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seoyulhrs:

it’s this stupid town, she thinks, where strangeness has been branded onto her like some indelible mark of sin, a berth left wide around her. a strange creature to be admired like a sideshow figure and little else. “and i’d prefer to be in marrakech, but we’ve all got crosses to bear.” she settles down against the blanket to glance over at the other, grinning lightly. “of course i did. and i brought snacks.” she adds, patting the slight cooler next to her. “mostly cheese and crackers,” she admits, shrugging slightly. “but we’ll make do.” the sun is warm, cascades down against her cheeks and flickers to life from behind the clouds. like a sunflower she turns her face towards the warmth of it, humming slightly. “it’s going to be damn hot next week.”

jungmin’s been subject to control before, but not like this. the constraints of societal judgement latch on in subtle ways. they form him in habits, in chosen characteristics and curated attributes. every aspect is made to conform, and he is allowed to only exist within its bounds. with seoyul, control doesn’t always equate that same inhibition. sometimes, the time spent with her turns out to be exactly what he needs.

it’s not something he plans on telling her though. jungmin doesn’t know where she ends and where the lies begin. people can change, but perceptions remain, and jungmin is just another piece to this puzzle. he doesn’t try to give her the benefit of the doubt, and his lack of a proper excuse mimics the rest of the town.

“are you telling me that because you’re dragging me out again next week?” he remarks, brow raised in tune to the question he teases her with.

he stretches his legs and watches them pass hers. she may be smaller, but the power she wields is much greater... although, there isn’t much resistance to begin with. some gruff sighs maybe, or the roll of his eyes, but nothing more. her leverage picks up only half his weight, and intrigue carries the remainder.

his attention shifts from his thoughts to the water nearby. the sunlight pools near the edge and spills across the stillness. jungmin is taken back to summers he spent in its company. there’s a childhood connection that burrows into his reality. it’s a relationship that ties him to many things, like freedom, like joy, like chaekyung. her memory washes over him in pinpricks of sharpness and pain. there’s a hollow aftertaste to it as he run his tongue along his teeth.

people can change, but memories remain.

“you know, chaekyung and i used to come here all the time as kids. our aunt used to bring us here every sunday back when we sort-of lived with her.” hints of a smile trace his lips, but the nostalgia of his past is interrupted when he feels her heated stare against the side of his face. jungmin drags his attention to the shining blackness in her gaze. he instinctively narrows his eyes and swallows hard. “don’t look at me like that.” like i’m some wounded-fucking-puppy.

#/dalliance #/kim-seoyul

namshinhrs:

there’s a slight jerk in his hand as soon as the mention of seoul, but shinwoo plays it off as smoothly as he can manage by flattening jungmin’s now messy hair with a pat. “well…” he shrugs with an easy smile, hands stuffed inside the pockets of a pair of sweatpants he rarely wears. “shit happens.” he crouches down and stares at the open bag of potato chips. he takes one out quickly, like he’s taking something he’s not supposed to. he stares at it – his favorite.

“and how can i leave you in this shithole to suffer all by yourself?” he takes a bite.

a scowl embraces his features as shinwoo moves to ruffle his hair. the act in itself is teasing, part fondness, but jungmin swats his hand away regardless and shapes his messy hair into a decent look. affection with them has always looked like this: some sibling-like banter, light-hearted jabs, and the occasional side-walk wrestling over snacks. it’s a brotherhood he’s been absent from for a couple years, but the ease in how they fall back into the routine just shows the strides they’ve taken together. there’s simply never one without the other.

jungmin huffs first then rolls his eyes. “two things: maturity and you is never in direct association, and secondly, i was actually doing alright in this shithole. probably because i have nothing exciting to compare it to than my two-year service.”

did he want to leave? sure. jungmin may not have a prison sentence and shackles to match but life in ilmyo can come near-close to the feeling. still, responsibilities keep him tethered. he’s aware that thinking about leaving and actually doing it are two different facets. escape is appealing, the title itself explains why, but it isn’t easy, and for jungmin, life never is.

he hums. there’s a knowingness in their grins, a shared mischief that spans years of familiarity and confidence. every glance is marred by those imprints, and time may have put a gap between them, but it can’t shed habit. jungmin knows there’s deeper than what shinwoo lets on. sometimes he wonders why people beat around the bush with those that already know them best. then he realizes he does the same shit himself so who’s he to judge.

