ACCESS DENIED @seungchanpark - Tumblr Blog

ciao baby !! i’m april (she/her), i’m 22, i’m in est, and i cannot articulate how EXCITED i am to get this rodeo going. with that being said, si si spaghetti baby let’s talk about this absolute fucking mess of a man. trigger warnings for everything below [and most interactions with chan in general] include: drugs, addiction, and mental health issues.

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#;; muse #praeditus.intro

stellaforma

closed for @seungchanpark.

there’s something distinctly uncomfortable about deviating from their usual routine like this; stella’s gotten good at keeping her personal and “professional” lives separate, but under the circumstances... it just made sense, inviting chan over to re-up rather than handing off the goods. for one, he’d requested more than usual (understandable) and for two, she wants to talk to him without having to worry about being overheard. he’d been the one to look into the email, he’s the computer guy, and if anyone knows what she wants to know, it’ll be him. it doesn’t take long for her phone to light up with the intercom notification, and she presses the button to let him in then grabs a pair of glasses from the kitchen and sets them on the coffee table, bar-slash-bong cart already pulled closer in anticipation of their inevitable need to de-stress. she’s already at the door when he knocks, but if chan’s surprised by only having to knock once, he doesn’t show it. “hey, come on in.” stella’s pretty sure he’s been to her place before, some time last year for something she’d hosted at home, so she assumes he’ll remember to take his shoes off before following her through the archway and into the living room.

“can i get you something to drink?”

seungchanpark

it's a familiar pattern, the two of them meeting up for their illicit exchange, but it's made unfamiliar by the fact that chan is showing up at stella's instead of meeting her for a covert hand-off. and yet, chan is unphased by the change, considering how unprecedented everything else this week has been.

he nods at her greeting, returning it with a brief, "hey, thanks." he slips his birkenstocks off (he's not an american, after all) and follows stella into the living room. even on the surface, stella and chan have always been radically different people, but as chan takes in stella's apartment again, he's once again reminded that she lives in a pink fairytale while chan's own living situation is more similar to the troll living underneath the bridge. "i'm good. comparisons have been made between me and a camel in the past on good merit," he says. "on the other hand, if you have something to snort, swallow, or smoke, i could be very interested."

#c ;; stella

saturdayfm

time: immediately following the funeral OPEN!

as the last of the mourners are exiting the crowded building (which, richard notes, is far more crowded than he ever could have expected), he's perched himself on a step, nose and cheeks beginning to flush from the cold. he's not in any hurry to leave, however, and he's not in a rush; no matter how controversial of an opinion it may have been, richard de whitt always thought that marcel dupont was a great man. a brilliant mind, a brilliant professor, a brilliant leader. sure, his methods were a bit controversial, but aren't all the best leaders controversial at times? richard had borderline blackmailed the man to earn his spot in praeditus, but that never meant he didn't respect him. or that the sorrow of his loss wasn't weighing on him. he ponders this momentarily, that the magnitude of the tragedy was made so much greater by the man's brilliance — it's different than the death of some unassuming banker or common worker. it's marcel dupont, a genius, and murdered, too. it's almost akin to the assassination of caesar.

beware the ides of march.

richard fishes around in his interior coat pocket, pulling out a flask and opening it up, taking a swig. sure, a funeral isn't the most appropriate place to drink (understatement of the century, perhaps), but it's cold and the scotch warms him down to the bones. he notices a figure standing next to him, then, and looks up to see a familiar face. a wicked half smile appears on his features as he holds up the contraband, offering it to them and raising his eyebrow.

"lagavulin," he states, propping himself up on his free hand, "seems like you could use it — you look like hell."

seungchanpark

chan's always had a bad habit of sleeping too little and working too much, so the dark circles on his eyes aren't even new, they're just a bit wider and deeper than the status quo, serving as proof that, as much as chan has been cold and unrevealing in this time between marcel's passing and his burial, he's not a man who is unaffected by this death. just as chan was often considered marcel's favorite, chan also retained a mix of respect and fondness for the other man, whose brilliance chan saw reflected in himself as well — call it a brigade of men with high iq's and even higher egos.

he's in the middle of observing the faces and moods of the funeral crowd around him when he gets a nudge from next to him. richard isn't an unwelcome face, but chan's already coming off this morning's breakfast of amphetamines with some mixed results, so he's not sure how liquor would help that. then again, whiskey certainly can't hurt. "sure," chan says. he reaches down, takes a hearty couple shots, then gives the bottle back to richard. "bloody hell, that's horrible." chan reaches into his pocket and grabs a few jolly ranchers leftover from earlier. he opens one, sucking on it as a makeshift chaser. "so, what's your review of the last hour's affairs? figure we'll make it onto the front page of funerals weekly?"

