darling, darling

hiatus.

[scribimus-blog]

tvmmykisses:

thankful that his hyung is helping pull the jacket onto his arms, he stands still and tries to supress any more tears. he doesn’t want to disappoint him and he knows he’s already made hyungsoo uncomfortable. although, he truly can’t get rid of the intense throb in his wrist and sharp stabbing pain every time he accidentally moves it. “i will,” he says weakly looking away as he wiped his eyes with his good hand. kuhn shook his head, he didn’t need a tissue, “can we pl-please ju-just go hy-hyung.” he’s trying not to cry, but as he looks up his eyes are full of tears again and he looks away once more to try and calm himself down. 

kuhn’s continuous crying distracts hyunsoo from his usual calculative and generally wise thinking; when he requests to hurry, he only responds with a stiff nod and moves to the door, waiting for the other to exit along with him before he takes long strides to the car, quickly opening the passenger side for him. “hang in there, alright? we’ll be there soon, you’re okay.” reassurances are not exactly in his expertise, nor is he particularly familiar with the act of comforting either -- kuhn, however, he wishes to ease the pain of as quickly as possible. hyung responsibilities, he convinces himself. nothing else. “when we get there you’re gonna get patched up, okay? you just need a cast and some disinfecting. i know this nurse who’s good at that kind of stuff -- nothing to scared of.” 

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ingukwrites:

“i’d like that, make flyers with that and let everyone know what you think of me” he requests with a chuckle, losing himself in that kiss. he’s human, he’s a simple man who has been left all night wanting for more, so of course that when she kisses him again, more deeply, he can’t just stay still without reacting. he wants her, that’s something he has known for a few days now, and even when he’s respecting her timing and space he’s just a simple man.

“alright, alright, my lips are soft” he says kissing her again, pretty much willing to admit whatever she wants if in exchange he gets to kiss her more. “i know it’s not easy” he says and decides to insist one more time. pulling her up he sits her on the counter, opening her legs so he can stand between them. “stop fighting me, we both want this”

she traces a finger along the line of his jaw, a slight smirk falling on her lips. “if that’s the case i’ll have to start calling you my man before someone else snatches you away,” she tells him, words not entirely serious but close to the manner. she knows what he wants -- probably -- and fuck, if he keeps responding to her kisses like that she won’t know how long she’ll be able to hold out before finally succumbing to his wishes. not that she doesn’t long for the same, but somehow, everything is just so complicated; feminine complications, most likely. 

extending the kiss, her tongue slips into his mouth, and she runs her hand through his hair, pulling him closer. frankly, she doesn’t know how ‘close’ they’d have to be, how much intimacy they’d share before she’ll finally begin to feel some of her needs sated. she wraps her legs around his hips, responding with a simple “mhm” before she delves deeper into the sensation of his lips, his body against hers. 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

“ah, my lucky number is seven, actually” seventh of july, the day his sister was born. the number that has accompanied him since he was a kid, the number he uses for everything when he has to choose a date, an hour, anything. he just shrugs, not willing to share the reasons behind his choice. his sister is a topic he doesn’t discuss with anyone, and it seems just wrong to share it with the woman who despises him. she would probably make a joke about it if he gives her the chance. 

that. yeah, soulmates. he unconsciously looks at his wrist, the numbers stopping there and makes him question something. “is this all that happens?” he asks her, wondering if she knows more than he does. “the numbers just stop. that’s all? i don’t know many people in this situation, i mean, my parents and my grandparents, but from my friends i’m the first one so…” he thinks of his manager, he always speaks of a wife but he has no idea if she’s his soulmate or not. “yeah, let’s not pretend we have something to toast to, it’s okay”

she’s about to open her mouth and ask why until she realizes there shouldn’t be any reason to even care; whatever concerns she may have for him are probably fleeting and finite, and for some reason, she finds herself bitter over the thought. she’s hungry and that’s all this should be -- just sangmi and a supposed soulmate stranger sharing a meal and a couple drinks, nothing more, nothing less. nothing special like a part of her hoped it would be. just then the food is served, but even through the steam wafting into the midnight air, she still notices the way he seems to instinctively check his wrist, and they both know he isn’t looking at some watch of his. 

