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[warsk]

ichigo ichie

ichigo ichie: encounters that only happens once in a lifetime, reminding to treasure every moment, for it will never recur

- in the bgm of you were beautiful (예뻤어) - day6 

1. 

“너 아직 이혜리 좋아하냐?” 

It’s not a question he expects. He doesn’t mean to, but he sits there for a while, dumbfounded by the question. He’s even less sure how to answer it, and purposefully avoids his eyes. He’s not sure what is so scary about what he feels, but he has no intention of confronting it. 

“그럴 리가 있어?” 

There’s a exasperated laugh to cover up whatever he was feeling, as he finishes the cup in front of him. Even now, his eyes haven’t left her, watching her from behind. She’s moving a lot, from here to there – always changing yet never anyone else. It’s all wrong, and he can’t bring himself to understand himself and what he feels. 

He’s not sure he wants to understand. 

He pours himself another glass when Hyeri yells towards him, waving a hand to get his attention. She’s pointing to the screen in front of her, showcasing her latest high score. There’s so much going on around them, and then there’s always her.

“뭐…”

Somehow, always her. 

“그럴 수가 있더라.”

2. 

She brings him to the top of the hill, as high and as far as they can reach on their feet from the city. 

She smiles, and something hurts.

The sounds of the universe are far from discreet, and they converse and love in colors in a black and white world.

3. 

“잠깜… 지금 몇 시지?” 

Hyeri asks over the phone, and there’s enough background noise for him to understand that she’s somewhere outside. There’s some more static and he tries to place her in their world, listening to the cars and people that seem to be around her. 

“몇 시긴. 나 볼 시간.” 

“원오빠… 계속 징그럽게 굴래?”  He hears her smiling through the phone. He’s got a grin of his own, and he wonders if she hears it over the line. 

“뭐 뻔히 좋아하는 얼굴 하고 있을텐데. 빨리 오고는 있는거야?” 

“씁. 또 징징데네, 이 사람.” 

“이 사람은 뭐야, 좋아하는 사람한테. 정없게.” There’s a moment where they both withhold a breath, and he realizes he’s spoken too quickly and used the wrong words. But he doesn’t dare regret it, because he’s stopped doing that a long time ago. “이름불러줘.” 

Hyeri doesn’t hesitate. “강주원.” 

He does.

He places his face into his hands, with a breath that escape from him, and into the phone. Even if she already knows his cluttered thoughts, he’s always tried harder to keep at least one or two away from her. But he keeps one or two away only to have three or four slip, enough for her to read him bare and without questions. 

“알았어, 지금 2호선 타러 왔으니까 좀만 이따 봐. 그럼 끊는다—”  

“혜리야.” He knows better than to hold on but he does. It’s so weak and human of him and again, he knows better but better doesn’t seem enough and he doesn’t want to listen to the logic. 

“응, 왜.” 

Instead of a reply, he listens to the world around her again. The traffic, the passing conversations. No matter how many times he re-thinks and re-contemplates it, he arrives at the same conclusion: existence.  

“뭐야 오빠, 대답해주면 얘기를 하던 뭘 해야 할거 아니야.” 

“나도 한 번 그냥 불러 보고 싶었어.” He wants to exist in her world, exasperatingly and overbearingly, because she fills his own just the same, to the edges of its brim. 

“…오늘 진짜 이상하네. 또 술 쳐먹었어?” 

“아니.” 

There’s silence between them again, and they simply exchange it. He just hope she doesn’t misinterpret it. 

“오늘은 해 뜰때 까지 같이 있어주면 안될까?” 

This time, she’s the one that falters. He’s being cruel asking it, and she lets him do it every time. He asks it because he knows the answer; the same response she gives him every time — no matter the changes around them, no matter the differences in between them. 

His voice quickens. “아니다. 빨리 오기나 와.” He smiles into his words again, although without the candor. “왠지 모르게  보고싶으니까.” 

(What’s the point of asking the hard questions, if you don’t stay to hear the answer.)