“i know this goes without saying, but, you can tell me anything.” there’s a passing acknowledgement in their stares, then jungmin turns his attention to the littered beer cans and swipes his hand to move them away. he won’t probe if that’s what shinwoo wants, but the invitation is there at least. “you got any exciting housewarming plans for this place? i love a good party, and it’s kinda sad to drink alone, no offence,” he laughs.

#/asymmetry #/nam-shinwoo

so... i just discovered editable reblogs.

#i've had xkit for forever #and now i finally know what ppl mean #shoutout to xun and chance for helping my grandma ass

hrskitaek:

“well, whatever. there’s too many weird things going on lately anyway.”

he wants to asks jungmin if he thinks kitaek might’ve done them too, but kitaek can’t seem to find the courage.

he’s not blind to the reactions kitaek garners, just blissfully ignorant. the world to him doesn’t feel skin-deep as other things more viscerally enticing, like his own encounters with suspicion. trying to think of his issues as similar to another opens up too many doors he doesn’t have the energy to close. so he sees it. sees how people have always appeared to revere kitaek, and then turns away, feeling the burdens of his own fight heavier than what’s morally right. ignorance isn’t new to him anyway.

it doesn’t mean he needs to remain stagnant in one drive forever, though. some doors are worth opening and exploring, and who better to do that with than someone that’d actually understand? it’s a question he’s been slowly unveiling the answer to, one drink to the next.

“nah,” he remarks between a sip. “i’m already suspicious. not sure i’d want to give people more reasons to point a finger at me.” he hadn’t stayed long enough to notice who’d snuck off the bonfire afterward, and it felt a bit surreal to imagine the possibility of a murderer in attendance. jungmin’s aware that for many, that title befalls several reclusive citizens of ilmyo, kitaek and him included. it begs the question: does he regard kitaek with a similar bias?

he side-eyes him from where he’s sitting. kitaek doesn’t look like he could do such a thing, but no one ever does.

jungmin’s fingers trail the curve of the bottle, his glassy reflection peering back at him from the ebony tinting. he doesn’t look like a killer either, does he?

“yeah,” the word is mumbled in distant complacency as he holds his own stare before breaking away. perceptions are uncontrollable. the most he can do is keep his head above water and refuse to be submerged by the hearsay of his questionable innocence. “it’s morbid,” of course. “people are more interested in the gossip.” obviously. “i wonder if they’ll actually catch who did it.” that, there’s no clear answer for.

an awkward pretense takes shape so he snuffs out the rest of his interest and clears his throat. “sorry, the topic’s a bit grim for late-night drinking, huh?” an empty chuckle follows. no one is foreign to the feeling. it pervades their life like joy and sorrow, and takes up a permanent residency that grows harder to explain. it just... is.

#/signs-of-life #/ahn-kitaek #the way i hate tumblr

fragments.

he imagines getting out. he watches the sun set from his window as the soreness settles in and imagines all the weight lifting with the breeze of freedom. somewhere far away. not predictable like seoul, or close by like the forest. just a random shot in the dark. like the sky turning from orange to blue, from dim to dark. slowly, bit by bit, leaving in pieces and shards of whatever he can spare until suddenly ilmyo doesn’t have him and he doesn’t have it. the roots of each other are tugged at and unraveled, split apart into strangers.

it’s wednesday, 4:17pm. jungmin looks at the water, then dives into his reflection.

there’s a gap in hesitations; a moment of possibility. it’s a blanket of wonder and fear swimming around each other. the feelings don’t mix, and so all that remains is twiddling with time in the uneasy balance until the answer is delivered. for him that's sinking towards the bottom, swarmed by the cool touch of the lake as his feet brush the floor. it’s watching light skid across the rippling surface from beneath it.

he emerges on the fifth second, back turned to the sun as his hands settle below his shadow. he’s weightless, shifting with the ebb and flow of the water, settled between the barrier like a buoy.

