#meixfey

[feykijung]

` * ∞ optics

his feet are propped up on the arm of the sofa, nintendo switch in hand, eyes bobbing across the screen. it’s animal crossing, of course-- one of the only games he can play without getting frustrated, because it doesn’t exactly require skill to run errands for animals. he’s a little slow in hitting the button to catch fish sometimes, which is irritating, but he’s getting better. he can only dream those skills would translate into making his ability in other video games less abysmal. 

it’s mainly so he doesn’t have to do his homework, of course, and because he isn’t enjoying the book he’s currently reading: historical fiction. sometimes the inaccuracies are funny, but this time, they grate on his nerves. he’ll have to go to the bookstore and get a new one soon.

mei steps into the living room, and kijung looks up briefly as she enters, likely to tell him to do his school work even though she knows he knows everything he could possibly learn in high school. maybe he’ll do it if he’s really bored. 

it’s a strange time for the thought to surface, but the curiosity pricks at him regardless. it comes back around every couple of years, but he never asks because he figures it’s a sore subject. mei’s power to read and erase memories must come with a heavy burden. he can’t imagine; he knows she’s under enough strain, and has been for centuries, so he doesn’t pry despite kijung’s constant wanting to know. he has enough memories in 400 years on his own. he can’t imagine 800 years of other people’s memories.

it feels a little invasive, too. he knows her ability triggers merely by eye contact, and they’ve been together for centuries too-- more than enough time to meet each others eyes hundreds of times. he wonders if she knows his memories better than he does now, and if there’s anything he could ever hope to hide from her. does she just not say anything?

“hey, mei,” he begins, voice casual, yet likely anxiety inducing, clear indication that a question is coming. “when we first met...when you looked at me...what did you see?” 

                      ────────────────────             ` @meixfey *

[feyzihuan]

pass the salt.

          zihuan does not consider himself a petty person -- far from, actually.  he rarely takes offense, rarely holds a grudge;  really, it’s one of his very few positives.

          so the reason why he’s standing here in front of his neighbor’s door, bag of groceries in hand, is not because he’s hung up over the elevator incident.  oh, no.  he’s here because he thinks it’ll be amusing to spend the rest of his days making this kid’s life a living hell -- just because he wants to.

          his forearm is leaning against the frame when the door opens to reveal @meixfey​​.  perfect.  “hey.”  it’s a casual greeting.  casual, like the way his eyes leave her face to slowly rake down her slim form, pausing only briefly at her waist before flickering back up.  casual, like the way the corner of his mouth creases ever so slightly to form that shadow of interest.

          interest that does not lend itself to the words that follow:

          “my stove isn’t working.”  it is, but she doesn’t need to know that.  “vintage gas, pesky lil thing.  mind if i use yours?  i’ll be quick, pinky promise.”

[jinwoofey]

meridiem

with @meixfey

the buzzer rings through the apartment and his insides curl up in agony.

vampire hangovers aren’t the greatest, really. jinwoo is lying flat on the ground when the sound echoes, as he was trying to find the coolest spot in the house where he could still get a little bit of sunshine on his skin, just enough to warm him up and react to the werewolf blood still in his system. the best cure was to ache in some other way, he had found out, and it worked for a while. but then the damned buzzer went off, and his brain screamed inside his skull.

he groaned as loudly as possible as he got up to answer it. the name that followed made him almost sigh his lungs out. “yeah, let her up, but tell her to knock instead of ringing the doorbell”, he replied in a gnarl, and then plopped down on the couch, wearing nothing but sweater pants.

“it’s open,” he made sure to put as much disdain in his voice as possible as the knock inevitably came. “make yourself at home, miss mei. there’s fresh packets in the fridge; please, help yourself.” he barely lifts his head to look at her, instead staring at the ceiling as if the answer to the meaning of life is cemented up there. “to what do i owe the pleasure of your visit?”