TIDE/BREAK

There's so much I want to tell you.

[goodreadss]

‎If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via goodreadss)

[tidebreak]

[consilian-archive]

special occasions.

@bergamotfeels.

“what are you doing here?” her expression settles for bafflement when she opens the door just a few inches to find him standing at the other end of it. kimoon easily throws caution in the wind nowadays but looking at the way she hesitates in the doorframe, he manages a knowing quirk of his lips while he just looks.

the silence stretches for every moment neither of them speak until kimoon catches hana tilting her head skeptically and for a fleeting moment, he can’t help but wonder how many pranks which were specifically designed for her she must have endured on april fools’ day throughout her life.

hana’s voice cuts    very unceremoniously, one might add    through his thoughts before he even gets a chance to open his mouth to say something. perhaps if he hadn’t been daydreaming this entire time, kimoon would have noticed the hint of merriment splattered across her features much earlier. case in point: her beaming at him enthusiastically.

when he finally notices, he can feel his face going blank at the abrupt, undivided attention. his throat is dry from not speaking. (no, he’s definitely not tongue-tied.)

“is it a birthday present?” hana’s eyes narrow expectantly in a way that tells him not to take her words too seriously. if there’s something he thinks he’s gotten better at picking up on, then it’s the moments when she uses (mostly gentle) quips to get her point across. there’s not much of a difference to their usual banter but she’ll wear a small smile a little more openly like she has to let him in on a secret. it’s partly the charm of being with hana, the ease behind their interactions and the mannerisms which he can pick up on by now.

kimoon also knows there’s a word for that specific feeling yanking at his heartstrings. (just please don’t ask him to put a name to it.)

there’s a pause. and then: “it’s your birthday?”

she pfffts, a suspiciously unamused sound she makes in response to his feigned ignorance, before the door is opened up further to reveal the interior and to usher him in. cue some explanation kimoon decides not to pay any attention to about why the place is so quiet, why she isn’t out and about. apparently, gayoung was insistent on throwing together some sort of last-minute birthday party in a poorly-concealed attempt to make up for the growing amount of time she’s been spending with her boyfriend rather than her best friend but that means she won’t be out until she gets a call signaling her to get ready   

“i do have something for you.”

that stops her mid-way into another explanation about why her siblings haven’t whisked her off to a proper family get-together, eyes widening. he can only manage a half-grin in return at the perplexed look on her face. kimoon’s pretty sure she tries to hide a smile when she turns her back to him but he’ll let her have this one.

“close your eyes.”

at that, she stops in her tracks. shoulders stiffening until she turns around to face him again, eyeing him with enough quiet suspicion to make him feel stupidly adventurous.

“what do you    ” “less talking, more eyes closing.”

she blinks, opens her mouth in an attempt to protest but then falls quiet. kimoon can feel the urge to laugh bubble up in him but he does his best to wear an expression that conceals his apparent amusement. and the jittery feeling in his stomach.

“alright.” she closes her eyes and holds out her hand. “do your worst.”

his features settle into a relaxed grin before he stoops forward to meet hana at her eye level. meanwhile one of his hands gently press the tiny, neatly wrapped package into the palm of her outstretched hand.

“happy birthday, hana.”

(it’s a few hours later when gayoung finally knocks on the door to pick up her best friend for the meticulously planned party. and finds a mildly flustered birthday girl with a new bracelet hanging around her wrist.)

[reptilia]

Visit Original Link

[tidebreak]

LEFT TURN

For a moment, he thinks he's finally done it.

The day starts like this: a cup of black coffee on an empty stomach, the windows in his apartment pushed wide open, laminated wood cold to the touch by the time he gets out of bed. On the kitchen counter, a small spider scurries past the stack of papers he’d left out the night before. It pauses once, then disappears out of sight. Junghwan absentmindedly thumbs through the pile, past unopened bills and rejected prints. No point in cleaning it up now. 

He ambles through his apartment, one palm laid flat against the pebbly grey walls. Notes where the paint has chipped and dust has gathered with a mixture of ambivalence and pity. Upkeep’s never been a priority of his. At least the wear and tear isn’t too severe-- nothing that demands more than a day’s worth of work. That’s what he assumes, anyways. Like I’d know.

He decides to do it after lunch. The plan is simple, and he carries it out with a steady calm. As if it’s normal for him to climb into the bathtub in the middle of the day with his clothes on. Outside, the city carries on noisily, rumbling with traffic and conversations too distant for him to make out. As he stares up at the ceiling, a single thought occurs to him: it’ll just be another day for everyone else. Somehow there’s comfort in that fact. “Goodbye,” he voices aloud. And then he’s gone.

