careful not to rush, for precious things like this take time. loving eunice eom kept elliott baek feeling complete even when the seams threatened to pop, when the knots loosened. everything else that kept him together came undone, yet brought about this kind of incredibility that only opening up to the world gave him. vulnerable. 

                                                                                     eunice eom made him vulnerable.

for the unraveling indicates the end, the reversal of a mistake. foreshadows not of a beloved ending and a happily ever after. because afterward, when all’s said and done, does he glance down and realize that tangle of string around his feet is the remnants of his person that used to be whole, leaves him raw and exposed. 

                                                                                 because love, unlike they say, is                                                                                  not something that we create, but                                                                                  an undoing of who we think we are.

which begs of the question of:                                                        who is elliott baek without eunice eom?

and he weakens, waits in unwanted anticipation for the answer to this unwelcome question. he scolds himself, admonishes his drunken haze and tamed inhibitions for straying him down a path he wasn’t sure he was ready to take.

                                                                                    but what was he really expecting?

          that she’d take him back, maybe.           that she’d agree to work on their           relationship together, maybe. that           they’d be in love again. maybe.

life goes on, and these expectations remain the same. breath still hitches at the sight of her, warmth still bubbles inside his core, spreads to fingertips and toes that curl with every bit of shared eye contact and cherished brushing of shoulders. elliott baek is a foolish man, but hopeless he is not.

and so he listens---tries to listen, oh god, he tries, but the enchantment of her lips and the threat of her close presence has him picking certain words of her sentences to warp into his own liking, twisting her intentions to forcibly parallel with his own.

                                                                 “we’re nothing to each other ... now---” why would she deny herself this right?                   doesn’t she know how happy he could make her?

                                                                 “but what about later? what could we be then?”

[crelliott]

the remains of

[crelliott]

creunxce:

    ii. [ if your hands weren’t still around my neck,                ———– i’d tell you what you already know. ]                                                                                               (  i could love you better sober. )

                                                                        ☾

       like something lost. something broken. (like all youths cynical with age) eunice is—as expected—well on the way to being heavily inebriated an hour into the afterparty. after she’d played into her duties as a host. turned away younger students. prevented dane from poisoning anyone with an abundance of giggle water. and double checked the silencing charms that kept the east wing hidden.

          getting caught now? with the rate firewhisky burns away at her veins?           unimaginable.

       but, so far so good, or rather—with the amount of alcohol ingested, there was little left of her rationality. her ability to gauge what was or wasn’t good for her. like the fourth shot pushed into her hands. like the approach of a boy green. like the way her heart skips, snapping to attention with the way her name falls from his lips. 

                                                                                               traitorous thing.

      “huh?” it slips out dumbly, hand pushing through thick looks. face flushed, she blames the head rush (fluttery heart, sweaty palms) on the firewhisky, resisting the urge to turn back to her friends, knowing the general gist of their thoughts already. 

                                     “uh—what do we possibly have to talk about?”

                                                                                               you know exactly what. coward.    

                                                                ♚

words lie, prop up hollow promises for a devastating fall. the label on the bottle declared a sudden appearance of courage, all too unexpected and unwelcome (like the hangover he’d have in the morning) as the liquor replaced the blood in his veins, mentions not the nervousness of speaking to life’s long past love. his heart is thumping---he can hear it---but the firewhisky drowns out the overwhelming heartbeats, mixes it with the overplaying music into a concoction of muffles and silence. he’s living on the alcohol, breathing on the drunken haze that leaves him unaware yet careful. 

                                                                    caution is an old habit of his,                                                                     and old habits die. hard.

so while inebriation embraces him as a longtime friend, his hand is held by hesitation. by moderation. he’s drunk, but elliott baek isn’t stupid.