#c ;; richard

spillcdinks

pulls the thick layers of wool closer over her knees, as though the material could protect her from chan’s usual spite. and although he hasn’t exhibited this type of behaviour yet, gemma supposes it’s only a matter of time before slander slips from his tongue. “oh.. i can get out of your way if you want..” she’ll offer but wont make a movement, instead allows him to continue. “i’ve not read anything by him… are you enjoying it?” poses the question curiously, doe eyes looking up at him from her position on the floor. “actually.. did you know his parents owned candy stores? it gives me a sense of hope that there’s a link between intelligence and consuming sweets. at least that could excuse my midnight trips to dulce! dulce!” her voice is quiet, soft and silky tones that don’t dare to break the peace of their surroundings.

and in the golden light of the greenhouse, gemma can’t help but admire the sharp slope of chan’s jawline, and the subtle glimmer of something-she-can’t-quite-put-her-finger-on in his eyes. she does this a lot - she’s realised - romanticises things she shouldn’t, admires insignificant moments and cradles them close to her chest. “i just came to get away from people. you know.. with everything that’s going on, i thought this was a good hiding place. clearly, i was mistaken.”

seungchanpark

"you've never read any of isaac asimov? a god of a writer, one of the inventors of modern science fiction, wrote more than 400 books, including i, robot and foundation? isn't reading supposed to be your thing?" he asks, his tone laden with all of the pettiness that gemma tends to bring out in him. at gemma's comment about candy stores, chan fixes her with an incredulous look. it's times like these that chan hates this idiotic schoolboy crush of his, because really, what is chan supposed to do with all this cute? it's sickening, but also endearing. "right, sure. seems like you missed the day in primary school when they told us correlation doesn't equal causation. i'll be sure to alert the administration, tell them you need to repeat sixth grade mathematics."

and yet, chan does empathize with gemma's desire to get away from people. it's what motivated his coming here to read, too, and he's reminded of the fact that besides a couple others in praeditus, gemma was one of the main members besides chan who actually held some affection for marcel. so he softens, remembers dom's words about gemma being too good for him, and tries to be a bit kinder in his next words. "i get it," he replies. "i don't think i can handle another conversation about murder weapons and possible motive. it feels too much like i'm playing a game of clue." he shuffles between feet, unsure what to say next. "what are you reading?' he settles for, lamely.

#c ;; gemma

talliebernal

tallie flashes a clever grin, nodding emphatically as chan protests. she knows she's going to win this battle, mostly because she is absolutely not going to listen to chan's arguments. she never has. she's glad that he knows this too, it makes a hostile takeover much easier.

she grins in triumph as chan concedes (it took much less time than she expected, honestly) and she hums, "it will be small, promise. just, like, the four people you find tolerable, me, and some of the other club members. my place, obviously, and even i wouldn't listen to drake after the year 2018, give me some credit." tallie lets out a melodic laugh, taking out her phone and typing a few things into her notes app for planning purposes, "just dinner. and some drinking. and the coke, of course. i'll get some other party favors too, really make it a grab bag of substances." that sounds like something he'd like. an she's not sure how else to bring a smile to his often stoic face. maybe fitz's presence will help, "it'll be fun. i'm good at fun, you know this."

seungchanpark

"i find four people tolerable?" he asks. it's a joke, mostly, though it's not like you can easily tell with the dryness that colors each of chan's words. the rest of tallie's plans, however, chan really can't find much to disagree with. as much as chan didn't like admitting any of tallie's strengths, she did know how to create a good party out of thin air. or, in the very least, she knew how to wrangle up some good coke.

he flips through his last notecard from the deck and finds that he's down to just four cards that he's struggling to produce a definition for. to anyone else, it would be a win; to chan, it becomes tempting to throw himself off of something tall. "fuck this, i'm going to office hours," he says to himself. then, to tallie: "congratulations, you're the winner of a brand new individual table. treat it well, no funny business after hours." he packs up his things in a rush, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. before he leaves, he looks down at tallie with one more piece of input. "for the birthday cake, i'm partial to strawberry, red velvet, or funfetti. maybe all three in one. i'd like to think you respect me enough to spare me from a carrot cake."

