kill your darlings @minhru - Tumblr Blog

hi hi <3 my name's sun and not only am i super excited to be here, i'm also here to bring you min haru!! (slash the radio host at the sunset galleria slash perpetual daydreamer slash ex-actor-now-a-runaway slash ... u get the gist) but yeah under the cut i have some info abt him which ended up basc being me rambling far too much so pls bare with me whilst i try to rub two brain cells together to come up w a decent tldr @_@ nyways enough of me please like this post if youd like me to hit u up for plotting (i also have disc if thats better) or feel free to message first!! ♡

#sunsetintro #lets go!!!!!!

sunsetfmsarchive

at the risk of losing this blog too, i wanted to announce to everyone that tumblr has unfortunately deleted my blog for zurie, my blog for jinam and the main so i'm kind of at my wit's end right now. i've contacted tumblr, but that can take literal weeks to resolve, so i'm thinking of trying to remake the main and hope for the best. just wanted to reiterate to everyone that sunsetkrp is NOT closed despite the termination of the main !!

#all my homies hate tumblr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ofsunjae

sunjae doesn't remember when he took up smoking. it must've been after he had quit tennis, when he was a little older, maybe during his mandatory service or first year of university. either way he picked it up after min haru had disappeared from his life. it's almost ironic now, that the very habit he took up in his friend's absence was the same habit he was using to try and reconnect with him.

it's shortly after sunset when he steps out from the back entrance of the mall. his favourite spot on the rooftop abandoned only because someone else was occupying the space. classic sunjae. thinking of the secondhand smoke affecting others with complete disregard for how it affected himself. nevertheless sunjae avoids making eye contact with the blatant no smoking sign posted on the wall and pulls out a cigarette. he digs around for his lighter in the front pocket of his jacket as he turns the corner and sees the familiar face of a now stranger.

it's strange to call haru that. a stranger. but the warm reunion he had expected (a scene that had endlessly played in his mind in the years he spent looking for him) had been met with cold reality.

his fingers let the lighter in his pocket drop; a white lie concealed by the fabric. instead he finds himself approaching haru only with a second of hesitation. "hey.. could i bum a light? think i lost mine."

around the corner, behind the sun — with @minhru

minhru

the no smoking sign at the back entrance of sunset doesn't deter him because he knows around fifteen people who take it as a grain of salt. for haru, it's routine to step out during his third break of the afternoon and see a handful of familiar people huddled in the corner, words muffled because they're trying to hold conversations around the cigarette siting in their mouth.

what isn't routine, however, is stepping out to that same spot and feeling the ugly monster of nostalgia rear its head. the air's suddenly much too thick, because of the tension more than the gray cloud in front of his face now. he hopes it's enough to conceal the sort of expression he has on his face.

what expression does he have? he doesn't know what he looks like when he's trying to avoid sunjae's gaze, staring intensely at the wall next to him. haru can feel the flush of his cheeks, deepening in its hue when the other opens his mouth.

there's a million things he should be saying right now. his mouth should form the words i didn't even know you picked up smoking. instead, he finds himself stammering a beat too late to dissipate the awkwardness between them, hand outstretched as he holds out the lighter with a clipped smile. "they sell cheap ones at jvyeon. you should probably get one there."

or, as read between the lines -- let's hope this is the first and last time.

#mhr.lsj #lsj / 01.

wiildgeese

she’s eight when she finds out she doesn’t want to be a mother. the realisation comes to her in between mother’s swelling head as her impassioned lectures fall as spittle on nara’s cheeks, and her choking up mid-sentence, face in her palms as she’s overcome with tears. in hindsight, nara understands her mother’s anger. after all, she wasn’t the sort to see value in being on her best behaviour, always known to be as inflexible as her sister was malleable. so perhaps it is better that she comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t want to be a mother when she’s still so young, a decade shy of the age in which she’s wise enough to ponder on the cognitive dissonance between understanding mother’s anger, yet still feeling resentful for the way she raised her voice.

but the point is that kang nara had abandoned any fantasies of being a mother early on, so much so that her maternal instinct is akin to a limb suffering atrophy from lack of use. you can spot its tells here, from the way her arms give way when she first holds the lost cat she finds in jinah’s backyard, to the way she’s staring helplessly at the animal as it folds itself into one corner of the cage and nara, at the other, far corner of her room. day two and she’s desperate to wash the cat off her hands, thinks to bring it to the police station or a neighbourhood shelter—just wherever—until the ‘have you seen momo?’ poster nailed to a tree near sunset catches her attention. a few hours later and she’s here, some ways from home, cat carrier in hand.

some may say it’s dangerous for her to be here, standing by a neighbourhood bench alone and so close to dusk. but there was a familiarity in the cat owner’s baritone, the same soothing quality that she’s certain she’s heard before. and it’s this curiosity that gets to her, causes her to strain her neck like she’s peering amidst a large crowd. she doesn’t stop until she catches him round the corner, and she taps a finger awkwardly against the carrier’s handle if only to find something to do as he closes the distance. “hi…” she scans his features, tries to place him in the supercut of her memories but her shoulders fall when she comes up short, “are you min haru?” tight smile on her lips as she hands him the carrier, “i think this belongs to you.”