                                                      ( though, at a time like this, one would beg to differ. )

the air in his lungs is displaced by fumes of intoxication, suffocating yet all the more intriguing (keeps him from running on empty). even through blurred eyesight, amber eyes pinpoint the disapproval amongst the features of those who surround her. he frowns, reaches out (assuming she’s the closest to him) with desperate grip and determined gaze, drags her aside to where they can stand face-to-face, properly aware of each other and of their entrapment in limbo.

“eunice--” he starts, knowing full and well that this conversation is one of his own initiation rather than hers; something about her presence, about how she remains so close yet so far, catches his breath, hooks him and has him question if he should bother to break loose, and, for a second, he forgets.

                                                                                          idiot.                                                                                           it’s never that easy.

                                            “what are we?”

                                                                                          it’ll never be that easy.

[crelliott]

“I made you some hot chocolate.”

                                                                      ♚

a dare was what led him to the forbidden forest, in the middle of the night with his feet dangerously dancing between the line dividing the shore and the lake pool. a proposition made on a whim, a challenge he was sure she wouldn’t take, with teasing laughter and doubting gaze. 

                             ( do sunmi always seemed to surprise him when he least                                expected her to. )

some would call venturing into the wilderness—with no protection, with no supervision—an act of insanity, but elliott baek was not some. he flirted with the risk that adrenaline accompanied; a rollercoaster of fright and pleasantry that only those not of faint heart endeavored, let seep into their skin and consume their whole being. he was one of the few, but sunmi? 

                                                                    maybe she was, too.

a waiting game of nearly an hour, and the folds of his neck crease with a turn of his head, a flick of almond eyes up from the darkened water to the approaching figure. spiritless expression turns blasé smile as a nod of head acts as greeting, as welcoming. 

“i was starting to think you were standing me up,” he baits before subtle laughter leads to a shake of head and hands abandon comfort and warmth of pockets. his eyebrows raise at her offering, an upturn of the corner of his lips in response. 

                                                                                                “—and you brought gifts.”

a hearty chuckle, and he presents a contribution of his own, a wool blanket stolen from his roommate’s bunk before departing for the evening. “i promise i didn’t make you sneak out here just for the hell of it.” cheshire grin, and—oh, is that a scent of excitement in the air? “i got an outstanding on my astronomy n.e.w.t. for a reason, y’know.”

[crelliott]

“I love the long nights.”

                                                                       ♚

there’s a part of him that’s bitter, seething at the loneliness yet also welcoming the feeling at the same time, allows a seed of melancholy to plant in the base of his spine to snake through his bones. cages his flesh in its roots and does not put up a fight to its stealing of his sunlight, its multiplying of shadows.

                                                                       ( elliott baek is a well-known friend                                                                          of darkness. )

he’s leaning against the railing of the balcony, arms folded and elbows propping up the weight of his frame. dark pools of brown flick from constellation to constellation across the blanket of black, line of sight weaving through stars like invisible thread. he attaches patches of memories to the surface, rips the bits of remembrance left on his heart to lay in the moonlight, exhales memoirs like hazes of winter breath, visible then dissipated in seconds.

he sighs, thinks of those left behind, wonders if they, like him, are gazing out this december night, clutching wool coats and tearing at the frosty brisk. 

                                                                           oh, father, do you still dream of me?                                                                            do you still think of how we lay under                                                                            the same sky yet live in different worlds?

elliott notices not her approaching presence, her greeting words in gentle and hushed tones. instead, his attention focuses on her unquestioning presence, how she, like him, swayed in the breeze—together but ultimately separate. 

                                                                                               “yeah. me too.”

[rmjaein]

and permit me mine

[crelliott]

crsunmi:

sunmi believed in luck. destiny. fortune. chance. fate. how else could the pair’s close relationship be explained? their friendship could not be described rationally, in any way that would make sense to a student or teacher at the school. overlooking the fact that neither seemed very sociable (for different reasons, no less), there should have been no reason for the two to have ever crossed paths, not in a way that would have led to such a strong friendship.