#c ;; tallie #down to wrap here if you are ??

ofasphodel

fitz has done more walks of shame than he can count, so much so that he might be more used to seeing the school grounds during these wee hours of the morning than during the afternoon. today's walk feels different than the rest, however - perhaps something to do with the fact that the knife in his dead professor's back is fresh in fitz's mind. he doesn't know where to begin to process all of that, and so like most hard things fitz opts to simply not do it. instead, he lingers on the last few hours he spent with tallie, as well as on the long conversation he'll have to have with dove.

that is until chan park's voice interrupts his thoughts, a voice which he worries is a hallucination until he turns to see a soaking chan running up to him. they're the only two people on the quad, and like everything else in the last six hours it feels surreal, like they're actually the only two people left on this island, everyone else packed up their bags and left to go somewhere professors weren't getting murdered. "you know, when i told you that you feature in my wet dreams, this isn't quite what i meant," fitz says with a lofty smirk. chan takes his glasses off to wipe the water from their rims and it's so fucking stupid, this attraction fitz holds for the smallest things, like the sight of chan's eyes when they aren't hidden behind thick glass, like the way chan's hair curls against his head reminds fitz of a vine clinging to a root. "sure," fitz concedes, "i suppose i could fit you into my busy schedule. but i'm afraid it'll cost you - you know how the economy is these days." before chan can protest, fitz leans in for a kiss. fitz can't help but wonder if chan can taste tallie on his lips still - he doesn't know why, but fitz hopes he can.

and then they're off, very singing-in-the-rain sans the singing, their shoulders rubbing against each other as fitz lets chan hold the umbrella (it's the price chan pays for being significantly taller, the bastard). "some night, huh?" fitz says in way of conversation. it already sounds like a line that every praeditus member will have on repeat in some version for the next week. "are you alright, by the way? you know, your rendezvous with the trashcan and the corner?" he hesitates before he says his next line. "i was worried about you." another hesitation. "if i'm being honest, i worry about you kind of often."

seungchanpark

chan knows, in theory, that fitz is meant to be the 'funny one', whatever that means. but chan's never been the type to enjoy the kind of loud, open, all-out-there humor that fitz is infamous for. chan's the kind of person to attend a comedy show and not crack a smile — it's all too try-hard for him, too rehearsed, nothing that chan can relate to. that hasn't stopped fitz from poking and prodding, dropping one-liner after one-liner, always trying to get something out of chan. and yet sometimes, when the stars and constellations line up just-so, fitz will manage to get a laugh out of chan. one of those occasions was the first night they slept together, chan boozed-up and coked out of his mind, not even realizing that he was finding fitz funny until the chuckle was already escaping him, and after that — well, after that, fitz's mouth was too occupied to make anymore jokes.

another occasion is now. fitz quips about wet dreams, and maybe chan really has lost his mind, because that elicits a laugh out of him. it's almost a giggle, as fucked up as that is, kind of breathy and unexpected, but it leaves chan's mouth nonetheless. the laugh is over as soon as it starts, but chan's sure fitz won't shut up about it for another week. chan concedes to the kiss, if only to wipe the grin off fitz's face for a second.

chan's eyes narrow as fitz talks, and he hates this, abhors this, the fact that chan's brief moment of face-in-trashcan has allowed the group to see him vulnerable for a second. "i'm fine," chan says harshly. "it's not my fault something at the banquet was poisoned or just putrid. good luck getting alumnae donations with that kind of oversight in the kitchen." the rain comes down harder around them. chan is about to suggest they camp out in a drier shelter until it settles down, but then fitz continues talking. i was worried about you. chan rolls his eyes. "right, of course, and all that worry bubbled up inside you and manifested in a profound need to crawl into some girl's sheets. glad you're finding a productive outlet for all those complex emotions, fitzgerald." it's not like chan can't tell that's where fitz was before this, not like chan can't smell her on him. "but let me save you the hassle, yeah? i'm doing so, so well. worry about yourself for a change."

