He's drifting away again. Wonder what he's thinking of
@syrooo I DREW YOUR CHILD!! :D (If you want a pic without the writing on the side, lmk)
This is part 1 of 8 (?) of drawing Abia and Inara's friends, where I try to experiment with my art each time. This time, I changed the way I drew the eyes and also the shading of the clothes (I mixed the hard with the soft if you haven't noticed), and I tried to incorporate some of the advice you guys gave me!
I had such a hard time with the body and had to heavily rely on a reference since muscular figures are waaaay out of my skillset, not to mention the male anatomy, but it taught me a bit, so maybe it'll be easier next time!
Anyway, Seojun forgot to feed the campus cats and is all worried, but luckily for him, Inara noticed and fed them for him. She just... didn't tell him, and now she's wondering why he looks troubled LMAO
(Also, Inara's pose is the same one she has in-game. I believe the mod is the Elegant Movements Overhaul 🙂↕️)
The Wayne estate had always carried a certain... atmosphere.
Not the kind spoken of in polite company—nothing so simple as grandeur or elegance—but something quieter. Heavier. Long corridors that held onto footsteps a moment too long. Tall windows that let in light only when it felt particularly theatrical about it. The sort of place where silence was never quite empty, and every room seemed to be waiting for something.
It suited them.
Or rather—it suited her.
Inara Wayne moved through it like she belonged to every shadow and every glint of silver it offered, composed in that effortless, dangerous way that made most people keep their distance without ever quite knowing why. Even now, decades into a marriage that had scandalized half the wizarding world and permanently severed her from the rest of her family, there was something about her that remained untouchable.
Unyielding.
Entirely her own.
But the Wayne estate also had many problems.
It was a grand place—vaulted ceilings, sweeping staircases, enchanted windows that caught the light just right—
Drafty corridors. Dramatic lighting at inconvenient hours. At least seven cats that did not belong to anyone and yet ruled everything.
But none—none—were as persistent as Seojun Marcus Wayne’s inability to behave like a normal person when his wife was not in the room.
It had, unfortunately, escalated over the years.
A sigh here.
A longing glance there.
Perhaps the occasional, “Do return swiftly, my love.”
But marriage—particularly one forged between a man of quiet depth and a woman who had once known very little gentleness—had changed things.
Or rather—
Seojun had discovered that he could, in fact, be dramatic.
And he had never looked back.
Now?
Now the house elves had started placing cushions near his usual “mourning spots” to prevent injury.
the staff had developed a system.
Tea was delivered at regular intervals.
———
that week—
Inara had merely gone to her study.
Her study.
Same floor.
Same hallway.
Seojun had followed her to the door, watched it close, and stood there for a solid thirty seconds before whispering, “So this is how it ends.”
From inside, her voice: “Seojun, I am doing paperwork.”
“I understand,” he replied solemnly. “Duty calls you away from me.”
The door creaked open just enough for her to stare at him.
“...I will be out in twenty minutes.”
“I shall wait an eternity.”
“You will trip over something and break your neck.”
A pause.
“...I shall wait carefully.”
———
Earlier that evening—
Lady Inara Wayne, née of a far less forgiving household, stood near the foyer, fastening her gloves with measured precision.
“I shall be away for a week,” she said, tone even. “The Ministry requires my presence.”
Seojun, who had been seated with a book he had not turned a single page of, went very still.
“A... week.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then, quietly—dangerously calm—
“I see.”
Their daughter, from the stairs, muttered, “Oh no.”
“Of course,” Seojun said, rising. “One must not stand in the way of duty.”
Inara narrowed her eyes slightly. “Seojun—”
“I shall remain here,” he continued, already drifting toward the nearest window, “a mere shadow of the man you once knew.”
“You will remain here and sleep,” she corrected.
“I shall try,” he said, with the air of one preparing for great suffering.
“You will eat.”
“I shall attempt it.”
“You will not haunt the balcony at unreasonable hours.”
A pause.
“...Define unreasonable.”
“Seojun.”
“...Yes, my love.”
———
The moment the carriage had disappeared beyond the gates—
He was on the balcony.
Naturally.
And their daughter—
Poor, long-suffering child—
Had been recruited.
“Inara...” he murmured into the night air, standing at the balcony like a tragic painting. One hand rested over his heart. The other gripped the railing with unnecessary intensity. “Darling..I can’t believe you’ve left me like this.”
