“yihannie.” he greets, and he tries not to grimace at the strain to his words, the faltered chirp in his tone. “wh..whatcha workin’ on?” he rocks on his heels, and he can’t help himself from getting closer, attempting to peer at what he’s working on. “oh, can i see?”
⤷ ( received )
yihan is, without a shadow of a doubt, in a bad mood today.
maybe, just maybe, it’s the ringing of his alarm, too early in the morning after only an hour of rest and too loud in his ears. or it could be the failing test result from his first class, the arrogant clicking of his professor's tongue as he passes the paper back on his desk.
or it was his father’s phone call.
“good morning father,” he says, trying to hide the crack in his voice. it’s easier to hide his emotions behind the screen of a phone. easier to mask the fear if he can keep it from dripping through his voice.
“have you found a familiar yet?” yihan doesn’t miss the lack of hello in return. instead his father launches at him, like a tightly wound snake.
“i—” he clears at his throat, and suddenly the outside air feels hotter. his fingers find the collar of his shirt and tugs at it, trying to free his skin. “well, not quite but…”
he doesn’t have an excuse. he didn’t have one last time. or the time before, or the time before that. he never does. never knows how to explain that he has no interest in it. no interest in forming a bond with another person.
and how could he, with the shadows of the hallway looming over his head. he thinks of that door, swinging shut behind him— thinks of the millions of ways he’s tried to escape in the dark hole of a closet, and it makes his knees weak. with trembling fingers, his tightens his grip on his phone.
“we allowed you to go to this school, in exchange you would find your familiar. is that not what we had agreed upon?”
already yihan wants to run. he doesn’t.
he can’t.
“y-yes.”
“and yet,” he can hear his father rise on the other line, chair scrapping the hard wood of what yihan would assume is the floor of the study. he winces to himself. “you have been in this school for quite some time and have yet to produce results. i’m beginning to question if schooling is wise, or another distraction.”
“no!” the echo of his yell falls across the courtyard. if others stare, yihan cannot see them past the teetering of his vision. “i’ll find someone. i just--uh— haven’t found a familiar worthy yet. you told me to never settle and no one has met my standards.”
it’s bullshit, yihan can taste it like something sour and putrid in the back of his throat. maybe his father can too, because there’s a moment of silence.
or maybe not, yihan thinks as he begins to talk again. “produce results yihan, or i’ll have you removed.”
the other end clicks into silence.
yihan doesn’t realize he’s leaning against one of the courtyard’s pillars until he puts the phone down, the entirety of his weight shifting as he slides down and to his knees.
his family walls grow ever taller every day, despite how he climbs. every rope, every inch of progress is met with another line of bricks and cement. he wonders if he’ll ever see the other side.
wonders if he even wants to.
he tries to fight the urge to panic, to kick and scream like a child in the midst of the grass, and rises unsteadily to his feet. they carry him where they always go after a call with his father, a routine he can never quite shake. like clockwork, he’s lead to the art studio. there’s no classes within, even the professor missing on a lunch break or a chat with the facility in the office. it doesn’t matter, yihan moves slowly towards the supplies, grabbing his own art supplies bag and an easel.
he ventures back to the courtyard, setting the easel in the grass and pulling out his supplies, setting it around him. soon his canvas is primed and he is stroking color against the white setting.
he’s unsure how long he’s there before siheon ventures in. doesn't hear him, much less see him until the boy chirps his name. the sound makes yihan start a little, shoulders jumping as he looks up from the canvas and at the beaming boy that comes his way.
“siheon—” he breathes, a little relieved and a little anxious all the while. “you scared me.”
it was suppose to be a chide, but yihan has no energy to play today. he sets his brush down and notes the splatters of paint against his slacks and the stiff fabric of his white button up. oops.
he wipes the grime of the paints off his fingers, adding to his new collection on his pants. “nothing of importance,” he replies, before stepping aside and motioning the little bird to join beside him and peak. “i just thought it’d be nice if we have cherry blossoms in the courtyard.”
true to his word, he had painted as such. the usually blank courtyard of their campus was filled with the blossoming trees, streaked in shades of pink. the fine columns and intricate carvings within them decorated by petals of soft pink and shimmer streaks of light. it was a pretty sight, yihan would give himself credit. but he was proudest of the people.