                                           fate worked in rather funny ways, did it not?                                            it did. 

she often favored their alone time together over any moment where she hid behind him as he spoke to others. large social gatherings, for one, made her anxious. but on top of that, elliott’s features were always stoic around others, drawn into the image of intimidation and detachment. she disliked that side of elliott – very much so. 

                       and maybe that was why she loved being alone with him –                         among other reasons, of course.

                                                                 ( she was selfish in that way )

a soft ‘wait!’ slips from her throat along with the papers from her grasp, a vivid image of horror painted upon her visage at his threat. return the assignments? throw them away? he couldn’t. that would only reflect poorly upon her. 

“please don’t! i can handle all the work, you know i can. i really don’t mind it, i swear, i promise ––… please don’t give the papers back… they would all hate me if you did.”

she’d fallen victim to that criticizing look far too many times before, and she can only manage a wince in response. “i don’t beg for the work; i just offer to help!”

                                                                 because if she wasn’t useful in that way,                                                                  no one would know of her existence.                                                                   and that, she had decided, was worse                                                                  than any consequence of her lengthy to do list.

a flush blooms on the flesh of her cheeks until her skin resembled that of rose, deepening as she struggled to force words past the confines of her teeth. “n– no ! not for you, well, you’re an added bonus. but, uh, the library is way too busy for me to do so much, and people always look at me weird there and –– … everyone always has someone to sit with in the library so it’s lonely. the lonely library.” her words trail off into hesitant laughter. “it’s peaceful up here, not suffocating like the – you know, like the library, yeah.”

                                                  well, that was only half true.

                                                                    ♚

protective instinct always found elliott easy in the presence of sunmi, unwarranted anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach, forcing his hands to unconsciously ball into fists of pressed nails and white knuckles. he can feel her eyes on him, with that frantic gaze of hers---which was all the more frustrating---but he resists countering it. when he catches his breath, when the anger subsides with the blink of his eyes, he surrenders. throws his hands of annoyance in the air, lets the other be crowned as victor (this time around).

                                                          he would be stupid to think that she’d accept                                                           anything less.

“no one can hate you,” the words are plainly stated, triumphant smirk turned obedient grin. “but fine---no point in arguing about this now, when you’ve already taken it all on.” the pads of his fingers allow the slits of paper to glide against his skin, threatening to prick but dare not act. the palm of his right hand is met with the base of the stack and a soft thud! marks a lightbulb switching on atop the crown of his head.

“well, since we’re here together, might as well do all of this work together then, yeah?” a drip of seriousness escapes his lips, is absorbed by his skin and his being, and elliott baek marches to the nearest classroom (that he had conveniently opened earlier with a flick of wand and chant of alohomora), uncertain but undoubted that she’d trail behind.

                                                         ( maybe he was selfish, maybe bored.                                                            either or seemed like a just enough cause. )

[crelliott]

the remains of

               [w]hat is the point in worrying oneself too much about what one could or                could not have done to control the course one’s life took?                                                                                        --- k. ishiguro ( @creunxce )

                                                                     ♚

he’s drunk---or, if he’s not yet, he’s getting there. firewhisky coursed through his veins, along with the overwhelming amount of courage the drink brought with. he’s swaying, empty shot glass in hand. fingertips run over the rim, pads of finger ghost along the curves of the glass. he’s stalling.

                                                                                          ---for good reason, though.

a clear of throat. a scratch of neck. elliott baek watches eunice eom from across the way; she was just as beautiful as three years ago, maybe even more so. a sigh. the grip of his hand possess the sides of the glass, his other reaches for the near-empty bottle of liquor. a pour of red, then gulp---that familiar burning sensation greets his lips, and he grimaces. here we go.

                               intoxication keeps him unaware. keeps him deaf. keeps him                                bold. he approaches her, and the devil on his shoulder mocks.                                 took you long enough.

“eunice--” he hopes his voice is loud enough, is above the booming music. “can we talk?”

