starter for | @dalsoojung
jaejoong inhales deep, the salt from the sea reclaiming his lungs, reattaching to his ribs, his heart, his lips, the grains from an imagined beach latching onto his atmosphere and even though he’d known just how much he missed the ocean, missed the blue, missed the waves and the constant crashing, the constant roaring, he hadn’t realized just how bad his bones ached, how devastated his equilibrium had been. until this exact moment, until he stands here on the surf, tilts his head against the breeze, his ears pinned to the shifting, the calling, the luring music of the water he loves so well. his only true devotion.
he adores the water, adores it in a way he doesn’t know if he ever can with this breath of a girl, this slip of human in fine, gaudy dressings, her presence on the small boat a few feet away from him something of a comfort, something of an annoyance. he isn’t sure how to react to her yet, isn’t sure how to conceive her entirely, not since the moment his father had brought her to him, declared them for each other in a way that broach no argument, no hackling, no options. she is to be his wife and that’s final, that’s the end of it, nevermind that jaejoong’s heart only beats at the bottom of the ocean, nevermind that he doesn’t know how to look at a girl and not think of the devastations and atrocities he’s witnessed in the past year, under the tutelage and carnage of piracy out in the open blue.
he swallows his thoughts down and rearranges the sails for the fourth time, working them into just the right position, the bustling sounds of the port junction just beyond them, still in view but out of reach. he can see them all behind, men and women, boats and fishing cots, tiny shops and animals milling about. it’s not a beach, not his beach, not his horizon, but for the moment, it’ll have to do. “thank you,” he intones rather quietly, hoping their first outing together without chaperones won’t be too terribly awkward. “for coming out with me like this. i hope you don’t get seasick or anything.” he lets a small shine gleam in the corner of his face, almost amusement, almost playfulness.
thinks of it this way: the world is never a symmetry in which two sides retain the same level of forces — one of which always tips the balance, and in this case, men are the heavier on a scale. in this case, she’s the losing option for the country that executes a malpractice against women, while at the same time unable to contain the beasts of crimes in its stomach its viscera spilling out of the holes. she wishes that the world would swallow her whole to never spit her out since the conversation that maintained more silence than what she could bear. her father’s quiet often means more than his words. he’s a man of actions, and when he does something, he truly means it.
and so, he means the entirety of this arrangement. this is not a bouquet of floral twines that she can bend on the spines to create an alternative end result. there’s no exit door, no exit wound. just her, and him. there’s no chaperones, just the two of them in the spillage of disguised attempts at bonding. she didn’t request the entire guards to be lowered, so she believes that he might have. she doesn’t know the objective. and for the sake of everything good, he doesn’t know the personality. he might have been someone unsuitable for marriage, who knows. however, she’s resigned to fate the moment she vacated the chamber, leaving her father alone with a numbed jaw. and now, she’s here, with him, alone.
she doesn’t know if it is wise; she might have been equipped with all the masteries to escape, to eliminate, but all of those mean naught when she’s bound to the foreign waters she cannot swim in. there’s a flash of paranoia rippling in her thoughts, but she lets it whittle down the moment he speaks. he seems kind, just shy. there’s a smile that pulls the corners of her lips into a somewhat genuine smile; he’s endearing so far until he’s proven that he’s not, at the very least. but that’s a business for the later. she relishes in the breeze, focusing more on the saline kisses of the wind than the imbalance beneath. “no, thank you,” she speaks back in a manner conserved enough, but refrains from wedging too much of a social gap. the goal is to familiarize herself with him. “i’m fine. it’s a brand new experience is all — thank you for bringing me out. it’s been a while since i’ve been.” and tries her hardest not to mull over eomma. “you’re truly a good officer.” it’s a compliment, and it’s one of the few things she’s aware of about him, so that’s all she can infer.
