throwaway thought: stalker boyfriend dex this obsessive boyfriend dex that… well what about equally unwell reader who gets so obsessed with dex that, secretly watching him break down after losing his job (s3), decides to kidnap him and stuff him in her trunk! reader who puts him in a shock collar when he's knocked out! reader who instructs dex when he wakes up in the passenger seat to put your hands on the dashboard and don't move or i'll fucking kill you! good bye new york <3
the execution of jung hae in acting for the emotional scene. that unpredictable and almost off-tune tone he used might seem weird and did not fit the emotional breakdown. but....
i can feel how realistic it would be in reality. no one would be able to said what Seung Hyo said in an articulate and calculated tone. his break down in the middle of the sentence i can predict, but his unusual way to express certain word and how he elevated his tone at the end of the sentence for "언제까지 숨기려고 했어~" (how long were you planning to hide it". i was quite taken aback. i have never seen that kind of tone during an emotional scene before. at first it sounded weird to me but then it elevate his emotional state at the moment. it sounded like when a child was sad and it fits perfectly somehow.
and one more for his "야. 아니, 말이 안 돼잖아!" (it doesn’t make sense!). we almost couldn’t hear that clearly. almost, because he can't control his emotion and it makes your tongue slip and loose. damnn really a perfect execution for the scene. it really pains me but i love to torture myself and i had to repeat that scene a few time because of him.
Okay but the international trailer is EVEN MORE AWESOME! I love the playing up on Glen's age and the going "full titanic" joke!
I'm sorry but this is WAYYYYYY BETTER than the teaser and I love the song choice here and I love how fun and flirty Glen is. I still have a lot of thoughts on the immaturity of Sydney but overall:
CW: PTSD, drug abuse, recapture, regretful Whumper, mention of past torture, Lima syndrome
PART 11 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 13
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
"Now comes the best part!" Brooke whispered, quickly sliding the pot from the stove top onto a coaster. The golden liquid inside was bubbling up to the rim, but without a chance to spill over, it was already poured down onto a blanket of crushed ice.
She had to be steady now, line for line of sticky syrup was traced back and forth, patiently waiting for her guest to join in.
Elliot did, eventually, by placing popsicle sticks down and coiling the already hardening candy around them. Although he always kept his left hand in his pocket, far away from any curious eyes, he managed to roll them along the lines of syrup quite well, until a stack of sweet rewards was formed.
"And you never did this when you were younger?" Brooke mumbled while her teeth were desperately trying to unstick from each other.
Elliot nibbled at the corner of his taffy, clumps of ice were still stuck to it: "I don't think so, our snow was too dirty. My uncles took me to winter festivals, though."
He wouldn't have come, if his guilty conscience hadn't forced him this time. He declined invitations and outings over and over since he moved back home, so many had stopped prodding after a while. Except her, she was stuck in his messages like a tick, coming up with all sorts of reasons to meet up again.
When asked if it wasn't a bit early for winter traditions, without any snow to be seen in August, Brooke was determined that it was never too soon for maple taffy. She didn't wait for the seasons.
She didn't question his absence either, and they never talked about the job - how it used to be. As the days grew shorter, so did his hope to join her once more.
All in all, Brooke hid her interest very well, even after he had to take his daily meds in front of her: little chalky pills he swallowed down with the help of tart and sticky candy.
"So, I thought," she started after they cleaned up all the dishes, "we could watch a movie, to get the Christmas spirit going."
"No space for Halloween in your holiday plans?" Elliot asked with a tired smile, though he wouldn't mind leaving horror movies on pause this year. Or however long it would take until he felt like himself.
Brooke shook her head: "Not really my thing, but we could call it even and watch Nightmare Before Christmas."
A part of him wanted this more than anything, this comfy sliver of normality, but a glance out of the window was enough to tell that Elliot had overstayed his welcome.
"It's getting dark already," the quiet apology towards his host was rewarded with a scrunched brow, "My, uh, mom wants me to help with dinner."
She didn't mind the shitty lie, that's what she got for gossiping around with strangers in the restroom. Brooke was sure Elliot had been told about the quick chat in every detail.
"No problem, what about next week?"
He agreed eventually, planning to cancel if he felt like it. Or maybe they could do it at his place, his parents would love this sign, him linking-up with friends again.
Elliot was a bit embarrassed by it, more so scared, but Brooke even walked him to the train stop. Standing engulfed by a crowd should've made him feel secure, at least he desperately waited for it.
