@denouae:
and this is why he hates himself. he denounces feelings as soon as they arrived, wrecking havocs in ways inconceivable. this is why he detests emotions: they’re nothing but hassles. his incapabilities to cease the exhibit of apparent melancholy are almost too risible to even be retained in his body. this is a flask, poured into the goblet of chastity, stripping himself to the point empty. of course, juwon would be able to see that all the time. it’s like being bare all over again, his body a subject to perusal, except juwon would fixate on his chest as his heartbeats thud irrevocably. he cannot deny the bloom, he cannot deny that he also wants it to rot.
juwon has always been this sultry looks that demand an escape.
and so, juwon ran. leaving a gaping exit wound for uriel, for he couldn’t contain a man that was too scared to admit anything. so, again, retains a semblance of composure this time; his bitterness should not ruin this mission. he’s never let himself fail, or else juwon would see him for his err. the inability to fight the product of their aftermath. he’s not letting his own subconscious breach past the floodgate. hence, he calms himself, ignoring the fact that juwon’s subconscious might have been piqued into hostility over the issue.
the question, again. uriel is tempted to roll his eyes, but that feels too juvenile. he parts his lips, but juwon interrupts. later. yes, there’s always later, as if juwon would give him any hopes. that’s why he’s also hanging onto a filament at this point. juwon seems to know all the good place to spread the filament thinner and thinner, like this one question — as if he knew that uriel has been battling the decision for months and months, ever since the time the creed recruited juwon based on his testimonies.
juwon, by far, is one of the best forgers he’s seen around. dreamwalking does not just come naturally, but juwon makes it so effortless, sometimes. the transformation happens in a blink of an eye, and he suppresses a sigh when juwon asks for his opinion. he despises appraisals directed towards juwon; it makes him feel like admitting defeats. the simple question carries more weight than what’s perhaps intended.
what he gives juwon is not even a glance, but gazes that lock. juwon knows, he’s certain. doesn’t mean it alleviates the weight roped around his sternum. “great,” is all that he can manage to muster, eventually. “go ahead, then.” he crosses his arms across his chest, feeling defensive as he realizes his own gestures. he acts like he’s absorbed in the displays before them, then, not really caring of what they are. in the corner of his peripheral view, he notices juwon, now acting as the target’s father. he ambles closer casually, before passing them by to eavesdrop on them. seated, then, he surreptitiously observes the exchange, with the mark falling into the snare so easily.
The conversation is meaningless. There’s words but no real content, and he isn’t able to retrieve anything useful. It doesn’t help that he feels all pairs of eyes on the two of them, both in the crowd and outside of it. His mind runs and runs till he realizes the silence between them. He can’t remember if he’s supposed to reply, or waiting on the mark to speak.
“Dad.” The quiet breaks, and something else does too. “Dad, you can be honest with me. You know I’m your favorite daughter of the two.”
Juwon chuckles, completely in character. “What do you mean? I’m still not understanding you, Jin.”
“I’ve seen enough to know.”
His words come fast, now disgruntled. “You’re still speaking like you’re sixteen, in some sort of morse code. Speak in a language I can understand.”
Youngjin looks at him — looks straight through him. “I know you’re keeping it from yourself for me, and for Youngmin too, but... it’s in your eyes, dad.” She places a hand on his cheek, in some sort of gentle violence. “You’re wearing a mask you aren’t sure you want to wear anymore. You can wear a face all want but your eyes will always tell enough. Enough for me to know.”
He doesn’t have to ask what.
“You’re still in love.” He holds a breath. “You just don’t want to admit it.” He forgets to let it go, until his chest kicks out.
Her hand drops from him, and instead to her lap. “Youngmin and I don’t care if you get back together with mom. We’re grown up and adults now, not your sixteen year old twins anymore, you know.” She brings their eyes together again, and he feels too bare, and much too read, by this complete stranger. He doesn’t know how to close the door, when all his eyes seem to be is awfully honest. It makes him wonder how much worse then his hands will be, as he gathers them into fists.
“I’ll see you at the family dinner, hm?” Youngjin gets up from the bench first. Her heels clack a few steps before they turn around. “... maybe with mom, this time?”
Juwon waits till the mark disappears into the crowds again, before he too, stands up. When he does, heads turn towards him, eyes burning into him. It’s not till he exhales that the museum scene continues to unfold, and he slips himself back into the scenery. His facade fades as he passes each art piece, until he comes to an installation of just a plain mirror. He faces his reflection again, this time, completely of himself and no one else.
He stares at his own eyes, and tries to fool himself.
He breaks the gaze and the glass shatters the same, falling by his feet. “Uriel.” He calls out, knowing of his presence even before he can see him. There’s too much he wants to say, but it’s not the right time, and it never is. “It’s the marriage. That’s where we have to get this family.”
