so this account might be good as dead for now i GUESS. but i keep thinking... pondering... to bring a canon mdzs muse to tumblr, yet canon rp is not something i am familiar with at all HOW DO PEOPLE GO ABOUT THIS.
throwback drabble! (probably around 2015? 2016?) @baudellare
“you said we came here for the beach.”
there’s a hint of annoyance in her voice; tension, too—though it is hard to pinpoint which emotion ran deeper. he is convinced that he’d be able to figure it out if he tried, but finds himself far more interested in the colors that brighten the wall in front of him. when a minute passes, the female speaks up again. this time, he is certain it is frustration that is overruling. it is easy to recognise what he’s grown used to.
“casper, you said the beach would help me calm down.”
a click of tongue proceeds his words, “i dunno, you don’t seem very calm to me.”
“and whose fault is that?”
“whose, han?” despite the dry tone of his voice, casper meets her with a smile when he turns around, lowering the spray can momentarily. there’s a strong wind blowing today; the sound of waves crashing against rocks loud enough to carry all the way to where they’re standing. had it not, he probably he could’ve heard her teeth gritting with the tightness of her jaw. although he seems to be waiting for an answer, her eyes tell all that needs to be said: yours, casper. it’s always your fault.
and she wouldn’t be wrong.
casper patiently waits for the ballerina to speak up once more, though interrupts her as soon as her lips part. “the beach can’t help you if you won’t let it. personally, i find that expressing myself through art is far more reassuring. do you want to try?” words dripped in honey, though carefully crafted and provocative in nature.
“that’s illegal. besides, i doubt you even paid for those cans.”
he supposes it’s meant to be an insult, but it is obvious that no offense was taken by the laughter that rings from his lips. “so illegally painting these walls is fine, as long as i paid for these cans?”
“that’s not what i said.”
“it’s what you implied.”
“i want to go home.”
there’s no vocal reaction to her comment. and i don’t, so we’ll stay—-he tells her that much by simply turning around and continuing his mural. bright pinks and whites are not exactly what he is used to working with, but they are the only colors that’ll do justice to the ballerina artwork that is brought to life by splatters of paint. it is an odd match combined with the inspirations he draws from basquiats techniques; but then again, it wouldn’t be casper if it wasn’t deemed unconventional.
somewhere close behind him, he can still hear haneul’s voice. it comes and goes in the same way the waves continue to crash against the rocks, soothing, despite the pending anger. almost as if he enjoyed getting her riled up and push her limits (and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t).
“give me your car keys.” another part of his well-thought out plan: coming here with his car. this particular part of the beach was too rocky to be considered a popular destination, and alas, left them very limited in transportation. “only if you paint something, too. have you seen my art yet? what do you think?”
“cas, i’m not playing this game with you.”
“and i’m not giving you my keys until you do.”
he turns on his feet another time; but not to continue his mural. instead he seems to be finishing it with his initials. briefly, before the name is revealed to not be his own name, but someone else’s. son haneul, it reads, but his arm doesn’t get dragged down until the damage has been done.
“take that off immediately! what if someone sees that? what if i get arrested?”
“what? you think you are the only son haneul in this entire country?” there’s a clear goal he’s leading up to with all of this, though he doubts the female to be able to catch up nor care with the rise of panic. “but you can paint over your name yourself, if you wish.” there it is. innocence is feigned with a small smile when he hands her the can, curious to see what she will do. he can see the hesitation in her eyes; gaze scanning their surroundings. there’s nobody around, but she is as cautious as he is irresponsible. of course, she’d double check. “it’s just some paint, you’re not about to rob a bank, han.”
he is pleasantly surprised to see that she takes it, though not as much to see her continue to fix up the pointe shoes after. “i had to. yours looked horrible.” casper watches her in silence; catches the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips. the kind of smile that always has a way of making his heart skip a beat. it’s the main reason he likes to push her limit; to see her find joy whenever she stops being so hard on herself (and perhaps also because seeing her all conflicted is just a little bit funny).
with how the pink paint has stained her fingertips and the wind continues to mess up her hair, it’s ironic that she carries herself elegant as ever—and he cannot help but to realise how much danger he is getting himself in. fast. he’s falling for her. and yet, he cannot help but to get closer and wrap his arms around her waist.