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

[ID: an excerpt from ‘Memory,’ a poem by Evelyn Graham Frost 

“I dreamt I drank the colour of your voice;”]

[itsgirlsday]

[inhyelation]

@sgeniuslab  an ode to min yoongi's pinky (and all the promises that followed):

1. the first time almost feels like an accident. after school walks paint their neighborhood in softer hues, warmer tones that bring out the best of 4 in the afternoon. the sun shines fondly down on both of them as a mid-autumn breeze tickles at hyeri's nose. she hasn't spoken a word since she's left her classroom, sporting a sour sort of frown all the way from the schoolyard to the big tree at the playground. he lets her be, toying with his bemused expression that flickers on and off at the way every footstep of hers sounds like a deflating balloon. it's safe to say, he thinks, that her exam did not go as well as planned— 

“i'm sure it wasn't that bad,” he starts slow, carefully gauging her reaction as they reach her front gate. she sniffs in defiant rebuttal, toeing at the concrete with the tip of her sneaker. maybe if it wasn't for the way he cranes down to meet her eye for eye, she would've started to cry.

“it was bad, oppa. you don't know how bad.”  “tell me how bad.” “can i just go now?” she sighs, defeated. “i'm gonna go.” “c'mon, hey—”

his pinky slinks around hers just as she turns around, tugging her through a half-twirl that nearly has her stumbling right into his chest. her mouth gapes open in surprise, and he laughs. drifts a hand down her cheek, and smiles through the just wanted you closer when he taps her nose. she whines, half in protest, half in melting resolve, because she could never deny the way he brings their pinkies up to a gentle, reassuring lock.

“come meet me tomorrow?”   “i'll think about it.”

his laugh is the last thing she thinks about as she falls asleep that night. 2. she remembers the piece of paper torn from his notebook. the dull point of his pencil scribbling across the smooth surface, almost angrily. feverishly. matching the way his brows scrunch up together, lips pursed like the words will burst from his mouth if he doesn't keep it closed. the pencil drops, spiraling down to the chair, to the floor. hyeri doesn't really look. instead, follows the way his hands move across the keyboard next, chords transgressing quietly like footsteps. sevenths and elevenths that stretch his fingers across the black and white keys, tender strokes that mimic the way the evening shadow falls across his face. what she remembers is not wanting to let go. there's stifled laughter and playful eyes, a slender finger hooked around his pinky as it trills between the keys. the pencil finds its way back into his palm, and he continues just like this, pulling her along and smiling when her hand smudges graphite in between syllables. what she remembers are stolen glances in between the change of chords, the nudge of a shoulder, her promise i'll give you credit for this piece i'm writing, and the squeak that follows when he threateningly wiggles his fingers so close to her side. what she remembers is simple happiness. sometimes, that had been enough.

3. nights like these, the world spins just for them. she teeters on the very brink of slumber and consciousness. 2am draws from her long, drowsy smiles and even slower blinks. he keeps her pinky hooked around hers in fear she'll fall off the edge of the slide. ( because you would, he says. ) she laughs, banana milk in hand, sleep-drunk and head tilted back. that's sososo ridiculous, she had said as she bit at her straw, not minding the way he had pulled her closer with a silent roll of his eyes. they fall back into stars and constellations, into talk about hyeri's untied shoelaces and how she had mistaken yoongi's brother for yoongi that one time. ( and only that one time. ) nights like these, the world slows to a stop just for them. there’s only quietude and her eyes on him. just on him. dusky moonlight follows closely behind his hand as it drags her crayon lipstick across her arm. words appear, crooked and pink and blooming on her skin, lyrics to an unfinished song that he chases after, letter by letter. write on me, he'll remember. and she'll take with her 2am's very own love song.

[tuwam]

benny blue.

[inhyelation]

tuwam‌:

‘it’s blanco haneul.’ { @inhyelation } “i know.”

he knows. he knows,

…but something about the color white disrupts him. something about the color white unsettles. sits awkward and uncomfortable anywhere near him. nothing like awakening in the morning to pulled apart blinds when they’re yanked back and he’s trying to hide deeper and down in the black, in the colors. when haneul’s colors blur he doesn’t get white, he never gets white.

he gets white when it’s sunk too deep but his head pains. when he’s low and sand-drive, sand-filled and dreaming. not pleasant warmth on the beach but the cold the deeper he goes. the bluer he gets. haneul doesn’t like to dream of the white or think of the white because he’s always become nothing in that moment. not the weightlessness that’s freeing but the weightlessness that’s terrifying. that has his chest lurching and grasping for strings to jolt him forward and bring him back.

haneul’s white is deafening but not soothing.

so he continues to draw, humming the tune to the song she’s put on the stereo.

he’s gentle, quiet aside from the sound of his finger dipping in the paint and making it inch across the floorboards every second. he’s used blue  for the most part, hyeri hasn’t moved, eyes on her phone but occasionally looking up at him.

