#*ft: yeonju

[ncwonil]

👁️all texts!

✆ morning / past

( 9:30 → her ) all I’ve got are chanel bags  ( 9:30 → her ) and tickets to a movie later today( 9:30 → her ) take your pick

✉ wasn’t sent

(  DRAFTS → her ) How could things end up this way?

☎ rushed / past

( 10:04 → her ) 1m

⁇ drunk

( 12:18 → her ) sooooooodfucked( 12:18 → her ) i msii you

✿ suggestive

( 11:57 → her ) so think of me when you do that

ø late night

( 2:45 → her ) I’m at the diner( 2:45 → her ) you know the one

✘ $hateful, accidental

( 5:06  → her ) I don’t wanna fucking see you.( 5:06  → her ) shit no that wasn’t for you baby I SWEAR !

# random

( 2:45 → her ) do you still have that bracelet? 

@ scared

( CALLING… )( 12:02  → her ) yeonju where the hell are you?( CALLING… )

& loving / past

( 4:44 → her ) i swear you get cuter every time i see you

% curious

( 8:27 → her ) would things have changed if we were different people?

ツ excited

( 7:16 → her ) finally got my phone back and saw all your spam selfies wowowow

♀ heartbreaking

( 6:24 → her ) I’m asking too much from you aren’t I( 6:24 → her ) shouldn’t have told you to wait for me

[ncwonil]

ACT ONE / ENTROPY

@ncyeonju

he's chasing down shadows, sprinting at an impossible speed that renders buildings and alleyways alike into a gunmetal blur. relentless, he's feeling fucking relentless,  a transformation that unfurls at the pace of pulses: human, hound, hunter. the gleaming revolver fits in his hands like it was made for him, an extension of his very being to strike down. kill. 

“kang.” a voice booms through his earpiece: shepherd one. they'd been tailing the bastard for weeks—scum in the eyes of the law, another tally mark in his growing hit count. but when they'd burst onto the scene, the asshole managed to have brought two presents with him: a woman in white, and an unknown ghost in black that follows in their escape. three in one mission? it must be christmas already.

“don’t fuck this one up, kang.” 

and if he can't catch all three? pick one and shoot. 

“roger that, chief.” 

the figure darts around a corner, and he skids by the soles of his shoes at the turn and hurtles after. the distance begins to close between them at a frightening pace, seconds, milliseconds, blinks of an eye, and the terrible grin that pulls at his mouth grows in tandem. 

ready, aim, fire. 

bang.