★

forsaken, almost human.

[weakkness]

× ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ on hiatus. closed for dragonshq, written by apple.

 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 은⠀jeongmin.⠀the bloodline.͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ♟️͏ 𝄒  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 고⠀sohee.⠀the mirrorball.͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 🪡 ͏ 𝄒

[weakkness]

[  ♫ ͏ ͏]   now playing     ‌‌. . .    ★⠀⠀⠀amoeba⠀⠀⠀⎯⠀⠀⠀clairo.

3wol.girl  beauticians lied to you. black box dye will never hurt you

[weakkness]

anyone else lowk on tsunami warning.. hi.. admittedly i've kinda fell off plotting + dms wise,, kinda a lot going on but that's neither here nor there :D i wanna get more stuff going esp for jeongmin so pls if we haven't or didn't finish plotting for wtv reason and u don't mind me bothering u pls give this post a lil like.. sorry again 4 ghosting friends

[moonmancy]

this is the nails of a killer, bella; with go sohee @weakkness

the walk through the inyeon halls is quiet, as usual. there’s almost an eerie kind of silence that falls over the building — the walls are soundproofed, and it’s rare to run into other grad students roaming the halls this late. micah doesn’t mind it — not really. he enjoys the silence, for the most part, finds that it gives him time to think, which is helpful this year especially, as he prepares to finish up his master’s.

it does feel lonely at times, though. which is why he’d opted for a roommate this year. he hadn’t expected to end up with sohee when he’d signed up for shared housing. she was different from his previous roommates as an undergraduate student, but honestly? he’d found that refreshing. she stayed up late, mumbled to herself without realizing, and filled the suite with an energy micah hadn’t realized he needed in his life. 

he’s hoping he will catch her at home now, he thinks as he walks up to unlock the door, a bag of snacks from the convenience store in his other hand. with her late night radio show, and various nail appointments, he finds her schedule somewhat unpredictable, and can never be quite sure when she’ll actually be home. 

the light is on when he opens the door, which is a good sign. “hello?” he calls as he enters, carefully stepping out of his shoes and putting his keys away in their designated spot. there’s a faint sound from the living room, whether it’s music or the tv he can’t tell, but all signs point towards sohee being home. when micah rounds the corner, he spots her, bent over her usual nail station. 

“oh,” he says, almost like he’s interrupting something. “are you expecting someone over for a late appointment?” he briefly checks his phone for the time — 22:16. not too late, considering sohee’s usual sleeping schedule, but a slightly odd time for a nail appointment.

he shifts, already halfway to the kitchen to put the snacks away, like he might vanish if needed. “i can disappear for a bit if i’m in the way?”

[weakkness]

all throughout undergrad, sohee never considered the idea of living on campus. never even dared to entertain it. there’s nothing her parents could’ve done to get her out of that cramped and overstuffed room she’d sworn herself to like a blood oath. her own little rapunzel tower, except she was the one keeping herself captive. and she liked it that way. or at least, she thought she did, until she—well, her parents—decided it was time to move forward. further her education. leave the confines of those four walls.

getting kicked out of their apartment didn’t come with a fight, just a set of uni housing forms and a vague promise they’d cover the fees—just go. and she did. but the idea of living alone—not just self-imposed isolation, but being actually alone—terrified her more than she expected. luckily, one of the shared grad units still had a double open when she applied, and her new roommate, micah, turned out to be surprisingly nice.

their schedules rarely lined up, she was out all night and slept during the day, and he was part of ten million clubs that needed him at any given time every single day. still, when they did share space, it was always easy. familiar, even. so when he mentioned wanting his nails done, she simply couldn’t pass on the opportunity of making his dream come true. she planned the design loosely from what he’d said, spreading out pinks, blues, and purples across the coffee table, alongside her tiniest charms and iridescent glitters.

“hi!” she calls quickly, legs unfolding as she pops up from the couch, grinning widely and arms stretched wide in dramatic flair, like she’d been rehearsing the surprise all day. then—“what?” her smile fades and in one quick step she hops off the couch, heading over to him in long strides, trying to catch him before he walks out. “no, no—i mean, yes! yes. it’s you. you’re my client tonight.”

[versionloop]

the printer sputters back to life, just barely. paper slides free with the unceremonious flap of recovery, and reiko lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding — not for the machine, but for the girl next to it, who looks like she's been bracing for execution. poor thing. reiko takes a small step back, not retreating, just softening her presence. "hey," she eventually offers, gentler now, "it's fine, seriously. if this thing caught fire, i'd blame the manufacturer." a pause. her smile twitches at the corners, sheepish. "or mercury in retrograde. honestly, you'd be low on the list."

she doesn't expect the paper title — neither erotics nor decay, and it disarms her for a beat, pulls a small laugh from her throat, somewhere between shocked and amused. "that's one hell of a conversation starter," she glances over, curiosity lighting her features. "art history, huh? that tracks. you've got the vibe." whatever that means, she doesn't elaborate. just nods like it's self explanatory. "though i feel like i'm never going to look at a crumbling museum exhibit the same way again." her gaze drifts from the printer to the folder now pressed tight against the other girl's chest, and offers another smile. "glad it made it out in one piece," she adds. and so did you, she swallows down to herself.

most people run from problems. reiko stays. not out of virtue, but because of a certain kind of conditioning that's geared in her system since she was old enough to hold down the fort while everything else fell apart. but she's also the girl who writes into strangers' livestreams at 2am just to admit that maybe she doesn't have it all figured out. maybe adjusting isn't the same as arriving. maybe she misses the smell of her obaachan's kitchen more than she lets on. so when sohee mentions her name, it clicks a little too neatly. there's no confirmation, not yet — but the voice somehow matches. the tilt of her phrasing, the way she pauses between words. reiko's already folding the possibilities into her memory like puzzle pieces sliding into place.