“what do you like about the song by benny blanco?” he asks the question again, emphasis on the word. to pretend there’s nothing strange about his slip-up, about his misstep. he continues, resuming the drawing along her arm when his finger dips into the white and swirls it around the corner of her forearm. “what do you think about?”

what do you see when you hear white? what do you feel when you hear blues?

haneul plays with colors like they come from his fingertips. it's one of those quirks she's learned to simply sit and admire. as she does now, still as can be with legs crossed while haneul draws lines and swirls from the floorboard to her arm, then back again. she had picked a random playlist as she scrolled through her phone, and laughed when he had asked her about benny blanket.

“what do i like about it?” she shrugs, light, unsure. soft hum beelining the trail his finger leaves across her forearm. her feet squirm, laughter tapping at her loose smile when the paint starts to tickle at her skin. “i just think about where i was when i first heard it.”

it had been through a speaker two umbrellas away. sand in between her toes, and her skin dipped in the afternoon sun. the waves had been calm against a windless sky, deja vu of her favorite kind of winter oceans and the stillness that came with them. benny blanco would never know of the way her heart swells at the memory alone, but maybe haneul could. sometimes, she thinks he already does. “just ocean,” she finally decides, cheek cupped in her palm as she props an elbow up on her knee. the white dries in a pretty swirl on her forearm and she smiles, peering up at him as she wiggles her fingers. show me more. “and that time i got stung by a jellyfish.” she uncrosses her legs, dipping her toe in the blue that inches across the floorboard. “how come blue over here, and not over here?” nodding towards her arm, she gives a curious crinkle of her nose. some things, she just has to know. “tell me what’s on your mind.”

[inhyelation]

premortae‌:

talk about the burrowed teeth in your rigged flesh, a thread featuring @inhyelation.

in any other circumstances, he would think about trajectories: all the ways in which his bullets need to hit the aim without curving, the windows of missed shots getting smaller and smaller with each step. in any other circumstances, these would not be emptied fists. instead, these would house the grips of pistols; all specifics that would matter confined to the barricades of people waiting to capture him. but in this one, he’s the hero of the ring. doesn’t mean he didn’t count each exit. in case things go haywire, of course. he’s calculated all probabilities. having paranoia hurts, sure, but it’s good when you’re trying to outrun those wanting to exploit you to death. yet, in any other circumstances, he would think about all the targets — taking them out before they do him. or worse, sending him away in a box for the highest bidder. they’ve shown more than enough to exhibit their intentions. him, alive. mostly, at least. the rest? he’s running from them equally. doesn’t matter.

what matters: now. there are thirteen ways in which this person can outdo him in this fistfight. twenty, if this person is not so encapsulated by the captive audience’s cheers. upon focus, if this person is creative enough. there’s a definite winning bet placed on the opponent, this time twice as muscular as him. barely taller, since iseul himself towers well. at least well enough to ensure that he doesn’t look like a surefire victim. and he’s careful. might not be as strong, but it’s being nimble that matters. ensuring that he has the ring covered, this four by four, big enough for a brawl. a lean, toned, barely out of teenage boy; this is almost a certain defeat unless the audience members have been there long enough to know that this intermittent challenger is no amateur. however, he likes it this way. being incognito. grants privileges of being overlooked. not about the money, but about the applause. a display of flair that he knows is wrong, yet he has dozens of people enabling it anyway. indulging in this vice is one of the concepts that give him hopes. to run, splintering his ankles in the process. to live.

oh, well. here he is again. under the sickly lights, the audience’s euphoric cheers become so amplified they induce some kind of high into his opponent. asphyxia over this heroin is common. iseul looks around as he stands before the thin wired fences, observing. he hasn’t been here for at least two months. certain people have missed him, or more precisely, missed his fiery intents of misplaced violence. or is this? misplaced? better than unleashing it in arbitrary moments. at least, in this case, the opponents ask for it. over mutual engagements, agreements. he sees them smile at him as he sweeps across the arena, but his eyes cease at a stop. it’s a woman he’s known… of. he’s visited her dreams before in some personal missions of comprehending the nature of art dealing. one of the prominent names brought to his attention, he also stumbled upon her in a high-end exhibition. that was when he was in suit and tie, all bruises covered. now, bare as he’s topless, he worries his lower lip between his teeth. what’s someone like her doing in this place—

it matters naught. what matters: now. as the gates fly open, the audience grows even louder. this is when he shuts them out, concentrating on a man inebriated by the weight of rapture. he understands it himself, the feelings of being a five minute god enclosing the mind, yet he doesn’t let his mind loose. he’s out as a winner tonight, or such is the plan. and when the gates are shut, leaving two men morally askew to maim each other to the point of being knocked out, he raises his fists. the man is good, a punch that iseul barely managed to evade. yet when he jabs the side, the man is quick to move back. landing the first attack, the opponent looks more focused now, realizing that the supposed kid isn’t as weak as he seems. so, when there is a series of assault, both via the fists and the feet, launched towards him, iseul is unperturbed. he swiftly reads the moving patterns while having his focus remain intact. subtle gravity of the applause pries him away from his concentration, yet he cannot afford that.