students, random in face and color and size, litter through the courtyard. some read, others draw, while groups sit and eat or stand for games. a sight often seen in the courtyard even in life.
yihan points at one tree in particular. “i like this one best.”
he wasn’t sure why he had painted it. he had seen it in a dream once, the image either a foretelling or simply a dream to ease him away from his nightmares for once. but he had added it here too.
a black dog sits beside what looks to be himself, silver blonde hair and all, beneath one of the trees.
maybe it’s the shadows, cast out by the sun’s movement across the sky. maybe it’s a hunch based off nothing but his own cloudy mind. but when yihan looks at hyunjin he looks older — worn down. fragile. as if he were made of thin glass. a single drop and shatter.
yihan looks away— the sight is unusual. he tells himself he must be seeing things. but still, it sits on him like a weight.
“were would you sit?” he asks, picking up the brush once more. “what tree, i mean?”
siheon lets out a long breath, pulling his hands back to him and looking up at yihan with a curious look. “can i look at them now?”
⤷ ( received )
in many ways yihan fails socially. he never had much practice, really— too shy as a child and too busy as a teen learning magic from a father who refused failure. by the time he had become his own adult, the time had slipped by him too quickly. right through his fingers and suddenly he realized he was a at a loss. he didn’t know how to smile quite right, didn’t learn the proper words to say to another. empathy was a forgein concept to him, small talk tense as his words always fumbled. and hell, he couldn't even try to image himself flirting. it was something he was aware of, the socially awkward tension that sat in his shoulders. he had grown accustomed to it, told himself he didn’t need people. he needed to succeed in his magic, he needed to please his parents and bring fortune to the family name. he didn’t need friendships and romances. they took too much time, too much effort.
no, no. yihan just preferred his moments alone.
siheon however, makes him forget that preference. just a little bit. enough to shake him, leave him unstable. something about him made yihan want to reach out just a little bit more. it sparked the imagination of a child, sparked images of laughter in late night sleep overs or road trips down dark roads. moments he never shared with another.
he swallows and tries not to look at the kid sitting there, like a prince, carefully picking his cards.
instead he focuses on the hum of his magic under his skin. softly, under the mumble of his breath, he begins chanting whispered incantations. the family booth is set up to empower readings. of course the wares are for sale, but yihan had chosen each article with care, with the intent of use for his spells. and with his chantings he can feel the power of the crystals draw into the air— the scent of the herbs tuning his focus and strengthen it. the hustle and bustle of the fair sounds begins to fade away from him, his eyes shutting slowly as the world begins to step away.
in the darkness behind his eyes he meets the arcana.
the characters of the tarot speak excitedly to him, whispers in a language long gone and long dead. taken from the world when the fey faded from the earth. he can’t speak it, can’t understand the words as the characters whisper, or shout, it to him. but he can feel it, his magic searching and finding and reading it to him.
with every card pulled, an arcana appears.
the first card that makes an appearance is the bright, womanly face of the moon poised between two towers. beneath her sits the loyal dog, and a howling wolf. she smiles at yihan, but it does not reach her eyes. the vision of her twists yihan’s heart.
she looks like she wants to cry, he notes, frowning.
the second card is pulled.
next, he finds himself greeted by the gallop of a white horse and his child rider, bearing a spear. above them shimmers the sun, bright beams stretching across the sky and kissing the sprouting sunflowers that litter their fields. the horse bows at yihan, and he can’t help himself from smiling.
of course, he can’t help himself from chuckling at the arcana. of course he’d pull you.
in another moment the shadows shift, sweeping away the scene. from the ground sprouts a tree, the branches stretching from the trunk to for a definitive “T” shape. against his trunk, and tied upside down, is the hanged man, bound by his right foot to the branches above. his left foot reigns free, bent and tucked behind his right along with his arms. yihan winces as a warm halo of light forms around the crown of his head. the man looks at him, shakes his head, and the halo’s light flickers twice before blinking out.
yihan swallows.
he opens his eyes and gazes at the three cards before him. his fingers work in gathering the other parts of his deck, shuffling the unchosen arcana back into a stacked deck and slipping them into their pouch.
the three chosen remain, face down against the table.
