[tasteofthesacred]

a twenty-five year old SINNER‘S VESSEL cursed to taste the sin of everyone he touches — and haunted by a HUNGER THAT DOES NOT NEGOTIATE.

#TASTEOFTHESACRED ; not a god. not a demon. something the world made by accident and forgot to name. a category of being that has no scripture written about it, no temple built for it. the closest myth calls them kegaremono (汚れ者), “stained things.”

not made by gods. not born from demons. possibly an old mistake. possibly a punishment with the punisher long dead.

an independent, inspired by hell’s paradise & fruit baskets, portrayal of seo yeong. something old lives in his blood. something that was never asked for, never deserved, and has never once stopped.

a study in : proximity , the difference between shame and acceptance , what hunger reveals , the body as burden , categorization and what falls outside it , the cost of honesty , gentleness under pressure , the rejected child

mains / affiliates

rooted in the same soil with :

﹕﹒  ۫ ׅ.       ….      ˖᯽ ݁˖ .         @scrrface

PLOTTING CALL. PINTEREST. CARRD.

fc : kim taehyung ܆ mdni ! ܆ english ܆ semi-selective ܆ plotting always welcome ܆ replies on private communities and maybe even threads , whatever you prefer ܆ ic talk in dm’s ܆ mutuals only !

tw: blood , sin , touch aversion , death , dark themes in general : he walks with his own dirt.

credit to her for making me a divider thank you !

& another shout out to the one and only for making me this edit & my newest divider. thank you !

[tasteofthesacred]

POPPY

from here

the ride was long and super bumpy. yeong hit his head more than three times while looking out the window, not even catching the right beat to the classical music piece humming in the background, leaving behind a mark of his forehead and nose on the flawless windows of tony’s car. he shook his head and readjusted himself to stop the repeated headbutts. he looked over to tony who was looking straight ahead at the street, but yeong knew that he noticed — the faint smirk dancing around his lips was enough to be sure.

today they were out for a business proposal. someone wanted to sell a warehouse and yeong was the curator. not that he had a single clue about real estate, but he knew when someone was lying. as manipulative as some people were, even on a professional level, they couldn’t trick his tastebuds. so when the car came to a halt, the caravan of black, probably bulletproof cars swarmed out around them. it must have looked like a battlefield where you could see the enemy lined up on the horizon, and across from them was this huge warehouse in the middle of nowhere. the outskirts of the city. no wonder tony was interested. he appreciated solitude.

the mixture of gravel and sand set the stage for a new symphony. rhythmic footsteps of everyone swirling up the dust gave the scene an almost epic quality. the self-appointed curator was truly the only one not staring blankly at the warehouse. he looked around, took in the forest and the sky, felt the cold breeze mingling with the scent of their company, clenched his fists as if that would better prepare him for what might come. his right hand reached into his coat, the vial was there. his just-in-case escape plan.

the huge roll-up door opened and they were greeted by a few men. he couldn’t say that any of them looked even somewhat charming … they all had no expression on their faces and still you could feel they were bracing for something. yeong took off his gloves as if it were about manners, his nose picking up on something when they shook hands with tony. he swallowed, trying to calm his nervous system. even though this was a calculated attempt, he wasn’t used to it … doing it on purpose. his hands slid into the seller’s, his throat catching the taste before his mind registered it: greed, envy, wrath, pride. this man was trying to get the best deal for himself, not a fair one. his dark eyes locked onto the seller’s : the betrayal was visible. tony must have noticed too. the others were just a mixture of pride and greed, which was probably due to the fact that they were simple workers. they had nothing to lose or gain here, just doing their job while actively supporting their boss. yeong did the same for tony.

he stepped back, following them inside with all the others. it was fascinating how in sync you could be when everything else was quiet. the greed for money was a common flaw for people. yeong knew that too well. had smelled and tasted it hundreds of times before. but the wrath underneath it was new information. he weighed his options while the seller led them deeper into the warehouse, voice echoing off the high ceilings, gesturing at square footage and load-bearing columns and proximity to the highway with the polished enthusiasm of a man who had rehearsed this. yeong barely heard it. he was trying to figure out how to tell tony what he knew without saying a word in front of eight strangers. they had never discussed this ... how the read would travel between them in the field. it had simply never come up … which in hindsight seemed like an oversight for two people whose entire arrangement was built on exactly this. so he improvised.

he reached into his coat pocket. took his gloves out. and put them back on … slowly, deliberately, finger by finger, while looking at nothing in particular and then, for exactly half a second, at tony. done tasting. you won’t like the flavor. tony didn’t react. didn’t nod, didn’t glance back, didn’t change anything about the unhurried way he was moving through the space. but something shifted regardless. a recalibration so subtle yeong only caught it because he had spent weeks learning the man’s stillnesses. the difference between tony listening and tony hunting was approximately nothing, visually. it lived somewhere in the shoulders. he understood. without a single word, he had understood.

yeong filed away how dangerous that was, being understood that easily, under things to spiral about later. the folder was getting full again. yeong had spent his entire life reading people without being asked to. every handshake, every accidental brush in a crowded hallway, every time someone handed him change without noticing his gloves had slipped … his ability arrived before consent did, cataloguing sins he hadn’t requested, filing information he hadn’t wanted. he had never once been cool about any of it. he had grimaced and swallowed and excused himself and stood in bathroom stalls breathing through his mouth until the worst of it passed.

tony asked a question about load-bearing columns with the energy of someone deciding between two lunch options. yeong watched him from two steps back and felt something he could only describe as deeply unreasonable envy. not the fresh kind, not the sweet uncurdled envy he had tasted off his own tongue before, watching someone take up space without apology. this was older and more specific. the envy of someone who had spent twenty-five years bracing for every room he walked into, watching a man enter the same room like the room had been waiting for him. like the air pressure adjusted to accommodate him rather than the other way around. like he had never once in his life felt the need to calculate the exits.

how, yeong thought, with genuine desperation, does a person get like that ? he had tried, at various points. the unbothered lean. the measured voice. the deliberate stillness. none of it had ever held … his face always betrayed him eventually, his hands always found something to grip, his ability always picked that exact moment to flood him with someone’s accumulated shame and ruin whatever composure he had been attempting. he was, at his absolute best, a man who managed his anxiety with varying degrees of success and occasionally said something devastatingly accurate by accident.

tony flicked cigarette ash into a tray and the seller’s legal counsel visibly reconsidered his life choices. yeong put his hands in his pockets so he had something to do with them. “the previous owner ran logistics out of here.” the seller was saying. “clean title, no liens. at this price it won’t sit on the market longer than a month.” a grumble from tony’s side. it surely wasn’t approval. and then he did the thing yeong would be thinking about for days afterward … he kept going. pleasant. unhurried. asking small questions in that low voice, letting the seller talk, letting him build his story higher and higher with every inflated answer. the structural assessment. the roof, redone four years ago. the wiring, up to code. tony received each claim with a small nod, and yeong, who could taste the greed sharpening with every lie like something fermenting in fast-forward, realized he was watching a man hand out rope.

the wrath was the thing to monitor. it had been simmering underneath since the handshake, the particular flavor of a man who had decided how this was going to go and hadn’t planned for an alternative. yeong drifted a half step closer to tony without deciding to. his hand found the vial in his coat. just checking. just in case. they stopped in the center of the main floor. dust hung in the light coming through the high windows, unbothered. “the roof.” tony said, conversationally, looking up at it. “redone four years ago, you said.”

“that’s right, by chunghae construction.” answered the man trying to keep his lie alive. a pause. small. but yeong tasted it before he saw it : the greed faltering, the wrath spiking hot and metallic, fear arriving underneath both like water finding a crack. “i don’t recall the contractor offhand—” he got interrupted. “i do.” tony said. still looking at the roof. still pleasant. “they did work for me a while ago. before the owner left the country. tax reasons, i’m told.” he lowered his gaze to the seller, unhurried, the way the tide is unhurried. “the roof is original. the wiring failed inspection twice. and the title has a lien on it from a lender i happen to know personally.” of course he did. this was tony alexander. the silence that followed had a texture yeong could have catalogued blind. eight men, various flavors of alarm. the seller, wrath climbing toward something with edges, and yeong’s fingers closed around the vial, his pulse loud, watching the man’s hand twitch at his side and genuinely not knowing which way the next three seconds were going to fall.

“so …” tony said, into all of it, mild as morning. “shall we discuss the actual price ?” and the room deflated. the wrath collapsed into something smaller and sour, fear curdling the greed, the whole bouquet rearranging itself into the specific flavor of men recalculating their evening. no one had raised a voice. no one had moved. the violence had been in the room the entire time and tony had simply … declined to need it. yeong let go of the vial. what are you gonna do ? throw blood at them ? he mocked himself, feeling humbled immediately. this was the part that separated them, he thought. when the temperature in a room shifted toward danger, tony’s response was to become more still. more pleasant. more precisely himself. the threat lived in the reduction … the way everything unnecessary fell away until what was left was simply the fact of him, unhurried and entirely capable. yeong’s response, historically, was to identify the nearest exit or remember where he’d left his shoes.

but then one of the sellers fished something behind his back and that’s when yeong was shoved out of the way, landing on the concrete. he was unarmed as always, an easy target and maybe even a burden to take care of. he looked at tony, at the unbothered line of his shoulders, the patience of him, the same calm he used when he poured drinks, when he handed over cigarettes, when he crouched on bathroom floors, and understood something he immediately wished he hadn’t. it was the same instrument. the gentleness and the menace. the same stillness, the same economy, the same quiet. just played at different volumes, for different rooms. he should have found that frightening. he was going to have to sit with what he found it instead. the completely unwarranted and inconvenient thought arrived that he would follow this man into considerably worse rooms than this one. he filed it immediately. the folder was at capacity. he was aware.

lying on the ground after an unpleasant fall, he rolled his eyes at the ceiling of the warehouse. how on earth was it even possible to be this fearless ? tony hid everything so well. annoyingly well. firearms pointed at each other and tony hadn’t even bargained … it sounded less like a negotiation and more like he had simply decided the warehouse was his now. which, yeong supposed, was accurate. after the show was over he finally got up. and he was upset. everyone in that room had gotten more than one sentence from tony, and his clothes were dirty, and his head now had every reason to ache. he brushed himself off with the specific energy of someone filing a formal complaint with the universe. but nonetheless he felt guilty.

so when they left and the two of them sat back down in the mercedes, yeong looked straight ahead for a moment. then sideways. then straight ahead again. “would you teach me how to defend myself ?” the question landed in the car and stayed there. he looked over at tony. tony said nothing. but something moved through his expression that yeong hadn’t seen before : surprise, briefly, and then something heavier underneath it. something that looked, if yeong was reading it correctly, like disappointment. not in him. in the fact that it had gotten this far. that yeong was sitting in his passenger seat asking this question at all. he looked back at the road. yeong looked back at his hands. the city began to appear again through the windows, seoul resuming its business of being enormous and indifferent, and neither of them said anything else for a while.

[tasteofthesacred]

[tasteofthesacred]

[mournfulroses]

Clarice Lispector, from a letter in translation to Tania Kauffman, featured in All Letters of Clarice Lispector

[jjungkkook]

[scrrface]

the   flutter   of   a   butterflies'   wing   hides   within   the   apologetic   nature   of   his   visitor.   in   fact,   it   hides   in   all   words,   carrying   the   humility   of   their   expressed   sentiment.   such   antidote    ---    to   a   reality   lived    ---    that   words   summon   the   crime   lord's   attention   each   time   they   are   spoken   in   sincerity.   like   a   spell.

   they   leave   yeong   and   before   they   even   land   on   tony   to   spread   their   pretty   wings    ---    his   gaze   snaps   at   once,   as   if   to   catch   it   a   second   earlier.   less   to   cut   or   punish.   more   to   observe.   like   the   rare   sighting   of   a   natural   phenomenon, in front of his eyes.   how   many   degrees   of   separation   could   possibly   lie   between   intimidation   and   fear,   he   wonders.   the   beat   of   a   second   longer,   to   linger   on   doubt   never   spoken    ---    his   gaze   losing   its   earlier   spark.   ashes   cooling   his   system.   like   the  empty   fridge,   staring   into   his   face   now.   yeong's   hands   treat   whatever   he   touches   like   porcelain.   afraid   to   break   it,   even   worse,   for   it   to   be   his   fault.   as   if   whichever   curse   chosen    ---    had   been   cast   before   the   words   had   even   been   muttered.   and   yet    ---    he   counters   gracefully.   chooses   his   time,   to   return   what   had   never   been   his.   the   gun   snickers   on   the   polished   wooden   counter.

   opened,   empty   space   returning   to   tony.   your   turn   !   want   to   be   coddled,   yeong   ?   want   this   intimidating   but   not   scary   monster   to   hold   your   porcelain   hand   ?   ungloved,   up   close   ?   how   could   once   be   enough,   for   a   man   who   built   his   life   upon   a   house   of   cards   of   dodging   the   warmth   of   another   ?   should   he   laugh,   at   the   irony   of   being   the   sole   exception   of   tasting   like   a   void,   an   abyss   without   a   bottom    ---    when   his   bare   hands   had   strangled   one   or   the   other   throat   until   their   last   breath   ?   yeong   scurries,   shoes   dangling   from   curled   fingers,   before   rejoining.   countenance   basking   in   a   comfort,   that   must   have   lingered   somewhere   in   tony's   hallway,   now   inhaled   or   picked   up   or   worse,   stolen   by   the   other.   there,   in   the   darkness   ?   pah.   leave   something   for   the   poor   crime   lord   !   chased   by   naught   but   phantoms   even   in   his   very   own   four,   eight,   twelve   walls   !

   it   dawns   much   too   late,   narrowed   gaze   following   the   other's   presence   in   his personal   intrigue    ---    their   auspicious   ability   to   see   things,   tony   never   could    ---    and   even   when   he   did,   knew   no   name   nor   word   for.   ghosts   did   not   talk   to   him.   neither   did   sin.   only   his   own,   perhaps.   dancing   on   the   hot   surface   of   scarred   tissue   upon   his   face.   touch   it   and   you'll   burn.   ouch.   forget   touching.   he   does   not   even wish to   look   at   it.

   both   crystalline   glasses   slip   into   his   hands,   condensed   cold   slipping   into   his   digits   from   the   melting   ice   cubes   swirling   the   amber   liquor.   walking   into   the   center   of   the   room    ---    yeong   stood   opposite   of   him,   to   set   it   upon   the   table   top   in   front,   slightly   bend   to   lower,    "    yes,    you've   made   that   quite   clear.    "    he   mutters   in   neutrality.   acknowledged,   heard,   he's   ticked   it   off.   the   night   bleeds   prussian   blue   across   his   floorboards.   refusing   to   fuse   with   the   hearth-like   glimmer   of   antique   lamps   casting   their   gentle   light    ---    enough   to   let   the   shadows   remain.   tony,   glass   in   hand,   walks   towards   the   large   windows,   turning   own   body   towards   the   other   as   an   unlit   cigarette   slips   between   the   lips   he   wets.   hues,   veiled   in   the   protective   gloom   as   behind   him,   a   high   crescent   moon   climbed   the   night   skies    ---    to   settle   upon   yeong.   tone   kept   low,   a   witness   to   sober   words   ---   as   if   to   state   the   time   of   day,   "   i   offered   you   a   choice.   nothing   more.   "    no   other   words   fill   the   gap.   something   else   must   have   caught   the   crime   lord's   attention instead.

   the   feverish   blush   had   left   yeong's   features.   their   boldness   is   a   weapon,   unbeknownst   even   to   themself    ---    its   effect   enough,   to   put   the   man   before   him   to   a   complete   halt. even if for a mere second.   he   knows,   because   the   cigarette   he   has   just   lit   does   not   have   nearly   the   same   sweetness   to   it,   as   the   one   placed   between   his   lips   for   him.   tasting   rotten,   ashen    ---    to   make   him   wonder,   had   he   simply   imagined   it   all   together   to   begin   with   ?   frown   upon   own   features   freezes,   unaware   of   his   conflicted   contemplation    ---    smoke   caressing   his   face.   like   remembering,   realizing    ---    what   had   been   lost   a   long   time   ago   only   to   be   rediscovered,   in   the   absence   of   bright   illumination.   hand   catches   his   burning   cigarette   between   propped   fingers,   lowering   it   to   his   chest.    eyes,   still,   on   the   only   unfamiliar   sight   in   midst   of   a   familiarity   that   choked   him   each   nocturne.   audacious.   has   he   given   the   other   too   much   freedom   ?   let   him   indulge   the   upper,   gloved   porcelain   grip   of   a   hand   too   long   ?    the   crime   lord's   exhale   is   long,   dragged   by   thick   dancing   clouds    ---    in   an   attempt   to   suppress   whichever   sentiment   revealed   itself   through   their   continuous   waltz.

   an   approaching   frown   dawns    ---    mustering   the   other   and   what   curious   events   had   brought   them   into   a   room   once   more.    "   the   men   you   read   for   me   last   time,    "    steps   taken   closer,    the   chasm   between   them   growing   lesser,    "    you   said   one   of   them   had   all   of   the   seven   sins   inside   of   him.    "    don't   you   remember   ?    he   shots   the   glass'   liquid   in   one   smooth   motion,   smothering   whatever   answer   still   hid   in   his   chest    ---    except   the   flame   within   ribs   grows   larger.   held   by   the   rim,   empty   crystal   is   lowered    ---    additional   steps   stopping   in   front   of   the   other.   like   a   man   spent,   the   exhaustion   slips   into   his   limbs   at   once    ---    unraveled   by   the   liquor's   heat.

   at   a   sudden   leisure,   his   arm   at   his   side   swings   lightly    ---    before   his   unoccupied   hand   raises   his   cigarette   to   take   a   deeper   drag.   his   features   turn   sour,   frowning   as   the   smoke   fills   his   lungs    ---    head   tilted   low.   his   eyes   had   glided   towards   nowhere   in   particular.   burning   a   non-existent   hole   into   some   distant   fixture   with   the   intensity   of   a   winter's   sun.   something   must   have   derailed   his   attention.   but   he   pushes   it   to   the   side    ---    like   anything   that   was   deemed   an   inconvenience   to   tony.   the   glass   glides   back   onto   the   table.   he   takes   his   seat,   velvet   giving   in   quietly,   adjusting   to   his   weight.   his   arm   extended   over   the   canapé.   until   he   glances   back   at   his   visitor   for   the   beat   of   a   moment.   sin   reader.   flapping   his   wings   at   the   first   ill-tuned   sound   like   a   canary   in   a   cage.   perhaps   other   people   just   simply   don't   belong   into   tony's   closer   proximity.   perhaps,   he   startles   whatever   promised   to   not   be   scared   of   him   regardless   in   the   end.

   gloom   captured   within   own   hues   sinks    ---    alike   a   body   to   the   bottom   of   an   ocean.   an   exhale.   uncoiling,   the   accumulated   tension   once   more.    "    i   would   taste   just   like   that.    "   rolling   the   filter   of   his   burning   cigarette   between   lithe   fingers.   providence   lingers   somewhere   in   the   darkness    ---    outside,   where   the   crime   lord   currently   struggled   to   locate   it.   what   should   frustrate   him,   turns   into   an   intrigue   he   seldom   took   indulgence   in    ---    but   chose   to   do   so   in   this   very   moment.   elbow   propped   for   his   chin   to   rest   against   a   loosely   balled   fist    ---    "   but   i   cannot   seem   to   see   what   sin   could   possibly   corrupt   your   spirits.    "    said   the   crime   lord   with   a   calm   voice   and   penetrating   gaze   ascending   upon   yeong    ---    lines   of   a   frown   carving   themselves   between   his   brows    ---    in   something   like   real   disbelief   and   wonder,   on   the   verge   of   polite   impassivity.   tony's   tongue   clicks   against   his   inner   cheek,   a   short   tilt   given   before   his   eyes   follow   his   hand    ---    reaching   out   to   flick   the   ashes   of   his   cigarette   into   the   heavy   crystalline   tray   on   the   table.   quick   to   return   to   his   prior   held   posture.   it   bothered   him   more   than   it   should.   more   than   his   face   or   his   voice   could   have   betrayed   him   for.   tony   had   laid   his   cards   on   the   table   since   their   first   encounter.   but   yeong   keeps   looking   at   him   like   a   revered   miracle   of   ancient   tales   to   have   come   alive    ---    not   quite   accustomed   to   orbit   tony's   existence.   you're   the   mystery   here   !   he   would   have   loved   to   shout   !   oddly   ironic.   both   of   them   understood   more,   when   neither   spoke   direct.   preferably   without   words.   tony   had   negotiated   with   silence   all   his   life.   how   could   this   be   different   ?   silence   couldn't   speak   back.   but   yeong   did.   even   when   no   words   left   the   other's   lips.