“you ruined the shoes!”
he hadn’t even noticed (nor cared) how he’d thrown off her aim with his actions. “i thought you didn’t care about it,” he says, and as he does so, his lips find their way to her jawline; peppering it in soft kisses. “i didn’t. i don’t—but you ruined it.”
“depends on how you look at it. art is subjective, after all.”
he continues to kiss down her neck, towards her collarbone; hopes to shut her up. she doesn’t. “casper, stop—let me fix this. let me—”
so he opts for another method: “is that the police?” he gasps. “i think i can hear the police. quick, han! run!”
saltah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.
tagged by: @temporalobjects ( aaa!! thank you so much!! life keeps throwing me under the bus, but jsyk, i’m still lowkey stalking u and WILL be back in dms for plots!!! ♡ )
tagging: @theaftrparties @seffonie @shrikcs (do it for sun, tho he’ll just get cinnamon anyways wbk) @greensweats @inheols @irrwicht (ask meme reply will come too... stay tuned....) @ifwe @viscerallii @phantombs @tewwor @jkbaws (anyone!!) @clairdclunc
( ✶ ) Random dialogue prompts ― status: accepting !
“Are… you visually impaired?” The words flow from his lips in a dry tone of voice; tune mimicking the exact same way in which Spencer had posed the question. There’s two empty cups of coffee already scattered on the table next to him, and about five sheets of paper with some careless scribbling. It is clear that Casper had been awake for a while, fruitlessly trying to find a way to pass some time. The boredom is practically radiating from him as he scrolls through his phone; expression blank. Still, he had not bothered once to lift his gaze from the device and look up at Spencer as he spoke to her.
Had the rain not been pouring outside, there is no doubt he’d be running wild elsewhere, desperate for a thrill. It was very unlike Casper to spend much time on his phone; typically growing bored of the device within minutes.
Alas, he was not in the mood to deal with the god awful weather today, and thus had to find his entertainment elsewhere. That currently left him with only two potential victims, one of which just so happened to have put a giant target on her back last night. It was Spencer’s own fault for not allowing him the chance to sleep peacefully, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
“If…” he continues again, deciding to stick to that annoying melody for no reason in particular, “you are done checking me out, could you return to the room you came from? I’m not quite enjoying,” at this, he finally looks up; gesturing towards her frame with a lazy flick of his hand, “whatever vibe this is you are bringing. Kind of killing the mood here, not gonna lie.”
“why won’t you tell me what happened?” from inha <3
( ✶ ) Random dialogue prompts ― status: accepting !
It’s hard to say what’s brought him here, when reality is taking its sweet time to catch up with him.
Here—where? Here is not where he’d intended to be, that is for sure. This place smelled like sandalwood and rose petals, and embraced him in a warmth comfortable enough to make him feel drowsy. Nothing like the scent of antiseptic and fluorescent lights he’d expected to be met with.
The dizziness hits him with the first step he takes, hands finding their way to the nearest object to grab hold of and steady himself. The door—no, it’s not a door. It’s too soft. Steady, but soft. And it’s making noises.
Is it?
‘Casper?’
That’s him. Casper. He tries his best to focus on what’s in front of him, but the current circumstances aren’t making it any easier. How did he get here? His fingers dig their way into the source of the voice, willing his vision to clear the fog and find answers. Focus, Casper. Focus. The protesting noises his actions bring forth barely register to him, clouded by his own anxiety. He never should have tried to teleport with the state he’d been in. Not in a million years could that have ended on a good note.
‘Casper!’
‘Shut up!’
Ah, there is his voice. The release comes with as much of a push as he can manage, feet struggling to keep him upright with the sudden outburst of pressure. He allows himself to fall to the floor this time, the cool touch more welcoming than the warmth had been. Somewhere in the distance, the voice echoes still—but he forces it out; molds into another shape. White noise; a repetitive melody in the background. How did he get here?
‘You think you’re so slick, don’t you?’ It’s a different voice. Darker, though distorted. But it comes with a familiar feeling of triumph, and a voice that carries a sense of invincibility he can only pinpoint as his own. ‘Hard not to be when you are the gods’ favourite.’ His intoxication messes with his reflexes and leaves him incapable to prevent the collision with the wall that follows. So that’s where that sore spot on his head came from.