PAW PATROL / @minhru

minhru

as far as being an adult goes, he's more than happy to accept that too many years in front of the camera and a lifetime of turning down drinks at every possible opportunity means his physical health is in peak condition -- and yet he's twenty seven years old when he has the closest possible equivalent to a heart attack. going home and seeing your front door askew because you forgot to close it on your way out is scary enough. walking in and seeing only one out of two cats that should be lounging on your bed is borderline terrifying, and he spends the better half of the evening fruitlessly rummaging through the streets outside his apartment for a creature he knows he isn't going to find.

because here's the thing. he can tell himself as a sort of mantra that momo's going to turn up on her own. but that's not really self-placating as much as it is anxiety riddling, owing to the fact that he's had her for a little over a couple of years and he knows she hasn't left nearly enough to be familiarised with the surroundings. it's a sort of gnawing uneasiness that eats away at his stomach, forcing him to take out a sick day from his kiosk to print out posters that find a home on the bark of the trees outside the mall.

kang nara's name fits her like a glove because the palpable relief she brings to him is enough to move countries. her voice is quiet down the phone, apologetic for some reason he can't put his finger on, and the muffled mewling in the background is all he needs before he's scrambling around his desk for a pen and paper to write down the details of a reunion.

"yeah, that's me. kang nara, right? you're a lifesaver." the sigh of relief is built into him, fingers trailing over the small door of the carrier. the subsequent flash of wide, round eyes and a meow means he automatically turns to nara, but the way she stares at him like she's on the verge of a revelation means words are spilling out of his mouth in an attempt to diffuse any possible recognition. "thank you so much, seriously -- i was terrified. she wasn't too much trouble, right? i can pay for any food or damage, or -- i don't know. sorry, i'm just so relieved."

#mhr.knr #knr.01

irregulrs.

[ ... ] he blankly stares into nothingness for a second, wondering what the person’s definition of shortly was going to look like. with a deep inhale he turns around to lean against the elevator wall, crossing his arms, unsure of where to look, so he settles for his shoes. maybe this is some kind of odd lesson for him. ‘wait for the next elevator, practice patience’, something along those lines. he yearned to go home so feverishly that he was even going to endure a few awkward moments in the elevator. this is where his impatience got him.

in accordance with popular belief, haru's not and never was that great of an actor. he's even less of an average one when he's confined to a role he doesn't want -- or in this case, when he's literally confined into a six by eight feet space, pushed into a corner by his own volition because the other's looks are more piercing than the cold metal of the elevator walls. maybe that's why it's hard to act like he's trying to keep the frown off his mouth, eyebrows drawn together in a perfect picture of annoyance as he bites down on the inside of his cheek.

another beat of silence passes after the static of the speaker dies down, and haru's not sure how much longer he can go on pretending like the wall's the most interesting object in the room.

because it isn't.

to him, the biggest object of interest is leaned against the opposing wall, doing an equally terrible job of staring off into space. his mouth is turned down in a scowl that emphasises his perpetual displeasure whenever in haru's presence, and the tension in the way eunwoo stands tells haru that he's been working the whole day. someone probably called in sick again. what makes him equally sick is the realisation that he still remembers all of these things about baek eunwoo. like a record on repeat, like something he can't quite erase from his memory despite how hard he's tried to.

making small talk is futile. it's also so exceedingly out of character for himself, particularly when the person at the other end of the conversation is someone who doesn't want to listen to what he has to say at all. that doesn't stop him, anyways, and he chalks down the newfound bravery to the anxiety spurred by silence.

he points at the pallet. "is that for vesper?"