"reiko. ui/ux design," she returns, steady. if it were any other day, she'd head back to her desk and disappear behind a screen like always. it could end there. but it doesn't. reiko lingers — no longer for the printer, nor politeness, but something else entirely that she couldn't exactly pinpoint. "oh wait, actually," she says again, voice tilting lighter, but not careless. "are you free after this?" then, almost as if to soften the weight of the question, "you look like you've been in the library since tuesday, and it's almost dinner. there's this sundaeguk place i've been meaning to try, but they don't take solo diners." her fingers toy absently with the hem of her sleeve. not exactly fidgeting, just... hedging. "no pressure. just figured, you saved your paper. might as well save the rest of your night too."

[weakkness]

sohee doesn’t know what to do with her hands now that the crisis is over. the printer has stilled, the air around them uncharged again, and she’s left standing there with her folder pressed too tightly to her chest, blinking like someone just turned the world back on. it’s always like this, the slow shame that creeps in after her panic peaks, like a tide pulling back to show how ridiculous the storm really was. she wants to say something casual, like ‘thank you’ or ‘wow that was embarrassing’ or ‘i promise i’m not always like this’, but every version sounds too formal or too fake or too weird. and the other girl, calm, casually smiling, weirdly gentle, is just standing there like she didn’t just save her from a complete collapse. like helping her meant nothing at all. and that makes sohee even more uneasy, because she has no idea what to do with kindness when it doesn’t feel like it’s owed.

there’s a flicker of something like embarrassment when the paper title is brought up, but sohee hides it behind a quiet breath of laughter. “i swear it’s more academic than it sounds,” she says, even though she doesn’t bother explaining it, just shrugs slightly like that should be enough. her words suddenly hit her like a bullet train of thought slamming on the breaks. she glances over, eyebrows knitting together. “vibe? i didn’t think i had one,” a few beats pass, quiet but not exactly comfortable. “i always thought i was more... blank?” too still, too easy to overlook. sohee’s never really felt like she fits in with the art crowd, even if her major is kind of adjacent. they’ve always seemed so at ease with themselves. bold, instinctive, made to be seen. she’s not like that. not effortless, not someone who knows how to take up space without apologizing for it. it’s always felt like she’s one step behind, mimicking fluency in a language she was never taught, nodding along and hoping no one notices she doesn’t quite belong.

and then she’s being asked if she’s free. if she wants to go get sundaeguk. and the question feels like she’s taking another hit. not because it’s outrageous, but because it’s not. not at all. it’s kind of normal, actually. and somehow, that’s what throws her off the most.

“oh,” she says first, because it’s the only sound that comes out. her eyes drift back to the printer like maybe it’ll jam again and give her something to focus on, but it stays quiet, as if to say you’re on your own now. trying to think of a reason to decline that doesn’t sound fake or overly dramatic, she comes up empty. she’s free—she’s always free—but accepting feels like breaking some kind of rule she’s made for herself. still, she doesn’t want to say no. and reiko doesn’t feel like a threat. if anything, she feels like someone slightly out of sync in the same way sohee is.

“i mean… yeah,” she says slowly, like she’s testing the word. “i’m free. i don’t have class or anything. and sundaeguk sounds nice.” glancing at reiko, she finds herself searching for something — a tell, maybe, or a reason to relax. “you’re sure you don’t mind, though? i know you said they don’t take solo diners, but i don’t want to hijack your night or anything.”

[goodbyejoon]

( better with friends ) ;  ⸺ + @weakkness !

minjoon was returning from getting groceries and that, in and of itself, should probably be an oxymoron. at least if you don't know him, for sure. he was making his way back to his dorm now, bags in the backseat, hands on the wheel.

it all started because of sohee, really. she was a wonder to him, an escape in a way he hadn't realized. joon has never been one to be able to talk about those loose threads that are tangled up inside of him. it was a secret he carried because where does one lay a secret like that?

well... she did make it a bit easy.

and things since have been a gradual growth into an almost friendship (well, a friendship for joon, anyway, those are rare to come by in some ways. most of them served their own individual, high specific purposes, and most of them he fought tooth and nail all the way down into the pit of affection; it wasn't quite that way for sohee).

he calls her through his phone bluetooth and when the phone goes through, there's an odd relief in him as if he'd expected to be sent to voicemail.

"ah, you answered." he says off handedly, as if it was no big deal even as called attention to it. "what are you up to, anyway?" all he needs is an answer just ambiguous enough to convince her it's less important than him.

he taps his fingers on the wheel. a tiny breath of silence crosses, and then he nods his head (to a phone, where she can't see). "i was just on my way back to my dorm with food. maybe i'll make some chicken bulgogi... it's just; i bought so much, it'll be a pain carrying it, let alone eating it. not like me to fail to plan this far ahead. ah well... only so much i can do." he mutters, neutral, as though it was a sad fact. would she save him, he can't be sure; but he hoped she'd give in and come spend time with him regardless. sohee was one of the few people he decided to pursue for himself as a friend, and it was a delicate process.