‘Hey, it’s just a game. If you’re gonna be a sore loser, don’t play.’
‘Casper? Can you hear me?’
‘Ahn Kihyun, wasn’t it?’
Wasn’t it? The fear comes rushing then, color draining from his face. There’s a cold touch to his neck that feels far too real, hand coming up to press against the skin—nothing. But it isn’t the knife that scares him most, it is the name. The fact that this man knew exactly who he was dealing with and how to get to him. Or was that just the drugs messing with his head? He must have pissed the man off pretty bad. Who was this? More importantly: how had he acquired this information? Someone from his past?
‘Casper? Why won’t you tell me what happened?’
The nth time he’s called back to reality. A face starts to take shape in front of him, and through the strange silhouettes and distorted noises, Casper finally manages to recognise the man. If not for the voice, then for the worried frown on an otherwise perfectly sculptured face—courtesy of Aphrodite herself. Inha. There is no other explanation for Casper’s presence here than a teleportation gone wrong. Absolutely zero. And that leaves him with another issue that needs to be addressed.
Had he teleported in front of his assailant? They knew his name—did they know about his mother? His past?
Casper’s second attempt at teleporting is futile; energy drained and focus lacking. Instead the demigod uses whatever is left to grab the man in front of him and pull himself up. Then he pushes. ‘Stay the fuck out of my business, Inha.’ And he fully intends to see himself out the door after that, but only barely manages to make it to the hallway before the darkness lures him back and he hits the floor once more.
So much for pretending this encounter had never happened.
( ✶ ) Random dialogue prompts ― status: accepting ! ( though momentarily slow! )
Casper feels no regret for the situation he’s landed the both of them in, though he cannot deny that being cut off mid-sentence had left a sour taste in his mouth. There’s a sharp edge to Taehwa’s voice that is impossible to disregard, despite the high amount of alcohol that is currently coursing through his veins. His friend, on the other hand, seems far less intoxicated—and is clearly not in the mood to listen to his half-baked excuses.
If Taehwa blames being kicked out of the party on Casper, he is fully justified in doing so. It is not even worth fighting what is so clearly the truth; not when this is not at all out of character for the younger. Perhaps if this had been a first, or if Taehwa didn’t know him any better, he might have been more forgiving. Today, however, he is irritated—and for all the right reasons. The whole ordeal had been nothing but a game to Casper. To Taehwa? A lot more had been at stake. It’s just too bad that the demigod can not always fully comprehend it.
And so, for once, he does seal his lips momentarily; a childish roll of his eyes the only defense left to give. He’s never been one to apologise verbally. In fact, he cannot remember when he last uttered the words ‘I’m sorry’ — and meant them. On the rare occasions he does realise he is in the wrong, Casper usually opts to make amends by finding ways to fix the problem (he created) himself.
And today is not the day he intends to fix these bad habits.
‘There is nobody to blame if there is nothing to be blamed for. This is Gangnam, there’s plenty of other events to crash. Wasn’t there an Opening Gala for the ballet tonight? I’ll get us in there instead.” A grin slowly tugs on his lips when Casper finishes speaking; apologetic, almost, if one knows him close enough. He raises the bottle of Moët he’d managed to snatch from the party, and takes one last swig before handing it over to his friend as a peace offering of sorts. ‘No worries, Taetae. I’ve got this.’
𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃. Apollo’s encounters with it are countless. From childhood’s age to now ( stealing from the cookie jar to stealing expensive bottles of vodka ), he’s counted it as one of his constant companions.
In today’s antics, mischieve comes in the form of a stunning, long-haired man with the blessings of Hermes coursing in his blood and making him divine. His roguish smile should set Apollo on edge, but when it comes to friends, the pool of divine to choose from isn’t as exhaustive as the one the humans have. Casper is less of a god and more of a devil standing on Apollo’s shoulder, leading him astray as a cure to his boredom, but Apollo doesn’t have enough self-respect to choose his friends wisely.
❛ That one, ❜ Apollo points at one of the bottles in Casper’s hands, glancing between it and his friend blankly. He might have grown up shit poor, but he’s brushed shoulders with enough rich assholes to be learned enough about liquor shop bottles. Besides, Casper’s restless energy makes Apollo’s eyebrow prickle with annoyance. He wants to ignore him and get this done with, but if he doesn’t entertain him even a little bit, he’ll go off on his own and make his own entertainment at the cost of, well, anything. That’s the thing about Casper. He’s volatile and fickle, and Apollo isn’t confident that he keeps Casper’s attention well enough.
