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Stranger Things

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@fmdchiwonsave
wc | 557 summary | she never calls unless she wants something. unfortunately, there’s a first for everything. chiwon’s mother calls with news. nothing will be the same.
hold yourself together.
phone rings, grating sound and he wonders when he took it off vibrate. oh, to work. he’s working a lot these days, trying to perfect his craft, there’s a nail in coffin sort of energy about the way he works. like each line he writes is his last, each line he spits might choke him. sometimes chiwon wonders why he’s so intense, why it matters so much to him. why does everything have to be like this? is it the way he’s been born? with a thorn in his side, courtesy of a man he’s never even met, never will, most likely.
is it a burden from his father? no, not that one. the other father.
he answers.
“what?” it’s hardly friendly, but it’s sufficient. surprised he answered at all. so is she.
“chiwon,” shock is obvious but content with being acknowledged, “you must be busy recently. since you haven’t answered.” she’s bold for that one.
“what’s wrong, mother?”
her sigh is static in his ear and like hydrogen peroxide to his nerves, bubbling and frothing instantly, like an infection. his mood is sterile. “nothing’s wrong,” she sounds defensive and offended. she would, wouldn’t she, like a natural state. “can’t i just call?”
“you can.” his tone is acerbic audacity. who does she think she’s talking to? why does she even bother? like he’s the public eye looking in from the outside, rather than the son she raised, “but you don’t.”
she scoffs, hmmphs at him and he leans back in his chair to begin picking at the fabric of his jeans.
“mother,” he reiterates like he’s the parent and she’s the child. “what?”
there’s a hundred things it could be, has always been. her need for his attention, affection, forgiveness. the way she begs him to ask for time off to fly and see her like being an idol is a dayjob, and he can clock in sick days for pleasure. almost like it would be a pleasure at all to see her in the first place. also not correct. or the way she asks nearly begs him to let her hire a lawyer to try cutting corners of his contract, to get him out years earlier than planned just so she can have her assembly of children at her side, tokens of her motherhood and custom. to make her look better to the press. it could have been anything. sometimes she even tried to worm his brother and sister into it, like it would soften the blows of her usual pestering and make him give way. come running back to her if not out of the duty of a filial son, of a brother.
it could be anything. he doesn’t want to hear any of it, because he’s heard all of it.
“your father is out of jail.” she says instead.
his vision is bricked in like a foreman had laid him down, fuzzy spots that pop in like dust motes and his ears ringing like a fire siren. “w-what?”
“he’s out.” she repeats without explaining like that might resemble enough of a response.
chiwon doesn’t know how many different kinds of pain there is in this world. countless kinds. but he thinks the pain of this far beats most of them.
“oh.” he says. and that’s all there is to say.
his mood is a ghost image, a lingering trail that blurs, snap shots, a flipping picture book. it’s how he writes his music. extended across his sofa with a filled notebook. curled pages, crowded margins, crowded mind. he’s glad he didn’t move in with any of his group members, but one in particular he’s thankful for being away from. it would impact his relationship with her. because chiwon wouldn’t call yaebin over tonight if he had chosen to move in with jinki like he might have almost planned. everything would be different. living alone has it’s perks. safe space, he can be any way he wants with her here. as for the rest; patience his virtue and doubt the vice that breaks him. things with her have grown different. he couldn’t have known how he would grow to hold such a musical sort of intrigue for her, his heartbeat in his throat and fluttering beneath his skin even at the sight of her.
he gave her the passkey to his door, his apartment, his life. his heart. it’s an invasive thought, like water dripping from a faucet; that he would let her walk right in. he feels plainly foolish, and utterly content. contradictory, isn’t it? he hates that more than anything. he looks up at the breaking of the seal, the squeak of hinge and sound of door swinging. it can only be her. he throws the curled pages of his notebook onto the table. “i was beginning to wonder if you’d even come over, @fmdyaebin.” he’s not teasing her, he isn’t. it isn’t a joke, he doesn’t tell those. his delivery is too tongue in cheek. sadly, this is the truth, disguised as derision, from that stinging insecurity at the back of his throat that begged him to realize he shouldn’t want her like he does, and that she wouldn’t show up? it would be a blessing, not a curse. “well come on, sit down.” he hopes she’ll sit next to him, and then he doesn’t.
ahoy i'm maren, your local disaster gay and i’m happy to be here at long last. you can message me unreliably on tumblr im, or through discord which is much much more reliable over at LUCKY !#2625. without further ado, pls love me & this boy ! here’s a speed-read guide to basic chiwon concepts !!
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