with a little prayer thanking ( herself, in this case ) for the food, she places a spicy rice cake onto her tongue, chewing carefully and allowing the heat to somewhat warm her frigid body. “what else would?” she asks, but not in a rhetorical, witty manner; instead, the words roll off her tongue as a genuine inquisition, and she realizes that both of them are so new to this whole “finding soulmate” thing. well, they kind of have to be. “i mean, i don’t see any other physical indications or anything like that. i don’t see why it matters any--” before she’s able to finish her sentence something goes down the wrong tube and she enters a coughing fit, attempting to pour herself another glass as she tries to stop choking. “um. pass me that--” this is so embarrassing, she thinks as tears begin to well up in her eyes, “--that napkin, would you?” 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

@scribimus  liked for a short and random starter

“it’s not like i did it on purpose” mali defends herself, pointing at the door. “i didn’t aim to get locked out, it just happened” she sighs, unsure of what she’s supposed to do now. “unless you’re an expert on opening doors without keys? that would save me a lot of troubles and i promise i won’t tell anyone about your talent”

“not on purpose, huh?” he says dubiously, trying the doorknob one more time before leaning against the wall, barely glancing at her. “this building doesn’t even have automatic locks, it’s like a century year old. and oh god, it’s not--” he looks around them cautiously before staring at her, tone low. “it’s not a talent, okay? i was just...i thought i was alone. i mean, why’d you even come out here in the first place, let alone allow the door to shut behind you? we’re walled in.” 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

“add something about how how i am and we will be done” he says with approval, liking the title she has invented for him. he’s cocky, he knows it, and he has never really minded since he thinks he honestly deserves to be cocky. he’s gone through so much, and proved people that they were wrong about him so many times as well, that he thinks he deserves the opportunity to praise himself whenever he can.

“you said i was soft. take it back” he reminds her, deciding that he cannot really just be playful with her because the moment he kisses her he wants more, and he hates to know she doesn’t feel the same need that he experiences. she has more self control, and it annoys him. why can’t she be as spontaneous as he is? how much will he have to beg her to spend the night with him? he sighs, knowing that if he stays there he’ll grow frustrated. “you can’t resist me, so don’t even try to lie. i’m being nice and giving you some space, but we both know the moment i decide to convince you, there’s no way you’ll escape from me”

“whatever makes you happy,” she tells him affectionately, though not before adding with a chuckle, “might as well write you up a name plate or something: ‘dr. ahn taehwan, the greatest and the best.’ take the compliment in moderation, though, i’m not that generous.” she kisses him again, an action she’ll certainly never tire of, a sensation she’ll never forget. she doesn’t mind feeding his arrogance, but they both know that as a best friend, it’s her job to at least keep him semi-humble when it comes to his talents. and his looks. and his personality. a sigh almost escapes her, because taehwan is literally amazing in every aspect, and they both know it. 

at his next words a smug grin spreads across her mouth, and as she moves to kiss him more deeply this time, her tongue brushes against his bottom lip, a flicker of a movement. “i don’t want to,” she says daringly, almost a child taunting someone to chase them. “besides, it’s true -- your lips are soft,” she says, exerting a great amount of restraint to pull away and lean against the counter, looking at him as if his words do nothing to sway her. “i’m not lying, i’m just -- god, taehwan, it’s not that easy.”

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

“if i’m going to stab someone i’m going to make sure i do it right, twenty times sound like the perfect number” he tells her with a shrug. of course he’s joking, he hadn’t thought of stabbing her and he hopes she understands that he’s joking too. they might not like each other but he’s not wishing her death. he follows her, just like he has been doing all nigh, and when she sneezes again he chuckles, taking his hoodie off and offering it too her. he’s not cold, he just wore it to cover up his face but he doesn’t think he will be recognized. he’s still wearing a hat.

“i usually order that too, shouldn’t be surprise that we have similar taste” because they are soulmates, which means they have more in common than what they imagine. it’s an odd thought, to realize he’s actually having a good time now that she’s not attacking him, and now that he’s not thinking of what she had said before about him. if he ignores that, he can actually enjoy their time together.