Except he isn’t. Because the next time he opens his eyes, he’s not greeted with the proverbial light shining through the end of the tunnel. Instead, there’s a middle-aged man peering down at him behind thick spectacles. He blinks groggily, opting instead to close his eyes again. He feels like shit. The lights aren’t helping.

“Consider yourself a lucky man, Mister Lee. If they’d found you a second later, you could’ve been dead by now.” The doctor pauses. “Although I suppose you were anticipating that instead.” Clearly, he wants to say, but he’s too exhausted to put up with the lecture that’ll inevitably follow. “We couldn’t reach your parents, but we were able to get ahold of your sister-” The door slides open. “I suppose that’s her right now.”  

Shit.

@eristeia

[tidebreak]

GOOD INTENTIONS

It’s become routine at this point. By the time the sun emerges from the horizon, the caravan echoes with the clink of silverware and cheap plastic. Breakfast is a silent affair, leftovers from last night gone cold, scarfed down in minutes. Her bedhead’s the least of her priorities. She tackles it with one hand and promptly gives up. Ponytail it is. Not like Raehan hasn’t seen it at its worst. At least she’s got most of the frizz under control today.

Over time, they’ve settled into a working pattern. The initial awkwardness of their first meeting seems faraway, a memory that recedes further and further into the back of her mind with each passing day. In its place sits the present-- the two of them in a perfect state of symbiosis. A natural give and take. 

For the most part.

At 9, the scheduled broadcast crackles through the radio: citizens of Normal Earth are advised to stay indoors due to elevated levels of fine dust particles in the air. If necessary, proper masks should be utilized outdoors. Today’s forecast is as follows...The rest she tunes out. None of it really matters anyways. 

The dirt road unfolds ahead of them with an ease of familiarity. What once had been a cityscape now sits at an impasse of dilapidated buildings and abandoned fields, with no clear indication where own town ends and another begins. By the third hour on the road, intuition has Roo’s eyes peeling away from the road to cut across to the passenger’s seat.

He’s been quiet. Too quiet.

“...Weren’t we supposed to make a turn at some point?”

@komovebis

[tidebreak]

THIN SLICED

Thirteen years prior.

The urge to flee strikes its fateful hand a second too late. By then, the palace doors have long since been sealed shut, the outside world with it. Escaping isn’t an option at this point-- not with the amount of eyes and ears in their designated places, her every move under thinly-veiled scrutiny. Like a chicken before it’s slaughtered. The thought doesn’t exactly reassure her. 

(Her brothers would have laughed.)

With her last joke looming ominously overhead, panic begins to set in. Her pacing steps begin to increase in frequency, a stiff, frantic patter of wool against polished wood. What if they change their minds?  What if I say something I shouldn’t?  What if the prince thinks I’m ugly?  Worse- what if the prince is ugly?

“I need some air,” she blurts out.

In the safety of the courtyard-- and under the watchful gaze of the two women instructed to follow her-- she finds a spot beneath a towering Juniper, away from the sun.  Maybe a bit of midday warmth is all she needs.  It’s certainly more pleasant than the brisk chill that resides indoors.  She toes at a loose pebble.  Tunes out, mind far gone by the time the words reach her: watch out--

She turns, only for the wind to be knocked out of her.  Into her.  It all happens too fast for her to process, until she’s on her back and the women from before are crying out in panicked surprise from above.  Dizziness. Then, gradually, the realization that she’s not the only one they’re worried about.

Her eyes meet his.

Oh.

Oh.

@blushtcnes

[tidebreak]

BABY STEPS

"...But kinda bluesy, like John Mayer- are you listening?”

“...Uh-huh.”

Can’t say he doesn’t deserve the guitar pick-turned-ammunition aimed straight for his shoulder, not that it appears to phase him.  Few things do.  These days, though, he seems particularly at ease-- as if he’s transcended general good-naturedness to become Buddha himself.  Which is impressive.  But also suspicious.  

She suspects it has something to do with the recent development in their relationship.  Well, her sister does.  So does Gayoung, who’s also adopted an all-knowing expression at the mention of his name, which is both disturbing and annoying (leave it to Hayeon to broadcast her personal information to whomever she pleases).  With the two of them breathing down her neck at every opportunity, she’s starting to think this is getting out of hand.  Their interest in whatever this is, she means.

Whatever this is.

An idle strum, legs rocking to the side to peer closer at the screen.  No new e-mails yet.  Results aren’t supposed to be sent out for another two minutes, but she’s starting to get antsy.  Kimoon seems to sense it, fingers brushing against hers soon after.  A natural consequence of habit now, the little touches of reassurance here and there-- not that they’ve been serving their intended purpose.  Probably just the caffeine. Who am I kidding?