“now we may reveal the cards,” he tries to smile. it feels so forced, like wax, against his mouth.
he reaches for the first card, and flips it slowly.
“the first card accounts for your past.” he looks down at the familiar face of the lady moon. “the upright moon. she represents your fear and anxiety. something—” he swallows and tries not to look at siheon. “something traumatizing happened to you. a moment that sparked fear and anxiety. it stays with you today, even now and shapes the way you think and your intuition.”
the cards only reveal their stories at him, sharing the emotions that invoke and the tales they share. he cannot speak to them, but they tell him all he needs to know when they are revealed. the moon card represents fear and it’s hold on the person dictates her showing — reversed it is a release of fear. the freedom from it. but upright—
yihan wants to grab siheon’s hand in comfort. the past is in the past yes, the moon shows him that it does not stay there. instead, she shows the shadow that lingers on siheon’s shoulders. a weight against him even now.
he swallows away the acidic taste of his own guilt, sympathetic towards the boy and unnerved at how much the cards have already revealed. his eyes find siheon, searching for a flicker of his emotions. anything to gauge what this sparks in him.
when he finds what he’s looking for, he continues, finding the next card and revealing it’s colors.
“the second shows your present moment. you pulled an upright sun—” he finds himself smiling now at him. “which is unsurprising in the least to me.”
the horse of the sun card stares back at the two of them, as if alive even against it’s paper on the home. yihan swears he can feel the sun’s heat against his skin— something akin to what siheon makes him feel as well. comfortable. safe.
“the upright sun represents fun, warmth. success and positivity. it means that these are attributes you represent as you are now.” yihan clears his throat, looking away from the other boy now in his own nervousness. “which i can attest are all very… fitting for you.”
stop flirting, he hisses at himself. or--- trying to considering how poor he is at it.
yihan shoos the thought. he’s not flirting. he’s reading. what the card says is true. siheon is fun— someone who carries a smile on his face always. like a child, who beams warmth on the people around him. if flowers were to grow from the ground around him it would be no surprise to yihan. if birds floated around and mice followed his steps like a princess from a fairytale, no one would find shock in it. everything about him is innocence and purity and comfortable. comfortable enough to yihan forget his family’s shadows and the lurking shadows in the door at the end of his hallway.
he clears his throat. “and last,”
his fingers find the card, and once more he greets the hanged man. though this time, his card is upside down. “is the reversed hanged man.”
briefly he thinks back to the hanged man’s look, the stare he gave yihan. accusatory. it gives the boy a rise of goosebumps, pricking against the skin of his arms.
“the reserved hanged man tells your future— it shows delay. resistance and indecision. but— it does show those attributes within you.” the hang man’s eyes glare into him, yihan shivers. “it means you’ll meet someone, or further bond with someone you know, who will create a large impression on your life. someone to alter your life’s path. but your relationship with them will be faced with the trials of indecision and will face resistance. either from you, or this other person.”
yihan lets the cards sit there, all three calling to him. the magic is thicker around him, he can smell it, a dark and rich, toasted smell. there’s a small surge of pride at himself, he did it and he did it well. but it’s quickly combatted by the urge to be better. to do more. simple tarot readings aren’t going to earn the respect of the witches around him.
he stands from his seat and bows, not at siheon, but at his cards. “moon, sun, and hanged man,” he starts, head bobbing. “thank you for your service. rest well.”
he bows once more, deep, and then takes a seat once more, eyes finding siheon.
there’s a small smile on his mouth again. he should keep tally. “the...uh… end?”
okay i will eventually conquer my messages but tumblr keeps locking it up on me and stops sending them because it thinks im spam ;; so please be patient i promise you its coming!!
“you can do that?” he asks dumbly, blinking. his lips curve, a wide smile in place, and his body feels like it’s vibrating. thrumming with energy. “i…sure! i-i mean, yeah! which one do you reccomend hannie?” it’s like the snap hadn’t happened, siheon bouncing back with such a warm smile. “you have so much, i don’t think i can choose.” he sighs, loud and exaggerated, and the pout returns.