“so you go for evens. i’d say...three. because there’s two sides to every story, and then the third, which is the truth. also because it’s lucky.” ill-advised threats to deliberating how many times they would stab someone -- oh, what a night. she accepts the hoodie, slipping it over the thin fabric of her shirt ( she hadn’t worn too little, it was more like she was too under-dressed for the cold ). she doesn’t allow her thoughts to go beyond simply appreciating the warmth of the hoodie, not to the pleasant scent of it, not to the way it makes her skin tingle in an entirely unknown way. 

“yeah,” she agrees quietly, “probably a side effect of being...you know. that.” it shouldn’t surprise her yet it does, so much so that she begins to dislike  that he’d revealed such a minuscule fact. hell, eating the two together is generally common, but she just doesn’t want to reassert the fact that they’re soulmates -- fated lovers whom of which will part for good after tonight. quite soon after ordering, the ajumma presents them two bottles of soju accompanied by little glasses, and sangmi takes the time to pour herself and jitae a shot. “i’d say a toast but i’ve got nothing to toast to.” 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

“please, with how careless you walk i could have stabbed you twenty times already, you’re not scaring me” he tells her entertained, before the smile on her face disappears, reminding him that they are not supposed to joke like this. they shouldn’t even be speaking much, just hoping their time together ends but, it’s just one night, he thinks. nothing can go wrong if they just share a little more time. she’s about to insist that she’s a grown woman that can take care of herself and he just raises an eyebrow, wondering if he has to remind her about the car that almost ran her over. but it seems she remembers it herself, so he decides to answer the question.

“the band is still celebrating and we have no plans in the morning so i have enough time” he doesn’t have to be back at the celebration since they all know his soulmate was the priority. they will be happy to know it would be just one night that he abandons them for her, maybe they will be relieved to know he won’t have more contact with the person that has the potential to become the most important person on earth for him. “if you pay i don’t mind” because she wouldn’t be as rude as to eat by herself while he watches, right? “i didn’t give you anything. you’re not properly dress” and he shrugs, thinking that there’s no way he’ll take the blame for her lack of clothes. “you want my hoodie?” he offers.

“twenty times. i know you don’t like me but that’s pretty ambitious,” she tells him, avoiding direct eye contact when she knows just looking at him might break the straight line of her mouth into a totally out-of-character smile yet again ( at what point in time had she stopped herself from being genuinely happy? ). somehow everything becomes...pleasant when she isn’t screaming at him, when she isn’t completely focused on trying to shoot back witty remarks and petty insults. somehow she’s able to forget the prior animosity between them even just for a second -- is it even a sin that she’d grown to long for enjoying perhaps just one night with her soulmate? 

finding herself directing him a triumphant grin, sangmi stuffs her pass back into her pocket, walking briskly toward the stall with a slight skip to her step. if there’s anything that might distract her from the potential outset of unfamiliar feelings, it’d be food to hell and back. “’course i’ll pay,” she says, seating herself, sneezing twice. “yeah, technically you didn’t give me back my scarf, but i’ll take the hoodie as collateral.” calling over the ajumma, she glances over at him inquisitively. “whatd’you want? i’m in the mood for soju and tteokbokki.” funny -- she’s always in the mood for alcohol. 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

he shakes his head, chuckling slightly because of what he’s saying next. “unless you live in the subway?” he doesn’t trust her being alone tonight, and yes, maybe he’s still thinking she’s a little suicidal and doesn’t want to risk leaving her alone and then finding out she did something stupid, but there’s also a part of him that wants to make sure she gets home safe without finding anyone in the way that could hurt her, whether it’s to steal something from her or hurt her with words. why he feels the need to protect her feelings tonight? he has no idea, but something tells him that he should make the extra effort, since this is the first and last night they will spend together.