#c ;; fitz

voteoakes

dom is unaware how lucky, how solitary, he is when it comes to chan. mari, for the sake of her art?, he jokes, and dom laughs, volleying back, put gen at the bottom of that list, she’d hike the appalachian trail before she showed so much emotion at once. he smiles, patient and expectant, as chan tumbles through his egotistical flare — and dom, ever a good friend, wouldn’t dream of humbling him. define mathematics for the next half decade? sure, probably. that didn’t stop seungchan park from making puppy eyes and eating sour patch kids for dinner, though. he says simply, “you make time for my petty relationship drama. i want to make time for yours.”

only decent. again, chan earns a laugh, proving eternally that he talks a big game for someone entirely adept at being funny and charming, and dom nearly misses the window to catch that hurtled pillow before it tumbles off the balcony entirely.

“you’re attractive but insufferable. what other commonalities do you need?” it is then dom’s turn to consider, head tilted and gaze thoughtful, adding the bare numerals of the two equations against each other as he props the pillow atop chan’s socks. finally, he deduces, “gemma’s too good for you, but you knew that already, didn’t you?” gemma has never put herself first. every trait chan does not share with gemma overlap in the venn diagram of the reasons he likes her. the combination of chan and fitz, though, even while chan reduces the latter to his head game, changes dom’s smile from a crooked grin to something quieter, something all-together too knowing. “i like fitz.” his arms folding against the throw pillow, pinning the slippery boy genius into a jenga-tower of confessions as he offers only, “he pays attention to you.”

fitz knows what chan eats, doesn’t. fitz notices chan’s especially long insomniatic stints. meraviglia’s so-called golden boy hangs onto that wobble of words and decides to believe, not for the first time, in things that are good enough.

“are you really surprised with all those parties you go to? i mean, you’re lucky it’s just the flu, fuck. you could catch mono just standing next to the jungle juice. tell me if it gets chicken soup bad, i’ll come over and confiscate your textbooks ‘til you’re rested.”

seungchanpark

chan brushes off the idea that he's attractive with an eye roll as soon as dom utters the word, a familiar pattern for them. dom has always had a thing for cheering chan on from the sidelines, even when the dynamics have always been very clear: dom as a pretty bright guy, chan as genius; dom as the human embodiment of sun shining through curtains at dawn, chan as a dark and stormy thing; and, most importantly for this context, dom as the dictionary definition of handsome jock, chan as the lanky nerd sidekick who never could get a date to prom. and sure, chan had a growth spurt at fifteen that evened him out a bit, and some would say that his hair stopped producing quite so much grease along the way as well, and coke has actually done wonderful things for his jawline, but chan doesn't think for a second that that makes him attractive, not in the all-american-dreamboat-hunk way that dom is.

as for the gemma comment — "you're too good for me," chan rebuts. "i don't see you advocating that we suspend this friendship on grounds of unequal morality." he shrugs again, apparently his signature move of the night. "fitz can't tell a quadratic formula from a quadrilateral. sorry, but that's a romantic non-starter."

after all, dom has always been the more forgiving out of the two of them. aileen isn't perfect, but dom sees through that to remember the good. fitz isn't perfect, and chan fixates on those imperfections like they're the only things to know about him.

"yeah, right. thanks." chan says. he wishes fitz didn't take his gummy worms, so chan could chew on something to break the silence. no such luck. instead, chan has to sit here, devoid of a snack, but equipped with plenty of guilt to go around. he's been lying to dom for almost a year now about this, isn't it supposed to get easier? "god, i still can't get over how fucked this week has been," he notes. "before everything happened at the banquet, i was gonna talk to you about something, actually," he pipes up. "it's about my d-" he's about to say drug addiction, it's almost there, the tip of his tongue, and then — "dad." he settles on a different d-word instead, a coward where it counts. "it's about my dad. he and i are kind of going through a rough spot right now." and that, at least, isn't a lie.