“Oh my god, it’s here-- open it-wait!” Down the guitar goes.  Her hands take on a newfound purpose, effectively obscuring her view instead.  Vaguely, she can feel him shifting beside her before the recognizable clicks of her laptop mouse follow.  A pause. “...Congratulations.  Your song has been chosen to represent-” Oh my god. “Oh my god.”  (For emphasis.)

After rereading said e-mail four times, Hana allows herself a little victory dance, complete with vigorous footwork and clumsy spins.  Kimoon just watches and laughs. “Told you you could do it.  Leap of faith, right?” That reminds her: just above his head, in puffy paint, a very poignant drawing of stick figures (one stubby-legged, the other obscenely long).  And in Gayoung’s messy, childlike handwriting: TAKE THE LEAP OF FAITH. 

“I’m taking it,” she tells no one in particular.  Before he can react, she stoops towards where he’s seated on the floor and presses a kiss to his mouth.  There’s a beat of silence.  Then:

“...You missed.” 

“Shut up.”

[consilian-archive]

touch.

kimoon usually watches all that happens around him with a great deal of patience.

(he also likes watching hana, who at present: isn’t paying attention to him. instead, her lips are pressed together thoughtfully and she’s mulling over something he doesn’t see from his seat across from her. but she’s mindlessly nibbling off the pencil in her hands     from which he gathers, she must be doing something important     so he continues to watch. her eyebrows gently furrow and for one fleeting moment he wonders if this has anything to do with the competition she entered.

almost as if on cue, she looks up then, curious eyes lingering on him. there’s something mischievous that flits across her features and he momentarily holds his breath, her gaze. just for a few heartbeats until a hundred questions prick him back into awareness while his ears heat up. almost as quickly, he’s the first one to look away inconspicuously.

a few seconds later, and he catches hana smiling from the corner of his eyes and he finally does the same.)

“aren’t you cold?”

he’s yawning when the question is directed at him. what timing! and how funny he probably must look to her    hana always picks moments like this to rattle at him. it’s done nearly playfully, and if this movie wasn’t so compelling, he’d almost circle back to thinking about how cute her concern for him makes her in his eyes.

but right now, she’s staring at him with knitted brows: for wearing a shirt, no less. she says it’s still too cold for him to do that (”can’t you at least wear a sweater?”) and when he reaches for her hand, her fingertips cold and unwelcoming to his touch, his eyes widen comically in surprise.

if he was as cold as hana in that moment, he’d probably be complaining too.

“for warmth,” kimoon says convincingly when he insists on keeping her hand intertwined with his. with his attention still on the screen to follow the movie hana put on because right now, he genuinely doesn’t have the time to feel sheepishness.

(this is a really good movie, okay?)

“alright.”

(he doesn’t stop holding her hand even after the movie has ended and she doesn’t complain.)

@bergamotfeels

[muhammadgiovanni]

Visit Original Link

[tidebreak]

TRANSFER THE CALL

In this field, apathy is an irreversible side effect. A defense mechanism for the sake of one’s sanity.  A necessary evil, because an emotional doctor is an inefficient one.  Become too invested in your patient’s life and you run the risk of sabotaging their chances at recovery. You’ll spend the rest of your life feeling absolutely miserable, all because you’ve taken every blow to heart.  And for what?  A chance at sainthood?  Placing first in some obscure popularity contest?

He’s not stupid enough to let that happen.

“Please.”

“No.  Have you seen my schedule?”

“I’m begging you-  I don’t think I can do it anymore.”  Eyes impressively teary, Jihye picks delicately at the tissue box he’d shoved at her minutes ago.  Half of its contents sit in a crumpled heap on his desk, which he notes with poorly-concealed disgust.  This isn’t helping her case one bit. “She’s your patient.  You can’t just hand her over.  Besides, what am I going to tell her-- oh, sorry, your chances at survival are shit and your doctor doesn’t want to accept the truth?” 

“I’m going to quit.” Sanghoon can’t tell if she’s being melodramatic.  Wouldn’t put it past her, with what he’s seen over the years.  “You said that last year.”  She collects herself only to send a piercing glare his way.  He raises his hands in surrender.  “I’m just saying!”

“Take her.  I’m serious.  I’ve been talking to my husband about it, and he thinks it’ll be good for me to take some time off.” Oh.  This is really happening. “You’re not going to be easy to replace.  At least give it some time before you jump to any conclusions.” Hastily sliding a second, unopened box towards her, he offers what he hopes is a convincing (stiff) smile. “I’ll take it- her. I’ll do it.” That seems to brighten her up.  “Thanks, oppa.”

Dammit.

@consilian

[tidebreak]

That life - whatever else it is - is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch.