@sgnhna | a terrible price
jongin stands like a man amidst a hurricane, his feet planted like oak trees, his eyes dark and unyielding, a clipboard on his arm, pages and pages pinned there while he rifles through notes and lists, his gaze shifting between that and the giant empty stage set before him. he’s trying not to think of the girl who belongs more in this space than he does, the platform and the lighting and the music and the nonsense that yoori frequently distracts herself by, he’s trying not to think of the last time they saw each other, their words, their mess, their general chaos. still. his teeth are on edge, sharpened by the way he grinds them against the whetstone of his perpetually hellish life.
today has him in a blackened mood, ever since he woke up this morning, the freshly minted promise of an architecture project doing little to assuage his frustrations, but he only shows it in the tightness of his shoulders, the heated laser of his glances, the quiet tension surrounding him like an atmosphere. the room is barren, save for himself, the stage spread out hopeful and silent as he imagines what he could build here, what he could put there, what he could fit in between shadows and curtains. right now, it’s all conjecture, dreamstuff and possibilities, but he knows what he wants to do, he knows what direction he wants to go in.
somewhere off to his right, a door opens and closes, and footsteps enter in, and he shuts his eyes and sighs for a moment, wishing he’d come in earlier, wishing he’d left sooner. he was hoping not to run into little miss mouse today, even though the director had clearly told him to work with her for the duration of the design. “about damn time. you’re late,” he accuses her, having no actual idea what time it is at all. he hasn’t looked at his phone since waking up and he makes no move to do so now.