[rmjaein]

and permit me mine

[crelliott]

crsunmi:

whatever part of the hufflepuff’s mind had decided it sane for her to be charmed by the older slytherin had clearly made a mistake. there was no way any of it made sense: she was too young, he too rough around the edges, the both of them completely different from one another in the most fundamental of ways. and it wasn’t as if she had ever made her feelings towards him known, they were merely juvenile in intention and she knew he would never accept them. 

                             as much as she wished he would. 

so instead, she settled for being a comforting spirit, there for him when he needed, able to bring joy to his life when asked. a simple call of her name would bring the girl to him immediately – she was, truly, at his beck and call. yet, no matter how sure she was that he would never reciprocate her feelings, she often found herself daydreaming (in the childish way only teenagers seemed to do) of days where she could be his, and he could be hers. because there was always the chance that her bright personality was exactly what he needed; rather than hostile words and double edged swords. 

                                                          ( some could consider her attachment to him merely a                                                           longing for the attention of others, and not so much an                                                           attachment to elliott himself. he did, after all, treat her                                                              as if she truly mattered. )

a drop of her gaze to the papers in her hands is all it takes to summon a shrug, the girl flipping through the stack in her hands ( ignoring the added weight on her shoulder ) as if it were nothing. 

“it’s not all mine, you know. there’s a gryffindor’s defense against the dark arts assignment in here, a fellow hufflepuffs muggle studies essay… and some other people’s work… but a few of my own group projects too! why make my group members work and stress if i can handle it?” 

                             as if that would assuage the others worries. 

“it’s not like i have anything else to do. i stay at school over break, i don’t go out, i don’t have hobbies… so i should help others, right? if people ask, i can’t just say no…”

                                                                  ♚

how was it that elliott and sunmi worked? they were all the more opposite than most would assume. hufflepuff and slytherin. give and take. moral and tainted. she’s all bright laughter. wide smiles. overflowing enthusiasm that runs for miles and miles---and him? he’s anything but.

maybe they were like magnets, not exactly attracted by force but pulled together by something a sort of invisible. she was every bit of positive as he was negative; together, they worked.                                                      ---together, maybe---just maybe---they were complete.

          ( do sunmi. sunmi. sun. she was the sun,             brightening his day and giving him warmth             even when he wasn’t sure he was cold. )

a frown crosses his features, a long exhale parts his lips. he knows that shrug, knows it well enough to almost call it a (unwelcome) friend of his. 

                                                      why does she do that?                                                       do what?                                                       hold the weight of the world on her shoulders.

taking steps closer, he searches for her eyes. “sunmi--” there he goes, that side of him. protective and all too caring for his liking. “did you forget that you’re a seventh year, huh?” he purses his lips, exasperatedly pulls his hand free from the comfort of his pocket to tug away that stack of papers in her hands. it’s heavy. why is he not surprised?

“you should be looking out for yourself, y’know? you’ve got n.e.w.t.s and shit to study for this year---i’m taking these and givin’ them back to their rightful owners. better yet, i might as well just throw them away.”

elliott shakes his head, a click of tongue against teeth. “i stay at school over break. i don’t go out. i don’t have hobbies---y’don’t see me begging others to let me do their work for them.” a stern look of disapproval sent her way before his stiff demeanor breaks, his face softens and allows a chuckle or two to be released from his lungs. he lightly taps her on the head with the thick bundle of paper before he leans his frame against the wall, fingers thumbing through the pages and eyes scanning the contents.

“why’d you decide to come up here to do all this, anyway? wouldn’t the library be a better, quieter place? don’t tell me you just came here to see me or something.”

                                                                                          ( that last bit.                                                                                             he was joking, of course. )

[creunxce]

show, never tell

[crelliott]

creunxce:

                                                             ☾

      there are days, an unforgivingly sour multitude of days, dedicated to retracing steps. reliving moments. retrieving them in shattered fragments. teenage heartache. butterflies. sparks. red. green. bitterness in spades. 

         there are days, a disgusting abundance of days, dedicated to elliott hong.          those are the days she wishes she could take back.

      the goddess of love smiles cruelly on our lioness. gives her two years of bliss and four years of ache. gives her a boy to hold and a knife to sink into his back. plants a seed in the crux of her heart and lets it root. coil around the ivory cage. puncture her veins. fill her of him. of love. of madness. of envy.

         [ makes her heart weak, so he makes a monster out of her.             makes her spine proud, so she lets them fall. ]

      had she a choice—no, see, that’s the thing—she’s always had a choice. and she always will choose this choice. it matters not how her heart twists, how the insides of her mouth bleed and dry and sweat. as if anxiety has invited itself into her broken jaw to stay. as if every fibre of her being yearns for something her mind (and pride) refuses to give into.  

         she will always make this choice.          because there’s nothing left for him and her regardless. 

      and it matters not—see, that’s what she’ll claim; it doesn’t matter. it won’t matter. a couple more years later none of this matters. this is what she claims. yet his existence infects her. like rot. like pestilence. like something that’s once reached deep into the very core of her being and wrapped its fingers around her soul—that elliott exists, mixed with exuberant yellow. a glaring neon (bright, inescapable) green that stings more than she’d like to admit.

          four years is nothing if he’s here everyday.           if his presence alone demands the attention of every cell in her body; coaxes the air right out of her lungs. 

        [ leaves her breathless. fills her of black water.           god. yes. that’s it. it feels like drowning around them. ]

     it feels like drowning now, eyes lifting to settle on the masculine feature’s of love’s past. eunice doesn’t dare look him in the eye, not just yet. instead, she settles on the centre of his face, lips pursed into a thin line while her spine straightens, shoulders squared. 

         fear? heartache? she would—could—never show it to him.          not now. not ever.

    “if i had known,” almond eyes flick over his fleetingly. “that you’d be here, i would’ve picked a different day to come by.” her tongue curls behind her teeth, forcing uncharacteristically spiteful datives (you know, the kind that sprouts devil’s snare and ensnares all friend and foe) at bay. funny, it’s been a while since she’s seen him without the accompaniment of his parasite.

   “does anything i do these days really concern you?” her jaw settles, molars grinding as she steps past him to enter the shop.

          it matters not, if she’s afraid.           pride, of all things, her folly, her demise will keep her stubbornly moving forward. 

                                           [ even if it means she is to do it alone. ]

                                                   ♚

                                  ---they say that life flashes before one’s eyes seconds before death. 

and standing there, in front of her. body tensed. jaw tightened. hands balled into fists. reminded of everything he was and could have been (could still feel the remnants of his heart skipping a beat).

              tell me, dear, how does one so easily turn from lovers to strangers?               ---standing there, in front of the woman he once considered his world (until              he discovered she, like him, was just another speck in this nightmare called              the universe), felt like death.

elliott’s life flashed before his eyes, and its name was eunice. was the years etched off his timeline---two for bliss, one for mystery, three for abandonment. was the curling of his toes and the fluttering inside his stomach. was innocent love. teenage heartbreak. fireworks. tears. held hands. broken promises.

fate must be looking down on him, laughing at his misery. curses him with a lifetime of sorrow. a burden of emptiness. the constant question of what if? argues that he asked for this, that he was the one who allowed an intruder inside his heart. let her break the locks, let her crack open the safe to his trust. he was the one who consented to her stealing away the core of his identity, of what it meant to be.

                                                                          ( they say you can choose your destiny.                                                                             was he wrong to choose you?                                                                             ---he would always choose you. )

             tell me, dear, do you remember how i only knew of happiness when with you?

their relationship is one of forbiddance, caged within a perimeter of barbed wire. don’t get too close, for it will tear flesh on impact. will give surface wounds of uncertainty, of instability. don’t venture too deep, for it will entangle you in its trap. will rip you apart, with no indication of leaving you whole. 

