#* threads!

[contoursilver]

@butterflymarks . . . !

"don't touch that!"

gyuri’s hand hesitates where she was just about to pick up a seashell. the sun’s setting on the beach, washing everything over in a peachy glow, waves lapping lazily at the line of sand. she’d been out here collecting a few, setting them into a tote bag that she has tucked in the crook of her arm, not really paying attention to anyone else that had been wandering around, waiting for the sunset. she’d slept most of the day and decided to finally venture out, hoping for a less of a crowd.

it’s been something she’s wanted to do for awhile, collect things that wash up on the beach shore. she remembers when she was younger, and her father promised her once to bring her here, once he got his big break, once people knew his name, just one more job and i’ll have so much money to buy you whatever you want. empty promises that went in one ear and right out of the other, but still didn’t stop her from thinking about how nice it would be for all three of them to spend some time on a beach together, where they didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do, just relax in the sun.

it’s too many years late, to be here, on this beach, by herself. too many years late for a vacation, for her to have an excuse to do something like this.

she’s crouched down in the sand, flip flops and bucket hat and her hair tied up messily, shorts down to her knees and an oversized shirt over her swimsuit. she was planning on going out into the water after this, fearing that she’d already missed all of the good things to find in the sand after a day’s worth of people coming by to pick them up.

“what, is it going to bite me?” she stands, dusts off her hands on her shorts. she half recognizes him, if they’d only seen each other in passing. “you live at silver line, too?” gyuri didn’t really know many of her neighbors, but half of the habit of working as a bouncer is that she tends to remember appearances, used to seeing regulars, remembering the ones she’d kicked out before.

[recollectionblue]

@iso1600 . . . !

the walkman's old. seonjae picked it up in some thrift shop where he found the thing languishing away in one of the plastic bins of older technology, in which he'd taken it back home, and carefully refurbished it as well as he could to shiny and new. it's a little banged up, but it works, and somehow the audio sounds.. different, better, in a way, and so seonjae gets a little attached to listening to any of his new tracks on it before he releases them. it's a bit of a routine for him, but he starts making other little tapes, too, importing playlists onto the ones he finds, and soon it goes with him everywhere in his pocket.

it's nice, to have something that he attaches his own memory to. he still only touches it with gloved fingers— it was one of the few times he considered actually touching it without, after carrying it around so long, still wondering if it carried any memory of those who had loved it before him. but at the end of the day, it was seonjae's now. seonjae who had refurbished the thing, and carried it around with him, and listened to his music on it. so he made it his.

over the years, it's accumulated quite a few stickers. seonjae collects them out of coin machines and magazines and sticker sheets he finds and buys, even less remnants of memories before, just seonjae, now.

so when he gets seonyul to listen to it, it hadn't really been anything but his since he got it. he came around often, to nite rite, and seonjae had tentatively found friendship in the way he recognized the music seonjae played on the speakers, to dull out the long, empty hours. regular convenience store music got grating after awhile, and he got to the point that he was personally going to march into the back and ruin the speakers if he had to listen to the same five songs over and over again— so, he'd figured out a way to hook up to the audio system, and play his favorite stuff.

he didn't expect anyone to recognize it, though. or to enjoy whatever he played. music had always been something he'd fled to in the moments where he felt lost for anything else, so to have someone else that understood that in a way, well. how could he not have him listen to what it sounded like on his walkman?

it's slid over the table, earphones in a tangled mess around the myriad of stickers and worn buttons. seonjae's on break, technically, a bottle of coffee sweating condensation and a discarded bag of chips he'd finished as they'd caught up.

"i added a new track on it. it's after this other song i found i thought maybe you'd like. i'm not sure about posting it, though.. it's like. i dunno. i haven't posted anything in a couple of months." he hadn't since he'd moved in, actually, because between it all, returning to music felt like a habit he did when he was running from things, and it's the first time he actually hadn't wanted to run at all. eunjae's with him, and he's never really cared for anything much past that, getting back to his sister and trying to move on.

his gloved fingers leave the walkman, and he sees a flash of pink. a bunny, he thinks, dangling off a backpack, led through the aisles. he's going to have to get up and ring the person up, since he's the only one here, even if he is on break. a glimpse of red, from inbetween the rows of chips, half paying attention to them in case they needed help.

a moment. a flash, and the walkman is gone off the table, a blur beside him when he doesn't look in time and the bells of the door are ringing, frame banging shut, figure gone just as quickly as seonjae had realized the table's empty.

"wait— hey!"

[recollectionblue]

@constellieos . . . !

he sees her a few moments before he actually sees her, taking a moment to step inside the building, gloved thumb fiddling with skipping forward to the next song on his phone. it's a bit of a blur, sidestepping a group of people walking out of the building and stepping around, a wide berth, to let them have room for it before he catches the door right before it closes, ducks inside before the next person comes in. he's multitasking, which he really shouldn't be, because he's not really looking in front of him, head down, boots dragging on the floor.

it's the first few notes of the next song that he misses— drawn into a vision that only gives him a moment to react, which means that he's still in the way when he bumps into her. to be fair, he'd been in a quite obvious space right around this corner, and the apology's flying out of his mouth as soon as the vision stops and he feels their shoulders collide.