[weakkness]

dust floats in slow, deliberate spirals as sohee sits against the side of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, one sock halfway on. she was going to clean her desk, or maybe start the reading she’s been putting off for three days, but instead she just sat down and never got back up. there’s no real reason for it, just that moving feels unnecessary. too early to sleep, too late to be productive. the room quiet except for the low whirr of the air conditioning.

the phone buzzes beside her. for a second, she just stares at the screen. minjoon’s name looks strange showing up like that. not that seeing his name is unpleasant, just a bit unexpected. answering doesn’t take any effort. her thumb moves automatically, even if her voice doesn’t come right away.

“huh? oh, sorry,” she says, rubbing at her eye with the back of her hand. “wasn’t doing anything. literally just sitting here.”

not a lie, but it sounds stupid when she says it out loud. there’s a brief pause as he starts talking. she lets the sound of his slightly performative voice coast over her. it’s oddly charming, and she’s not entirely sure why. maybe because people don’t usually explain things to her. or maybe because most people don’t ask her to show up unless they need something and minjoon somehow makes this sound like it’s neither.

pulling her sock the rest of the way on, she stays quiet. it doesn’t feel like a request or a ploy, just something offered gently. like he thought of her and didn’t talk himself out of it. like maybe he wanted her there. and that part lands a little off-center, like a step missed on the stairs.

pulling a hoodie over her head, she presses the phone to her ear with her shoulder. her voice stays soft. “do you want help carrying it?” no implication, just a question. “i’ll come,” she adds, like it’s nothing. and it is, kind of. just this vague, unfamiliar feeling of being wanted for once. not for attention, or amusement, or convenience— just because.

[virtualbeauties]

rekindling — with @weakkness

it was strange how life brought people together.

a bridge she thought had burned away years ago had suddenly rebuilt itself using awkward conversations and an inability to discuss the past to form… whatever this was. it wasn’t uncomfortable, nor was it unwelcome — but it was strange. looking at the man in front of her felt like she was looking at a stranger that resembled someone she once knew, someone she shared all her best memories with and kept close to her despite the hardships that friendship brought upon them. the stability she had found with him during their youth was no longer existent, and neither of them wanted to bring it up.

she pushed it all aside like she usually did, letting her lips curl into a smile as they walked down the moonlit street, a giddiness in her tone from the alcohol she’d had earlier that night and a teasing edge to her words that only ever came out around him. she took a drag from the cigarette between her fingers, blowing it out before breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"why’d we even choose to go out so late?" she questioned, not bothering to look at him as she spoke, eyes focused on the ground and making sure that each step she took was between the lines and cracks of the pavers. she was visibly relaxed — she had been all night, even prior to the few drinks she’d had earlier. it was always natural when it came to jeongmin — she felt like he just understood her, no matter what. perhaps it was ignorance or denial of their problems, but the two of them were never the sort to pry into their feelings. understanding was all they needed, right?

she took another drag of the cigarette and yawned as she blew the smoke out, her organised schedule leading to her being far from a night owl, but she didn’t complain like she usually would when tired. she didn’t want to run the risk of starting an argument, not when the night already felt so serene. "did i tell you about the cat that’s been hanging around my place? whenever i leave the building she’s sitting there like she’s waiting for me. the dog gets mad when i walk in though — can probably smell her on me."

she didn’t take the time to think her words through to make sure they were relevant or anything, letting every one of her thoughts spill out to him without any care. he didn’t care anyway. at least, she thought he didn’t — when it came to him, she was never completely certain. not anymore.

[weakkness]

it still felt strange, walking beside her like that. not because they hadn’t done it before — they had, too many times to count — but because of everything that had come after. even then, jeongmin found himself waiting for the moment it would stop feeling like they were playing at something. like that version of them had only ever been a rehearsal for something neither of them had been quite willing to say out loud.

sora walked a little ahead, cigarette loose between her fingers, turned just enough away from him to feel intentional. he watched the way her steps traced the seams in the pavement, like some childhood habit she’d never bothered to unlearn. it was comforting in a way he didn’t want to look at too closely, like catching the hook of a song he hadn’t heard in years and realizing he still knew all the words. familiar, sure. but not quite the same.

jeongmin wondered if she ever thought about how their friendship ended. not the fight but the silence after. he did, more than he’d admit. maybe that’s why being around her always felt off, like they were showing up to something neither of them had agreed to. he watched the smoke leave her mouth in slow, practiced drags. still didn’t know why she texted, or what she wanted. but he knew why he said yes. part of him wanted to believe they could go back. not because nothing happened, but because maybe it didn’t have to matter anymore.

it did, obviously.

a pebble caught beneath his shoe, and he kicked at it halfheartedly just to keep moving. somewhere in the shuffle, their steps fell into sync again, like his body still remembered something the rest of him was pretending not to. “i don’t remember choosing to go out,” he said eventually, voice light enough to pass for casual, but not quite joking. “you just looked at me and said, ‘come on,’ and then we were here.” not an accusation, but not harmless either.  “you never really gave me the option to say no.” the words hung there for a moment, like a loose thread neither of them was willing to tug on.

she started talking about the cat. about how the dog was jealous and he almost laughed. not because it was funny, but because it felt like the kind of thing she would’ve said years ago. something inconsequential, offered up without defense, like a piece of herself she’d forgotten to keep guarded. “you should keep the cat,” he said, and this time his voice was quieter, less performative. there was no irony to hold it together. “sounds like she shows up for you.”

his hands stayed buried in his pockets, eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement as they walked. her footsteps clicked evenly beside his, steady like she wasn’t thinking about it. he glanced at the cigarette in her hand and then up at her face, just long enough to ask, “you got another one?” the words came out low, almost offhand, like it didn’t matter either way. he was already patting down his coat, half-aware there was nothing there, but doing it anyway. not to stall but just to fill the space with something familiar.