Normally, he’s fine with this. It’s just that they’re robbing a store, and he’d rather Casper kept himself contained for the next five minutes lest they get caught. Apollo leans down and grabs a bottle from a bottom shelf, where the owner at the front counter can’t see him slip it into his backpack. He’s in the middle of reaching for another when he feels his blood grow hot— a sigh of frustration leaves his frowning lips.
❛ Say loot any louder and we won’t be carrying anything out, dumbass. Just pass me the goddamn bottle— ❜ Apollo looks up, hand out-reached, watching Casper impatiently.
It isn’t so much the words as the shift in energy that sparks his interest. A type of tension Casper is all too familiar with—not in the least because he often is the instigator. Dumbass? The son of Hermes quirks a brow, the sound of his scoff airy enough to go unnoticed. In fact, he is certain that Apollo has enough on his mind to be oblivious to the derision that drips from Casper’s features altogether.
Dumbass. He studies Apollo patiently—too patiently, almost—as if figuring out whether to pity the man, or how to fully ignite the pending anger. Unlike his friend, the pressure to move faster is non-existent. He considers the option to do as is told: raise his voice and repeat his words, yet ultimately decides against it. Entertaining, but not quite enough to settle for.
“Correct,” he finally replies, though it is the cheaper bottle that he hands over instead. Slowly. Then he crouches down next to Apollo, meeting the pair of agitated eyes with a solemn gaze of his own. “Which means I owe you a fun surprise.” Even his whispers are exaggerated; like a kid who only barely learned how to, and is too excited to fully lower his voice.
“Have you heard the joke about the two guys who tried to rob a liquor store?” As he speaks, Casper proceeds to relinquish the expensive bottle that had been left in his hand, though he halts his movements mid-air. “Only one of them got away scotch-free.” A crooked grin precedes the release of his digits from the bottle, glass shattering and allowing the clear liquid to pour out freely. “Oops. I’m such a dumbass.”
Apollo is not given the opportunity to retaliate; it takes Casper less than a blink of the eye to bolt to the other side of the store. Right in time before the owner to locate the noise and move towards the crime scene, loaded with questions. It leaves the son of Hermes to wonder if his partner can remain calm enough to hide the contents of his bag and play it off an accident.
Full disclosure: his bet is a solid no—but the distraction buys Casper some time to figure out their (his) next move.
“if you’re here to tell me what happened last night, someone beat you to it.”
( ✶ ) Random dialogue prompts ― status: accepting ! ( though likely slow! )
Silence is what initially meets Taehwa’s comment; though it is soon followed by an arch of his brow and a dismissive scoff. Despite knowing his friend means no harm, Casper does not welcome his defensive attitude. To say it had hurt his feelings would be a stretch—hurting his feelings required a lot more than this less-than-warm welcome. If anything, it is arrogance blending with disbelief.
No: Casper had not come here to tell Taehwa what had happened last night—if only for the simple fact that the demigod himself had no recollection of anything worth remembering, either.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to play along.
The change in expression is subtle; his disbelief played off as mere surprise. “Oh?” He studies Taehwa’s face well, dropping another moment of silence just to try and read his expression. Figure out whatever’s going through the elder’s head. “That’s.. I’d say impossible, but clearly that is not the case. Odd? Seeing as I was the only one there, someone must have—”
A pause; dramatic interlude. Then, his mouth finally opens, a quiet “no way” audible as much as it is recognisable from the look in his eyes and the slight curving of his lips. “Unless Spencer has told you herself. Not gonna lie, the whole situation was quite embarrassing to witness. Didn’t think she’d have the balls to face you again,” Casper admits, the lies rolling from his tongue with an alarming amount of ease. “On the positive side, she won’t be nagging us anymore in the apartment, thank the Gods. Or, well, thank you, for getting yourself into this mess in the first place.”
hello again, from your resident slowpoke!! i decided to change cas’ faceclaim a final time, as i feel this suits his grungey vibe a LOT better! that being said, i have a very important week coming up that is taking more preparation than i anticipated. i’ll likely be occupied till next thursday, HOWEVER, i do want to stop myself from getting brainrot, and i DO want to start interacting with everyone!!!
so... i reblogged an ask meme, all of y’all who are willing to plot, please do send one in! :> tell me which muse you want a starter for and i’ll try to think of something! additionally, i will add anyone who gave me their discord in the next few days. i would’ve already, but i tried not to get myself too distracted ; A ;.