“come on, it’s late” he tells her wondering if she’s going to fight him about this too or if she will simply accept that he’s not going anywhere until she’s at her home. “where do you live?” that’s a question he should have done sooner, but he doesn’t really mind. he can always take a cab or call one of the guys to pick him up if he ends up too far from home. he just needs to avoid any pictures taken that could make the press believe he’s spending the night with her. or well, any pictures that could connect them.

it’s exactly like her to be so self-introspective only to find out there’s still time left ( the irony in that phrase in relation to their timer pains her ), and when he chuckles she instinctively follows suit, teeth showing when she breathes out a soft laugh. “you’re asking that now? do you realize how terrible that is? this whole time i could’ve been leading you to my slaughterhouse, you know. i might be a witch that wants to plump you up before eating you.” she’s a child when she says it, and immediately the smile falls awkwardly from her lips. she doesn’t joke with jitae. she didn’t think she even could. 

“how much time do you even have to spare? i’m a grown woman, i can...” faltering, she realizes how much redundancy finishing the sentence would cost them. it seems he’s unrelenting on this; stubborn to prove his point, she adds grudgingly in her head. besides, how much of this is to stick to his word, just to show he can? probably all. she can’t imagine anyone willing to spend so much time with her just walking without a proper reason. “i’m hungry. if you plan to follow me all the way home then you’ll have to deal with my sudden impulses,” she tells him, though perhaps hunger cannot be necessarily classified as an impulse, more the terrible habit to eat late at night surfacing. she delays swiping her card, nodding toward the food stall stationed right nearby, miraculously still open at this cold hour. “besides,” she says, sniffing for added effect, “you gave me a cold.”   

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites: 

as they walk in silence he wonders how he’s going to explain to the rest of his band that he met his soulmate yet decided to let her go. they all knew his numbers were close to zero, yongmin had seen him only minutes before finding her in the hall, and they all had noted how silent he was at the celebrations. they all knew he had found her but they didn’t know anything else. the guys were his family, he trusted them, he wanted to share something as important as this with them. but was it a good idea to tell them who she was? would they think he was doing the right thing?

she stops and turns around when they are at the subway station, her sudden movement surprising him and making him forget what he had been thinking about his friends. he looks at her curious, her expression being one that he’s not sure he can read. “what’s wrong?” he asks her. did her phone ring and he didn’t notice? did someone yell at her something that upset her? was he so distracted that he didn’t notice someone insulting her?

so he had followed her all the way, just as he’d promised. she knows he’d said it in spite, insulting her by telling her she wasn’t stable enough to get home by herself, but perhaps the bigger reason to why she’d been so against the idea was so she could avoid this moment: when parting with her soulmate was a fact so utterly real and tangible, so much unlike the half-assed threats she’d made back on the playground. one night, and somehow she’d felt a lifetime go by, an eternity of examining her self worth, her purpose. pathetic, but it’s true. 

one swipe of her card, a few steps into the hall and she’ll be on her way toward gangnam. metal grating, yellow caution lines, the bad lighting that occasionally flickers above -- this is the place she bids farewell to her soulmate, the point in time where every future memory, kiss, moments spent happily in love are cut, the tether between the present and their supposed happily-ever-after snipped in two. will she regret this? maybe, yes. does she have to do this? perhaps no, but she’ll never really know, will she? “nothing, just...thinking.” about what she’ll do after this, what she’ll tell her manager when she realizes that stirring up conflict with beat does no one any good, especially not her. “this must be the end of you following me,” she points out the obvious, wishing for something she knows she shouldn't be.

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

she’s walking again and not running towards a car so he assumes his words did something good, and she’s more calmed. he wishes people weren’t as rude and some because they had no idea how much their words could affect the one receiving them, but he can’t change the way people are. what he can do is remind her that they only have power over her if she let them have it. ignoring people is not easy, and it takes a lot of self confidence to let all of those words go, but he hopes she can manage to do it, otherwise this life will turn into her own nightmare.

he chuckles at her comment, shaking his head even when she can’t see him. “i’m a decent guy” that’s all he says, because she would know how decent he is if she didn’t attack him without knowing him, of course. but what’s the point on telling her that? it’s not like things between them will suddenly change, like they will suddenly like each other and decide to give it a try, so he just follows her in silence, thinking that it’s the best he can do, for the both of them.