[tasteofthesacred]

at least he got his point across … even if it had cost him his sanity for way longer than he wanted to admit. the distance got bigger and smaller within minutes. the alligator was swimming toward him but the feeding time was over. with him came the wave of his scent again : cedar, amber and the sharp edge of alcohol, dancing around them like an invisible shield. “a choice ?” he repeated it, his doe eyes tracing tony’s figure. he clenched his fingers into a fist, trying to swallow the truth. “you’re making a whole lot of effort for a simple choice.” he couldn’t help it this time. a realization. maybe tony wanted him to be more ambitious, more direct, more blunt about his thoughts, to show him that he was in fact not scared. even though he had never once lied to him.

his eyes fell shut when he heard the words. about all the sins at once. would he have to say it out loud ? that tony tasted like nothing and even his blood hadn’t given him anything but the burden of sadness ? proof that there had once been love in his life ? that there was just grief left now, so gut-wrenching that he had to let it sink in within seconds … not daring to rip his chest open after tony had already cut his skin for him ?

he didn’t have the time to think about it. he had to act on instinct, which was something he wasn’t used to. people were normally able to build that kind of instinct through every relationship they had. he’d had one person close enough to talk to him, to know him. ' i would taste just like that. ' do you remember when you cut yourself for me ? the mark it left is a reminder that you don’t have to define yourself over your sins. you’re belittling yourself. oh, he would have loved to say it out loud. but he couldn’t. not in his own house. his escape. this wasn’t his place to do so. “do you think i don’t have any kind of sins in me ? we all have them. it’s just my burden to know about them … without permission. the most common interactions leave a disgusting taste in my mouth.”

what he didn’t say was that right now his mouth was full of greed and gluttony, just because of the foolish thing called hope. why did it sound like he was disappointed that tony didn’t taste like sin ? would a lie make him happier ? a common judgment that he already knew too well ? he wasn’t even sure what he was saying. he wasn’t trying to get pity. he was trying to say that he wasn’t here to judge him, and for some reason there wasn’t even a chance to do so, because tony didn’t taste like any kind of sin. yeong tried to work around the irritation, the questions, the scream stirring inside him. he stood there in his socks in front of this beast of a man, if you’d believed all the legends around him and felt helpless. yeong never believed he could understand the human nature and it showed. the crime lord had been expecting something else — the natural reaction to his flaws. but there was nothing from his side. just silence.

his nearly soundless footsteps dragged him behind the chair. he couldn’t sit down right now, but a little hold was something that could make him feel better. his hand gripped the backrest as he blinked through the smoke following tony like a shadow. “you feed my sins with simply existing. with marking the horizon in a color unknown to me.” his voice was drowned in embarrassment as he fixed his gaze on the windows behind tony, watching the few clouds floating across the night sky. after tony spoke yeong let it settle in silence, walking over to the window to look outside. he needed space, but there was nowhere to run. he loved the night. it was the most calming time of the day for him. until now. nothing was calm or settled. it was pure chaos inside him.

“that was not as memorable as you might think. this wasn’t the first time for me. the mass made it more extreme than anything else.” he chose honesty again, even though jumping right out of the window would have been the easier way out. “the thing my mind was circling around was something else. but i’m not going to be the only one doing the talking. i have embarrassed myself enough, haven’t i ?” a bitter laugh escaped his mouth, his face basking in rays of moonlight. he turned around. soundless, again. the back of tony’s head staring back at him. the drink untouched, casting light on the table. “would you be happier—” he stopped. “maybe that’s the wrong word. more relieved … if i could read your sins ?” he leaned his back against the high wall, which made him feel smaller than ever before. this was a big question. too big for his small figure to bear.

he who wore gloves could feel tony’s disturbance earlier, when he had sounded like them. and still he couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what tony wanted. he wanted proof of what people said about him, what he thought about himself, a confirmation of this judgment. but yeong was no god, no demon, not in any position to give him that. not even his ability was trying to help him in this case. “i … i don’t think you want to be the monster from all those stories. but you also don’t want to write a new one on a blank page.”

his heart was pounding in his chest. he was too honest. he had said too much. and suddenly the drink was more needed than ever before. his steps were fairly slow for someone trying to drown every word he had spoken in the sharp taste of some very, very old and expensive alcohol. the salty, sweet and sour taste overpowered everything else for the first time this evening. it burned in his throat and he probably made the ugliest face when the liquor ran down, but thankfully he wasn’t facing tony right then. tony … who probably still knew which color had settled on his cheeks anyway. his breath grew heavy as he stared into the table, the dim light reflecting from the polished wood. like fireflies dancing in the darkness. he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting to hear. maybe he just wanted him to listen.

[eclavigne]

There was an attempt to answer that very important question to any mortal being, only one attempt to confirm an unbelievable assumption somewhere in the back of the mind of one of those mortal beings. There was one and only attempt of that man lying pinned to the pavement that proved alcohol could become the means of soberness. It was a long attempt of course. It started slowly, but surely, on the tips of the stranger's stirring fingers. But it had to retreat when his arms did not find enough force to rise from his sprawled rest. It was obliged to take a pause once they managed to bend themselves and hang over his shrinking body. The attempt had to try again to climb an invisible wall of air and awkward, broken gestures before it turned into an actual result. The man lifted his two thumbs up. In the dim light of the lane, they shone like Olympic fire in those black gloves he actually wore. The fall did not seem to have spoiled them too at all – the leather was glamorously smooth like silk.