#c ;; dominic

ofcalloways

gen really didn’t feel like going out that night, her arm still healing from aileen’s breakdown and her mind still broken up into far more bits than usual. but an appearance somewhere seemed in order to show that she was still perfectly composed and up to her usual tricks, thank you very much. marcel dupont ? yes she had had a class with him, she recalled his lecture style was rather intense. she made a mental note to vet her invitations more thoroughly once her head was back on straight, the current setting far too dismal and frat-esque for her tastes.

she turns from the group she had been talking to to see who’s interrupted, scoffing lightly when she sees that it’s chan. “ what, need someone to hold your hair while you puke again ? because i’m not interested. ” she tries to turn away from him, but he’s persistent, invoking the other night far more publicly than she’d like. glaring at him and not bothering to say a word she begins moving through the crowd to somewhere quieter, expecting him to follow along. out on the balcony, she turns around and crosses her arms, “ alright, what is it you want ? ”

seungchanpark

chan knew the moment he emptied the contents of his stomach into that church trashcan that, like everything else that happened among praeditus members, it would become a thing of folklore, something that got rehashed in conversations until it lost all meaning. he's just thankful that aileen's bid for olympic bottle thrower was more notable than his upchuck, so at least he wasn't the main event.

though gen, infuriating as she can be, doesn't play easy and agree verbally to speak with him, chan takes her cue to weave across the crowd until they're standing on the balcony. outside, he takes the pack of smokes (non-herbal this time) from his back pocket and opens them, lighting one with a practiced efficiency. he's not a regular smoker (his regular vices are much worse than that), but stressful times call for extraneous measures. he extends the pack of cigarettes and the lighter towards gen, trying to offer some semblance of truce to underline their conversation. chan is well-aware that he's been wary around gen in regards to her relationship with dom, and that she certainly hasn't responded well to that, but he's not one to forget that she's one of the most capable members of their little dinner club, and he needs those kinds of allies right now. "the news about dupont is shocking and deeply upsetting," chan says after a heavy drag. "but you know as well as i do that for us, it's also dangerous." he looks at gen with a heavy gaze. "he fucked us with that book, the one with all of our secrets in it. if the authorities get their hands on it first, every one of us becomes a person with a motive. you want to rule dc, i want to rule silicon valley — both of those things get a lot harder with a 'criminal investigation' section on our wikipedia page." another drag, a little more urgent, a little more distressed. "do you think it would be idiotic to look for it?"

#c ;; genevieve

andthorns

mari couldn't pretend that chan was the person she would most like to run into, generally speaking, and she immediately felt this hesitation reflected on her face when he stopped to greet her. it wasn't that she didn't like him, it was that the two of them (whether due to too many differences or too many similarities, she wasn't quite sure) had absolutely no rapport whatsoever. they had, on occasion, been united — usually when accidentally third-and-fourth wheeling for dom and aileen, and could exchange amused glances when the other pair broke out into either a fight or a heavy make-out session, depending on the day. but more often than not their interactions descend into uncomfortable silences, broken by stilted questions about classes, family, and chan's cat, who mari could never remember the name of.

where ice cream was involved, though, she was more than happy to endure a little discomfort. "sure," she replied with a shrug, moving her bag so he could sit next to her and accepting the spoon he presented, not particularly concerned with the idea of sharing germs — chan seemed clean enough. after a mouthful and a satisfied sigh, she handed the spoon back, letting him take his turn. "thanks. i swear ben and jerry put crack in their ice cream, it's so good." a characteristic silence fell between them, during which she wished she'd had another spoonful so that she didn't have to be the one making conversation. "i forgot to thank you, last night," she said finally. she actually couldn't remember if anyone had thanked him. "i know we didn't figure out who was messaging us, but thank you for trying. you did a good job."

seungchanpark

though chan can usually speak to the drugs-to-junk-food comparison conversion, he's actually never tried crack, so he has no way of knowing how similar ben and jerry's is to the real thing. "yeah, i'd never tell a local, but sometimes i prefer it to the homegrown gelato. american sugar content really resonates with me like no other," he agrees. then, he takes the container back from mari and it's silence between them again. it's quite remarkable, how two brilliant minds can struggle to say much to each other, unless they're discussing mari's father or dom and aileen's spit-to-kiss ratio.

he looks up from the next scoop of ice cream at mari's follow-up. "right, well, i'm still working on it," he says. what he doesn't say is how much he's been working on it, sleepless nights under his eyes and keyboard-inflicted bruises on his fingers. he's never been comfortable with problems he can't solve. "but it's not supposed to take this long, so that's an unpleasant sign. we might have to resort to educated guesses from a gillian flynn blueprint." he offers another round of b&j's to mari with a raised eyebrow. "you don't have any writerly hunches about what this might be about?"

#c ;; mari

event 04: the funeral of marcel dupont

chan, in a rare display, ditches the joggers and flip-flops for a turtleneck and a black suit. out of respect for marcel dupont's rotting corpse, he only complains a minimal amount about how uncomfortable the fabric is against his skin.