the fight is over without much ado when he’s predicted each move, silently landing two uppercuts that cause the person to stumble backwards. he almost feels bad, but goodness, it does feel good. he’s past the stage of denial: he loves violence like a birthright. there’s no use for a cover, and when he throws a kick to the sternum, the man falls back, raising his hand as a sign of surrender. with the fight ending, he is crowned a winner. took him five minutes and sixteen seconds. good money is a plus; but now, he’s trying to avoid the woman that shouldn’t belong here, underground, with the scums roaming around. there must be a motive behind it, and while as far as concerned she wasn’t a part of those wishing to hold him prisoner, he’s unsure about the current situation. thus, he sneaks away from the elated audience, slipping through as he meanders his way towards the locker room. she’s faster, however, not losing him. upon confrontation, he can feel his face contorted into that look of pain, yielding to the night’s fate. “how… may i help you?” asks politely, although his heart is ramming against his chest.

she dreams, but never like this. not repetitively, anyway. it's been too many nights to count on her fingers. behind her eyes is a permanent sketch of what she's seen for days on end, what she's woken from with not a gasp, but a perplexed raise of her brow and a dry mouth. it's always the same mural come to life; a dancing cluster of smoke and wind and clouds, her in the middle of it all. by the second night, she reaches out to touch it, watching its tail-end wisps vanish just as she wakes up. something is watching her, she thinks. there's no other way to explain this.

she's tugging at her dolce and gabbana just a week later. the fabric stretches around her frame, snug in all the right ways, but hyeri can barely breathe. the hem feels a little short as it cuts at her mid-thighs, and her heels are starting to pinch at her toes. the gallery is drenched in fairy lights and gold decor, hosting a crowd of people too important to pour their own drinks as they waltz around in fendi, dior, and gucci. the high ceilings are meant to elongate the space, but hyeri feels like she's trapped in a fishbowl with no exit in sight.

she sees him just as she turns away from a well-versed greeting with a former client, tight smile kissing ruby red against the glass she finishes off with one last sip. she stops to look. he's head to toe in prada, expression unreadable from some distance away, though it elicits a very familiar twitch of reactions from her champagne-flushed face. there's the perplexed way her brow lifts, and suddenly, her mouth feels very, very dry. the rest of the night goes by in a smoky blur of faceless conversations. by the time she gets home, heels strewn across the foyer and her dress half-unzipped, she hopes to god this was all just an illusion. that night, she sees herself caught in a rerun of the same dream.  

coincidence is what brings her here. that's what she'll tell him, she decides a few days later, as she steps into what feels very much like an abandoned cellar. there’s tension palpable from where she’s standing. from here, the ring fades in and out of view. flickering lights hang from the ceiling, casting over the concrete in a lackluster wash of yellow. they slip down the walls to cut through the dust settling over a crowd of roaring men. the ground shakes from beneath her feet. hyeri takes one step forward, then two stumbling steps back. in a sea of bodies, there’s only push and pull. afterwards, there’s only shoving.

it's only a few minutes until the air splits into a thunderous clap of cheers. she lingers by the doors, pressing herself into the damp wall, counting down the seconds until she sees him weaving through the crowd. she releases a heavy sigh and her shoulders sag. relief floods her face as she escapes towards the locker rooms, the air only slightly less stale when she heaves another deep breath — “um, yes... hi.”

she brushes the hair out of her face, eyes round and nervous. he's much taller up close, and she has to remember he's just nearly pummeled a guy to the ground.

“i don't mean to distract you after a win,” she casts her eyes away briefly, then clears her throat as she offers a smile, small and a little out of place. “but i just feel like...” proper explanations are pointless, so she forgets them altogether. "do... you know me?"

[inhyelation]

hedonyms‌:

memories to cherish: ver. 10:30pm / city bustle settled outside an open window. lights glowing softly, the breeze sighing against his skin and his heartbeat keeping steady. doubt, for the first time, an afterthought.

he smiles wordlessly before reaching over and tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear. “sorry, it was bothering me.” 

her favorite song plays softly in the background and blends with the mix of late-night traffic; humming engines and guitar make up for their tired eyes and restless thoughts. they share a quiet chuckle together before that, too, fades. 

