#r:esponded

[zureo-blog]

@ksung:

[ txt; Fetus ] You think your father’s reputation can protect you from this? [ txt; Fetus ] The moment you stop hiding behind people, I will skin you alive. 

[ sms: shortcake ]  don’t be so quick to assume. i can get by just fine without my father’s reputation. get your facts straight before you speak. it’ll save you from looking any more foolish than you already do. [ sms: shortcake ] if you think you’re capable of doing that, then why don’t you come and try me? make sure to let me know in advance, though, kim. i’ll prepare you a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. i can’t meet my date empty handed. 

[zureo-blog]

@pullstrings​:

( … )

Two bags full of new clothing later, her umbrella in hand, she spotted one person of interest.

Taking a few steps forward, she tilted her head up and smirked.

“Wow, there are drowned rats crawling the streets in broad daylight? The city has really gone to hell.”

The rain was sudden, and while she had prepared itself, it seemed Taeyong hadn’t. At least, his hair that was looking flatter and flatter indicated he hadn’t. The rain was steadily increasing and people were starting to rush out of the street into whatever shop they could. Jungah wasn’t all that concerned, since she knew she’d be going to the comfort of the spa soon, but she was mildly concerned about the flats she was wearing—the rain could wreak havoc on shoes.

Jungah felt a bit cocky since they were in public. She twirled her umbrella in her hand lightly, spraying a bit of water his way, as if the increasing rain wasn’t enough. “What are you doing caught up in the rain?” Yet, it would do her no good to rile him too much up in public, so she decided to be as generous as she could and held out her umbrella. “I can give you some shelter for a while—” Briefly, she pulled it back, raising an eyebrow and giving him a small, teasing smile. “Just don’t bite.” 

June thirteenth, seven days left until Summer. Taeyong was but one of the many fools who had made the vacuous mistake of heading out of his apartment without checking the forecast. This entire plight could have been avoided if he had done so, but given both the date and clear skies, he assumed that the chance of showers would be scarce. Extremely scarce, at that.

He’s taken shelter underneath his physics’ textbook for the time being, but it’s made no difference in whether he was shielded or not. Taeyong was incredibly wet, drenched from head to toe. The time he’d spent on his hair went to waste as silken tresses fell victim to Mother Nature’s wrath, flat whilst his fringe remains matted down against his forehead. This was bearable in the beginning, as the rainstorm started off light and tenuous. But, progressively worsened as time ticked by.

As if he wasn’t peeved enough, Jungah made a special appearance with her trademark smirk and snarky riposte, both were expected of her. He thinks he should be used to this kind of treatment by now, and yet, she still manages to get under his skin whenever they’re together.

“Funny.” It’s a dry, arid comment as he returns his arm back down to his side and faces her. If his textbook didn’t help keep him dry earlier, then it certainly won’t help keep him dry now.

Taeyong’s given up trying to protect himself from the rain because he deems his efforts futile. He’s already soaked as if, that won’t change unless he guides himself out of the rain. But be that as it may, he still makes the effort to shield himself when remnants from Jungah’s umbrella are flung his way, frowning. Seething through a frustrated sigh, he swats her umbrella away in much the same way one might do when they’re dealing with a pesky fly.

Then again, Jungah was not much different.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He clicks his tongue, using the back of his hand to wipe away the droplets of water he discerns lingering on his right cheek. Taeyong sniffs, his nose is running. He knows he’s bound to catch a cold sooner or later, as symptoms were already beginning to show. “I didn’t bring an umbrella with me.” If that wasn’t painfully obvious, then truly, he does not know what is. Speaking of which, his gaze flickers over the umbrella now hovering over his head; to his surprise, Jungah offered him hers, albeit for a brief moment. He’s tempted to accept, but his pride kicks in and he refuses, his hand meets hers and he pushes it toward her, lightly. “Forget it. I’ll be fine.”

[zureo-blog]

@pullstrings:

( … )

Jungah walked right toward Taeyong, her arms crossing over one another once she got just a hair short of meter away from him. She kept her distance, he noticed, but she still seemed… calm. Unreadable. She stared at him as if she could dispose of him quickly rather than the other way around—so who was she?