#;; facade

spillcdinks

for @seungchanpark

her area of study provides her with no need to visit the greenhouse - she is not one for botany or ornithology (although she did take a flower arranging class when she was twelve) - but the peace is exactly what she needs at this very moment in time. there’s a beauty in viridescence impossible to find elsewhere, petals and leaves still in full bloom despite the threat of winter slowly creeping upon the island. she settles herself on the floor in the corner, a blanket tucked beneath her and wrapping around slim thighs. she imagines what she must look like from the other side of the glass - could it be believed she’s just another plant, rapidly growing in her reach towards the sun?

gemma is ruminating on the events of the past few days when she hears the door open, torn from her thoughts as she waits for the intruder to finally make themselves known. and despite this being her safe space, she suddenly feels frightened. what if there really was a murderer loose on campus? would the african violets and guzmania protect her? would the orchids fight to the death for her? would the spanish moss cover her in camouflage until it was safe to depart? it’s these questions that are running through her mind as she spots chan’s familiar face making his way through the greenery. “you scared me!” she’ll blush, an odd sense of vulnerability toward someone she wouldn’t consider a friend. “is there a class coming in soon? do i need to leave?”

seungchanpark

though chan is technically a city boy — growing up in chelsea's poshest neighborhood within the walls of a mega-mansion apartment that even fitzgerald would find too lavish to write about —he went to boarding school in the american northeast, and so he became accustomed to sloping hills and overgrown woodland as part of his natural surroundings. back in high school, he used to wander the grounds, still learning what it meant to be high on amphetamines, still learning what the world could feel like when everything moved as quickly as his brain did. (he knew early, maybe even the first time, that it felt too good, way too good, that he was whole with the drugs in a way he never could be without them. he thinks about sobriety the same way he thinks about appetite, like something empty waiting to be filled.)

so anyway, the greenhouse is a bit like those northeastern gardens, and chan goes there sometimes to read the same books he used to read when he was seventeen. he's about to do that very thing when he opens the door and finds a familiar face already there. he does the same thing he always does when he sees gemma, soften just around the edges at first and then harden twice as much in response, lest he reveal the fondness he feels for the girl when nobody is looking. "no, just me," he says. "plus isaac asimov." he holds up the book he was planning on reading, though the attempt is now abandoned. "what are you doing here? weary of extra credit, you've turned to intellectual insights from the isodons?"

#c ;; gemma

voteoakes

"god, mr. robot, give me your analysis and spare me the reliving. i think that single temper tantrum has defined my past week, i can't possibly talk about it any more." not with chan, at least; his promise to gen is a fresh wound in his mind, and his run-in with fitz is even more of a motivator. "so dupont, then. our dearly departed leader, murdered like something out of a fucking nancy drew novel. i thought the secret club and skeleton key ceremony were as wild as my college years would get. it doesn't feel... real, right? gemma's been real broken up about it though. makes me feel like maybe i'm not processing something right."

dom breaks a soft smile, rueful and contemplative. "speaking of gemma, i think it's your fucking turn to overshare, park. i got a fistful of gummy worms from your little arm candy earlier today. honestly, that mutual sweet tooth of yours made that whole thing make more sense." clearly, dom has picked up the propensity for gossip from his nights with em and dove. he employs it well, down to twisting toward chan, offering his lap up for the other's legs, the same way the girls always do to him, while he gestures to their veritable nest chan has built. "not all this, though. i know you kind of well, since when do you run cold?"

seungchanpark

"unfortunately, i don't think a book series intended for ages eight and above has any gruesome murders on a remote italian island — but sure, nancy drew and the seaside backstabbing, i'm sure that's something you can pitch to an editor," he says with a grin. at dom's next point, the one about gemma being broken up, chan looks away, back down to the small ancient city below them. he doesn't want to care about how gemma feels about anything, let alone a topic that chan himself is having difficulty processing. and yet, well. maybe he does. "yeah, no, none of us are processing this right," chan says. "it feels like every praeditus member is simultaneously fine and on the verge of getting admitted into psychological services. maybe i should start taking money on which one of us will have a nervous breakdown first... mari, maybe? for the sake of her art?" with others, chan's sentences tend to be short and to the point, an occasional jab or sarcastic scowl tossed in for good measure. with dom, though, chan has always found himself more jovial, more loose, more able to be something of a normal friend. it's a side no one else gets to see.