And yet, the quality of the life preserved had decreased. The victim's arms looked firm, but stillness was the only medicine they could provide him with. Any movement, even a trifle one, made it too evident his breath could not find a proper way out. Every vibration suffocated him as if his chest was cracked beneath the layers of his clothes – his black jacket and suit - and the cracks were only meant to grow to strike the instincts of survival with the force of red locked in the shade of his shirt. Something definitely grew. It grew from this fall, from this very spot, from under his back. It could not be tracked down. But it was there, it let the world know about itself openly without a shame or sense of threat with its mere presence. It felt beautiful and dear like a flower in a garden, too alluring and charming to be burdened with temporal affairs. It had always been there. There were only some days and some nights, glimpses when you could contemplate its greatness and... get swallowed by it.

It did not consume you though. If there was no agreement, no striving to disappear, it respected the viewer's existence too well. It said so loud and clear in the core of Yeong's being that he could not have a doubt. How and when he found himself inside of it – it was up to him to wonder and ask about once they were through, but for then, he could only listen and listen to what it felt to go around in his birthday suit and be free. Like empty bottles could have no liquid, like wet floors could get no stain, he could not get any trace of what he has been saving within himself so unwillingly. No sin flew around and buzzed the wishes and curses of those it used to belong to. The sky of his consciousness was absolutely clear. It was bright and happy and shining with all the colours of passion sweet on the petals of black roses he could see when that something finally left him and a sigh escaped the stranger's lips.

He seemed to have suddenly relaxed or fallen asleep, for all his activity dissolved in the lack of movement, but then he lifted his back and sat down pulling his legs till he could lean onto his knees with his elbows. For a second, his shadow reminded of a rose getting smaller, folding itself and its dark magic of charm till it became a typical shadow too far from Yeong's it had blessed with their short unity - the absolute, sacred emptiness of his shadow glistened with gold in the depth of the man's eyes who stared at the other with long-brewed attention. It got its satisfaction clearly once it got noticed. But it was still attention, just more obvious now that the man opened his eyes and swept away the frown of damage. He lifted a thumb up once again. "Alive..."

He swung a little back and then forth craning his neck with a cracking sound and deeper sigh. It jumped into a cough, but was meant to clear his throat from any remnants of hoarseness. Then he rubbed the back of his head, then his face muttering the only suitable business idea in their situation. "I need a drink. Will you help me to stand up?" And he offered his hand.

[tasteofthesacred]

yeong was straight up dumbfounded. he watched the thumbs up in the air and rubbed his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, just to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him. they weren’t. the man was still there, still horizontal, still apparently fine about it. yeong shrugged his shoulders and emptied the rest of his drink … the one that had been accompanying him for a while now, because he better be drunk if this wasn’t an illusion.

his head tilted to the side as he watched the stranger attempt to get back on his feet. he didn’t get the clue to help right away. that was the honest truth of it. his brain didn’t work like that anymore. the immediate reach toward another person, the instinct to close distance rather than measure it. years of rewiring had made the reflex go the other direction entirely, and it took vine’s voice cutting through the irony of this moment like a cold breeze to wake him out of that particular slumber. the part of him that was always avoiding everything. he blinked. registered the question properly. relieved that the stranger was at least alive, his heart rate slowed. he had to laugh a little. “sure, sorry.” he grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up to his feet. simple. efficient. and only in the moment after did yeong catch himself … looking at their hands, both covered in leather, and realizing he hadn’t thought about rejecting the contact beforehand. hadn’t braced. hadn’t run the usual inventory of what was about to flood in. he had just … grabbed him. like a person. like someone whose first instinct was to help rather than to calculate the cost. was that the alcohol flooding his bloodstream ? probably. almost certainly. he looked at him, or more accurately, right through him, as the thought settled further and further, nearly forgetting to let go. which he did, just a beat too late.

“are you sure you’re okay ?” his nose had started registering something unfamiliar in the seconds that followed. not quite a sin. nothing his ability could catalogue cleanly, nothing that fit the usual taxonomy of wrath or greed or lust or any of the seven he knew by texture and weight. just something that moved through the categories without settling, like smoke through an open hand. his ability reached for it and found no purchase and reached again and came up with nothing useful. what his eyes had just witnessed, though, that his catalogue could handle. this man had fallen, or jumped, from a considerable height. and was alive. and thriving. and asking for a drink.

definitely not a human being. that was all he had for now. “so… which drink would be appropriate to have right after you fell from the sky ?” he asked, leading the way back to the bar he had originally fled from. his eyes were glued to the stranger the entire time — even though he had just confirmed he was alive, he still couldn’t quite believe it. yeong opened the door for mister meteor and watched him duck at the doorframe. right. he was tall and this bar was very much vintage and old. small people sized. he squeezed his way through the crowd and held his breath. it never helped, but instinct still tried to convince him otherwise. the other one was still following, which made the need for a drink even more pressing. when he reached the bar he raised his hand and waited for someone to notice him.

and there they were again. the gloved hands on the stranger beside him. he would have loved to know why he was wearing them. but he would have probably had to explain why he was wearing his as well. and that was nothing he wanted to discuss tonight. “order whatever you want.” he said, as the bartender came over. for a moment everything around him went quiet. not the quiet of his ability going silent — just the ordinary quiet of a moment settling into itself. this felt normal. like the night he had been trying to have. he looked around at the faces, their voices reaching his ears eventually, the bar resuming its business around them like nothing unusual had happened outside. like men did fall from the sky every day. “what’s your name ?” he asked satisfying at least a little bit of his growing curiosity.

[tasteofthesacred]

“order whatever you want, it's my treat.”

✱ ˚｡⋆ ↪ MAKING DEMANDS

the bait had been laid out. yeong, who was hesitant about going outside most of the time, was easy to bribe when it came to his favorite hobby: eating sweets. the moment rumi spoke the words ' order whatever you want. it’s my treat ' his eyes lit up. a shy smile danced around his lips and he obviously didn’t refuse the offer, his gloved hand gripping her arm as they walked over to his favorite spot in the café. right at the window, where he could look closely at the normal life everyone else was having.

he flagged down the waiter before rumi could redirect the conversation. “she’ll have something too.” he said, with the quiet authority of someone who had been raised to understand that eating alone in front of someone was bad manners regardless of who was paying. “whatever you want !” he added to rumi, in a tone that made it clear this was not a suggestion. “i’m not eating in front of you while you sit there with nothing. that’s not how this works.”

he went back to studying the menu with the focused energy of a man who took dessert selection very seriously. and with the rush of sugar in his veins, he wasn’t even as pessimistic and envious as he usually was. he was glad that they had it easier : to smile, to laugh, to live in general, while he was enjoying his cheesecake. and today, even more than that. when indulging in his last piece of cake a thought hit him. he was experiencing a totally normal moment … if you ignored the gloves. but this was normal, right ? meeting up with someone you enjoyed to enjoy even more of a little sweet treat. for him this was peace. a small, ordinary, almost embarrassingly simple kind of peace that he had spent years convincing himself he didn’t need.