     ---elliott baek knows the warning signs well, muscles stiffening and back      straightening. elliott baek knows better than to flirt with danger.

a soft sigh. a shrug of the shoulders. he thinks not of a response, not when he knows full and well that his own words would only be met with antipathy and disdain. his eyes followed her (as they often did) in accordance with his feet. instinct commands him to go closer, to take the leap, to obey his heart. his conscience orders him otherwise.

“you still didn’t answer my question.” as if he hadn’t failed to answer any of hers. his tongue traces the tops of his molars, pushes at the inside of his cheek and keeps his true feelings trapped behind rows of white and pink. “what are you doing here, eunice?”

[rmjaein]

and permit me mine

[crelliott]

crsunmi:

which needs neither your approval nor your surprise

( + @crelliott )

there are very few moments in which sunmi initiates conversations with others – or, more accurately, there are very few people with which initiates conversations. elliott, regardless of how rude he is to others, has earned such an honor (if one were to consider her attention such a thing). she could never quite remember how their friendship began, or when her feelings for him developed – but somewhere from the beginning of her teenage years to now, she had grown quite fond of the other, in a rather juvenile way.

which explains why a wide smile tugs on her lips upon noticing elliott standing alone on the other side of the astronomy tower. she didn’t come up here often, but tonight she had yearned to get away from the hustle of student life and complete all of her tasks in silence. or, at least, complete all of the tasks given to her by others in a space where she couldn’t be caught. she had been scolded more than once by her fellow hufflepuffs for constantly taking such a large amount of work upon herself, and teachers didn’t think highly on the idea of one student doing the work for many. ‘academic dishonesty’, they called it. 

she merely saw it as being helpful. useful. needed. 

although she had been on the hunt for solace, an opportunity to spend time with elliott would never be given up. and so, with steps as quiet as she, sunmi makes her way across the floor until she stands beside him. 

“it must be your lucky day!” a pause as she readjusts the bag on her shoulder, the rustling of papers accompanying the movement. everything about her screams ‘graceless’. “because, um, because i’m here! ––––… surprise!”

                             [s]ometimes i think that maybe we are just stories.                                                                                            --- j. l. anderson

                                                                  ♚

there’s very few people who know of elliott’s secret hiding place in the castle---and even fewer who have access to said hiding place.

                                                             ( he learned in his second year at the academy                                                                that the astronomy tower was an area blocked                                                                off and altogether out-of-bounds, which meant                                                                that, of course, it was perfect for him and his                                                                endeavors, whatever they may be. )

for a long time, it had just been eunice as his sole confidant in these type of ordeals---when he sneaked a broomstick from hooch’s shed to venture off into a sky of bright stars and intriguing darkness. when he smuggled a tiny creature from the forbidden forest into the castle, only to accidentally let it loose by the second day. when he broke one of the telescopes whilst practicing his swing for quidditch try-outs. 

                   for a long time, it had just been him, eunice, and the astronomy tower.

but, in recent years, another presence was starting to become a constant in his life, and (though he would hate to admit it) the fact made him mildly grateful to have another added to the ranks of those he perceived as decent enough (and ‘ worth his time ‘ enough) to share the whereabouts of his home in his home away from home.

                                                                 ---times change, people change. now, it was                                                                  just him, sunmi, and the astronomy tower.

so as he listened to the echoes of her footsteps against cobbled surface, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. her company always reminded him that he was never truly alone, not when someone like her was around to ensure that he was never really lonely.

the sight of the mountain of paperwork spread between her hands and her bag caused his mood to lightly sour, however. “sunmi--” he sighed, one hand stuffed into his robe’s pocket while the other massaged the base of his neck. “you know they’re called group projects for a reason, right?”