—

rain. that’s what he thinks of when he sees her face. the pitter-patter of it against the glass, the quiet hush near the corner of the room where she waits as it echoes in the background, and her dark stare accompanying the crying sky behind.

in the wake of things, this is how they’re tethered. moments are made fragile and explained in the sequence of events that occur around them: how the weather fairs a bit harsher tonight; the world holding still in a grim static; the glower of moonlight a halo against the ebony pool of her hair. time gets caught in the threads of their variations. he doesn’t know where they end or where they begin.

“i didn’t think you’d come.” — “of course i would.”

there’s never an attempt to hide their sorrow and longing. even if they can’t be explicit themselves, the world lays it plainly for them. lets them rest there like a slow burn. some silent tension that unveils slowly by the inches. they may not say it, or lean into it, but love persists parallel to them regardless.

#/headcanons

there’s not a chance that jungmin would admit to his own vulnerability, but that’s not something he really has control over anymore. too much of him has been spread out like an atlas for everyone to map their opinions onto, and the only reassurance is knowing that there’s someone in his corner. someone who knows him through and through, secrets and emotional exposure aside.

it’s why there was so much relief in knowing shinwoo was coming back. it gave him something to look forward to: a semblance of the past before it became so grim, and the hope that he won’t have to be all alone with what they both know.

“you know i really expected something more ‘grand’ when you asked for a reno of this place.” his elbows press onto the floor as he leans back, gaze trailing along the columns to the high-rise ceiling above them. their surrounded by cheap beer cans and snacks from a knock-off ministop. basic necessities for a guys night out — or in, technically.

there might be a gap in the timeline of their friendship — the distance of military service, sorrow, and running away to seoul — but highlights of webcam shenanigans and sporadic phone calls have held them together, and now that he’s returned the pieces fall back into place. it doesn’t feel like they’ve been apart for long. ilmyo remains stagnant, and its people with it too. there’s no surprise that lives-on-hold can easily begin where they’ve been left.

“like an arcade room or something. i don’t exactly know you for being tame,” he teases with chuckles in tow. “it’ll look good though, i’ll make sure of it.” of course, he’s never been a let-down to shinwoo before, and this is what he’s spent years getting good at. the structure of his future-home was beautiful before, but there’s something rewarding in making things new again. it’s the only thing to look forward to in a place where everything stays the same.

jungmin sighs, sitting back up again before grabbing a bag of chips. “i’m not gonna lie, i didn’t think you’d be this eager about coming back,” he eyes shinwoo’s reaction as he pops it open. “i thought seoul was the end-all.”

asymmetry, ft. nam shinwoo

#/asymmetry #/nam-shinwoo #<3

seoyulhrs:

“don’t be so glum, like this is a terrible chore.” she laments, as she sets her shoes beside the blanket, picks up a bottle. twisting off the cap, she offers it to him. “we even got soju so your day drinking hasn’t been interrupted. it’s finally summer, the least you can do is enjoy it with a pretty girl.” there is a palpable sarcasm that lays over the words, well aware that whatever her visual impression may be, it’s hardly enough to overcome years of bad press.

sure, she’s pretty, but exactly in the way that’s threatening. seoyul’s got a safe for a mind. a binocular gaze scoping the hidden secrets that people place in the dark, frequenting all the details he wishes to blur over and abandon — bullseye. she sees all he’s constrained by, but that shouldn’t feel too out of character for him. isn’t he always on someone’s leash? always owing someone something?

“it kind of is.” he resists the urge to roll his eyes. giving her a reaction will just egg her on. not like the lack thereof has stopped her before.

“i already gave you money to keep your mouth shut, you can’t just blackmail me to constantly hang out with you when we had a deal.” emphasis on had. seoyul and him both know that deal is kind-of dead and gone, otherwise, why would she be doing this now? so relentless as she perpetuates a desire or some sick satisfaction in taunting him with a decade-old secret that should carry no weight yet still sets him on edge.

it’s a composite of everything that’s messed up, and it’s why the small thrill of it every time feels wrong.

jungmin settles next to her against his better judgment with the bottle in hand. in the end, he always yields first. she makes sure there’s no option otherwise.