Network issues, defective hardware, or perhaps an issue with the power supply—whatever it is that has caused the store’s security cameras to stop working, it seems to be enough to keep its owner preoccupied. Phone held tight between shoulder and ear, the frustration in the man’s voice is easily distinguished; a distracted nod of the head the only greeting he dons the lone pair of customers that had just walked in. Had he paid closer attention, he might have noticed how their pupils were just slightly dilated; or how one of them seemed to have a peculiar edge to his smile that could not mean anything but trouble.
Before entering the store, he had told Apollo to act natural; a warning that had clearly not been relevant to Casper himself. More of an act to offer his friend a faux sense of security, the son of Hermes is all but subtle as he makes his way through the store—with the apparent need to voice his every single thought out loud. “Some music might liven this place up a bit, don’t you think? We only just got here, but I’m already bored.” Bored. The first warning signal, though he doubts Apollo has picked up on the clue. It’s not before long that he’s holding two bottles of vodka in his hands: a cheap one, and one that is clearly meant for a party fancier than they’re about to attend (read: finish it all somewhere down the next alley). “If you can guess which one is the more expensive bottle, I’ll treat you to a fun surprise,” he says, the grin audible in his voice before it spreads across his face. Second warning signal: surprise. To be avoided at all costs when it comes to Casper.
The impatience that grows inside of him is almost palpable, gaze shifting from Apollo to the owner and back. Just by looking at his expression, it is easy to tell when the next idea unfolds inside of his head. “Or do you wanna play a game? I know a fun one we can play right here, and it involves more alcohol,” Casper initiates, doing miracles at pretending to have forgotten why they came here in the first place. “Loser has to carry our loot!”
so uh, here’s my doc on casper! i am still working on it, but there’s a lot of info in there already and i’m very excited! :>
i would polish everything right now, but i gotta be up early and i’m passing out as i write this. butttttttt, if anyone wants to plot, i guess like this or message me?? and i’ll hit u up when i’m back! ♡
‘ Hey, Kihyun! I heard your mother sleeps with other men to earn money. ’
‘ My mother said your father left you because of that! ’
( shrill laughter )
‘ Maybe she just doesn’t want to spend time with him. ’
‘ That’s so embarrassing! ’
‘ Where is Alec? did he leave you, too? Are you hiding because of him?'
In his chest, Kihyun's heartbeat rises. Adrenaline is quickly pumping through his veins, knuckles turning white from anger. Their laughter intensifies, and regret washes over him like a tidal wave. This is exactly what they had been aiming for; getting under his skin. The angrier he got, the more satisfied they’d become. He knew all of their games, wary eyes shifting from one person to the next. A physical reaction was what they were waiting for—but exactly what could he do, when he was all by himself, and they were three?
‘ I am so sorry you inherited your father’s brains, ’ The young demigod finally tells the first person, and then eyes the second one, ‘ And you, your father's looks. no wonder you’re dead ugly and all the girls run away from you. Is it true, ’ he continues, bravely facing the last person, ‘ that your father beats you up at home? ’
One, two, three. A light smirk breaks through on his face, and then he swiftly turns on his heels and starts to run. With that, so do the rest of them. ‘ Did you learn to flee from your father? ’ One stupid mistake; he stops in his tracks and clenches his teeth. Keep running, his mind tells him, they want you to fight them.
‘ Did you learn to fight from your father? How scary. ’
A fist is thrown into his direction; he swiftly ducks to the side. ‘ I do hope he’s got a better aim than you. ’ Far too cocky for his own good, that he is indeed. Fast, but not invincible ( yet ). another insult or three gets thrown at him, and he never seems to be able to keep his mouth shut. It costs him this time. The metallic taste of blood is overwhelming when it dares to slip past pink lips, but the child doesn’t do as much as flinch. He bites back any signs or sounds of pain, eyes narrowing dangerously at the small group in front of him. ‘ Just wait. ’ Their laughter fades the longer he runs, and this time, he doesn’t come back.
ii. May 6, 2005. 10.50 am.