at the gesture, chan furrows his eyebrows but complies anyway, twisting his body so his socks brush against the other man. "i don't have to share shit," chan says with a laugh. "i'm the greatest mind of our generation writing two different senior theses that will likely define theoretical mathematics for the next half decade, wherein there am i supposed to fit petty relationship drama? do you think erdös was going around writing love letters in between publishing a paper a day?" and yet, the look dom is giving him isn't an easy one to push away, and so chan has no choice but to sigh and offer meager confessions: "i think gemma is attractive but insufferable," he says. "and i think fitz is insufferable but attractive." a beat. "and his head game is decent." chan breaks into a smile, taking one of the balcony pillows and throwing it toward dom. "that's all you're getting! greed isn't a good look on anyone, let alone meraviglia's golden boy."

he doesn't even notice the blankets until dom points them out, and then he's shifting nervously. the truth is he doesn't run cold, the coke is more than sufficient at ensuring that, but every since pukegate at the chapel, chan's been taking it easier than he usually does. as a result, not quite full-blown withdrawal, but little hints of it — a propensity to shiver a bit when others might not. "body's not used to fall, i guess," chan says. he hesitates, and every nerve in his body freezes, screaming just tell him just tell him tellhimtellhimtellhim. he opens his mouth: "and." chan says. the words wobble. "i think i'm catching something, maybe. fucking freshmen flu getting to me."

#c ;; dominic

saxifraged

naturally, the necessity of her job at bernadi books wasn't something emilia advertised to anyone. although her part-time role wasn't technically a secret, either, she would much rather have people think she only worked there out of sheer desire rather than financial need. so, when chan asked, she offers him a light smile and simply says, "that would be insightful, but really, i just like the smell of the books. have i never mentioned that i work here?" she tilts her head to the side, as if to say, oops, i forgot, because that's how little this job means to me.

"anyway - what brings you here this morning? looking for something for research? for fun? or just something to take your mind off of current events?" emilia rocks back in her chair a bit, hoping that her allusion to marcel's death doesn't ruffle too many feathers with chan.

seungchanpark

"no," he says slowly, "you haven't." it's oddly jarring, seeing someone who runs in chan's circle working a job — not a 'let me jerk off in a corner office while my dad runs the company upstairs' job, but a real one, and chan has a hard time imagining any member of praeditus bending over to pick up boxes and restock shelves. but sure, chan accepts that they all have odd hobbies, his just happens to involve a lot more white powder.

"i'm looking for a book called the animals among us by john bradshaw, most likely in the nonfiction section? not for a class or anything, just... fun," he says, though the words sound foreign in his mouth. chan struggles to characterize anything he does as fun, as emilia puts it, since he'd like to think he's far too serious of an academic for that. "and maybe to take my mind off everything else happening, too. i guess you achieve that by working here, right?" again, he almost stumbles over the word 'working', like he's learning a dead language.

#c ;; emilia

talliebernal

"see? we are friends, you know me so well." she smirks, highlighter poised to swipe over one of the lines of text she'd written down. she listens to chan list things she's never heard of in her life, humming along even though they both know she doesn't know. it's not that she feels like she needs to pretend to know, more like she enjoys annoying chan in little ways — making unnecessary noises, sitting across from him, reminding him that they've slept together etc. it makes their friendship more entertaining (for her), "well, i'm sure you'll get an a. making notecards alone guarantees it." she shrugs, then, giving him an eye roll at his comment, "ha ha, i can get a c-average without the nepo money, thank you very much. but it goes a long way in giving me a perfect attendance record. truancy can apparently be a big deal, who knew?" she's sure by the time she graduates, her mother will have a whole student dorm named after her. she can consider bernal hall her legacy too, "your birthday's in, like, a month, by the way. in case you forgot. let me plan something for it." it's not a question, of course, she'll be planning something regardless of permission.