A beat.
Wind blew.
From behind him—
A small, long-suffering sigh.
“Harder,” Seojun murmured faintly, not turning. “The despair requires... emphasis.”
A small, deeply tired voice responded, “I’m trying, daddy.”
Their daughter stood a few steps back, cheeks puffed, blowing dramatically toward him in uneven bursts.
“...No, no,” he corrected softly, not even turning. “More feeling.”
“I have feelings,” she said, exasperated. “I’m sleepy.”
“You must channel the sorrow,” he insisted.
“Daddy.”
“Yes, love?”
“Can I go to bed now? I can’t keep blowing wind at you.”
Seojun finally turned.
“I fear,” Seojun continued, undeterred, “that I shall not survive the night in her absence—”
“You had supper.”
“I forced it down.”
“You had seconds.”
A beat.
“...I forced it down twice.”
“I do not understand,” she said now, arms dropping to her sides in defeat, “why the wind is required.”
Seojun’s gaze remained fixed upon the horizon, as though he might summon her return through sheer devotion.
“It heightens the tragedy.”
“There is no tragedy.”
“She is gone.”
“She is in London.”
“...A cruel and distant land.”
“It is two hours away.”
There was a long pause as he looked at her—really looked at her—like he had just remembered she existed.
“...Five more minutes.”
“NO.”
———
The following day,
It was worse.
Seojun stood at the front gates at sunrise, coat draped perfectly, hair slightly disheveled for dramatic effect, slightly resembling a Victorian vampire.
“I will remain here,” he informed the groundskeeper softly, “until she returns.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“…You came back inside for lunch.”
“I was compelled by weakness.”
———
By the second day, their daughter had taken matters into her own hands.
“Okay,” she said, dragging a chair across the balcony with a loud scrape. “If you’re going to do this, we need a system.”
Seojun looked down at her, solemn. “A system?”
“Yes. I blow wind for five minutes. Then you take a break. Then you drink water. Then you stop acting like Mum died.”
A pause.
“She is merely away,” Seojun said quietly.
“I KNOW.”
———
This had been going on for three days.
Three. Entire. Days.
since Inara had left on what she had described—quite plainly—as a brief and necessary engagement.
Three days since she had pressed a kiss to his cheek, adjusted the collar of his coat with absent precision, and told him—very clearly—not to make a spectacle of himself.
Three days since Seojun had decided, with quiet certainty, to ignore that instruction entirely.
Because Inara Wayne—formerly Inara who terrified half of Slytherin and all of her extended family—had gone on a work trip.
A perfectly normal work trip.
She had kissed his cheek, told him to behave, and left.
That was it.
And yet—
At breakfast the following morning, he sat with the same subdued air of someone enduring a great and private suffering, turning his teacup slightly between his fingers.
“Do you think she misses me?” Seojun asked later that morning, sitting at the breakfast table, staring into his tea like it had personally wronged him.
Their daughter didn’t even look up from her book. “No.”
“...You don’t have to answer that so quickly.”
“You asked yesterday. And the day before. And during dinner.”
He went quiet.
Then, softly—“She didn’t take her favorite teacup.”
“She packed it,” the girl said flatly. “You watched her pack it.”
“...Right.”
A pause.
“...She packed it.”
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Eat your toast.”
He obeyed, though without enthusiasm.
———
By the fourth day, the staff had started placing bets.
By the fifth, even the cats were avoiding him.
The staff moved around him with careful neutrality. The cats—faithless creatures that they were—had begun avoiding the balcony entirely. One, an orange thing that had once shown him a great deal of unsolicited affection for years, now regarded him only from a distance, as though reconsidering all previous loyalties.
“You understand,” Seojun told it quietly one afternoon, crouched slightly where it sat on the stone ledge.
“The absence. The quiet.”
The cat blinked at him.
Slowly.
Then stood, turned, and left.
“…Traitor.”
———
Inara, for her part, remained—mercifully—unaware.
At least, for a time.
The letters began on the second day.
Measured at first. Controlled. Almost reasonable.
By the fourth, they were… less so.
She sat at her desk, one leg crossed neatly over the other, opening them with a precision that suggested she already knew what she would find.
My love,
The estate feels… altered in your absence. Even the light behaves differently.
She set it aside.
Opened another.