[lxckystrike]

jinyoung is prideful, but he is also realistic. for example, he would never even try to argue that he’s ‘traditionally’ smarter than someone like jeongmin — at least, not in the classroom and not in any subject found in a textbook, be it math, science, literature, or literally anything else that they offer a degree in at this university. but in the practical application of ‘street smarts’, then jinyoung likes his chances. more than likes his chances. in fact, it baffles him that nobody else witnessing this ponzi scheme seems to think that there’s something really off here. the timing, the weak little cough, the unconvincing delivery of his lines.

or maybe everyone else is choosing to turn a blind eye. in which case, jinyoung feels even more more vindicated in his cause. why does it always seem like jeongmin gets away with things at the most convenient times? well, it’s time for some good ole fashioned, vigilante justice.

he simply nods along to jeongmin’s retorts. he’d get more worked up if he didn’t already know that he was working with the ‘moral’ upper hand here. “no, thank you for your concern. but don’t worry. you ever heard about michael jordan’s flu game? i’ve always wanted one to add to my lore.”

he saunters a couple steps closer towards jeongmin; not in a combative way, but more in a ‘let’s take a good look at you’ kind of way. “c’mon, nobody is saying this is going to be fun. but it’s also not that deep. just some kisses on the cheek.” he leans in slightly closer so that only jeongmin can hear him clearly; a stupid, mocking smirk hangs from his lips. “or wait, would this be your first kiss? is that why you’re so freaked out?”

[weakkness]

nothing about this feels urgent. there’s a kind of studied patience in the way jeongmin watches, arms crossed loosely, gaze trailing after him like he’s tracking the world’s slowest moving target. it’s like waiting for someone to finish a monologue you’ve already read the script for or someone so desperate to be perceived as shrewd that they’ve forgotten how to be precise. he guesses that’s the way student athletes are trained to act, that belief that being brash is the same thing as being brave. that saying the quiet part loud makes you clever, or at the very least impossible to ignore. 

“the flu game,” he repeats, slow and dry, like he’s rolling the phrase between his fingers. “a foundational myth for men who think illness is character-building.” his eyes land on jinyoung with the faintest tilt of the head, as if to say you’ve read too many locker room speeches. not mocking, just distant. “if you’re looking to be immortalized, i’d aim higher than a sponsored kiss booth.” a beat. then, almost conversational, “but i understand. not everyone can separate performance from legacy.”

he lets the silence stretch for a moment too long. curated. deliberate. and when he speaks again, it’s not in response, more like resuming a thought that had never been disrupted. “besides,” he says, voice gentler now, almost kind, “if the point is to be wanted, you should know that being seen wanting it ruins the effect.” there’s a flick of a glance after that, barely there, like he’s offering the benefit of the doubt, or just the illusion of it. “as for the kiss— if it really didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t be so eager to bring it up.” his tone doesn’t shift, but something in the shape of the words turns sharper. “so what is it, then? curiosity? projection?” the pause is measured, polite. the kind you use to let someone catch up. “or do you just like the idea of watching?”

[alfaire]

[weakkness]

˟  은정민  ;   july prompt: jeongmin's journal log. [ 07.24 / thursday / 11:38pm ]

listening — the 2025 mix of three cheers by mcr weather — 35°c / hot and dry, unbearable mood — unmotivated + tired

˟  today   、 

snoozed 5am alarm, didn’t get out of bed until 5:45. disappointing. went for an early morning run to clear my head. didn’t plan the distance beforehand, ended up doing just over 10km. good pace, too. body a little sore afterwards but it was nice seeing the sky turn gold over the campus. summer mornings are definitely the best time to be here in general, shame most students will never experience it.

class afterwards was mostly okay. i asked a question i already knew the answer to just to hear the professor say it out loud, but they didn’t word it how i wanted to hear it so it bummed me out. saw both of my parents on campus but managed to avoid them. i don’t know why i felt the need to walk the other way, i hope they didn’t notice it because i don’t want to talk about it. i replied to my mom’s message about having lunch over the weekend at the country club but i didn’t answer her when she asked why i’m staying on campus over the summer. i’m sure she’ll ask me again, so i have to come up with a mostly convincing answer so she drops the subject. my dad backs me up when i say it’s just easier to focus in school if i stay here. honestly i think he just likes not having me in the house. i know it’s because we don’t see each other often so there’s literally no time, but it’s nice not arguing with him all the time.

i feel like i’m falling behind on all my courses, even though technically i’m not. everything points to me being not only on time, but ahead, but i just can’t help but feel like i’m doing everything wrong. like at one point someone will show up and point out every single mistake i’ve made, which makes up most of my work, and make me do everything again. i feel incredibly anxious but also, resigned? i think everything is wrong, but i have no drive to make it right. then i get my grades and it is right, but instead of feeling relief it feels… conditional? like i fooled them that time, but i won’t for much longer.

the track team isn’t practicing right now so i can just do whatever i want, which would be nice if it weren’t for the heat. i want to focus on long distance running, so i’m mostly practicing endurance these days, but in my own way. so just running until i feel like i might pass out. i don’t know if that’s a bad thing. maybe it is. maybe it’s just what works for me. i need to beat my records next semester if i want to keep being captain without feeling like a fraud.

besides class-related stuff, i don’t think i’ve spoken out loud in like two days. i haven’t heard from anyone in a while. or maybe i just haven’t replied. i don’t know, and i don’t want to check. if i’m right or wrong, i’ll still feel some type of way.

i keep telling myself i’ll feel better the next day if i just try to sleep or wake up earlier or run a little further or answer one more email. i think that’s what people mean by routine saving them.

