remedy.
idjaeyul:
jae waits. his thoughts are cast off, examining the reality of her picture-esque home and all the small decorations to further accessorize it. to him, it’s a blatant reflection of her, but then again, he can find her in anything if he tries. his gaze dances around, then falls on the soju and beer he’s brought. “at least join me for a drink. i didn’t drive all this way for nothing, you know.” the tone is graceless; attitude wrinkled into messy lines. it makes him sound half-insincere and half-exhausted — like he’s aged in the still moment.
june, with rian. ( @rianid )
there are a million was to misunderstand kim rian and most of them are done upon the first glance at her. it’s not the fault of the observer, to assume her some fragile creature spun of sugar, or some ethereal thing. some simpering princess in a gilded cage singing a sweet and lofty soprano.
it is not, also, entirely fair to say that she is the complete antithesis of that. she doesn’t begrudge the soft or feminine, she doesn’t eschew the luxurious or fair. she doesn’t resent her general styling as the nation’s supposed first love, nor on stage, or so forth.
rian, as all people do, occupies a muddled mid ground, of soft purples and dusted over yellows, rust red and olive green. rian is a delicate haze of smoke and the softness of worn denim, the supple shine of leather hanging heavy around delicate shoulders. honey sweet and razor sharp, but both encompassed in the single bee.
overflowing.
she’s too much. lately, for sure. between persona, between palette, she’s cornered on all sides. her house is like that too. mixed patterned rugs cover the warm wood floor. ivory walls accented in shelves and books, in plants, in a canvas of matisse’s cat with a red fish. the window unblocked, forever wide open to the skyline, such as it is. as if the distant flicker of the han provides some kind of respite, some hope of freedom she’s long since traded away.
she slouches in place on her couch, fidgeting and frustrated because everything else has edged its way out of her senses, leaves her a bundle of nerves. taeho is on her title track and daehan is in her next film project and she’s angry. she’s angry that she’s forever being reduced to her association with men. as if they must be appended to her successes. it almost makes her furious how well the song is selling, with him on it, in a mockery of what they might have been once, if you squinted.
“i’m just angry.” she tells him finally, reaches out to take a bottle and twists the cap off. she wraps the tail edge of the hanging metal seal around a few times, bends it serpentine. “at everything. or nothing. i don’t know.” she twitches her nose. “the point is, if i drink alone i’m an alcoholic, so i called you.” she grins, lets it twitch into place, “i wonder which korea would hate more, if i was an alcoholic or a whore?”