Darling,
I stood on the balcony this evening and found myself wondering if the wind had always been this unkind—
She closed that one before finishing it.
Darling,
The roses have begun to wilt in your absence. I fear I may follow soon.
She closed it.
Opened another.
My love,
I stood on the balcony today and the wind felt particularly cruel—
She didn’t finish it.
“…He’s fine,” she said, folding the letter with precision.
Across from her, a colleague watched with poorly concealed interest. “He is being dramatic again, I take it?”
Inara folded the letter once. Neatly. Exactly.
“He is alive,” she said.
A pause.
“…He has our daughter with him.”
“That poor child.”
Inara did not disagree.
———
Meanwhile—
“Do you think she got my letters?” Seojun asked.
“Yes,” his daughter said.
“Do you think she read them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she cried?”
“No.”
“…Not even a little?”
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“She sent a reply.”
He froze.
“…She did?”
“It’s on the table.”
He didn’t move at first.
Then—very slowly—he stood, walked over, and picked it up like it might disappear.
He opened it.
Read.
Silence.
“…What does it say?” his daughter asked.
Seojun blinked.
Then, very quietly—“…She told me to stop traumatizing the staff.”
A pause.
“…And to stop making you participate in ‘emotional wind effects.’”
His daughter nodded. “Good.”
He looked down at the letter again.
There was something softer now. Less tragic. More… fond.
“…She said she’ll be home tomorrow.”
That did it.
The entire mood shifted instantly.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” his daughter repeated.
He folded the letter carefully. “That’s soon.”
“You’ve been acting like she died.”
“I have not.”
“You told the gardener you might not recover.”
“…That was private.”
———
And yet—
For all his theatrics—
The following day, the estate felt… different.
Not brighter. Not louder.
Just—expectant.
Only stillness.
Waiting.
Seojun stood near the entrance, posture composed, hands loosely clasped behind his back. There was no balcony. No sighing. No quiet declarations into the wind.
Their daughter lingered nearby, watching him carefully. “…You’re being strange.”
“I am being patient.”
“You’re never patient.”
Before he could respond—
The door opened.
Inara stepped inside, travel-worn in the smallest, most imperceptible ways. Her hair slightly loosened, her expression composed but faintly tired, like someone who had spent too long dealing with things beneath her interest.
She barely had time to set her gloves aside before—
“Inara.”
It was not loud.
Not theatrical.
Just her name—low, steady, carrying something that had no need for performance now that she was there.
She looked up.
And he was already in front of her.
His hand came to rest at her waist, drawing her close with a gentleness that spoke far louder than any lament.
There was no hesitation in it. No dramatics left to perform. Just the quiet certainty of his hands settling at her waist, drawing her in, holding her there as though the past several days had finally resolved into something solid again.
“…You have returned.” he murmured.
“I said I would.”
“It feels sooner.”
A breath of a laugh left her, softer than most ever heard from her. “It has been a week.”
“A long one.”
From behind them—
“HE WAS UNBEARABLE.”
Inara pulled back just enough to look past his shoulder, one brow lifting.
Then her gaze returned to him.
“…Were you?”
“No.”
“Yes,” their daughter insisted.
Inara studied him for a moment—really studied him, in that sharp, knowing way of hers that missed very little.
Then, without comment, she reached up and adjusted the collar of his coat. Smoothed it. Straightened it.
Grounded him.
“I leave for seven days,” she said lightly, “and the entire estate falls into ruin.”
“It did not fall into ruin.”
“The staff says otherwise.”
“They are dramatic.”
She almost smiled.
“Of course they are.”
A pause.
Something softer settled between them then—familiar, worn-in, unspoken but entirely understood.
“I missed you,” he admitted, quieter now.
“I am aware.”
“…You wrote back.”
“I did.”
“You were not particularly sympathetic.”
“You were not particularly reasonable.”
That—finally—earned the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth.
“…Perhaps.”
Their daughter made a noise of deep, long-suffering disbelief.
Inara exhaled, something warmer threading through her expression now as she took his hand.
“Come,” she said. “You may be insufferable later. I have just returned.”
“I was not insufferable.”
“You involved our child in weather simulation.”
“That was a collaborative effort.”
“It was not.”
———
From the doorway, their daughter watched, arms folded.
“…Thank Merlin,” she muttered. “I am retiring from wind duty.”