˟  notes   、 

× younghee's birthday party on friday. show up maybe? × belgian gp qualifiers saturday 11pm + race sunday 10pm. × kant duty vs desire ← relevant? × "i only understand myself in the comparison of others"

˟  to-do list   、 

× email about the research assistant position. × clean out fridge lol + buy more sparkling water. × double-check citation formats for classics essay. × write personal statement draft. anything at this point. × organize pdf folder (delete duplicates) + back up notes.

˟  sleep   、 

hours — 4 notes — snoozed alarm a few times. haven't felt so tired waking up in a while. dream — remember a few fragments but nothing coherent. a lot of shifting figures, like people who kept changing faces or bodies mid-conversation. some parts felt familiar, like i’d been there before, but i couldn’t place where. i don’t think anyone spoke directly to me. mostly a sense of urgency that didn’t have a clear cause. woke up feeling like i was supposed to understand something but it slipped the second i opened my eyes.

˟  run log   、 

type — long distance distance/pace — 10.4km / avg 4'38" notes — not planned. legs heavy but mind cleared up by 7km. pushed hard last 2km out of spite.

[selfmythologize]

ft. @weakkness in yua's dorm room, late afternoon

they're sitting on the floor, because that's what sato yua has always known girls to do. the floor is where nails get painted, where laughter-filled stories get told, and where tarot cards get read. it feels more raw, somehow—how the same thing that gets said at the dinner table loses its filter on the floor. at least, that's how yua feels. and she's coming to find that she quite likes sitting on the floor with sohee.

they're both busy, much like everyone else on campus, so she can't fully remember how long it's been since they've last seen each other. a week? two weeks? too long, anyway. "so, catch me up." it's said as she's retrieving her black cat tarot deck from its pouch. she sets the deck in front of sohee, who's sitting across from her, and it goes without saying that the next step is to stack shuffle. she's sure that sohee knows the drill by now.

the window air-conditioning unit comes on and it's an almost silent blessing. the summer heat is relentless, and until now yua had only hoped that her company wouldn't notice (or wouldn't mind) the mugginess of her concrete home.

barely a beat has passed since she last spoke, butshe feels the need to clarify: "what have you been up to? anything new? anything old?"

[weakkness]

sohee is a firm believer in anything that either tells her exactly what she wants to hear, or exactly what she’s supposed to do. she knows critical thinking is important— she actually did surprisingly well in the classes that required analysis and media literacy. but that’s school. in her actual life, she prefers to think as little as humanly possible.

there’s only so much comfort online quizzes and tiktok astrologers can offer, and that’s where yua comes in. people have warned her about becoming too reliant on her readings, but sohee insists it’s harmless fun. how could it not be? they get to chit-chat, gossip a little, loosen up, and then the cards tell her what to do, think, and feel. it’s perfect.

“i’m not taking any summer courses,” she starts, fingers tapping lightly against the deck before breaking it into six uneven stacks and putting them back together in an alternating order. “but the housing is paid for, so i’m just staying here. i don’t feel like going back home anyway.”

she hands the deck back to yua, smiling expectantly, barely able to contain her excitement at finding out what her personality is going to be for the next few weeks. “i’m mostly focusing on doing nails now. still not in person, though. i don’t have the setup or the permits, and honestly? it scares me.” she leans forward slightly. “what about you? what are your plans for the summer?”

[virtualbeauties]

she let out a quiet breath of amusement at sohee’s attempts at recruiting people, giving an applause at the mention of giving away the flyer and an exaggerated impressed look on her face. “i think she was just playing hard to get,” she suggested, trying to make sure sohee didn’t feel too bad about it — they needed to keep morale up to last the rest of the day.

her eyes rolled in a playful manner as sohee dragged her away from the booth, turning to watch the booth as they ran off, finally turning away once they were far enough that she couldn’t see people’s faces. she caught up to sohee with two strides, not letting go of the older’s hand as they navigated through the crowd — losing each other wouldn’t mean a whole lot of hassle (they stood out enough), but sora was not in the mood to go hunting for anyone in this weather.

there were groups of people scattered around — some sitting on the ground, some standing under trees, some sitting on benches, and others just walking around aimlessly, just as they were. her eyes caught an empty bench off to the side, partially covered by a tree, and she beelined straight towards it, her grip on sohee’s hand tightening as she dragged her through the crowd to the bench. it was off the main area, with fewer people around and more space to just breathe and take a moment to calm down.

“i don’t know all the options we have, but i saw a truck that was doing pizza,” she replied once they got to the bench, letting go of sohee’s hand and sitting down, using her hands to fan herself and taking a mental note to fix her makeup before clocking back on at the booth. she surveyed the options of food trucks that they could see, feeling her own stomach grumble in hunger as she watched people walking around with their food. the smell of everything wasn’t helping much either — she let out a groan as her head fell back and her hands rested on her stomach.