“i don’t sleep- you know that, hyeri- but i’m okay.” his head ducks down behind his hands. “and i don’t drink as much. hangovers hit harder over the years, and it’s actually nice to enjoy my night without… y’know. blacking out.” he takes his head out of his hands and peeks over at her, and in that moment, he relays an overwhelming sense of relief. “it’s just so fucking good to see you again.” 

his voice hangs briefly in the air, sweet and subdued. it carries an unresolved solace that he’s tucked away beneath his chest for a long time. his gaze remains gentle yet fixed and tells her everything that she needs to know:

he’s sitting in front of her, midnight looming around the corner, candles lighting the darkest parts of her living room like she has for him.

i’m okay.

things to remember: ver. 10:45pm / candle wax on his socks. muted acoustics from the ceiling down, falling easy and quiet. carpet under her fingertips and the wings on his smile. lighthearted, free. as unpredictable as the hand that neatly tucks away a stray curl of her hair.

“you're so silly,” she laughs, knees pulled to her chest. “i didn't think your hangovers could hit any harder than they already did.” her lips press together, hidden amusement everywhere but the slight squint of her eyes. she wants to reach over and peel the web of his fingers away from his face. “it sounds like you're all grown up now. can't say that i'm not proud. i'm really happy for you.”

there's light in places that've remained untouched for reasons neither of them want to acknowledge. right now, it's just enough. her arms circle around her knees even tighter. smile unbound. winged and lighthearted and free. “it's good to see you, too.”

[itsgirlsday]

Hyeri for Marie Claire 🍂

[inhyelation]

💝 (kielri)

from here. from a billion light years ago. 

your muse kisses mine on the forehead

she’s got to kick this habit of calling him with no real purpose in mind. it’s his fault, really. kiel’s got a sixth sense that flashes red lights and blares sirens behind his forehead if hyeri so much as breathes differently from a dial away.

“hyeri?”inhale,“what’s wrong–”exhale.

and so here he is. sprawled out on her couch with the tv on mute. it is thursday after all, and the sun always comes out to play when she’s got her reason to smile right here.

“hyeri?”“hm?”“we’re not gonna talk about it?”“hm.”

he’s seldom seen her this quiet, lips sewn shut as she pushes her toes against his thigh, because she really really doesn’t want to– “we don’t have to.”“… sorry.”there’s silence for some time. kiel taps his fingers against the seat, idle and patient. hyeri’s got her head on his shoulder, brows scrunched up together like she’s trying to figure out exactly how she feels. her toes are starting to pinch at his skin, but he doesn’t mention it. “kiel?”“hm?”“can you buy me ice cream?”it’s the first smile he’s seen all day.“you’re gonna stay here, right? lazy ass.”“mhm. melona, please. oh. oh! can you grab some eggs on your way back, too?”“i’ll think about it.”“love you,” she beams. 

he gets up with a snort and kindly shoves the tiny couch pillow into her face, laughing as he drops a kiss to the top of her head. “love you!” the door shuts with a soft click, but not before hyeri catches the half-moon sliver of a smile he drops as he leaves.

[inhyelation]

hi i miss you

[hedonyms]

nostalgia feels fuzzy against your cold skin. it takes you three tries to pull a flame from your cheap lighter before a faint, ashy black is stamped against your thumb like some kind of subtle reminder. 

you really can’t tell if that heartbeat hiding behind that persistent resilience is a sign; it’s telling you to live, park’, but all you want to do is fade away.

thoughtlessly bring up a cigarette to your lips. inhale. you hollow your cheeks and watch the end burn bright. exhale. close your eyes and disappear. inhale. with you, everything has to be numb. exhale. with you, there’s no difference between numb and dying.

