the chase.
( noah goes from cold to hot whenever @ideunsol is around ; a dinner party somewhere in gangnam. )
for once, noah finds comfort in the cold.
he’s alone on a terrace, classical music and chatter behind him. winds nip at his hollow cheeks when he inhales nicotine and tobacco, lets the plume of toxins burn at the back of his throat before exhaling. dancing smoke is quick to vanish and easy to masquerade as a sigh of breath. he resorts to this, to hunched shoulders as he hides from the world he detests. the feelings are mutual. there are too bitter pills to swallow and sour memories. too many friendly faćades that are just that—masks. but he shouldn’t be complaining, he isn’t the most approachable of folk.
but he has to be on his best behaviour for the family prestige. sickening, really. especially when he bites his tongue and draws blood whenever someone dismisses ‘that silly singing group of yours.’ laughter is well orchestrated coming from jaws shaved. the hall is full of beautiful people, and noah has to thank their plastic surgeons for that. makes them a little less sore on the eyes.
noah doesn’t want to return. doesn’t want to exchange in shallow chit-chat he won’t remember in two minutes. yet he does because it really is cold out, and a thin suit and tie can’t fare well. so, he’s stuck breathing in overpriced cologne on overpriced dresses, some he has to toe around because they’re too long. must compensate for something, he thinks, as he snatches a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
thank god for alcohol.
he doesn’t see her by the ridiculous bar, which is rather pathetic on his end. noah usually spots pretty faces a mile away. maybe he’s seen eunsol too much back then that he’s grown desensitized. or maybe he’s trying to avoid her—and the indescribable things she makes him feel where his heart should be. should be because his heart can’t react; he isn’t capable of love or anything close to it, but the tie around his neck squeezes taut and a sweaty palm and rigid fingers almost causes his drink to spill.
instead words do, gravelly and rendering. “hey. fancy seeing you here.” except, it really isn’t. this is their world. they met here. exchanged hellos here. and… other things. his mouth goes dry, stares at hers for a moment before flickering to her eyes, which is a bigger mistake. he gets reeled in. “you look… great,” but he restrains himself and settles on that. on something basic and mundane and won’t give the gallop of his pulse away.