only because her back is facing toward him does she allow the small smile to appear on her lips, feeling some type of sad amusement at his words. it makes her realize that she’ll probably never find out if he’s truly as ‘decent’ as he claims, if he’s a gentle sweetheart or a charming brooder, or perhaps something more special than these mere labels. she’ll never experience the euphoria of a destined love the way so many girls have fantasized, and starting from tonight, it as though the following days will never be lived out the same way: how long does she have to feel hopeless regret whenever she looks at her arm? how many months will it be before she finds closure, how many weeks can she conceal this before someone discovers the numbers on her arms, before someone starts to dig? 

it’s not even like a dirty little secret, yet somewhere along the way, that was exactly what it had become. she sees the subway station, devoid of much people, but at least it’s one of the few still running in this late hour. this is it. the end. the finale, the emotionless goodbyes, the what ifs in her bedroom at night when she prepares to sleep, staring at her wrist before weariness claims her. a fifteen minute walk, and she hadn’t really checked behind her to see if he’d followed the entire way, but she finds herself looking back now; the action is brought be some foolish sliver of hope still beckoning her to do more about the situation, melancholy in her eyes, dissatisfaction settling on her lips. what can she even do? does she want to do something? 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

he looks at her, for the first time that night actually wanting to help her understand something that he knows it’s hard. it’s like for the first time he can connect to her, relate to her words and emotions, and for the first time she’s not someone who’s been speaking shit about him, she’s someone who’s been struggling just like him in this business that can be really tough on you. her attitude, her tone, her humor, it can all be justified under this new light, like a child that is only aggressive because people have been too aggressive back at them.

“will you let them affect you so much that you’ll start questioning who you are?” he whispers, this time not attacking but genuinely wanting to make questions that could lead her to see things like he does. “they don’t know you. they don’t know how hard you’ve worked to be in this place. they spend their days reading press and watching shows, they don’t imagine everything you’ve gone through to be where you are. will you really give them the right to judge you? based on what they see? they don’t know you” he reminds her, his tone switching to be more gentle now, less tough.

he’s unsure why he’s even trying to do this, but he relates so much to her position that he fears that if he doesn’t try this she will end up believing things about herself that are not true. like ah young, his sister, who was never able to see herself how he saw her. always bringing herself down. “just because we are public figures it does not mean we have to please them in everything they want. we are humans. you’re human. you’re not perfect, you’re not flawless. you don’t have to be”

she doesn’t know exactly what it is about his direct gaze that makes her shiver not from the cold. she finds it uncomfortable when they’re just standing on the street so simply like this, the chaos of fury now veered off onto a different course. for the first time in a long while, she feels vulnerable, so much closer to her actual self compared to the brave, fearless spirit she tries to be -- where is the argument, where is the conflict? why is it that she feels so utterly torn inside, when all she’d done so far was express her bitterness? he’s making her question herself ( frankly, he always has, ever since she first decided to pick this fight ), and for a woman who’s always been so sure of things, this feeling is abnormal, an agitating uncertainty she wants so desperately to rid of. 

averting her eyes, his words settle deeply within her, a shot of something she hadn’t known she’d needed. it’s ironic how scrutinizing she tends to be towards others when she really hasn’t reflected upon herself; rather, everything about her has always been just a defense mechanism, an illusion of courage over the frailty of a young girl too naive when she’d entered the industry. a rash decision, and yet she’d loved every second of it. she just isn’t sure what point in time she’d stopped enjoying it. 

a part of her wonders why he seems so tender and caring over the subject, why he’s suddenly speaking to her in such a soft tone. she questions if this can be considered jitae pitying her, or something else, something both of them are afraid of. yet none of this will matter tomorrow morning...will it? because once the sun rises, once they go their separate ways, she’ll learn to forget the fate behind the numbers, the man she met and let go the very same night the timer stopped. pitiful, really, in every sense of the term. “be careful lee,” she says quietly, tuning her back to him and taking slow steps one by one, voice just a little more broken after each word, “keep talking like that and i’ll start to think you’re a decent guy.”