seungchanpark

"who knew," chan agrees, sarcasm dripping from his tone. he swirls the black coffee around in his cup, taking a slow sip as he correctly drills through another notecard. he drinks coffee on days he doesn't plan on having anything snorted, swallowed, or swabbed, and while it's enough to stimulate a low hum in him, it often serves to remind him of the vice he's actually missing. "must've slipped my mind," he says about his birthday. chan's never been one to place too much emphasis on celebrations (translation: has never had friends to throw a party for), and his age means little to nothing to him (translation: he's been treated like an adult for about as long as he's been able to speak). "please don't plan anything," he insists, looking up from his notecards again, this time to fixate tallie with an earnest gaze. he can tell from her coy expression that his pleading means very little to her, and if anything, it'll probably just encourage her to make the whole affair even more insufferable to chan. he sighs heavily. "okay. fine. you are allowed to plan one thing," chan says to tallie. "no more than fifteen people. it's not getting hosted at my place. no surprise guests, no strippers, no drake on the aux." a beat. "and there better be enough coke there to make belfort look like the pope."

#c ;; tallie

ofconflations

a starter for @seungchanpark

"now i'm not six feet two, dashing with golden retriever vibes like my sweet boyfriend, but what i lack in height and boyish looks, i make up for in very expensive wine," she announced to the visitor with an uncharacteristically saccharine grin. it should've gone without saying that aileen wasn't typically friendly to just anyone. however, chandler had deserved her charm and opulent liquor in her eyes, considering he had been one of the only few praeditus members who were not only nice to her but also supported her relationship with dominic. with the others, it was one or none of those options.

seungchanpark

truthfully, chan had come to dom's apartment in search of, well, dom, but he stumbled upon aileen here instead. however, it's not an unwelcome appearance. though chan took a while to warm up to aileen when she and dom first started dating many moons ago, he's accepted her presence in both of their lives and has come to the very apt conclusion that, as long as dom is happy and staying at aileen's side, so is chan. "no, really? you could have fooled me, i was sure you at least break six foot," chan says, voice dry in a way that you can't tell if he even knows how a joke is meant to sound.

he goes to dom's kitchen and grabs two wine glasses, plus some sprite from the fridge (he's not about to drink wine without a mixer — no matter how expensive the bottle is, chan will find it sour). "how was your summer?" chan asks, not because he particularly cares but because he knows it's the polite thing to do. it's something he's working on, that allergy to small talk that he inherited from his mother.

#c ;; aileen

location: someone's off-campus apartment for: @ofcalloways

the weekend after marcel is officially declared dead with a capital d, the seniors in his thesis class throw a party. officially, it's referred to as a vigil/group mourning/celebration of the life and legacy of marcel dupont. unofficially, chan wanders through a crowd of half-empty plastic cups and retching sophomores, wondering why the fuck he's here in the first place.

of course, he knows the reason he's here, which is that lili told him to be, and chan doesn't exactly get picky when it comes to the time and location of his drug deals. thirty minutes in, however, he realizes that he has no idea where lili wants to meet him and his phone resides dead in his pocket, making it a little hard to ask her. instead, chan scans the room, and just past some girls locking lips, he spots gen at the drink and food table. he pushes past his classmates until he's standing next to her, right in front of a condolence cake that reads marcel murdered :(. "i need to talk to you. somewhere more private than this, preferably," he says to gen, speaking louder than usual to be heard over the party music. he swipes a finger on the side of the cake and licks the icing off, cringing at the aftertaste of mascarpone. what a waste of a perfectly good icing. "it's about the other night."

#c ;; genevieve

location: chan's bedroom balcony for: @voteoakes

chan doesn’t see dom for those first few days after the cathedral. it’s not like that’s his intention, but between fielding calls from his family and the couple exams he has in the following days and — well, maybe it is his intention, a little bit. there is a growing sense of shame in chan (an emotion he is all-but a complete stranger to) surrounding the fact that he became a person in the cathedral that had to be taken care of, that had to be worried about. he remembers the worry in dom’s eyes and he replays it, can’t really escape it. the best part about chan’s brain is the same as the worst: once he learns something, sees something, he doesn’t forget it.

but three days pass and chan finally asks dom if the older man wants to come over to his place. now, they sit on chan’s balcony, and once chan settles into a comfortable position with blankets arranged accordingly, he looks to dom with furrowed eyebrows. “where do you want to start?” chan asks. “broken bottle or deceased…” chan tries to find the right words before simply ending on: “dupont.” it’s a little uncomfortable even to say his name. chan and dom were noticeably two of marcel’s favorites, and yet chan doesn’t know how they should be addressing him now – with respect or with honesty?

#c ;; dominic

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