#mhr.bew #bew / 01.#fk idk why the reblog looks so ugly i'm sry for you (and everyone's) eyes

bbiwon

he loves his job. it's an easy thing to do, when your job is something you've devoted your entire life to & when every day, every hour and every movement of your hands comes to bring a fruition that's an ode to this boundless love. of course, the flexible working hours only come as a strawberry atop the cake he eats served on a silver platter. so it's no wonder that once the tattoo parlour's hours have ticked away, jaewon finds himself once more wandering into the night; seemingly aimlessly, seemingly without a purpose to his amble. in reality, it's far from being haphazard, because he finds himself reaching the well known forefront of his kiosk, tucked away inside sunset's comfortable corner.

he offers haru a smile, as warm as he always does, offering his generosity, raw and vulnerable, on the sleeve of his shirt; or in this case in particular, the gentle curvature of his lip upward, gleam in his eye. then, it takes one tap against the glass barrier and their road is already sealed; instead it is the clinking of bottles which replaces it, accompanied with a hum of some tune he's come up with on the spot.

"it's okay, really," he says, head hitting against the cabinet as he pulls out; though a grin still adorns his face, and a bottle of liquor (half empty, or half full?) is raised as a spoil of this dishonorable war. "i know the owner, they won't mind. i mean, it's already almost gone. we can leave money on the counter, right? you worry too much."

it's as carefree as he can get, alike the breeze in the spring, carrying its presence among the branches and tall grass. it's how it should be, anyway; unshackled by the fears of life, experiencing freedom as it is meant to be. for better or worse, i's ingrained in him, runs through his veins; this daring touch that allows him simply... be. and maybe one day, haru will allow his body to flow down the same current, too; craded gently, guided by jaewon's touch.

it's at least what he hopes, anyway.

"pick your poison. god, that was cheesy. do you want it straight?" he turns, losing himself below the counter's horizon once more. "there should be some soda 'round here, i think. unless you're still playing good, of course. then you can take coke from " he points in the general direction of the fridge. "there. and if someone asks, i forced you to. you totally don't know me and i'm just an awful, awful person holding you hostage."

minhru

he returns jaewon's smile because that seems like the only proper thing to do in this situation, however precarious the upturn of his own mouth is in comparison to the other's easy-going one. like a mime, a puppet and a puppeteer, like if he imitates the way jaewon disappears beneath the steady surface of the lounge's bar counter, fingers already trailing over the choice of bottles, he'll be able to bite the bullet and let loose just like he does. like it's that easy, really, to abandon twenty six years of protocol and etiquette built into your body.

the reality is that he hovers near the tattoo artist's crouched figure, barely able to stifle the bark of his laughter when he hears the thud of his head against the cabinet. he's too slow to offer his hand as a protective barrier from the quartz, but he's quick enough to slide a few 50,000 won notes across the top, using a whisky glass as a makeshift paperweight. it's a somewhat precursory apology to bottle tops' staff. contingent on whatever they're going to end up swiping from the inventory.

"you know the owner." he repeats verbatim, putting no effort into sounding even vaguely like he believes him. he already knows that if he asks too many questions, he's going to chicken out, so his footsteps are loud against the floor when he's retreating towards the fridge because even this isn't enough to convince haru that liquid courage is a necessity.

that, and the persistent feeling that at least one of them's going to have to be sober for the end of the night.

he hums under his breath almost absentmindedly, musing out loud as he's rustling through the fridge. "i think i'll play good for the night, since you made it sound so appealing." he takes two out even if jaewon doesn't ask for one -- because jaewon doesn't ask for one now, more like, which means he'll inevitably ask for one later. the smile's audible in his voice when he sets the two cans down. "you know they're more likely to believe that you're the hostage, right? you look like you're trying to drown your sorrows with all of that liquor."

#mhr.mjw #mjw / 01.

what's the last thing you crocheted?

"uh, a miffy doll -- you know the cute rabbit one with a cross mouth? i'm trying to make a little hat for it but it's kinda harder than i thought it would be."

#mhr.inbox #the political and economic state of the world❌ crochet toys✅

do you have even the slightest regrets about leaving the acting industry?

"i can't think of anything i regret less. it was never really a matter of whether i would leave the industry, it was more a matter of when."

#mhr.inbox

absolutspace

@minhru

a bead of lingers right above eunwoo’s eyebrow, he wipes it with the back of his hand with a huff. everything that had even the most marginal chance of going wrong today had made the decision to actually go wrong. from a last minute call by an employee declaring they couldn’t come into work because a stomach bug had made them prisoner of their own bathroom to the expected delivery coming four hours later. eunwoo had twelve hours of uninterrupted work behind him, inhaling a back of chips he had ripped out of its packaging on the pallet he was wheeling around. the salt tasted like freedom, all he had to do was unload the items back at the bar and then he would make for his sweet escape.

he impatiently presses the elevator button over and over, getting annoyed with the wait time. a faint bell sound finally announces its arrival and relief washes over him. but as quickly as the wave had swept over his mind, as quickly did it ebb off. for the two seconds their eyes met, eunwoo turned into a pillar of salt, suddenly not sure about taking the elevator he so desperately wanted to arrive. he cannot say if he looked away first or haru, but both averted their eyes. for a split second eunwoo considered not stepping in, but for one it would look so incredibly childish that he cringed at the mere thought and second of all he wanted to go home.