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites: 

he sighs, thinking that at least he should be grateful that she starts walking. otherwise he’s sure they can stay in the middle of nowhere for the entire night and it’s not like he has a lot time to spare with her. it’s not like he has time for her, period. specially after agreeing they would simply go through different paths. he completely ignores her insults, not even sure if she’s really trying to insult him or if she’s just trying to prove him how childish she can really be. she picks up her phone and he hopes it’s her manager telling her that he’s on his way to pick her up, but he can’t be that lucky, can he?

she lies, and it should surprise him but he does not say anything, just taking the opportunity to listen what she’s saying. maybe he will know now why she has been crying, or maybe he will find something more about why she’s the way she is (not like he really has a clear idea of her personality, just glimpses).  he has no idea who she’s talking about. yooni and the others sound like her group members, perhaps?  he wants to ask once she hangs up, but then another call comes and even jitae can hear everything that is being said at her.

she stops walking, she freezes and he immediately takes the phone away from her ear and cuts the call. “i hate when this happens. they get your phone and believe they have the right to say things to you just because they think you owe them something when you’re a public figure” he tells her, turning the phone off so she doesn’t deal with is “don’t pay attention, they don’t know you, they don’t have any right to upset you”

she figures that after this night passes, his thoughts will fail to have any effect on her; now, however, she hates that she feels so conscious of the words she foolishly listens to, of her expression which is surely a mixture of exasperation and bafflement. she doesn’t understand why time and time again he has to act like some subtle version of a gentlemen, pulling her away from this and suspending her attention from that. if she didn’t know better she’d think that perhaps he doesn’t hate her enough to be completely impassive to her emotions, but fuck -- what is she thinking? nothing ever changes so easily. she, herself, is a legacy of that. 

worst bitch out there...don’t doubt you sleep with your manager...i burn every dvd i see you on, you know that? she relinquishes the phone without protest, hand still hovering in the air, fingers unable to curl into a fist when there’s barely any warmth in them. the sheer volume on the other end is enough for her to still be able to hear the discordant mixture of insults ( prematurely thrown at her, she adds dryly. an amateur in the art of hate, she convinces herself ). she tells herself that she’s heard worse, that she’s been through worse, but something about the instability of this moment -- jitae whom she thinks is dangerously aware of the situation, her manager who’s probably infuriated with her, and gold -- all under a gloomy night sky, the stars no longer as defined in her blurry ( tearful? ) vision, makes her loathe the sound.   

“but what if they’re right? what if i really am terrible, as wretched as they make me out to be? what if i don’t know any better and this...this is just the way i’ve become?” she asks with dry humor, because no one every tries to 'know’ her enough for her to defend herself. she realizes now that it’s always been that way: her and the rest of the group, the villain and the angels who are absolutely adored by the public. she shares their fame, she shares their fortune, but somehow along the way she’d always been the one to stir up drama, she’d always been the one to deal with the repercussions. “right -- was gives me the right to not listen to them?” her gaze instinctively draws to the phone, the hand that it’s gripped in. a hand of which she’s expected to hold, and for a second she wishes this were a perfect world -- one where she could have just one person who’d endlessly take her side.  

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

“yeah well too bad” whether she wants him to escort her or not that’s not the point. if she didn’t act like someone so careless then he would not need to walk her home, he could just say good bye and disappear. but he does not trust her and the way she acts only makes his point more obvious. she acts like she has no control over her emotions and sure, he has no base to judge because he doesn’t know her but based on her erratic behavior he can’t afford to leave her alone.

“of course you can, you proved it by almost getting yourself killed” and since she claims she’s going to leave he just waits. they don’t have to talk, they don’t even have to interact if it’s not necessary, he can just follow her in silence and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, which he thinks can’t be too bad if she -hopefully- lives close by. “can you start walking already? or all of this leaving talk is just nonsense?”

glowering at the seeming impudence of his tone, she hates that she’s still so quick to oblige, spinning on her heel as she faces the approximate direction of her home -- or, the subway station at least, considering how she lives on the outskirts of gangnam, quite a little ways from here. she turns in hopes that he won’t follow her the way he implies he will, that eventually, they’ll part ways and he can go back to his house or whatever, and they’ll both forget this night ever happened. ( more like she doesn’t want him to see the state of her home ). 