I'm safe, I'm safe, nothing is going to happen. Nevertheless, Elliot recognized him sometimes: in advertisements, in the bus, as sneaking shadows at the corner of his eyes.
It was nice being out again, exhausting, but nice. He waved Brooke goodbye.
Everything is okay. It hadn't been a bad day, so why did he feel so uneasy? It's been fine so far, no need to start whining. Especially back home, I'll just upset mom too.
Another pill should soothe his racing mind, but that's it, he didn't want to act plastered in public. It was all agreed upon, he could increase the dosage as-needed: doctor's orders.
It. Is. Fine.
He could taste the rumbling heartbeat in his throat, and his left arm woke slowly from its medically-induced slumber. Too much, just too much at once.
Home- a bad idea. If whining upset her already, a full on panic attack wouldn't help either.
He tried to tune the people around him out; were they staring? Of course, they were. Sour spit collected at the back of his mouth, begging to be let out, but no matter how much he tried to keep focus, he stumbled out of the train one station too early.
Elliot needed air, a second to breathe.
Automatically, he started fidgeting with the cap of the pill bottle. How many did he take by now? Whatever, one more wouldn't make him hurt any worse than he was now. Elliot finally got a grip on it and forced the tablet down dry.
There he was again: climbing out of the station to stroll along a lonely sidewalk in the dark. Exactly what he was trying to dodge.
Great plan, fucking brilliant.
A forced calm finally started to spread. Fatigue hit him with a gentle fist, but it was welcome, the better of the two moods.
A new message popped up on the phone display, making Elliot jump weakly:
Are you home?
So to speak. He sent a thumbs up for Brooke because "- she seems so well organized."
Illusions made his head spin with every step.
Don't think about that, look for a place to rest.
Elliot was sure he fell at some point, but was right back on his feet, stumbling over to a bench. An inviting offer in the abandoned street.
What did Dad tell me? Five things you can see- five things you can...hear...five thin...gs...
Tired breaths began to calm his system slowly, and the tight warmth in his chest kept his pain down.
He closed his eyes to rest for a bit, just a moment of-
--------
Elliot woke up slowly. Keeping his eyes softly closed, he tried to assess how bad it hit him this time.
After a night out in the cold, he counted himself lucky if his feet were still attached to the rest of him. It would take hours to shake the frost out of his bones, to creep back home for breakfast, but that's what one gets for overreaching.
He waited for the biting cold on his face, for the wind licking at the shell of his ears. But every painful itch turned out to only be a passing tickle, not even the traffic noise had woken him up.
His body felt warm and relaxed, covered by a soft blanket. He still couldn't manage to peel his eyelids open, too confusing was the silent murmur that this was off. That something was wrong.
First, both his jacket and shoes were missing. A sigh of relief echoed through the room.
Elliot had made it home, thank goodness! No future adventures in the evening for him, he knew being with Brooke had been a bad idea; not because of her, of course not, but he just wasn't... made for this anymore. As new waves of anxiety tried to stir up, a heavy weight pressed down on his chest: weird, he would never let Ginkgo run around at night.
Oh, quick, I need to feed her and clean up the cage.
While at it, his mother was in dire need of a hug until she would forgive him for still keeping up with his bullshit. Making her worry to death about her son, Elliot knew better than that.
Finally rubbing the grainy dust from his eyes, the first thing Elliot noticed was a blurred shape at the foot of his bed. The more his vision cleared up, the louder his heart pounded against the blanket and the hand above his own. No face was needed to recognize the person sitting next to him, he knew exactly who decided to haunt him today.
Oh, this again. Elliot quickly shut his eyes back to familiar darkness, cursing his stupid brain for dreaming up these memories. Sleep paralysis, very original, thank you.
They would fade, like they always did. He was home, he was safe...
...
..
.
Something was wrong.
Maybe the sun shining through the window that made his eyes water in face of brightness, an impossible task in his own windowless bedroom; maybe the fact that he'd rather die in a ditch than sleep without his wrist brace.
He had to know, and opened his eyes one final time - this was not his room, not his home. A trick of the tired mind, it simply had to be, Elliot prayed while looking the man of his nightmares straight in the face.
"Hi," Morris whispered, hand on top of broken hand.
No.
Not this.
Not again.
That wretched man slowly leaned forward to let his elbow rest on his knee, an expectant smile on his lips.