“the longer i sit here, the closer i feel to starvation.” it was an exaggeration, of course, but her discomfort only seemed to get worse — all because of the heat. she paused her moping for a moment to look at the older woman, lips pursing in thought before she simply shrugged, letting sohee take the wheel.

“i’m not feeling picky. you choose what we get for lunch, i’ll buy the drinks and ice creams after.”

[weakkness]

sohee doesn't say anything at first, just a long, drawn-out exhale as she sinks into the bench. the wooden slats dig into her spine, but it’s the first semi-stable surface she’s touched all day, so she’s willing to forgive it. the sun’s still unforgiving, but at least there’s shade. barely. every accessory she’d confidently thrown on this morning now feels like it’s personally attacking her, mascara’s melted into a look that could charitably be called “apocalyptic.” she knows she probably looks insane, but she’s accepted it. what she doesn’t see can’t hurt her.

sora says something about pizza and the words register a second late. she lets her eyes drift toward the food trucks, scanning like she’s surveying them through a sniper scope. “pizza sounds good,” she replies eventually, dryly. “just not that one place that does sweet potato mousse and, like, twenty toppings. i still have beef with them.”

one arm drapes over her stomach, the other flops across her forehead like some victorian heiress halfway through a bad monologue. not in an elegant way, more like someone who’s given up halfway through pretending to have grace. her stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, which feels kind of rude, honestly, but fair. everything about this moment is physically offensive. the heat, the noise, the hunger.

after how awful the start of her shift at the booth was, and how much fun every one else seems to be having, sohee calculates the consequences of ghosting them for the rest of the day. so far, the results seem manageable. “i can’t function when i’m this hungry,” she mutters, not bothering to lift her head. “if i faint, tell them it was a noble death. tell them i did it for the cause.” she pauses, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand in a dramatic little gesture that she doesn’t fully commit to.

“i’m leaning toward pizza, i think,” she adds, less decisive and more like she’s choosing the easiest possible path forward. definitely not wanting to wander around the festival looking for other options. “but like, normal pizza, the kind that’s basic and salty and makes you feel kind of bad after.”

head tipped back, eyes shut, she slips into temporary non-existence, like a npc on idle. her eyes open with the fragile determination of someone bracing themselves for war. “okay,” under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. “we’re doing this. pizza. drinks. sweet treats.” her hand rubs at her eye with the heel of her palm, definitely smearing something, but she doesn’t care anymore.

“if i collapse halfway through,” she adds without looking, “you have to carry me. no questions asked.”

[thorrid]

the world doesn't revolve around han yikyung — but sometimes, it sure feels like it does. it might have something to do with how he's used to getting things his way.

his parents have always had a lot to say about the life he chooses for himself, but up until his DUI, they've been letting most things slide. it doesn't help that he knows exactly how to turn on the charm and get a resounding "yes" with his exes too.

he might have a way with people, but an elf is uncharted territory, even for someone with a dating history as extensive as his. never tried hooking up with a mythical creature, but a human dressed as one does sound pretty tempting.

asking them to give up the last churro for him might not be the best way to start, though. the closer he gets to the churro truck, the stronger the whiff of buttery sweetness hits him — and for the first time this weekend, he finds himself salivating for something more than the booze fueling him for the festival.

a chance with the sprightly little elf or a bite out of that crispy cinnamon stick? he isn't han yikyung if he makes himself choose just one. he'll have both, to-go, please.

or not. when elf girl turns around, he finds his eyes locked with a familiar pair — the same ones he's spent nights gazing into, searching for answers to the questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"sohee?" he blurts out, surprised, eyes flicking over her get-up as he mentally notes how well she pulled off the look. classic sohee — only she could make quirky look that good, it was one of the things that drew him to her in the first place.

and there it was, the "no" he wasn't used to hearing, the "no" only she has a habit of giving him. darn it, now he knows his charm won't work on her. not sure it ever did, really. "look, i'll pay for it and you can have a bite."

[weakkness]

she blinks, slowly. not mad, exactly. more just vaguely stunned that this is her life. that in the middle of her one (1) sacred break, she has to negotiate sweet treat politics with han yikyung of all people. her gaze flicks between him and the churro truck like she’s weighing her options, her patience, her karmic debt.

there’s a split second where she actually considers letting him have it. she’s too tired and he asked nicely enough, but then she remembers the booth, the sweat, the random underclassman who asked her if elves are “basically just hobbits with better pr.” she remembers standing in line yesterday and watching the last churro disappear into someone else’s hands. she remembers hunger. so no. there’s no way she’s letting that churro go.

“you can pick something else,” sohee says finally, casual but firm. “or...” she makes a vague gesture like she’s offering a once in a lifetime deal, confident it will for sure change his life. “you can still do the noble thing and fund the mission,” she offers, like she’s being generous, completely unaware she’s still stuck halfway in elf-speak. “and in return, i’ll let you have a bite. but it has to be like... a delicate bite. mindful. one fourth of the churro, at most.”

she slightly softens a little, only because he did offer to pay. it’s not enough to make her like him, but it’s enough to not hex him on the spot. and maybe part of her is entertained by how ridiculous this whole exchange is.

there’s a beat of silence, staring him down before adding, “and if you’re about to say suggest something so absurd again, maybe don’t. let’s protect the vibe.”

with that, she turns back toward the counter, already pulling out her wallet even though he said he’d cover it. trust is a scarce resource, and she’s not about to let one of her few joys in life be held hostage by someone she once ghosted mid-conversation. twice.