‘ I didn’t do it. ’
Three pairs of eyes are burning into the back of his head, one pair stares right into his own: the principal. Anyone his age would have been uncomfortable in his position—but not kihyun. He has no reason to be. If anything, he can still feel the hatred sparking within, and he refuses to let the others get away with it. instead, his gaze is unwavering.
‘ He’s lying! It has to be him! ’
Feigned innocence ( practice makes perfect ); he merely shakes his head at the woman in front of him. ‘ My mother was with me the entire day, you can ask her for yourself, ma’am. ’ He can hear the whispers behind him; a stern voice telling them to quiet down. They do not listen. ‘ It can’t be a coincidence! my father thinks i put the green dye in the bottle, and now i’m grounded for a month! i didn’t do it! ’ Kihyun resists the urge to snort; it must have been a hilarious scene to witness. ‘ He called my father ugly right before it happened, it has to be him! ’ a shake of his head—he remains calm. ‘ How could I possibly even get into their house? ’
For a moment, there is silence. The next boy speaks up not much later. ‘ I didn’t gift my dad that book either! He called my father abusive, and the next day my dad got a present signed with my name! ’ Children of abusive parents; a classic. Kihyun had easily been able to purloin the book from the store, but again, his features betray no such thing. ‘ I don’t even have the money to buy these things, ma’am. ’ Sugary sweet once more. It’s hard not to smile with the protesting scholars behind him, but he manages to refrain himself regardless.
Here’s his advantage: he’s much more intelligent than most kids his age, and if he can use this in his favor, he most certainly will.
‘ Why would I ever do such a thing? ’ There is absolutely no evidence that could track back to him—it was their words against his. ‘ I would never call anyone’s father ugly, or misbehave that way. Wouldn’t it be stupid to fight three kids by myself? Why would I do that? It seems to me that they are just trying to set me up, ma'am. ’ This seems to catch the principal's attention, gaze now shifting towards the three of them. One speaks up, but the others silence him just as quickly. Tthey’re trapped. Kihyun knows it, the kids know it, they all know it. If they speak the truth, not only will they expose themselves, they also still lack any kind of evidence to point his way. If they remain quiet, even more so.
‘ You can call my mother, ’ he urges, ‘ and ask her where i was yesterday. ‘ The only times we weren’t together was when i went to the toilet. unless they want to go ahead and accuse me of having superpowers, I would have never made it. ’ He snorts this time ( his own jokes have always been hilarious, he thinks ), but the woman simply nods. ‘ I’ll contact your mother in a bit. You can go back to class now. ’
And with that, satisfaction finally creeps up on him and he finds his way back towards the classroom.
iii. May 6, 2005. 9.50 pm.
‘ You did do it, didn’t you? ’
He doesn’t even get the chance to swallow his food, his mother's piercing gaze boring straight into his eyes. ‘ What? ’ This time, his surprise isn’t quite as convincing. It’s got less to do with his acting skills and far more with her undeniable talent of seeing right through him. She’s well aware of his powers, just as much as she knows about his mischievous nature. Unfortunately, hateful comments are no news to her, either. Perhaps that’s why she never truly gets mad at him for acting out. Guilt, for exposing him to such cruelty; pride, that he’d go as far to protect her. Pride, because even at his young age, he never once questioned anything she did, and had always been the first to stand up for her. And yet, she did not want him to get in trouble over petty situations as these. It wasn’t worth it.
‘ Kihyun, sweetheart, please ignore them next time. You know i don’t mind it if they talk about me, I still— '
‘ They didn’t talk about you. ’ Another lie she can see right through, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty, when she is the only one that has always been there for him. Even as a kid, he can realise as much. ‘ You’re the prettiest mum of them all, their mothers must just be very jealous of you. ’
She parts her lips again, but this time, he doesn’t wait. ‘ I’m finished. can we watch a movie? It’s been a long time since we did. ’ The answer comes in the form of a smile and a nod. Not pushing the matter any further had seemed wisest indeed.
’ Sure, let’s watch one in a bit. ’ Another smile. ‘ I love you, Kihyun. ’
‘ I love you too, mum. ’
And that, for one, was the most truthful thing he had said in a long time.