Staying horribly numb, Elliot's left arm automatically jerked back to his waist. He felt himself being dragged to that house and if he finally dared to be honest with himself, a part of him had never left.
--------
His guest gave Morris nothing, maybe he just didn't hear him right. Even though he specifically refrained from sitting on the bed and gave him some space to breathe, all the effort didn't seem to be enough. Elliot snapped up to sit ramrod straight under the covers, his breathing hastened to let his restless stare stop on Morris.
Here they were at last, and this time nothing would go wrong.
"Uhm, do you want me to start or-" Morris said, a bit flustered and picking eagerly at the sheets. The answer came instantly: "I don't know where she is!"
"Who?"
"Wha-"
"Are you still high? It's been hours, that can't be right."
Much to Elliot's relief, Morris let go of him to turn around with a worried frown and fumbled for something at the foot of the armchair he was sitting in. Through blank fear, getting up and walking out was not even considered yet; but one thing came to Elliot's mind despite it all. The thing the world spun around.
"Amber. I don't know-"
"Ohh," Morris cut him off with a small laugh, forehead wrinkled in reassurance, "No, no, this is not about her. I think she had her claws on me for long enough."
Elliot fucked up bad this time. All the simmering fear, anger and helplessness pushed down on him with crushing force. Brooke - the crowd - Morris, it went over in the blink of an eye, his emotions couldn't catch up to the shock and the pills; and he was thankful for it. For letting himself hide inside a little longer.
Still, the icy-blue stare demanded his attention. He had called himself paranoid, laying awake at night to let his fears flirt with this exact scenario again and again, now he knew it had been warranted. Elliot felt it the first time he dragged himself home, just as intense as when he lied to his doctors all those times. Cluelessness spread and made Elliot trip over his own heartbeat.
"I-I didn't tell anyone either." he swallowed thickly, "I know what you said, I didn't forget."
Morris gaze softened, somehow relieved that he wasn't the only skittish one of them.
"You thought about me a lot, huh?"
He meant it to be playful, but seeing how much this comment made Elliot flinch back, he needed to choose his next words more wisely. Nothing but smooth sailing from here on.
He wants to know if I'm still in line. If I fear him more than I look for justice. Elliot would grant him that, gladly so: "Every day."
Much to his confusion, he just needed two words to make Morris empty eyes glow with joy.
This was good, great even, right? Keeping him satisfied, not provoke the anger that cost them so much already. Old survival methods slowly clawed their way back to the surface.
"Really?!“ Morris tone was laced with pure satisfaction, and if asking his guest, it was won out of superiority. Another fallacy that wouldn't be corrected anytime soon.
Instead, he just managed a weak nod above his sweaty hands. Elliot didn't trust his own voice, but still had to push forward.
"I don't really know why I'm here. If it's not about her...can I go then, please? My...my dad will be home in a few days, I miss him so much," his shaky tone somehow pushed out, helpless to stop the tears that started collecting and threatened to flow over. He should've watched that damn movie with Brooke; too late, all in vain.
Somehow, Morris didn't like this at all. Screaming and crying: no fun. How did Elliot already forget that?
"Why are you upset? Don't- no, that's not how it's supposed to go!"
Staying calm to ignore this dreaded feeling took everything out of Morris; if anything, he was the one allowed to be upset! He had been lied to, that old whore kept him away from her son, let him stew in pain for nearly a year. He was deprived of everything he deserved...
But wait, this was perfect: a gradual start. They both had been given time to process, hopefully enough of it to reward Morris for his good behavior. The lean years are over.
"One second," he finally huffed out, a tense hand running through his hair, "this is all wrong, I have a whole plan made up. Wait, wait!"
Knowing how this man's plans usually worked out, Elliot could do nothing but brace himself. Even trying to shrink further under the covers was only commented by a crooked smile: "I practiced, don't laugh!"
Elliot would never dare to, he hadn't in weeks. A quick clearing of his throat gave the go-ahead.
"I'm really sorry for what happened. I lost control: of you, of the...situation. I'm sorry you were hurt, and I will make it up to you. But first, I just have to know:" stabilizing himself on his twitching knees, Morris finally let the dreaded question out, "Can you forgive me?"
Nothing but static whirred throughout his mind.
"Yeah," Elliot stuttered, "S-sure. It's alright."