[100stroke]

"they're not stinky," he objects, brows pulling into a little scowl — more theater than temper, like he’s playing the tragic role of a deeply wounded sock donor number one. still, there’s a flicker of guilt behind this act: a promise is a promise, and not keeping is not really his style. nestled somewhere in his gaze is something quieter, softer: far from pity, but more something like regret that she’s not enjoying herself like she should.

he sinks down next to her on the grass, settling on his knees with a kind of cautious reverence. "can i take a look?" he asks, hand hovering near her ankle but not touching, waiting for her permission. his brain’s flipping through half-remembered first aid advice from mr. kim’s class — something about swelling, tenderness, how to tell if it’s a sprain or just a pissed-off tendon. not exactly textbook accurate, more on the spot judgement, but close enough to feel responsible.

"yeah, you're right. it's not like anyone will care," he adds after a beat, tone lighter now, mouth curving into a grin. "i mean, come on. it's for a noble cause, right? you're injured. they should feel proud."

his eyes flick to her shoes —the high heels, in all their unstable glory — and the grin twitches wider. "those are wild, though. are they just for—" he waves a hand vaguely at her outfit, "—the costume? or do you intend to commit to them on the daily? no more pjs and chucks?"

[weakkness]

“i never said they were stinky!” sohee fires back, eyebrows furrowing with sudden distrust. “why did you bring it up? is there secretly something really wrong with your toes?” she eyes him, suddenly suspicious, like he’s just revealed a secret only the guilty would invent. the dramatics do little to disguise her actual discomfort, with her knee drawn up, heel barely grazing the grass, she winces as it throbs in a dull, rhythmic beat, not unbearable but sharp enough to ruin the adrenaline of it all. 

with a sigh, sohee tips her head back, eyes flicking to him as he sinks down beside her, tone softening just slightly in response to the shift in his. she hesitates for a second when he asks, then finally lifts her foot a bit closer toward him in silent permission. “you can look, just don’t touch anything that looks like it might fall off.”

watching him from the corner of the eye, she attempts to remain serious as he goes all quiet and focused, a little too intense for someone poking at a potential sprain. “you look like you’re about to perform surgery,” she mumbles in a bantering tone. “are you gonna cut it off if it’s broken?” there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth like she’s trying not to laugh at her own bad joke.

her eyes roll playfully at the comments about her unusual footwear, “what? what if they are for daily wear? god forbid a girl loves inconvenient shoes...” a beat. then, more honest. “they’re just for the outfit.” she adds, defeated. “i don’t think i can commit to the tall lifestyle, it’s just not for me. props to you.”

[legalbrat]

her shriek tears through his eardrums — sharp, shrill, and so high-pitched it feels like he can taste it. something metallic hits the back of his tongue, and he nearly gags.

"fuck," he hisses, hands flying to his ears as he shoots her a withering look. "are you serious right now? we’re in public, dude. stop yelling. goddamn."

it's moments like these that minseong questions why they even made the decision to waste each other's time with shit like this. she wasn’t going to hold his hand. he sure as hell wasn’t going to buy her overpriced tonkatsu for dinner. and they absolutely were not going to kiss when he walked her home — not after all the petty arguments, not after the exhausted silences, not after the creeping suspicion that they were both cosplaying straightness just to prove a point.

eventually, his patience had snapped in half like a cheap chopstick. the irritation bubbling just under his skin boiled over, burning through the illusion they were still trying to sell themselves. she wasn’t worth the fucking effort. they were both batting for the wrong team, and in hindsight, the signs were everywhere. the awkward silences, the mutual disinterest, the way she complimented female professors with her whole chest.

he frowns at the hand that grabs his sleeve; by now, he's trained himself in a weird, sick, pavlovian-sort of self conditioning that her physical touch has started to repulse him.

"it’s never just one video with you. by the time you ‘accidentally’ finish the next five, we’ll be late for dinner and i’ll be stuck watching another compilation of female idols most likely to be bisexual because they have short nails." he locks her into the world's most dramatic and hate-filled staring contest as he peels her fingers off his wrist like he's removing a leech.

he doesn’t have the restraint — or the emotional maturity — to not turn this ant hill into mount fucking everest. so he digs. deeper. why the hell not? it’s not like she can be bothered to put her phone down for even ten minutes when they’re together.

"everything is always on your schedule. why can't you watch this shit when you're at home? if you don't want to hang out then just say it, jesus christ." he runs a hand through his hair, shakes out the rage climbing up his spine like a fuse. it doesn’t help. nothing helps.

"seriously, i’m going home. i’m over this. for real, sohee." no endings. no honorifics. just her name — bitten off and spat out like bad aftertaste. "i’m not wasting my life force sitting in a park watching you scroll through your tiktok for you page like i don’t exist."

[weakkness]

her hand drops from his sleeve like he burned her. not dramatically, but quick enough that it reads like recoil. her expression doesn’t change right away, but there’s a subtle shift in her eyes, a flicker of wounded disbelief that quickly gets snuffed out and replaced with something colder, more practiced. eyes narrowing and lips curling ever so slightly like he’s the one who just crossed a line. not her, never her. she takes a breath, slow and measured, and tilts her head just slightly as speaks out. “wow,” she starts “you know what? i was literally about to put my phone away. you couldn’t wait ten more seconds before deciding to lose your shit over it?”

sure, minseong wouldn’t be wrong to say she’s a shallow screen-addicted girlfailure with a dopamine deficiency who just can’t live in the moment but she knows his tantrum is not about that, it’s about how he always has to be the one who gets annoyed first, the one who storms off and draws the line. but god, it’s not like he was saying anything. he hadn’t asked about her day, hadn’t even looked at her in that way she could somehow read as reassuring. just sat there with this brooding version of him, carrying some unspoken grievance like a badge of honor. she knows the pattern by now. he lives for conflict as long as he’s the one being wronged.