“as if i’m you,” she shoots back, a weak insult, but her thoughts are voluntarily pulled away from him when she feels the vibration against her thigh, no doubt her manager calling her for the sixth time this night. it takes bare seconds for her to answer unhesitatingly this time, contrary to her previous reluctance. “what is it?” she greets, beginning to slowly walk forward, “i’m...alone. i’m at home.” her steps hesitate, and fighting the urge to glance back to see if jitae will follow through, her eyes widen just slightly, gnawing on her lip in sudden thought. a habit she should fix. “she...what? what is she doing there? after yooni and the others just left, the last place she should be is--no, i get it. i can’t? are you seriously telling me that right now? i’m not--” the line goes dead, and she kicks the asphalt in vexation. she doesn’t care if she’s still being loud, she doesn’t care whether a certain someone might still be lingering behind her, probably hearing every drop of a conversation meant to be private. 

the phone, tight in her grasp, vibrates again, and she answers it without even checking the screen. “what’re you gonna tell me now, that i’m--” she freezes completely, hands trembling, the words coming from the speaker a blur of cacophony to her ears, harsh, degrading sentences strung one after another. shouldn’t she be a little used to this by now?    

[scribimus-blog]

tvmmykisses:

taking the ice and towel from the elder he held it against his hand and nodded sniffling. he hoped that his hand went numb or something - he didn’t want to feel this anymore. couldn’t he take some pain killers or something. kuhn waits impatiently for the other, wondering what exactly he had been doing before he was interrupted. kuhn was more than aware that hyunwoo wasn’t an affectionate man, he didn’t comfort others. kuhn didn’t go to anyone for his issues, but he knew better than to go to the other, he just wasn’t good with those things. “yes,” he nods pulling the coat over his shoulders as he stared at the other, “’m sorry,” he suddenly feels apologetic for showing up so suddenly, for ruining his day. for not being man eough. “i-i-i’m so-sorry for co-c-coming and cr-crying i’m so-sorry.” he cried a little harder now. 

he considers giving him more, perhaps proper treatment or even a temporary splint to ease his pain on their way to the hospital. certainly hyungsoo is medically qualified, and the drive will take minimally thirty minutes -- half and hour of which he’s uncertain if he can deal with a crying kuhn, much less a hurting kuhn. he nods at the other’s response, watching him put on the coat. it takes him a second to realize that perhaps the simple effort of pulling on an article of clothing might not be so easy for kuhn when he sports a broken wrist. “here,” he says stiffly, reaching to help him get his arm through the sleeve, “just, uh -- try to stop crying, we’ll be at the hospital soon.” he helps him up, sighing as he sees the papers still strewn across his kitchen table, work he probably should take with him just in case -- instead, he decides against it. “do you need a tissue or something?” 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

once he realizes there’s no use on having her phone if he can’t unlock it he gives it back to her, grabbing by her arm and pulling her back to the safety. after all, they were just talking in the middle of the street. “i asked you where you live” he reminds her annoyed, wondering how many times does he have to say things for her to answer. he gets it, some of his comments are better if she ignores them since he knows he’s right and she’s not, but he wants this night to end. they agreed to go on their separate ways but he cannot live with guilt if something happens to her. he needs to know he did the right thing and that’s making sure she doesn’t get hurt that night.

“should i call my manager and ask for your manager’s number? or some friends? that will make people wonder why i even want that contact information” he’s thinking out loud, deciding what’s the best way to act but unsure of what he should do. their deal won’t work at all if people start connecting them, no one needs to know they know each other, no one needs to know about the numbers on their wrists.

taking back her phone almost too quickly, she stuffs it into her pocket, not wanting to talk to, let alone face, her manager. she disregards the strange tingling on her arm that blooms where he touches her despite the barrier of fabric between, and instead her nose twitches in irritation, and she pulls back once again. “i don’t need you to escort me,” she says quietly, albeit with a sharp undertone, and the glare she directs toward him is almost unsettling, if not menacing. she wishes so desperately to be alone, yet sangmi is never truly on her lonesome these days -- never mind her group mates or the fans or the press, she’s always drowning in her own monsters and she doesn’t want her entire night to be occupied by thoughts of him. not when she’s still uncertain, not when she feels weak. 