He got his answer, sort of.

“This district belongs to the Kangmulpa.” Jungah’s words echoed that of her father, always making sure their names were known to those it was necessary to reveal it to. “So, why are you here without permission?” Whatever business he had to perform should have been sorted out. Her tone was as direct as her gaze at Taeyong was. She was curious now that she had seen him up close. He was dressed well and was young, so he wasn’t normal, by any means. “Furthermore,” she continued on, “This man is a member of the Kangmulpa, so he’s under our protection. Anything you need to deal with concerning him, you can sort out with me.”

The young member started to take a few steps toward Jungah, past Taeyong, but Taeyong quickly pivoted and faced him. “I’m not done yet.”

That’s when Jungah quickly walked behind Taeyong and gripped onto his wrist, giving it a light tug. “He’s new.” It wasn’t an excuse, really, but this lifestyle wasn’t exactly something the young man had a lot of experience with. This was a sour way to ease him into things. She tightened her grip. “And any act you commit against him you commit against me. So it’d be best if you and I had a chat.”

That, and the men who had accompanied here were slowly easing in toward the three of them. 

unnecessary interference, unwanted company; those are two of the things he fucking detests.

taeyong catches a glimpse of the gun pointed his way, but he wasn't fazed by its appearance. why would he be? when he's already been through several instances where he's found himself at either end of the barrel; as the wielder, and as the victim.

as if the man was but a spec of dirt, he dusts them off his shoulder and diverts his attention toward the woman who was now beside him. "i'm aware." he pauses, gaze perusing jungah from head-to-toe. she's well dressed, seems to have exercised a great deal of care in putting together her outfit today. though, not in a way that was too ostentatious, or too sophisticated. in a way, her style isn't much different from his: clean and simple, save for a few accessories. when he's finished, their gazes meet for the second time tonight and he leans further in until their faces are at level with one another. "you see, your little friend over there has stolen something that belongs to me earlier, and i'm here to simply take back what's rightfully mine."

his posture returns to its original stature as he straightens his spine, returning his focus over the man who he had left alone earlier, prior to her arrival. "if he's a member, then treat this as a lesson." his voice trails off, glancing at her through the corner of his eye. "he needs to learn how to fight his own battles. otherwise, he won't stand a chance in this world alone."

then he stops, dead in his tracks, and turns over his shoulder until he's come face-to-face with the one of audacity. jungah, she's doing it again. she's meddling; she's sticking her nose into his business and concerning herself with matters that do not necessarily person to her. taeyong has already brushed her off earlier, how many more times will he need to do that before she finally gets the message that he doesn't care. he doesn't care that this district belongs to the kangmulpa, doesn't care that he's trespassed, doesn't care that the man is a member, doesn't care whether he's new or not, and doesn't care for whatever the fuck jungah has to say; more notably, to him.

his eyes take way to his wrist encompassed in her hand, then to her own brown orbs after he, and quite violently so, jerked his arm out of her grasp. jungah is stubborn, clearly he sees that. yet, it is to be noted that, taeyong is just as bad as she is. if not, then worse. "listen princess," he stresses the term, blatant mockery drips from his tone as he furrows his brows. "what makes you think i'd treat him any differently because he's new? because he has you to back him up? he could be moon jae in for all i care, and my attitude toward him still won't change."

[zureo-blog]

@tempuris:

(` the slender strings of bones coated by the frail of skin layers coils to the frame of a fist set to his direction when the movement is built into the air, twisting the frame of a long arm for a split of second before releasing the grasp upon the latter’s palm. it is still amusing.) How about no. (` building across the thin lines stained of crimson is the pleasantly occupied shape of thin lips, a set of hazel orbs laid upon the male as the wicked of taunt erupts from its confinements, the previous set of fingers set to halt the other’s action now traveling along the silk of chestnut strands nonchalantly. ) You really have nothing better to do, huh?