the cargo elevator wheezes as he wheels in the pallet, he makes sure not to lock eyes with him again, whether it is by accident or on purpose. he presses the button to his level and taps the button to close the door several times, hoping to speed up the process. eunwoo stands with his back to him and in his imagination, haru is staring a hole into his neck. truth is he is probably looking anywhere but at eunwoo, but for his own sake he sticks with the version in his head.

in hindsight, eunwoo should have known that it was not going to be as easy as he pictured it all in his head. at first he ignored the creaking of the elevator until it became so high pitched that he looked up at the ceiling as if the answer to what was going on would be written there. they slowed down but it was neither of their stop yet until the sound got unbearably loud, making eunwoo’s brows furrow. they came to an unpleasant halt, a tremble of the metal made both stumble in their stance. the sound died off and silence spread —but the door would not open. eunwoo stared at the door for a few seconds, wondering if someone was playing an annoying prank of them.

“you have to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbles more to himself than to anyone else and resumes his habit of frantically pressing buttons again. but the doors stay shut, keeping them in their metal prison of discomfort.

minhru

murphy's law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

haru's never been as much of a pessimist as he is a realist, because he still wants to lean into the idea that the odds are more in his favour than not. that same flicker of light dies out completely when the elevator doors open to reveal baek eunwoo out of any of the hundreds of people that could step on at that moment, and he hopes the ensuing sigh he lets out is audible only to him. if he was in a better mood he'd call the simultaneous aversion of their eyes away from the other comedic -- but haru's really, pretty fucking tired, and the only thing he can muster up is a somewhat bitter smile.

the wheels of the pallet squeak when he pushes it into the elevator. haru squeezes himself into the corner furthest away, like that's anything compared to the miles of distance that's already metaphorically between them. the way he taps his fingers against the bar is just something for him to concentrate on besides how tense the atmosphere is, and the pin drop silence that lingers in the air..

he avoids vesper lounge like the plague, but when eunwoo's in front of him like this it's hard for him to ignore the overwhelming fact that their relationship's painfully twisted. what's even harder to ignore is the high pitched squealing of metal gears grinding, followed by the sudden lurch when the whole elevator stills to a stop. haru lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and glances over at eunwoo to find the latter with as much of an uncomfortable expression as the one that's painted on his own features now.

there's an eventual moment of silence that he waits for, where the other isn't pushing down on the buttons like the frequency of his pressing correlates with the likelihood of the elevator moving again. "smart move." he says, voice just a little hoarse, like he hasn't used it for a while. eunwoo always seems to have that effect on him. he clears his throat, eyes flickering over to the bundle of snacks tied onto the pallet. "uh. i feel like you're going to make it worse."

he can count the number of conversations that they've had in the last few years on one finger, and he'd much rather not think about the way it ended.

haru bites his tongue. the situation finally sinks in, and -- "fuck."

#irregulrs #mhr.bew #bew / 01.#thread 01 also known as @_@

sunsetkrp

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 !

reblog if you'd like to take part !!

#me if replying late to ims was a crime: 🚨🚨🚨#had/having a hectic week so thank u for your patience as i scramble through messages <3

the first hour after midnight carries many things across and into the night -- a muted sort of ambience throughout the mall, a handful of people doing their handfuls of tasks, the opportunity to squeeze a few breaks more than usual. more importantly, it deposits a tattoo artist with an impatient smile and a strawberry vape right onto the front desk of his kiosk, and haru blames the bleariness of the early am for how he's just a little too late to slam a 'NOT IN SERVICE' sign across the front.

it's more of a case where he won't say no instead of can't say no, but he deludes himself into thinking it's the second because then that means he isn't really interested in what moon jaewon wants to bring to his night.

not that protesting would've dissuaded jaewon from dragging haru along. the latter's just there for the ride. like now, like always.

"hey," he starts off tentatively, thumbing any possible anxiety into the koi fish wrapped around his other wrist. it's harder to throw caution to the wind when your two arms are always firmly by your side -- jaewon, however, doesn't seem to share the same proclivity, evident in the way he's already flittering around the front of bottle tops like he owns the place. the pinnacle of a free spirit by nature, he's someone to be envied because there's pin drop silence permeating the air and haru still finds himself glancing over his shoulder. just in case.

he feels like he already knows the answer, but he asks anyways. the smile his mouth tilts into is hesitant. "are you sure we're allowed to do this?"