“besides, i prefer to do my day-drinking alone.” it’s kind of proud the way he says it, a little tongue-in-cheek considering he used to hate being alone and spent a good chunk of high school between rooks parties. denying his habits is pointless too. seoyul’s persistence is worth reverence. she’s stubbornly latched onto him since he encountered her that night, so there’s no way he can attempt to shake off her assumptions when he hasn’t even been able to shake off her.

his lips purse for a moment in thought, “you picked a good spot though.”

#/dalliance #/kim-seoyul

the end of the day is marked by a move towards the bar.

he’s got a three-part disposition that’s easily predictable. some anger and resentment he can’t be damned to disregard, another round of workaholic behavior (all he’s got when you think about it), and habits he could definitely quit if he wanted to... but doesn't. in other words, a compulsive attitude as a carryon to the rest of the baggage.

kitaek falls as company somewhere along the end. normally he wouldn’t. there’s a natural course in wrong-doings: you either reconcile or avoid them in the aftermath. jungmin’s not an idiot to pursue him with their high school discourse still carrying smoke, but there are scarce options left in where he seeks his daily consolation prize when his preferred bar shuts down.

“did you go to the vigil?” jungmin settles in, shoulders rolling. there’s nothing foreign about this place even if he’s only been in its attendance recently. a bar is a bar, a drink is a drink, and so long as kitaek can occupy the role of the charming bartender, they’ll continue to get along fine.

his fingers itch around the bottle when it arrives. “i think i saw you, but i wasn’t there for long.” like a few others, he attended out of obligation, watching from the sidelines, safe in the obscurity of the crowd. as soon as the hour was over, he left.

jungmin knows the past isn’t forgiving. the visceral contents are the same no matter how they’re dressed. he can only change how the past seems, not how it is, and he imagines many of the people that gathered for goeun and donghyun must’ve shared that same sentiment; wanting to readdress old issues but not knowing how. he knows that’s the case between him and kitaek too, except he’s alive so there’s a chance still — if he wants to take it, that is.

“i guess my reason for being there was more of a moral conundrum than genuine sorrow. i didn’t exactly know them, but, it still sucks, right?”

signs of life, ft. ahn kitaek

#/ahn-kitaek #/signs-of-life #also i tried #feelin' a bit rusty

yooo we finally made it!! hi hello! i’m here two exams and some bio revisions later, and i am soo excited! jungmin is your run-of-the-mill dude who likes spending time at the bar and pretending he is totally /not/ bored of living in ilmyo all his life. i got so many ideas so pls hmu or like if u wanna plot and let’s get to writingggg *finger guns cause of social distancing*

edit: here’s his bio and profile to check out btw!

#time to catch some zzz's #(... probs will still be in my ims for the next lil bit tho)

anotheryellowfog

A clock has always struck me as something ridiculous, a thoroughly mendacious object, perhaps because I have always resisted the power of time out of some internal compulsion which I myself have never understood, keeping myself apart from so-called current events in the hope, as I now think, said Austerlitz, that time will not pass away, has not passed away, that I can turn back and go behind it, and there I shall find everything as it once was, or more precisely I shall find that all moments of time have co-existed simultaneously, in which case none of what history tells us would be true, past events have not yet occurred but are waiting to do so at the moment when we think of them, although that, of course, opens up the bleak prospect of ever-lasting misery and never-ending anguish.

W. G. Sebald, Austerlitz (trans. Anthea Bell)

lovestereo

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balloonwhisk-deactivated2022012

What I warn you to remember is that I am a detective. Our relationship with truth is fundamental but cracked, refracting confusingly like fragmented glass. It is the core of our careers, the endgame of every move we make, and we pursue it with strategies painstakingly constructed of lies and concealment and every variation on deception. The truth is the most desirable woman in the world and we are the most jealous lovers, reflexively denying anyone else the slightest glimpse of her. We betray her routinely, spending hours and days stupor-deep in lies, and then turn back to her holding out the lover’s ultimate Möbius strip: But I only did it because I love you so much.

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