[creunxce]

show, never tell

[crelliott]

creunxce:

                                                                                     but i know you too well.                                                                                                           @crelliott​ —

                                                                      ☾

      knockturn alley was once an area forbidden. not to say that she ever had anything forbidden, that eunice eom had family members care enough to follow her into diagon alley and warn her against the dangers of the wizarding world. no, beyond the care of her temporary guardians (responsible only for the trip to and from london), there wasn’t much of her life as a witch that was forbidden.

           that is to say, eunice wields untamed freedom in her grasp like a finely tuned weapon.            that is to say, they couldn’t have controlled her anyway.

      still, the infamous alley remained a world hidden till she was old enough. till magic became accessible at her fingertips, even outside of the castle walls. till the world cowered under her fingertips, all too versed in charms and hexes.  

          till now, the day she can step into the alley, heart beating steady against its ivory cage.

     it isn’t that she isn’t allowed. it is just the feeling of ease rooted in the crux of heart that refuses to let up.

      yet eunice is here regardless. defiant heart pounding while she ventures deeper into the walkway, past cobb & webb’s and right toward the ever popular borgin and burkes. had it not been for the ridiculous deal they had (and the fact that she seemed to work under a complete psychopath with a taste for dark arts), she would not even step foot into this steaming pile.

      not to say there hadn’t been curiosity (the same as it’s always been—since childhood, it would always plague her, drive her mad for the sake of knowing) and a sizable portion of spite (because far be it for her to settle for a denial of anything) that drove her here. almond eyes alert and wand clutched tight beneath her robes.

          she wasn’t afraid. but say she had a reason to—wouldn’t being a muggleborn be reason enough to be? 

      christ. eunice winces at a nearby cackle, eyes rolling once she passes her. the sooner i get out of here, the better.

          [e]ither the heart would break or cease to care. best to cease to care.                                                                                                      — d. h. lawrence

                                                    ♚

knockturn alley, for what it’s worth, wasn’t as bad as many would paint it out to be. sure, it was all mold and dim lighting. suspicious smells and even more suspicious images. hooded figures whose only rivals existed in those that lurked even deeper in the shadows.

                                                             ---but that just added more to its charm,                                                                  don’t you think?

the admirable thing about the place, really, was the fact that it didn’t lie. didn’t mask its true intentions under fake storefronts or bright colors. knockturn alley, in essence, was a whole world that only those deemed (or thought themselves to be) brave enough to dare enter. elliott, on the other hand? well, he ventured into the (literal) hole in the wall because of one pure thing: boredom.

the holidays had made hogwarts grow too soft, too soon. the facade of christmas cheer sent him reeling, scowling at the faux happiness that began to spread like plague since the first drop of white sheeted the ground; no longer were the prank wars between seventh-year slytherins and their unfortunate victims a daily source of entertainment in the castle anymore.

                                                            ( so how was he supposed to enjoy the                                                               pleasure that came from trouble in such                                                               a non-troublesome place?                                                               ---why, by looking for it elsewhere, of course. )

height and overall demeanor kept those around wary of him, cautious enough to give him space to browse (and breathe) as he strolled from shop to shop. his search led him to feet planted in front of the exit of borgin and burkes, hands stuffed into coat pockets and head shaking at the thought of how this might have been a wasted trip of precious time.

                                          keywords: might have.

there he saw her, in the corner of his eye. a light far too bright in area of such darkness. but, just like her surroundings, her presence was altogether forbidden, taboo, and widely unspoken about. what was the point of being a wizard if he couldn’t make himself disappear?

his mind threatened to break him away, to turn his body around and force him in whatever direction was most opposite to her, but his heart---oh, his heart---noticed her shaky eyes and understandable hesitation with every step she took. he sighed.

                                                           ( eunice eom was never the type to ask for                                                              help, but with a stance like that, how was                                                              he supposed to interpret it as anything but? )

he approached her, ever so quietly and ever so tentatively. he cleared his throat for her attention, made sure to not immediately make contact with those brown eyes of hers. “what are you doing here?” a soft question, much huskier than anticipated to be. “not exactly on the right side of the tracks now, are we?”