[suspend]

[inhyelation]

181113: 뿅

[untrbled]

하루살이 is out now 🍂

하루살이 ft 설리 (@jelly_jilli ), 라드뮤지엄 (@radmuseum ) Additional vocals by @danielcaesar —- 안녕하세요 11개월만이네요! 잘지내셨나요 딘입니다

[ … ]

dayfly is out now 🍂

dayfly ft. sulli (@jelly_jilli), rad museum (@radmuseum) additional vocals by @danielcaesar

hello, it’s been 11 months! have you been well? it’s dean.

for a long time, i was trapped by the thought of wanting to only show the perfect, good sides of myself to this world. this world – where, for every word i said, i’d have to gauge everyone’s reaction; where, every time i slipped up, my mistakes would follow me around like a tail. this world.

i was a person filled with fear. i would try to find comfort by forcing myself to fit into other people’s gazes – and, under those gazes, i would also crumble and fall apart, too.

since last year with instagram to this year with dayfly, i worked on preparing my album 130 mood: RVNG. during this time, i came face to face with my true self – that i had hidden away like a shadow. not as dean, but as a human being. not too big, not too small. just me. i used this time to acknowledge and come to terms with it all. with the bad and the stupid. with my weakness. with my dark past.

out of all the things i’ve done, this album is one of the most important things i’ve ever worked on. even if it isn’t great, i have a feeling that, one day, i’ll be able to look back and know that i’ve become a better – no, i’ll look back and know that i’ve become a person who is more like myself.

‘cause, you see, i never really loved myself.

in the track dayfly, like a scribble that you’d never show anyone – with no frills or pretenses – i tried my best to show only one feeling: sincerity. i hope that those emotions that you’ve locked away in your memories can transform into an instrument in themselves and fill this song and make it full.

to call it a confession, is too heavy. it’s just you, standing in front of this mirror, this dayfly. finding your shadow in that reflection. i hope that you will be able to look over that reflection very, very carefully.

to be honest, this track only has a question. it has no answer.

but just as i feel like this track is wholly and completely mine, i hope that this track can be wholly and completely yours, too.

'am i living well, like a dayfly? am i, maybe, living like that?’

—- Artwork : @you.will.knovv @deantrbl @radmuseum @entfnun Model : @ahemuse Assis : @ellephantt @cinphile @pressornah1 @dontkillmavav Track prod & songwriting : @deantrbl @twotriplex @radmuseum @pressornah1 @no_identity_official Mixed by @no_identity_official & 김대성 of @tonestudio_recording Mastered by harrison hong @mightsayes

[kamoh]

[toauz]

💝 (kielri me up)

17. my muse invites yours to watch the stars

“Imagine being this annoying.” Words like this are supposed to leak with venom, but you see the expression accompanying them and it reminds you of popping open a bursting boba ball instead. Maybe a Fruit Gusher even, since those are more languid and unkind in the moment, harmless otherwise.

Hyeri’s pout is bound to be permanent at this point if she keeps hanging out with him. “We’re not taking anyone else.” Not this time, this won’t be the last, why didn’t you go last time, all gone like bullets on a to-do list she pretends she’s finished. “Hyuk would kill for you to spend alone time with me for once,” (she’s Hyuk) “so.” She wraps her arm around Kiel’s bicep tighter, resting her cheek on his shoulder like she always has. Like it’s her God-given right, which it is, amongst other things, said things coincidentally revolving around her presence in his life and his, hers. A dreamy smile and a whine don’t exactly mix, but here she is.

“It doesn’t sound like him,” Kiel answers all singsongy, his nose still buried in the essay he’s been assigned. Personally assigned, deflecting from the curriculum he’s supposed to follow in a supposed 101 class. The rebel in him exists for all the wrong things. “Can you even drive?”

The bus comes to its final stop on the route, his hand gripping the handlebar but not any much tighter than it does Hyeri’s waist. Had it not, she’d have met the stinky man’s sweaty back facefirst all the way to the left. She’s on Kiel’s right.

Hyeri frees herself from his hold, already two steps away from greeting the outside before he can repeat himself. “We’re here!” She doesn’t exactly answer his question, but what she gives is better. It’s for the better good, and words don’t always need attention as much as actions do. Impact lies in both; I’d prefer your poison was the latter, her eyes say as she looks at him over her shoulder.

Kiel succumbs way too easy for her. This much hasn’t changed. “I guess we are.”

“Killjoy,” she sighs. Her sight’s set on a pavilion built high into the sky, a mischievous glint etched in Kiel’s memory too hard for him to further object. She’s not wrong or right, because everything is subjective. Subjectivity is also that, which means opinion vs. fact can also mean nothing if you’re going off on that same wavelength–

He needs to get his nose out of the damned book.

They grow closer with each step, inevitably.

“If you like towers…”

“I don’t…”

“How are we friends…”

“We’re not…”

Her cheek finds its place on his shoulder again, this her own surrender. If they end up getting distracted by mirrors and reflections on the way up, she’ll still get what she’d been asking for.

[wxnd]

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Crush’s cover of Chet Baker’s “I Fall in Love too Easily”.