Marnie, ever perceptive, flicked her tail in agreement.
⸻
Later that evening—
The balcony stood empty.
The wind moved as it always had.
And somewhere inside the estate, quieter now, steadier—
For all the sighing and the murmured lamentations and the frankly unnecessary use of architectural features for dramatic leaning—
There remained something unmistakably sincere beneath it.
Because when she returned—
There was no audience.
No balcony.
No wind.
Only the quiet sound of the door opening.
Stillness.
And somewhere, deep within the dignified halls of the Wayne estate—
Peace, at last, was restored.
Until the next business trip.
———
I drew the seojun drawing and I just need to say—I chose that red and black palette on PURPOSE because LOOK AT HIM??? aged up Seojun is actually insane like why does he look that good 😭 the colours suit him so well it’s not even funny—he’s literally just standing there and somehow serving full “quiet vampire in a candlelit manor” energy without even trying
and Inara??? don’t even get me STARTED—she looks absolutely gorgeous like it’s actually ridiculous. the kind of pretty that’s a little intimidating at first but then you realize she’s just standing there owning the entire room without effort. they match each other so well it hurts EVIE YOU ATEEEE
also he would be the ultimate girl dad idc—like this man looks terrifying but would absolutely let his daughter do his hair, carry her around like she owns him, and then go brood dramatically on the balcony five minutes later
renn and dan are in the background like “here we go again…” because this happens EVERY time she’s gone for more than five minutes 😭 he’s just dramatically lifeless one second and the next he’s glued to her like he’ll actually perish if he lets go. they don’t even react anymore, just exchanging that tired look like yeah… he’s down bad, nothing new here
[clingiest man alive award goes to him actually]
Muhehehehe I love them your honour 😭😭
AWAWAWA THEM THEM THEM THEM THEY'RE SO CUTE, I DON\T KNOW HOW YOU DRAW THIS WELL SO FAST BUT I'M SO IMPRESSED, THEY LOOK SO CUTE
HAHAHA THE PORTRAYAL OF INARA'S SO REAL, SHE IS NOT USED TO THE AFFECTION
Obviously had to make a super quick doodle of them between studying. Seo, she's not responding because you broke her. Come back again in 2-3 business days 💀
breaking news: local hockey player forgets sport, discovers girlfriend.
on ice, and still he melts 😽
AND he looks at her like that in public??? insane. [he’s supposed to be practicing btw]
he finishes practice on time—he always does. routine, discipline, all that. but today, he doesn’t leave. doesn’t even take his skates off properly, just lingers by the rink like he’s forgotten something important. maybe he has.
because she steps onto the ice right as he’s meant to go.
and suddenly, nothing else matters.
he tells himself he’ll watch for a minute. just one. just until she warms up. but then she starts moving—light, effortless, like the ice was made for her—and he’s done for. leaning against the barrier, gloves half off, eyes following every spin, every turn. he doesn’t even realize how obvious it is until she glides a little closer, slowing just enough, looking up at him with that small, knowing smile.
he huffs, shakes his head like she’s the problem here. like she’s the one distracting him.
but he doesn’t leave.
he stays until the rink empties, until it’s just her and the quiet hum of the lights, until she finally skates over and stops right in front of him. and even then, he doesn’t say much—just reaches out, steadying her by the waist like it’s instinct, like it’s always been instinct.
later, when the cold starts biting a little too much, he’s the one pulling her in, pressing quick, absentminded kisses along her cheek, her temple—anywhere he can reach—like he’s making up for all the time he spent just watching instead of touching.
like he’d stay behind every single time, just to see her like this again.
————
Thank you for letting me borrow your girl Inara for this drawing @pearlevie !!!
I had THE time of my life drawing her pretty self in her cute little outfit SKOSOOAKAJDJSISKS AHHHHH
They look so good omg my HEARTTTT
I love these bittersweet babies ahhhh
This is kind of a modern HL au [as u can see, with the gryffindor hockey team]
Ofc go read the fic Jenna made of them, it’s so funny, and Inara’s portrayed so well 🤭
My part of the collab
@syrooo’s part!!
(Now that Cato mentioned it in the comments, the funny part of this is that I drew it with an angsty scenario in mind of Inara dying, considering how she canonically dies early, whereas Jenna had the cuter scenario of Seo being dramatic for his wife LMAO. The duality of man 💀)