[ `immense detestation, it is the single most notable force to the sheer weight behind the audacious punch he had thrown at the elder. calloused fingers enclosed against his palm, the raven-haired immortal failed to notice the way his nails dug into his once unmarred skin, drawing pools of blood beneath the minuscule cuts. his fist remains firm and locked in place even after the swift interception had unfolded, immediately prying his hand out from the grip. he remains silent, countenance hardening over time as he perceived their riposte. every word coming from the other infuriates him in ways he did not think we’re possible, as does their mere existence. age, rank, supposed superiority – whatever the fuck byun baekhyun was – none of it fazes him, not even to the slightest degree. inundated by a second wave of emotions, he does not hesitate as he reaches forward and captures the elder by the throat, shoving them against the nearest wall. his grip is relentless, as is the way his crimson orbs pierce through the pair of staring directly into his own. ] I told you, didn’t I? I told you to stop interfering with my life and stay the fuck out of my sight. Are you fucking dense or just plain oblivious? What part of that wasn’t clear to you the first time? [ `there’s more bite to his words than intended, grip tightening to the point where he’s positive bruises would begin to form amidst the grasp. ]

[zureo-blog]

@opheliade:

maroon is his voice colour. a smooth, rich velvety dark chocolate with a small rasp. despite having such a warm voice, when he speaks, yuno feels a cold shudder to the core. “did you get that line out of a movie, taeyong?”

he doesn’t look taeyong in the eye. his voice is muttered, quivering like a bird with broken wings. there’s still something about the acquaintance that he’s uncertain of. “it sounds decent. would you mind standing still for a moment? i need a quick sketch.”

“you make the perfect bad boy for the new dating sim i’m ━ forced into ━ designing.” 

“i was joking.”

repression is difficult when it is not of second nature, but difficult does not always mean impossible. this is distinctly illustrated in the way taeyong restrained himself from responding how he would have liked, churlishly and sardonically, as if to smother yuno’s query under a pillow of contempt. without a word, he leans back until the baluster bears his weight and spares a glance over his shoulder. the han river looks beautiful tonight, even more so under the light of a thousand stars. 

“...”

when yuno speaks, he listens because he does not have a choice. “so, this is why you asked me to come out here.” his retort was all but immediate, gaze returning to yuno’s; half-lidded. here, taeyong notices that their own eyes seemed to be focused on everything but him. albeit curious of why, he cared little for the answer. "tell me something, yuno."

"if i do stay still, what will you give me in return? my services aren’t free.”

[zureo-blog]

@ofkngs​:

There was a pop and pain started to envelop his entire shoulder as he strained to keep the male from dropping off the side of the building. The grip he had on Taeyong’s upper arm was deadly and would leave bruises of the incident for weeks, but he couldn’t allow him to die in such a way. This wasn’t suicide. He couldn’t just decide to die from a huge height. They weren’t friends - not really - just two men who happened to always be there at the right time since they had the same enemies. He breathed deeply through his nose while his knee was slammed up against the brick edge to keep him from tumbling over with him. He stared down at him with a determination that grew the more he felt the grip slowly start to slip. He was sweating while the sounds of a fight behind started to die down. Seungjun was never truly alone. He always had his members at his back serving him when he needed them. He tried his best to get his footing before finding his adrenaline and letting it pump through. The pain wasn’t unbareble, but it hurt like a bitch as he was  able to drag him back over the edge to safety. He had popped his arm out of his shoulder and when he finally let go he knelled beside him stared directly into his eyes. “Pop it back in.”

The concept of death is all but foreign to him, for he has found himself in several situations where he was one mistake away from losing his life—and this altercation here was by no means to be considered an exception. In his life, death tends to follow him like his shadow; clings onto him like his own personal scent, and refuses to leave him be in spite of how hard he tries to shake them off of his back. It reminded him of a woman his “father” used to push onto him when he was in his late teens.

Here, Taeyong sees Seungjun struggling and almost wants to tell him to let go; leave [him] be. He’s tempted to, but the desire remains trapped behind sealed lips as he’s forced to hang on and watch them with hopeful eyes.

What ensues next takes place before he can fully wrap his mind around it. His palms meet the ground first, then his body soon caves in and follows suit shortly afterwards. Taeyong maneuvers himself onto his back, attempting to not only recompose himself, but catch his breath too. His throat feels tight and his lungs burn, screaming for air each time he opens his mouth. His inhales are sharp and his exhales are unstable, chest ascending and descending in a quickened pace until he can breath easily. He ignores the pain deriving from the bruises forming on his upper arm because he’s entirely much too disquieted to even think about them, but knows that they’re still there nonetheless.