"shit, sorry." he's tugging out one earphone, dangling down from the other as the music blares in one ear, tinny sound spilling out into the space between them as he looks around them. he'd gone out for his second time that week that he was supposed to, in which he only walked around the grocery store for a little bit before he deemed it enough, purchasing a pack of gum that he'd been chewing on the whole way home. wondered if eunjae still liked this flavor, in which he was on his way to asking her when he—

"are you okay?" seonjae mumbles, pulling his hood a little further down, glasses up his nose. he forgets, sometimes, right after his visions, how to work his limbs and his body right, like the vision knocks him a few inches to the left and it's hard to come back to himself lined up quite right when he just saw something else, losing a few moments to gain a few of the future.

it always leaves him surprised when it happens to be immediately coming. as the future always is, in one way or another, but it didn't stop him from wanting to see it any less.

[recollectionblue]

@its-creed . . . !

“WHAT are you talking about? did you hear something out there?”

here’s the thing, seonjae hates doing laundry. he’s gotten quite a routine with it, now, and while he’s grateful for consistently clean clothes, he hates the monotony of the process and trying to find an empty laundry room. and since he’s up at odd hours, he tries to take advantage of the fact that not everyone is out doing their laundry when he wants to— and made a habit of trying laundry machines not even on the floor of his apartment in the hopes that it’ll be empty.

he puts his headphones in. he listens to music, and pretends to read whatever magazine he finds in their throwaway pile of mail back at the apartment, and the time goes faster, sometimes, then he anticipates it will. and he doesn’t usually pay attention to people, but he does notice that there’s a familiar face quite a few times, right when he’s doing his laundry, too.

the thing about the familiarity is that seonjae wonders if it’s from when he’s actually seen him before or if he’s seen him in a vision, like when he’s leaning against the machine holding his t-shirts, a blur of colors that bleed away when he sees, hears, something, distantly, a moment before it happens. he sees the color of the stranger’s shirt in his peripheral, until he’s seeing his t-shirts again, unmoving. cotton fresh laundry detergent, a heavy, damp scent. his leather gloved hand pressed to the machine.

it comes out of his mouth as soon as he’s pulled back, because he doesn’t know how distant the vision was, but he is right here. did he miss it while he was seeing?

“not.. yet?” he mumbles, turning around now to look at him. same shirt color, same shitty lighting, green blue fluorescent spilling shadows around them. “i saw— heard—,” the lights flicker. a distant boom! and then they’re plunged into darkness.

“that. did the power go out?” he wonders aloud, even if it’s obvious, he doesn’t know if it’s just a flicker or something more serious. the shadows are inky, like he’s closed his eyes tightly shut, trying to feel around for wherever he’s left his phone.

[recollectionblue]

— @parkhaein . . . !

seonjae just wants a drink. maybe two, actually, for the day he’s had, inbetween attempting to go outside (the park was too loud too many people too much light and he just couldn’t keep turning the volume of his music up in his headphones to drown out the noise without practically making them speakers), and usually he’d just go back to his room to make something, but he was out of his secret under the bed vodka he kept having visions of breaking. so against normal judgement, he was at the pool, because the bar here should give him what he wants, and then he’d be out of there.

this is one of the (very few) times that seonjae would admit his second sight would actually be handy, but then ultimately fails to even save him from this, which is skirting around the pool to make his way there, someone running past him, which, why, are they running right now on the slick floor, but it bumps him and he jolts and he slips and then— he’s directly splashing right into the pool.

maybe it would be nice, to be in the pool, in theory. it had been a hot day, but seonjae’s in jeans and a long sleeve and his gloves and his boots and it feels decidedly terrible to be soaked from head to toe fully dressed. not only that, but he had made such a big splash and alerted everyone in the vicinity, and now he has to paddle his way out of the pool knowing that everyone knows he fucking fell in.

three drinks? little umbrella? striped, twisty straw to drink it through, one of those little lemon slices? maybe a little too fancy, but seonjae’s just about had it, as he steps out, silver hair dripping into his eyes, cursing his visions up and down because the one time he would’ve loved to not fall in the pool fully clothed, he just had to because he didn’t see it. at least he wasn’t wearing one of his headphones.

so he walks up to the bar, shoes sloshing with pool water and creating little puddled footsteps all the way up to the counter, which he leans, drips, against, and tries to get the attention of the nearest bartender. “can anyone make me a really strong drink? with one of those little umbrellas?” desperation is coloring his words, but he’s not even motivated to cover it over, since the pool deck’s playing some alarmingly cheerful music for his downfall, and he’s starting to get something like a headache, not even bothering to wring out his clothes as he tries to wrestle his wallet out of his back pocket, sticking to the heavy, damp jeans he’s got on now.

“preferably kind of sweet. i need something sweet.” seonjae grumbles, leaning against the counter and already making great work on making a small pool of his own on the counter.