⤷ ( received )
there’s a certain way siheon looks at him that makes yihan’s skin crawl. it’s uncomfortable, sure, goosebumps littering the length of his arm. but it’s not awful. he couldn’t deny that, couldn’t neglect the flipping in his stomach and the warm of his chest that spreads like a fire within him. his eyes always stare, big and round and so pitifully naive. it brings out a small reflex from within yihan’s core— an urge to protect him. to yank the younger boy behind him, shield him from the fangs in the shadows and the nasty words of others. a guard dog of the heart.
but he won’t do that. in the end, yihan is a coward. a cowering child, scared of the dark and the stories that lie there. he couldn’t save himself, much less done the silver armor and proclaim him someone’s knight.
he was never meant for the role of a hero.
with a small cough, he turns his eyes away from siheon, trying not to focus on how incredibly blinding he is. it’s so easy to get lost in his excitement, so easy to let his heart skip at the compliments he pays. it’s unusual to receive praise. uncomfortable. suddenly he’s acutely aware of how ugly his heart is next to siheon— how undeserving of the kind words.
“i guess,” he shrugs, ignoring the burning of his cheeks. “lots of practice i suppose.”
siheon then starts, the excitement peaking in his voice as he prattles on about the fair— it reminds yihan of a dog, prancing about the room as it’s owner returns home— and yihan can’t help it.
he smiles. it’s a soft thing, weak and unsure and a little tense. but it sits there in the corners of his mouth, leaving little dents in the swell of his cheeks.
“cute.” he finds himself saying.
out loud.
he stares for a moment, silence passing over him. it stills his mouth, which sits agape, and leaves his throat dry.
jesus christ— instinctively he reaches for his hair, running his fingers through it, pulling at the strands with a wince. “uh—the fair. it’s rather cute don’t you think?” please for the love of god, yihan. shut up shut up shut up. “i’m— uh… glad? you’re enjoying it.”
every part of him is braced to run out of his seat in that moment. he would like nothing more than to take off down the isle way, shoving past the stalls and people and booking it to literally anywhere else but there. it’s suffocating, sitting here with siheon in front of him, the awe spilling from his features like a child watching a magic show. but it’s all a trick. yihan knows this much. he doesn’t deserve the admiration, he has to remind himself. ground himself, prevent himself from getting lost in the kind words and puppy dog eyes and forgetting that he’s nothing. a nobody.
useless, useless, useless.
he swallows the thick layer of bile rising in the back of his throat, tries to choke down the voice in his head. it’s so loud that he almost misses the look siheon gets, the flatter in his smile as yihan snaps at him. guilt rears ugly at him, fangs bared and claws like ice in his skin.
“give me that—” he says, reaching and snatching the drink from his hands. yihan glances his way, as if to say are you happy now? before taking a large sip. the drink is sweet, floral, earthy. it’s unsurprising that siheon would pick such a drink. in a weird way yihan thinks it suits him. he swallows hard, trying to ignore the image of siheon with flowers decorating his hair, and shoves the drink back into the boy’s hands.
“if you get me sick you owe me soup.” he says, another small grin sliding across his mouth.
that’s two in one night. yihan almost balks at himself, eyes lift to catch siheon’s. the discomfort remains, yes, but he almost makes it easy. easy to sit back in the chair and relax. easy to let himself laugh and smile. almost enough to make him forget about closets in hallways and the shadows that sweep under the door.
almost.
he clears his throat with a loud start. “take a seat,”
doing siheon’s reading could be simple — the crystal ball would be enough. or even a palm reading, something plain and easy and painless as could be. he doesn’t need to impress the other boy with fancy tricks and magic like the other witches. he isn’t putting on a show, isn’t paid to perform with a fancy hat and disappearing rabbits.
but he wants to.
and that’s why he finds himself reaching for his card deck.
“i don’t usually use my cards,” he explains as he pulls from the safe box on the ground. in it is a satin sack, deep purple in color and lined with silver and gold stitches. it’s crude, by all means, something he made for himself a long time ago, but the cards liked it, always pleased to sleep nestled in between the pieces of smooth cloth. “but i think they could use a little excitement.”
he finds himself winking, mischievous, as he frees the card from their sleeve and begins to spread them out before siheon.