Had it not been for Seungjun’s odd request, Taeyong would’ve used this time to recover. His eyes open and his attention diverts over towards where they are, brows narrowed in mild astonishment. “You want me to what?” He’s looking at them as though they’re crazy, assumes they are, but understands he’s in no position to judge since he’d do the same thing.

He’s exhausted, but not too exhausted to act. “Fine.” It comes out as a drawl, accompanied by a single sigh. Taeyong pushes himself off the pavement and faces Seungjun, thereby guiding them down until they’re on the ground. “But don’t give me shit if I fuck up and make things worse than they already are.” He kneels before them and grabs their arm by the wrist; pressing his foot onto their side while he pulls their arm toward him firmly and steadily, minimal force employed as to get the muscle of their shoulder to give just enough until the head of the humerus moves beyond the lip of the shoulder cup. His fails on his first attempt; succeeds when slightly more force is exerted. There’s a nasty pop that makes him want to grimace, inquisitive gaze leveling over theirs.

”That might’ve worked. Try moving your arm.”

[zureo-blog]

@jaenv: 

( … )

When Jaehyun sees the message that popped on the screen of his phone, he knew that it’s been too long that he’s gone missing, and he should go back because all he ever consumed were numerous amounts of water and wine that he found on the basement that is still intact within the mansion, and crackers. Expired crackers.

I miss you.

Insignificance is a part of his head—he’s never enough, maybe he is, but not all the time that he’s enough. To some people, he may be, but to himself, he lacks a lot of things, and it’s been an eternal struggle to cope up with the fact that there’s only one person who could love him as he is, and it’s also the same person who hates him more than anything else – himself.

He knows that whatever he does would affect the things that would happen ahead of time, his head is clouded with the thoughts of actually ending the misery that suffocates him but then again, the reason for that is because he can never move on from the darkness that became his only comfort at times as such. He’s confused, his emotions are unstable, although calm, Jaehyun possessed that kind of trait that a lot of people find hard to establish, he doesn’t give a fuck.

( msg: taeyong. ) I’m cold, hyung.

( msg: taeyong. ) and there’s no amount of heat that could make me feel warm.  

Interminable days, followed by somber nights. 

He found himself standing in front of Jaehyun’s apartment again, staring at the citrine alloy of copper engraved on the door for approximately five minutes now, debating whether he should enter or not. This is his fourth time here within the span of a week, each visit without a purpose.

His fingers unfurl from around the doorknob, forehead pressed to the door in disconsolation. Taeyong wonders why he’s even here. The owner isn’t home, hasn’t been home in ages, and made no exact indication as to when he’ll return––if––he’ll ever return. With that in mind, he’s aware he has no business here, and yet, as if he were a stray pup who’d been abandoned by his owner, he has taken himself to the only home he’s ever known of: Jung Jaehyun. 

It’s only when his phone buzzes that Taeyong snapped out of his reverie, half-lidded stygian opticals passing a fleeting glance down at the device he keeps enclosed within his fingers. Mulling over the sender’s name in his mind, it takes him a full ten seconds to realize who it’s from. 

He takes a moment to reread, and another to respond. 

[ sms: Jaehyun ] Where are you at? [ sms: Jaehyun ] I’m coming to get you. 

Taeyong pockets his hand and hastily searches through its contents for his earbuds. When they’re found, the input is plugged into the jack and he calls the other on his way out of the building. Call him old-fashioned, but he has always preferred this method of communication above all else; deems talk cheap if one isn’t able to muster the courage to blatantly voice out their opinions in front of the opposing party. 

One rings. Pick up. Two rings. Please pick up. Four rings. Pick up the fucking phone. Five rings. “Jung Jaehyun.” He hisses beneath his breath, clutching down on the device as if he harbored the intention to crush the damned thing in his grasp. Six, seven. He ignores the doorman’s farewell and exits through the main entrance, frustrated and impatient. 