[contoursilver]

@999kintsugi . . . !

"hey, you! this building is for residents only!"

gyuri turns around, hands slipping into the pockets of her leather jacket at the sound of the voice echoing down the hallway. the power’s out, and these shadows are what she sticks to as she meanders through the building, having just gotten home from a shift at daemon, smelling like alcohol and white chalk and bets. her hair’s a mess, she’s got a streak of blood across her cheek, and half of her energy’s drained just from sticking to the wall all night, herding patrons into the right spaces and leading limping fighters off the stage when they couldn’t see straight. not an unusual one, but she’s still tired, and having to get her way into the building when the power’s out and people are scrambling just makes her feel like she never even left work.

“and i’m a resident, in the building, so i’d have to say that me being here actually makes sense, don’t you think so, sweetheart?” her boots thud down the corridor as she turns around and closes the distance, no longer dragging her feet anymore. the shadows growing down the hallway are too long, too dark, trailing behind her like the stretch and groan of a mouth of a yawn, dark and waiting, curving around her as she comes up close, leans in. her hair falls out of the messy clip she’d put it up in halfway home, evening nighttime clinging to her like warm hands.

“were you looking for me?” she teases, amused lilt to her voice as her own hands reach out and pull, grip on her hips and bringing her closer. no one’s around, and gyuri’s tired, wants a little comfort after a long night, and eunjae was right here for her and she didn’t even have to look.

gyuri’s smiling, the leather on the palms of her fingerless gloves dragging on fabric, a bit like the winner of a bet, a very lucky fortune, as one of her hands comes up, chipped black nail polish tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, lingering to brush a gentle thumb against eunjae’s cheek. her eyes gleam with the satisfaction of running into her when she would’ve gone looking for her anyways, hands linking together at the low curve of her back.

“looks like i found you all lost in the dark, hm? how long’s the power been out?”

[recollectionblue]

— @feelingsaturated . . . !

tw mentions of substance use, falling down stairs

it’s 4am and the light’s flickering. buzzing, really, a grating sound on seonjae’s ears as his leather gloves slide over another page of the magazine he’s not really reading. he’s got one earbud in, playing something mindless to try and drown out the noise— he’d told his boss, over a hastily scrawled note stuck to the cash register earlier that week, to please fucking fix it! but it’s still there, flickering sometimes and turning the chips aisle into two steps away from a horror movie while picking out your favorite. he hopes customers just know whatever one they want when they come in, he’d rather they grab and go anyways.

it’s late, and it’s hot, because not only is the light fucked, the ac’s not working, and even with the door half propped open with an umbrella stand, it’s still vile in the store, actually. it’s enough that he slides the magazine shut, decides enough’s enough, and looks for the half ladder they have thrown in the back, dragging it to the aisle to climb up and just unscrew the lightbulb. it’s late, so he takes his jacket off, throwing it over the handle as he starts to climb up, and if someone comes in, then, well— he’ll be on this ladder. it won’t matter. he’s climbing up the stairs when he’s hit with a vision. he sees the back, his hand reaching for a switch, the fuse box, comes back to himself with a curse, still halfway down the ladder and stepping down, back, when he stumbles into someone.

he can’t even say anything when he’s taken into another one. it’s dizzying, to get two back to back, because now he’s not himself, anymore, he’s looking through the eyes of someone— there’s a crowd, a whole audience, stage lights, buzzing, bright, blinding, wavering heels and jittery hands, and it’s not just, it’s not just nerves, it’s the feeling of being on something, seonjae would know, it’s enough to make someone unsteady on their shoes, stairs coming into view, no rail, no help, a hand on the dress, pulling it up but it’s not enough, it’s not enough when the shoe slips and she can’t even take a breath before she comes into contact with the floor, sliding down the rest of the stairs and landing, to a chorus of shocked gasps, staring at a broken heel, burning eyes, quick breath, a bloom of pain—

seonjae gasps in air when he comes back. blinks, and blinks again, because the world’s a little dizzy when he has to leave it for a few moments, coming back to see a customer he recognizes. she comes in, they don’t talk. it’s easy, he rings up whatever she picks, they keep quiet, it’s a transaction he looks forward to, because it’s over quick and he doesn’t have to think about small talk, just has to think about the exchange, and then it’s over. seonjae’s trying.

“sorry.” he gasps out, and that silence is broken, that promise is broken, that unspoken one that he’d been so grateful to have. hastily pulls on his jacket, closes up the ladder, scurrying back to the back to put it away, all because he forgot to turn off the lights, should probably do it when he’s leaving— scrambled thoughts, because should he— if he tells her, it’s all over, isn’t it? he’d broken it already, the kind of feeling he got that she didn’t want to be spoken to, either, but.

he knows what it’s like. sometimes he couldn’t even remember things when he was on something, can’t speak on that but can speak on this, that he can’t let that happen if it means she’ll be in pain, later. seonjae returns to the counter hoping she’s still there, chewing on his bottom lip, nerves getting the best of him, remembering that fall, the eyes, really, is what he remembers— all of the eyes, watching.