“do you ever think maybe i’m tired too? that maybe i needed two minutes of dopamine before dealing with your bad mood?” she fires back, voice low and deliberate. so plain yet so uncharacteristic of her it feels dangerous in it’s own way. “i show up, i sit through this weird silence, you barely talk, and the second i check my phone, i’m the villain?”

sohee can feel the heat rising in her chest, that familiar swirl of guilt and defensiveness and bruised pride that always bubbles up whenever he pulls this. she hates how she still kind of wants him to reach for her, to say something kind, to apologize first. because what does that say about her? that she’s willing to twist herself into someone more palatable just for a scrap of affection from someone she doesn't even care for.

“whatever.” her voice softens, feigning detachment like it’s second nature. “go home.” sohee pauses, letting her words linger with intention. “it’s not like i dragged you here. you always choose this and then act like you’re being held hostage.” her expression blank as if she’s already moved on. she’ll survive, she always does.

[dearparadigm]

another restless night drawls on, nothing out of the ordinary for sungmin. tonight he finds himself near the edge of his typical waking hours, the time bordering on 3 in the morning. whenever he's up this late, he finds himself listening to the late-night radio show “you up?” ran by fellow lotus fm dj, sohee. 

and speaking of sohee, she's part of the reason why he's up so late.

it's been a couple weeks since she lost a keychain of some character he doesn’t quite remember the name of—a rather interesting looking man with coiffed white hair, piercing red eyes, and a smirk that sungmin can't tell if he’s meant to be pleased or perturbed by. this… talisman, he’s lovingly dubbed it, has been sitting on his desk ever since he brought it back one afternoon from the recording studio. after asking the other three djs, its rightful owner was confirmed, so it should’ve been easy to cross paths and return the little keychain to her, right?

one problem: sungmin doesn’t know a thing about sohee outside of their status as sort-of-coworkers. he also learns something else over time: she is incredibly difficult to synchronize with. not that he blames her for it, not at all. however, after a number of missed opportunities, the shiny acrylic keychain was close to becoming a permanent fixture in his dorm. maybe it’s actually cursed, seeing as how he can never manage to catch sohee at the right moment to return it.

so here he is, standing outside the studio with the object stuffed in his pocket. he knocks once, twice, three times with a few beats of pause in between each attempt. “sohee?” he asks as if that’ll get her attention any more than the knocking did. the door to the studio is understandably thick, but the realization doesn’t click in sungmin’s sleep-addled brain. he tries again, louder and more drawn out this time. “sooooheeeeee?”

a loud thump against the door makes sungmin jump, and the following scream makes him yelp in return. “AH– wait, relax, it’s sungmin! i have your tali–i mean, your keychain!” his hand flies up to grab his shirt just in front of his heart, attempting to calm down and pretend he didn’t just scream for no real reason. “let me in?”

[weakkness]

the voice makes her stop in her tracks. one foot frozen mid-step, hand still gripping the remote like it’s some ancient weapon of protection. “…sungmin?” she echoes slowly, suspiciously. she doesn’t sound relieved. she sounds like someone who’s watched enough horror movies to know that of course the ghost knows your co-worker’s name. “you say you’re sungmin. but if i were, like, a demon trying to trick me, i would also say i’m sungmin. and i would say it exactly like that.”

there’s a long pause. then a click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she steps back toward the mic, barely lowering herself into the chair again, as if ready to flee at any second. 

“so apparently,” she says, voice low and still breathy from the earlier scare, “it’s sungmin. he’s outside the studio. which, if true, means i didn’t almost get murdered. but he says he’s here to give me back my keychain. which, first of all, sir. that was, like, four weeks ago. you held onto it for four weeks and chose now to show up at the door like some haunted postman?” sohee raises an eyebrow, even though no one can see her. “do you see what i’m saying? this is suspicious.”

but he does have her sylus keychain, which she is concerningly attached to. the past four weeks without it have felt like someone is out to get her, like whoever is praying for her downfall is finally winning, and maybe that evil spirit possessed her poor coworker to finally get it over with. or maybe it really is just sungmin trying to give it back to her.

finally, with one last breath—mostly for dramatic effect—sohee marches toward the studio door. she doesn't fling it open like some horror movie girl about to get axed, she opens it strategically. just a sliver. just enough to see without being seen. her hand stays raised, remote clenched like it’s excalibur as she peeks through the gap, eyes narrowed and heart still racing with the lingering adrenaline of imagined murderous spirits. the hallway light spills in, harsh compared to the soft darkness of her studio, and she squints up at the figure just outside.

“if you’re the real sungmin,” she says, voice low and steady, like she’s a detective in a noir movie, “then show me the damn keychain.” her eyes flick from the item in his hand to his face, scanning him like he might glitch at any moment. “and if you’re not, i will weaponize this remote so hard it’ll leave an imprint on the astral plane. don’t test me.”

[lovestereo]

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