“now, take a deep breath. focus. and pick the three that call out to you.” he gestures over the display. “but don’t look at them yet.”
hello everyone! ;u; my name is rae, i’m yihan’s mun! i’m excited to be here, as i’m sure are most of you! i’m also exhausted from work so give me a bit to get back to most of your messages already! BUT in the meantime i’d love to get to know everyone better, it’s been awhile since i’ve been in an rp! i will eventually have yihan’s pages up but in the meantime go ahead and give this a like if you’d enjoy plotting and i’ll find your ims c:
thank you for your patience and i cant wait to roleplay with you guys ;;!!!!!!
“want some?” he asks, tilting his head. a tuft of his hair flops over one of his eyes, and he blows out air abruptly to move it. it flops back over his eye, and he huffs, defeated. “it’s taro.”
⤷ ( received )
the lights of the fair are dazzling, shimmering lanterns and string lights snaked through the trees. it's warmth, its homely and its breathtaking, that much is clear by the excited screams of the children running down the paths, and the gasps of awe from tourists and newcomers alike. had yihan been one of them he might have been the same way, lost in the petals of the cherry blossoms and winking lights.
but a lifetime here, within the constraints of the city and the social precautions it's brought him, has worn him dry. instead he sits, irate, at one of the many jaeseung booths that litter the fair pathways. his booth is simple, draped with a woven purple table cloth. laid out before him is an array of crystals, sparkling hues of pinks and whites, and a large, round, polished crystal in the middle. the colors are deep in it, a swirl of galaxies and glitter that reflect in the evening lights. above him are dried herbs and flowers, hanging from the stall roof. their smell is a faint, but pleasant, earthy rural smell.
despite being apart of a family that specializes in divination, and his magic's specialty relaying that, the flowers and herbs are something yihan was proud of. he couldn't speak to them like some of the greener witches could, or their fey descants that could spring them from the dirt from nothing, but he found peace within the greenery. he had always wished that his powers had taken to earth magic, instead of being casted into the stars.
he finds himself looking out at the flower stall across from him, green with an envy that rivaled their leaves.
it had been a while since the stalls had opened and the tourists began their walks down the isles of self proclaimed psychics and food vendors. he had a few customers, people asking him to read their palms in hope of futures of fortune, or ask the crystal before him for guidance in love. the magic in the air was energizing, intoxicating. it made the simple spells easier, a few hushed words and the stars revealed the answers to his customer's questions— giving him small glimpses at the rise and falls of their lives.
he spared the bad news and told them what they wanted to hear and they went along their way, filling his money box with their bills before moving to the next stall who was sure to provide the same. it was boring, he had to admit. he only found himself longing to be in the comfort of home.
the most recent customer is moving along her way, giddy over the confirmation that— yes, her classmate does share her mutual pining— when he sees a face he recognizes.
siheon finds him and is prancing over before yihan can greet him— not that he would. there's something about the younger boy that makes yihan was to run in the opposite direction. of course that's not reasonable, not with the boy standing before him now, the wide smile of a child spread across his mouth.
"hello siheon—" he swallow, eyes diverting.
"yeah, i thought i'd give a shot." it's a lie, but he can't very well tell the boy that his family of witches sent him this way. "we've been busy a bit. it's starting to slow down it seems though."
he ignores the flash of heat across his cheeks at the compliment. shut up, yihan, he's hissing within himself. he's complimenting the booth not you. don't let it get to your head.
"a-are you enjoying the fair?" there's a tightness in his throat and he finds his fingers reaching for each other, fiddling nervously. why are you talking to me, he wants to ask. why are you looking at me that way?
when siheon offers him a sip of his drink, yihan is almost sure he was going to combust. he lifts his eyes, staring in disbelief at the other— his face lighting, ears burning and cheeks a stark red.
"no," he quips, too harshly. too quickly. he winces inwardly. "you shouldn't share your drinks with others. you could get sick or something."
he wants to scream— at siheon, at himself. something about the boy ticks yihan, makes his voice a little sharper and his tone a little meaner. like a bad habit he finds himself falling into again and again. he never understood it. it felt like sitting on knives, bracing for the prick. he just wanted to flee. it wasn't fair to him, sure. siheon had never wronged him, never shown him anything but kindness. he couldn't clearly say he disliked him. couldn't deny that he bore him no hatred.
( he just hated how he made him feel )
yihan clears his throat, tries to clear away the guilt for his behavior that builds there. "would you like me to do a reading for you?"