it reminded him of boonyi, his nanny and confidant for most of his life. not in any specific way he could point to, not a particular dish or a particular table or a particular afternoon. just the quality of it. the specific feeling of being allowed to simply exist in a moment without it costing anything, without his ability running its quiet inventory in the background, without the careful management of distance and contact and how close was too close. boonyi had given him that. had sat across from him at enough tables in enough rooms that he had learned, slowly and without realizing he was learning it, that being near someone didn’t have to feel like bracing for impact. he had forgotten that, somewhere between her death and now. rumi was reminding him.

he looked at his cheesecake. at the window. at the ordinary life moving past outside, unhurried and entirely unaware of him. “thank you !” he said, with such vibrancy it was a verbal hug at this point. he probably would have hugged her too, but he also didn’t want to risk a bad taste in his mouth while shoving baked goods into it. priorities. “not even just for letting me nearly bankrupt you …” he added, after sipping his coffee with a sly smile, “but also for this experience.” rumi was a rainbow in the shape of a human being. even though he knew there was more to her than that — knew it the way he knew most things, through the particular texture of what his ability found when she was near. today she was simply this. warmth across a café table. a window seat. cheesecake. and everything else that would make him diabetic in the long run.

this was enough. it was more than enough.

[lunamonchtuna]

— Blithe Saxon, an excerpt from Because It’s Her (via lunamonchtuna)

[ohisms]

✱ ˚｡⋆ ↪ MAKING DEMANDS ... [ REMASTERED ] ( a collection of various original dialogue prompts centered around posing requests / demands. adjust phrasing / gendered terms as necessary. )

memorize my coffee order, already!

quit fidgeting, you look suspicious.

stop comparing yourself, it's pointless.

give yourself a minute, [ name ]. you need rest.

don't move ... a single muscle.

can you teach me how to do that?

order room service – let's be lazy today.

pull out your ID, they card everyone here.

pack light, we'll be walking for awhile.

stop second guessing yourself.

don't say another word.

show me what you've been working on.

we're already late, can you hurry?!

we don't have time for this, [ name ].

just take the compliment, okay?

don't you dare just leave me here.

quit being so stubborn about this.

relax, i've got everything handled.

turn up the music! i love this song.

take my jacket, i'm not asking.

give me your hand, let's take a walk.

order whatever you want, it's my treat.

stop picking fights when you're tired.

meet me tonight ... our spot.

loosen up, quit being so serious all the time.

stay awake, you might have a concussion.

just let yourself be happy for once.

you have to stop sabotaging yourself.

tell me why you're really here.

drop your [ weapon / gun / knife ]!

quit trying to change the subject.

just breathe with me for a minute. in, out.

follow me and stay close.

just be yourself, [ name ]. that's all i want.

call me when you get home safe.

don't beg,  it's pathetic.

stop trying to fix everyone else's problems.

can you  [ tie / zip ]  this for me?

stop lying to me.  tell me what you did.

put that down,  you don't know what it is.

tell me what you're thinking right now.

stay quiet until i figure this out.

tell me something i don't know about you.

come dance with me.

get out of my sight.

wear the [ item ] i bought you tonight.

take my arm, those heels look dangerous.

let me drive – you can enjoy the scenery.

can you stop hovering?

wait ...! hold still, i want to take a picture.

keep your hands where i can see them.

stop pretending you know what's going on.

find a first-aid kit.  quickly!

you can't tell anyone what you saw.

take a nap, i'll wake you for dinner.

keep your voice down, they'll hear us.

don't you dare lie to me.

take the scenic route, we're not in a rush.

tell me a story from when you were little.

answer your phone when i call you.

give me your jacket, i'm freezing.

don't get yourself killed.

tell me what you see when you look at yourself.

tell me what you see when you look at me.

stop being so modest about your achievements!

leave them to me,  just go.

just admit that you love me.

just admit that you hate me.

come here,  let me look at you.

don't listen to them, they don't know what they're talking about.

[ name ],  don't make me do this.

drop your  [ weapon ].

stay here and wait for my signal.

don't just sit there,  move.

take this and run,  don't let anyone have it.

pretend you're my  [ partner / gf / bf ].

don't look , you'll give us away.

stay with me, don't drift off.

stop pretending like you care.

go make sure the coast is clear.

take this with you.  it's a good luck charm.

don't tell anyone about this.

if anybody asks about today,  lie.

stop looking at me like that.

tell me you love me.

just kiss me,  already.

talk to me in [ language ].

keep your eyes on the road.

stop crying and calm down.

give me one chance to explain.

come with me.  there's so much we could do.

wear the  [ dress / tie / item ]  i gave you tonight.

show me how you like to be touched.

hold my hand.

kiss me,  make it look real.

look at me.  how many fingers am i holding up?

[ name ] ... will you marry me?

just slow down for a minute.  what's going on?

take a deep breath,  you need to calm down.

get out of here,  [ name ]!

draw your weapon.

go rest.  i'm not asking.

take a step back.

keep your promise for once.

quit assuming you know what i'm thinking.

give me a straight answer.

be polite to our guests.

look me in the eye and say that again.

put your feelings aside for a moment.

keep close to me.

here,  let me see that.

look up at the sky.

run ... run and don't stop!

get out of here,  i don't want to see you right now.

stand up,  this isn't over yet.

close your eyes and count to ten.

keep your head down and keep moving.

[ name ],  let me past.

listen carefully to what i'm about to say.

don't just stare, come in.

stop laughing, this isn't funny.

take this and hide it from me.

don't make a sound.

the sidewalk is slippery, give me your hand.

quit causing problems everywhere you go.

just admit that you don't know what you're doing.

stop right there, i mean it.

don't say that name aloud.

just trust me, okay?

stop acting so childish.

call the police.  now.

tell me you love me, even if it's not real.

take a good hard look.

stop the car,  [ name ].

let me walk you to your [ door / car ].

almost done, just give me five more minutes!

don't make eye contact.

stay out of trouble.

let me see that beautiful smile again.

just do it already,  we've waited long enough.

hold me tight,  and never let me go.

finish what you started.

tell me what you know.

quit being so melodramatic.

just stay away from me.

turn around.  slowly.

don't be scared.

put it down before somebody gets hurt.

stop pretending , i'm tired of the pretending.

grab me my  [ item ],  will you?

don't make assumptions.

put this over it to stop the bleeding.

get to safety! i'll be right behind you!

stay the night, i hate sleeping alone.

wipe that look off your face.

keep an eye on them.

look at yourself in the mirror.

eat.  you haven't touched your food in days.