In an instant, a pressure inside the room was lifted. Exhaling with a deep sigh, Morris steadied his forehead on his folded hands: "That's great, thank you. You're just great." We can go forward then.
A guilty conscience does weigh heavy, it seemed. That was it? This was no tasteless joke, all he wanted was absolution, granting at least one of them their piece of mind.
Suddenly, Elliot felt unreasonably bold.
"I need to leave."
"No, not yet," came the firm answer.
There it was, the catch. Who needed to call back this time?
Morris read the hollow why off him in a second and replied with a look Elliot couldn't place. Pity, maybe, with an unhealthy glow of hunger.
"Elliot, I know a junkie when I see one."
Don't let it be fentanyl, Morris prayed, otherwise he would tie him to the bed frame and never let him set foot on a street again. But he wanted to keep this topic on the back burner for now, to let new trust sprout.
Junkie - the nerve to even imply that had Elliot heat up in anger. Especially when it came from him.
"In my jacket," all Morris found was a bottle of Tramadol 100, half empty, "That's my medication, my-my painkillers. I need to take them every day, I got a prescription!"
Perhaps Morris' stock was running low. Elliot would help him make ends meet freely, however much he liked. Well, he had to be let go for that first.
"Sure you do. That's how it usually starts."
Elliot hesitated a second too long, thinking of another way out.
Meanwhile, his newest host had talked himself into a passionate monologue: "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how much shit they are stuffing down people's throats, but you're good, aren't you?"
"Yes, it's okay. I-"
"That's why I found you in Yaletown, passed out cold and begging to get robbed, mhh? Because you have everything under control."
This left them speechless. Elliot noticed the urge to cry freely this time, he was out of wits and excuses that wouldn't get cut down in a heartbeat.
On the contrary, Morris seemed triumphant about Elliot's little slip-up. Happy even, if one dared to look closer.
Somewhere at the foot of the bed, a phone started ringing. For the first time during this short waking-nightmare, Morris gave a nervous glance towards the door, biting his lip and clenching his fingers into a fist.
"Doesn't really matter," he decided quickly, "we have enough time to catch up later."
Later? That would imply stretching out this farce.
Finally, Elliot was awake.
"Morris, please listen-"
"Call me Chris."
Elliot was dead, he finally managed to fuck up the rest of his life and go straight to hell.
Make him like me. No, no, stop it. As if that ever helped.
Gathering his racing thoughts, Elliot hoped there was still a chance to steer things in his favor.
"Thank you for..." Abducting me? Helping me? Those words would never leave his mouth, "...letting me crash here. But we both know that I can't stay; with you." Wherever here was this time.
"You're nervous. That's alright, that's understandable. We can work through that!"
The steady anxiety collecting under his heart finally came to the forefront. Five - five things - things I can - His little tricks didn't seem to gain traction, he couldn't even hear himself think through the phone's incessant hum.
"D-don't you want to get that?"
Morris stretched out to snatch and softly cradle Elliot's left hand again. After the medicine's sweet numbness that held him together would fade, every touch will retaliate itself.
Dead focused on him again, caught between seconds that spanned hours, the man calling himself Chris now kept him close. Elliot was never spared, they had never parted ways.
Doing a rewatch (thank you 4th of July), and it's really interesting to see Won's sister induce this sort of learned helplessness in Won whenever they interact.
Won does actually have the ability to speak up when he sees people being mistreated, which we do see in episode 1 with Sang-sik and in episode 2 with Sa-rang. But, whenever Won interacts with his sister, especially in the earlier episodes, he almost immediately backs down. He runs away in episode 1 to London, doesn't go home in episode 2, makes it known several times that his sister does't have to be scared of him, and doesn't really do anything to show that he wants to take over the company. Anything he's done in the later episodes really hasn't been about fighting back against his sister even if it seems that way. It's just about making things easier for Sa-rang.
From the flashback we got of Won's childhood, it makes a lot of sense why he wouldn't fight with his sister about anything. He tried standing up to her and Hwa-ran ruined the pocket watch that his mother gave him. I'm sure there were plenty of other times in his childhood where his sister terrorized him where he learned that it was better to let her do whatever she wanted to him or to run away instead of trying to fight back.
Hwa-ran is obviously going to try and use Sa-rang to humiliate Won and bring him down because she can see that he cares about her in some way. And she really has no reason to think it won't work, because it's worked every time in the past. But, it's obviously going to backfire on her because Sa-rang is going to be worth it for Won to fight back.