Then comes the eighth: the rings cease and he’s concerned his call would be sent to voicemail. But that never happens. He clears his mind and drowns out the sounds around him, focuses on the breathing he’s able to discern on the other line, albeit vague. His heart nearly skips a beat. 

“Jaehyun?” He stops in front of the building, underneath the canopy and protected from the relentless August showers. “Can you hear me?”

[zureo-blog]

@jaenv​:

“How the fuck could you still say such thing when you’re the one who wronged me, Taeyong?” There’s no Hyung, there’s no respect, all he has for the other was anger.

He happened to know about it without the other’s consent, which felt worse than how it probably would if Taeyong was honest about everything. Jaehyun isn’t a person who holds grudge unless it took something from him, something important like his mother, or when maybe he almost lost his sanity creating a program that he would show his organization, knowing that it would put them in a good stance and yet what happened? They all turned to him, creating that fucked up justification of how he is a threat.

Taeyong made no different action from them, when he was supposed to be leaning on the greater good despite its consequential tendency. He should have known better than to force himself to do things that weren’t his problem in the first place, and he knew, Jaehyun knew all about it, waiting for him to gather up the courage that he may not have at the moment and for Taeyong to tell him everything.

The drugs, the abuse, the optimized weapons for security, the money, all of those wrong doings for the worst people—those are the people who are his organization’s target for elimination. And by eliminating, it doesn’t mean killing, it means that they have no profound status in the society nor they have what it takes to create a better and warm community, that’s why they should rot in jail.

He had lost so much respect for Taeyong now, even though it was unintentional. He didn’t want to let it out like this but he felt like he had the power to stop it if he wasn’t too late, but he was too late. Taeyong already made a lot of mistakes and it could be balanced with the way he was always so empathetic to people, but right now, that’s not enough.

“You’ve been fucking along with your father, your god damn step-father, he’s not even your real father and yet you let him control you. You always fucking ask me to lean on you when times are rough but look at you, depending only on yourself. Am I not trustworthy, Taeyong? I could have saved you. I really could have, but you didn’t let me. I’m through, I’m tired and I hope you know that. They’re coming for you, and there’s nothing I could do to help.” 

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your path.

their words were as sharp as a knife, racking delicately against his skin, subsequently creating abrasions that would take ages to heal. he never meant to hurt him, no. that was the last thing he wanted to do, and yet, his very own method of “protecting” the younger ended up doing the complete opposite; ended up doing far more harm than good. neither of them benefitted from it. rather, it merely created a strain in their relationship, prying them further and further away from each other. they had gone days without speaking to each other, without seeing each other. he had even gone as far as to booking himself a few nights at a nearby hotel to give jaehyun the space taeyong assumed he needed. 

a week has passed since then, and they have been living their lives as if nothing had happened. but taeyong couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t go on with his life knowing he had not only fractured their friendship, but harmed jaehyun in ways he promised himself he would never do. 

the two were practically an arm’s length away from each other. one small step, maybe two, would probably be more than enough to close the distance between them. yet, why does taeyong feel like they were miles apart? he averted his gaze away from the latter and shot a glance down at his feet. the tips of his fingers twitched as silence remained slapped over his mouth, just as if they were itching to reach forward and grab onto the man in front of him, but they don’t. what’s keeping him so still? what’s preventing him from acting? he didn’t know the answer to any of those questions, and he was afraid it made him appear pathetic; weak even. 

“jaehyun.” it was the only thing he managed to bring himself to utter after moments of agonizing silence, though he still was not satisfied with his retort. clearing his throat once; he inhales, then slowly exhales. a simple two-step procedure jaehyun had taught him when they were children. just take a deep breath and relax, everything will be fine. he could still hear the younger’s voice echo through his mind; their voice soft - cracked every now and then thanks to puberty. it’s a memory he finds amusing, yet endearing, one that he has long since etched in the depths of his mind. he still practices that procedure today, and it is why he has yet to lose his composure (although he was standing on a loose thread). “i know what i’m about to say won’t be enough to repair the damage that i have caused,” he pauses, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “before you push me away, before they come and take me away, jaehyun, give me this moment to explain myself.” 

please.