[tall]

[morbidashley]

everything can be a sign if you're delusional enough

[evilalienmush]

niche and underground gender

[defendingwarrior]

TAEHYUNG | Arih (04.26.2026)

[syrenki]

i feel like something inside me has gone moldy

[scrrface]

words   fill   the   gap   between   them,   waltz   to   the   tune   of   mood   that   changed   by   the   tact   of   a   minute.   it   colours   them   both   in   bold   ink   indeed,   in   gradually   unfolding   liberties   taken   by   each   in   turn.   dissolving   on   tony's   tongue    ---    with   a   husk   hum   in   remembrance   of   weeks   passing   with   neither   call   nor   visitation   honored   !   he   lets   it   go,   like   the   passing   of   a   warmer   breeze   to   graze   his   brow    ---    travelling   between   them   in   quiet   indulgences,   to   reveal   themselves   through   the   cracks   of   gentle   temper.   whatever   ardent   wishes   and   desires   captured   them,   seemed   to   yield,   to   lips   that   betrayed   a   mind,   to   a   body   that   betrayed   his   owner    ---    and   never   could   the   crime   lord   conceal   both,   to   do   his   bidding.   so,   he   clears   his   throat,   clears   the   air.   for   once,   in   the   company   of   a   spirit,   who   reclaimed   their   presence   and   for   a   small   fraction   of   a   moment,   tony   concludes   that   no   matter   what   yeong   answered,   the   small   amusement   shared   had   left   him   in   a   brighter   mood   than   before regardless.

   his   eyes   blink    ---    and   it   evaporates   like   exhaled   smoke.   nicotine   in   his   mouth.   still   dry,   still   bitter.   perhaps,   he   should   have   asked   yeong   for   another   cigarette.   shameless.   his   hand   flexes   against   the   steering   wheel   one   last   time,   before   he   exits   the   car.   yeong   pulls   back   by   the   slight,   as   if   reminded,   of   whatever   weight   still   trailed   the   crime   lord's   existence.   yes,   he   knows.   he   cannot   shed   his   skin.   cannot   take   it   off   or   put   it   on   like   a   glove.

   slow   steps   climb   the   stairs    ---    until   the   door   falls   shut   behind   them,   echoing   almost   violently   against   the   stark   silence,   befalling   them   in   the   lightless   hallway.   their   questions   swirl   in   his   head,   accompanied   by   a   strange   urgency,   tony   could   not   leave   outside   the   threshold   of   the   doorstep.   shoes   muted   upon   the   lush,   long   carpet   over   the   creaking   old   wood    ---    he   halts.   yet   to   turn   his   body.   whatever   usual   restraint   dictated   the   crime   lord's   stoicism,   grew   weary.   in   suddenly   arising   contemplation,   it   froze   him   on   the   spot,   veiled   by   the   night's   darkness,   filling   the   empty   corridor.   old   masters'   paintings   hanging   in   their   dusty,   elaborate   frames   on   both   narrow   walls    ---    pairs   of   eyes   watching   the   crevice,   opening   itself   in   what   seemed   to   be   the   mere   distance   of   few   steps.   above   them,   an   unlit   chandelier   hanging   from   its   high   ceiling. 

 yeong   speaks   him   holy.   his   name   glides   from   their   lips   like   a   prayer.   the   crime   lord's   hues   staring   a   hole   into   the   carpet,   stood   next   to   the   entrance   into   the   large   drawing   room,   concealing   its   glimmer.   own   breathing   has   quickened,   pulse   beating   against   his   temples.   had   the   silence,   within   his   own   strange   home   ever   felt   this   loud   ?   no   taken   inhale   to   satisfy   the   tide   of   own   restless   mind.   as   a   veiled   shadow,   he   speaks.   the   gun,   warmed   by   his   grip    ---    firm   and   safe.       "    played   god   .   .   .    "    muttered   low   into   this   liminal   space,   he   had   sought   solace   in   countless   of   times    ---    with   no   answer   to   ever   atone   him.   foolish   altogether,   he   deems   it.    "   you   still   sound   afraid   of   me.   you sound   like   them.    "    them.   the   faceless   voices   of   the   underground,   whispering   and   spinning   their   rumors.   in   hushed   back   rooms,   in   suppressed   voices.   claiming   him   half-god.   unable   to   die.   seoul   had   made   tony   after   her   own   image.   how   could   he   find   a   fault   in   yeong,   to   speak   such   notion   into   existence   ?

   the   crime   lord's   head   turns   by   the   slight    ---    but   not   enough   to   cast   a   look   over   broad   shoulder.   own   tone   soaked   by   mild   questioning   disbelief    ---    and   something   that   plucked   a   singular   string   of   a   sentiment   heavier   than   that.   finally,   he   turns   halfway    ---    a   side   of   his   face   illuminated   by   the   risen   moon,   spilling   inside,   from   the   large,   open   drawing   room's   glacial   windows, into the hallway.   his   unscarred   features,   glancing   at   the   other,   remaining   where   they   stood.   moonburnt.   tony   pivots.   he   wants   his   gaze   sharp.   but   whatever   he   meant   to   cut    ---    was   instead   met   by   a   macabre   disposition.    "   the   gun   has   my   name   engraved   on   the   side.   i'm   attached   to   it.    "    he   dips   back   into   the   dark,   closer   to   the   other    ---    the   chrome   coated   firearm's   surface   dancing   to   his   movement,   like   it   remembered   all   the   steps.    "    it   has   helped   me   to   stay   alive   far   more,   than   to   play   god.   "    in   its   dry   delivery,   the   crime   lord   buried   the   nature   of   things,   only   to   unearth   it   again,   in   front   of   yeong.

   the   weapon   slowly   spins   in   his   grip,   until   he   holds   it   by   the   barrel    ---    handle   offered   to   the   other,   as   his   unoccupied   hand   simply   leans   in   to   tug   at   their held   plastic   bag    ---    aware   of   needed,   cooling   storage.   the   unceremonial   exchange   concluded,   tony   begins   walking    ---    only   to   stop,   at   the   seamless   threshold,   into   the   biggest   room   of   the   old   mansion.   owned   grand   piano   slipping   into   his   vision,   fallen   in   slumber    ---    its   smooth   surface   reflecting   the   full   moon's   greeting.    something   still   bites   at   him.   as   it   always   did.   how   can   i   be   useful.   ah.   yes.   useful,   out   of   fear   ?   he   hopes   not   at   all.       "    you   know   that   already.    "    eyes   fall   back   onto   their   countenance,   awakened   in   their   unwavering   intensity    ---    the   familiar   shores   of   distanced   business   bleeding   into   cadence.  curled   finger   flicks   one   of   the   switches,   before   dim   lights   light   up,   scattered   across   the   large   room    ---    interior   held   in   the   fashion   of   western   oversea's   past   aristocracies   in   its   lavish   detail   and   symmetry.  walking   towards   the   other   end   of   it,   slipping   into   the   connected   bare,   unused   kitchen    ---    tucked   at   the   east   side   of   the   estate,   offering   a   passage   into   the   gardens.

