seclusion wears him down in ways that count. at least, that’s how it was when his first six months in seomri were spent toddling about like a hermit crab from point a to point b, back to point a, every day in one unyielding and boring course of stability. jungil isn’t one to complain often about the vagrancies of repetition – it’s his bread and butter, after all, considering just how many times he has to repeat a song with his hands in order to commit it to memory. but there was just something not too great about seclusion with no brief social stints to attached to it. with little noise in one’s life, it’s difficult to appreciate the better qualities of the quiet.
there’s only so many times he can tolerate practicing his own music in a day and so many hours he could waste attempting to manufacture jam theory’s music into something marginally more palatable. back when he had a grand & proper career in it, it had a je ne sais quoi aspect, sitting down in his little practice area and putting his ideas to the test. it had been a something less thorny and more… significant, he supposes. perhaps it’s because this house reminds him of pocheon and his grandmother’s stringy voice coming from the upper rooms, telling him to do better in math rather than play on his cello all day.
ah well. he’s not against distilling his life to a cupful of coffee a day, the occasional walk through the downtown streets up, getting acquainted with the brunt of the shops, until he set his eyes on a little job at the lumber mill. through all of that though, he’d forgotten just how quickly his hair would start poking at his eyes, despite having come to seomri with a nearly shaved head.
in fact, jungil hadn’t realized how perfectly annoying it had become until he had to drag his bangs away from his eyes for what felt like the millionth time, this time as he attempted to quietly determine what produce he needed for dinner that evening.
ending up at saekbom’s hadn’t really been in the plans, but nothing is ever in his plans these days. he’s there anyway, right up the counter, trying to explain to a colorful seo bomi if there was a haircut that had the convenience of being bald without actually being bald. “i don’t really care if my head looks like an egg,” jungil presses his lips flat together and ends up a little lost staring at the products the shop offers – some of them familiar, some of them not quite. “but i also don’t want baby bangs. i’m not sure how to explain it…”
back in seoul he had his own barber and it came to a point that he hadn’t really needed to tell them what he wanted. that was a problem, because he lacked the words to explain the sort of haircut jungil favors. he casts a worried glance to the side, resorts into saying, “you know what? just surprise me.”
⸻ rinse & condition / s. @chvrryblsms