the last person that sejun wanted to see was junhee. he had spent the last week just ignoring her existence – because every time he did think of her, it just brought up anger and feelings he hadn’t actually sat down and thought through, yet. mostly because he just…wasn’t ready for it. the longer he could live in ignorance, the better – he figured. but maybe that wasn’t always the case. part of him actually missed her. how could he not? she was the other half of him – the more reckless half, but still a part of him. there were times over the past few days where he would pick up his phone and open their messages – wanting nothing more than to send a text, or even call her to hear her voice – but then the anger came back and he reminded himself of what she had done and he had to stop himself from throwing his phone across the room.
another thing he had been doing, was pouring himself into his work. it provided a much needed distraction and his anger often brought out the best in him when it came to this. sejun had heard his studio door open and shut, but he figured it was austin or some one else – so when he looked up and noticed junhee standing there, a sour expression painted his face. “nothing you need to know about.” his tone clipped, trying to ignore junhee – but she was just looming over him. “if you think some food and an ‘i’m sorry’ is gonna magically fix everything, you’re wrong.”
a shoddy attempt, she knows. and she’s not so dense as to forget that. but she hates it. she hates it so much. it tugs & it pulls & she feels a strange hollowness in the room, clutching them like claws. wolf fangs / blades / cutting deep. she isn’t used to it. they’ve been so good at getting over things; even her rambunctious nature felt understood when at her brother’s side. a clutch, her grip— barricading her ruins before they collapse . now here he is, suffocating her with the only presence that’s ever let her breathe. her eyes itch. they burn sharp at the blinks she uses uses to suppress them, the skin of her cheek pressed between her teeth. she brings the bag up to her face, a forced grin brightening it from dejection, ❛ it’s thai though. ❜ she tells him, voice singing lies & false stipulations / forced ideas that this solution could be so easy. all the words leave is a taste of bitter defeat at his expression.
❛ fine . ❜ she sighs. ❛ what do you want me to say, huh ? it happened. it’s over. i can’t just go back and change that. i’m not fucking father time over here. ❜ act recklessly, repent blindly. her system. her grip. her shuddering, unfit. but she can’t think of what else to say. years without practice, and apologies just aren’t her forte. she’s a looming shadow, a poisoned cup; but she’s of no use to a saint. she sets her bag down and approaches with all she can even offer, arms extended and voice demanding, ❛ want a free punch ? a tackle ? rip my weave off if that’ll make you feel any better, sejun. i’m tired of this. ❜
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