   despite   feeling   no   haste   to   chase   him,   the   momentary   distance   leaves   him   in   the   consolation   of   his   own   shadow.   in   midst   of   the   dark   kitchen,   veiled   in   a   hue   of   midnight   blue   alike   the   drawing   room    ---    he   remains   for   mere   seconds   longer.   gaze   darting   between   non   existent   objects,   narrowed.   he   would   sooner   wish   bursting   into   flames,   than   stripping   the   tension   off   his   soul   each   time   anew.   his   hand   feels   too   empty.   replaced   by   something,   that   was   not   his   and   did   not   speak   to   him   either    ---    except   to   remind   him,   of   all   the   crimson,   staining   his   karma.   his   phantoms   would   usually   fill   the   gap,   but   he   doesn't   let   them.   the   door   of   the   fridge   pulled   open   in   an   ungraceful   motion,   blood   bag   lightly   thrown   into   the   vast   emptiness,   lighting   up,   leaving   the   crime   lord   to   squint.   shutting   it   with   the   same   force,   own   thumb   scratching   his   brow    ---    he   walks   back   into   the   main   room   and   his   internal   urgency   with   him   ---    straight   to   wordlessly   pour   himself   and   his   business   acquaintance   a   drink. in   a motion   and   usual   habit   ---    that   suddenly felt   too   close,   in   a   room   so   large.

[tasteofthesacred]

of course tony wasn’t going to say ' you’re right, you don’t have my number. ' instead there was nothing. again. just the feeling that this was way too light for whatever was happening between them.

that tone in his voice was familiar. disappointment. yeong had just made a monster out of him, mocking the violence it took to still be this gentle, breathing creature and above all alive. pride spilled in his mouth the second the thought settled : his own pride, sharp and immediate, the kind that arrived before he could stop it. gluttony followed close behind, slower and heavier, the wanting of more than he was owed. more understanding, more patience, more of tony’s particular brand of quiet that he had no right to expect and kept expecting anyway. two of his own sins, sitting together on the back of his tongue like an indictment. his words were bullets and he had fired them. now he had to live with the aftertaste of the barrel. he sighed, just above his breath. tried to find the right words to explain what he meant. maybe it was too late for that. the damage was already done. still, he wanted to try. “i’m sorry!” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. how did he always end on this part ? “i didn’t mean to … sound like them. you’re intimidating, yes. but you don’t scare me.”

he should have known better. tony was on the same side, had always been on the same side, and yet yeong had done what everyone else did : reduced him to the shape of the rumors, the weight of the reputation, the version of him that people whispered about in back rooms. tony, who had crouched on a bathroom floor. tony, who had followed him to a library. tony, who had said ' you’re not scared of me, you’re scared of yourself ' and been right in a way that still hadn’t finished landing.

where had that thought gone ? he didn’t know which word could explain it better. scared wasn’t right — it was so much more than that. alertness. gravity. recognizing something and being recognized in return. seeing and being seen. it was just uncomfortable because he wasn’t used to it. wasn’t used to someone’s attention landing on him like that, steady and unhurried, without the immediate inventory of what he could be used for. he didn’t know if he ever would be. and beyond that he wasn’t sure how to prove it to him. even if he found the words, which was already asking a lot, there was no guarantee they would land the way he meant them. this was nothing he could easily predict or plan around. tony didn’t receive things directly. yeong didn’t offer them directly. two people with their own particular difficulties when it came to communicating, circling something neither of them had a clean name for, in a room that was too large and too quiet and full of things that had already been said without being said.

the gun landed in his hands and he reacted too late to control his face. he had never held one before. and with the gloves it felt unsteady, the weight of it wrong in a way he couldn’t fully articulate. too present, too specific, too much of a thing that had been made with a singular purpose. the details were delicate, a soft contrast for an object built to kill or protect. maybe tony was a lot like this firearm he was so attached to. his fingers adjusted around it without knowing quite how to. he thought about what tony had said ' it has helped me stay alive far more than to play god ' and felt the bullet he’d fired earlier lodge somewhere it was going to be difficult to dislodge.

he followed him. which felt oddly natural by now. took in the house in pieces. the hallway, the drawing room, the grand piano fallen in slumber, the dim light scattered across surfaces that had probably never been touched by anyone but tony. the unused kitchen at the east end, bare and cold and smelling of him. everywhere. he laid the gun down carefully on the countertop. watched his medicine being thrown into the fridge. pressed his lips together to keep every intrusive thought behind closed doors. tony seemed frustrated about something and yeong had to channel every instinct he possessed to read it without asking, because there was no way they were sitting down to talk about it. not tonight. maybe not ever, in the way other people sat down to talk about things. “and you already know … ” he said quietly, to the countertop not daring to look into his direction, “that i’m not interested in your money.” the memory of the rooftop almost flushed his cheeks. his gaze fell to his shoes. his shoes, he’d forgotten to take them off. another hue of embarrassment settled across his face before he quickly slipped out of them and ran back into the hallway to place them properly beside the door. he took his alone time to freak out. quietly, efficiently, the way he did most things and came back more settled than before.

the drinks were already poured when he walked over to tony. of course they were. tony set the pace and he let him. he looked at them for a moment. looked at tony’s back. at the particular quality of his frustration, which wasn’t loud, was never loud, just there with them, like weather that had decided to stay. was this the right moment ? probably not. but the longer he waited the further the distance grew, and tony’s distance was somehow more uncomfortable than his proximity had ever been. so he cleared his throat, hoping it would buy him enough time to gather his thoughts.

but what did he actually want in return ? what was worth more than money ? if he was being honest with himself. he knew the answer. had probably known it since the elevator, since the bathroom floor, since the rooftop and the library and every other space tony had walked into and made feel different than it was before he arrived. but knowing it and saying it were two entirely separate things, and saying it felt like stripping naked right in front of him … which was ironic, he supposed, given how much of himself he had already handed over without meaning to. they had shared so many meaningful moments in such a short time that asking for more felt rude. presumptuous. like showing up to someone’s door with empty hands after they had already given you everything they had.

and yet … he couldn’t get past the feeling. the one that arrived specifically when tony was near. the specific absence of the constant low-level alarm his nervous system usually ran, the quiet that had nothing to do with silence and everything to do with safety. he knew that feeling well. had known it his whole life, actually, just never from the outside. from the inside it had always been loneliness. his oldest companion, the one that had been with him in every room he had ever stood in alone, reliable in the way only things that never leave are reliable. he had described it as his best friend once, to himself, in the dark of the property where his nanny used to be. that’s what distance does to you. “what else can you offer me ?” no sooner had he spoken those words than he realized that this man had seen right through him in such a short time. it was frightening, but also fascinating ... surely another trait that kept him alive.