“i can take care of myself,” she repeats, deadpanning. if this were with anyone else perhaps she’d also bother to give a wry smile at the recurrence of that one phrase ( hell, they were the very last words she’d uttered to her mother before she’d disowned her for good ), but she doesn’t wish to express any sort of emotion but anger and annoyance. why does he even care? why can’t he leave when he says he will, why does he have to make her harbout second thoughts when there should be only one? “in fact, if you can’t leave then i’ll leave,” she says, sniffling in the cold, prepared to march all the way home if that’s what it’ll take her. 

[scribimus-blog]

ingukwrites:

he’s getting angrier by the minute, and he knows he can’t really blame her since she has no way of knowing that his own sister took her life, so of course she has no idea of how close her words touched him, but he doesn’t feel like sharing any of that, he doesn’t feel like letting her in to the most private part of his life (despite the information being all over the internet), he does not want to talk about it with her because she does not deserve to hear about the most important girl of his life. he’s mad, yes, but he’s also tired, yet he can’t just leave because he’s not letting someone die for the second time.

“how, exactly?” he asks her, since she’s so confident on taking care of it herself, when he knows that if it weren’t for him she would be dead by now.  he can’t believe he’s stuck with someone like her, but as he grabs her phone from her hands he decides he has to do something. “i’ll call your manager, there’s no way you can be left alone in this state, you’re acting like a crazy woman” he can’t unlock the phone, and he wonders if he knows anyone from her company, anyone to call and make sure they take care of her. “where do you live?” he’s ignoring her anger and his own, just knowing he won’t be able to sleep if he leaves her in the middle of the street.

she doesn’t want to understand why he’s still trying to help her, why he still stays despite her yelling in his face to leave. they’re two boiling tempers pitted against each other and she sincerely believes that’s all they’ll ever have in common with one another, even if he seems so calm and composed all the time elsewhere. hell, he’s probably lingering because of some righteous sense of obligation or whatever, but she hates that she can’t even watch him immediately leave, that he’s still deciding to act like a more decent being than she in this situation. 

gnawing on her lip, teeth gritted, she doesn’t give him an answer, not exactly confident in the how herself. she’s capable of taking care of herself -- after all, she’s made it this far on her own, but the rationality in her senses the reasoning behind his words, how fucking right he has to be. almost inclined to shoot back another sharp, witty response, her mouth opens in irritation when he so easily seizes her phone like that, as if he has every right to go looking through it. “give it back,” she says defensively, harshly, a dark tone in her voice. she doesn’t need him to call to her manager, she doesn’t need him to see the contacts on her phone and the hate messages that always seem to find their way in her notifications, despite blocking all unknown numbers. she doesn’t want him to intercept the calls her manager keeps insistently dialing with claims that she’s “acting like a crazy woman”, because the last thing she needs are his questions of why she’s with lee jitae, what this will do to her image if it gets out ( fuck the media, fuck her image ). “give me back my phone.” 

[scribimus-blog]

tvmmykisses:

being pulled away has him crying even more because he truly just wanted to be comforted. kuhn wasn’t one that asked for help, he did everything on his own. he didn’t have anyone to really care for him, but at the moment he was in pain. he was scared and he just wanted his hyung. stepping inside the house because it’s bit a chilly outside, he goes to wipe his eyes with his good hand, which does no use because he’s crying even more. if the break wasn’t so bad then he surely wouldn’t have gone to hyunsoo, along with the fact that he didn’t have health insurance or money. he didn’t know how he was going to pay him back, but he would. 

he tries to remain unaffected by kuhn’s crying, retrieving ice and towels from the kitchen instead of having to face even more tears. he’s not a compassionate man and he lacks all forms of sympathy -- still, he wishes kuhn wouldn’t display his pain as much, because now he can’t concentrate and if he had the tools, he would just give him treatment right now, right here. “press this against your wrist,” he instructs him, wrapping the frozen cubes in the towel and handing it gently to him, fighting the urge to pat his back or something to calm him down. “sit down, i’ll be back in just a second -- i have to get my keys.” he doesn’t bother trying to ask him typical medical inquisitions when he can tell by the inflammation that kuhn’s wrist won’t be feeling too good, and it takes him literally seconds to go to and back from his room. this time with a coat and said keys, he hands the former to the other. “you can still walk, can’t you?”