꽃

너무 피곤해서 잠을 잘 수 없어. 하지만 잘 수 있다고 해도. 잠을 안 잘 거야.

[yokijii]

party 4 u.

cw ;; none

The music had been turned on well before the first guest arrived. It was low at first, just some noise to fill the space as she decorated so the apartment wouldn’t feel so quiet. Jiyeon had spent her entire afternoon stringing up lights along her ceiling, small bulbs radiating a warm light, looping from one corner to another. Snacks and drinks lined the counter, everything carefully curated for the evening. Nothing was too loud, nothing too pungent, nothing too crowded. It was the kind of night he would like, the kind of night he used to like.

She checked the door again without knowing she was doing so, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. It was stupid to be feeling nervous like this; he was probably just running late.

I only threw this party for you

It wasn’t meant to be a party, not really. Kyungsoo had never been one for a house party, never really liked noise just for the sake of noise. This was meant to be something softer, something more personal and tailored to him. His favorite snacks, a playlist she’d built from songs she’d catch him humming when they were together, the soft lights instead of the harsh overhead ones. Even the guest list was meant to be small, just familiar faces he could be himself around. Everything about tonight had been built around him, a hope that if she got it all right, he would act like himself again.

I was hopin' you would come through

By the time the living room had started to fill up, Jiyeon had already checked her phone more times than she would admit to. Each knock made her heart jump, each silence between making her heart grow heavier. She laughed when she wasn’t supposed to, greeted people and thanked them for coming, but her eyes always looked right through them and over their shoulders, waiting for a familiar figure that never appeared.

“Oh, he said he’d try to make it,” She told someone, forcing a small smile. Try. It’s not like him to leave it at that.

Called your digits, but the phone kept ringin' Wish I knew what you were thinking

The first call had been casual, the second a little more insistent. By the fifth, she had stepped away into the hallway, the phone pressed tightly to her ear as she listened to it ring, and ring, and ring. No answer.

It's her almost all at once that this wasn’t just about tonight. The past few weeks, she had noticed a shift in his behavior and the way he acted around her. He’d be quieter, harder to reach. His replies were shorter, and his smile never quite reached his eyes to form the little crinkle that she adored so much. 

They tell each other everything. They always have.

Hope you walk into the party 'Cause I threw the party just for you 

The music gets louder. Someone turns the lights down even more. The crowd grows as uninvited persons show up, but she doesn’t notice. The laughter swelled, and conversations overlapped into one blur. Jiyeon let herself get pulled into it, let someone drag her to the center of the room, she let her self spin and laugh and pretend.

But every few seconds, her gaze returns to the door. Each time it opens, her chest tightens before it falls again. Not him. Not him. Not him. Still not him. 

She claps along to the beat, sways with the crowd, but her rhythm is off, her mind is elsewhere.

Any second now, she tells herself, he will walk in. He has to.

I only threw this party for you

After some time, it begins to feel a little silly. The lights, the music, the people filling up a space that was never meant to be so crowded. Someone hands her a drink, and another compliments the setup. She is nodding and smiling, throwing out small ‘thank yous, but it all feels distant. This wasn’t meant to be a night for everyone. 

It was supposed to be his.

Yeah, if you saw my tears, would you touch me? Kiss me on the mouth, say you love me? Leave a message, tell me you're sorry? Hit me right back, hit me right back Why are you treating me like someone you never loved?

Her mind is flooded with questions that she can’t push away. They settle deep in her chest,  heavy and sharp. He wouldn’t do this, not to her. Kyungsoo, who always texted back. Who always noticed when her voice sounded off. Who showed up even when she knew he didn’t feel like it, only because he knew it mattered to her. 

Her smile falters at the edges, and her laughter is no longer landing the right way. Hurt is building beneath the music and the chatter, pressing against her ribs in a way that feels suffocating. 

I only threw this party for you

It begins to feel too much. She slips out without anyone noticing, weaving past bodies she didn’t recognize and others that called her name until she was in the quiet of her own bedroom. Her phone is already in her hand.

Call. 

It rings. 

Straight to voicemail this time. 

Her stomach drops, and she opens his contact. She hesitated for a small moment before tapping to view his location.

Nothing.

He turned it off.

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face, instead you’re somewhere far away

The rooftop is colder than she remembered. The city stretched out in front of her, the car lights flickering in the distance. She leaned against the railing that she’d usually be at with him, her phone clutched in her hand. 

“Where are you…”

She spoke quietly to herself, her small voice being carried away by the wind. 

Come to my party

Her next call goes straight to voicemail again, but this time she doesn’t hang up.

“Soosoo…” Her voice wavered despite her trying to keep it steady. “Everyone is here… It’s not even that loud; you’d have a good time. Promise…” There was a long pause of silence, as she wondered whether to even keep talking to no one. 

“I just wanted to see you…” The city hummed around her, indifferent to her feelings. The party continued below her, distant and muffled. 

“Please come…” She whispered, her voice softer than before. “I threw it for you..” There was a pause on her end, and then a quiet beep of the voicemail ending.

And then, there was nothing.

[yokijii]

busan.

cw ;; none

The waves rolled in quietly, breaking against the sand in a rhythm that matched up with Jiyeon’s breathing. She stood where the water met the shore, her toes sinking into the damp sand as the hem of her linen pants brushed against the incoming tide. The night was calm in a way she had grown accustomed to, Busan’s coastline stretching endlessly before her while the soft hum of city lights stretched far off into the distance. The scent of the ocean grounded her; the waves crashed freely, asking nothing of her in return.

Sometimes, that was all she really wanted, to just exist without being watched, measured, or remembered for something tragic. She had stopped trying to chase the version of herself that existed before that night. Healing from it hadn’t meant becoming her old self again, it had meant learning how to live with the fragments that were left. Some nights were harder as the memories still came back to her. The creak of a floorboard, the feeling of breath too close to her skin, but they didn’t hold her back anymore. These days, they passed like clouds. Present, prominent, but never permanent.

The fall air was cool against her face, her eyes fluttering closed so she could listen to the sounds of the water around her. Somewhere behind her, faint laughter drifted from a small beachside bar where Bryce had gone to grab another round of drinks for the two of them. He was probably charming the bartender or insisting they didn’t need any extra food. Whatever he was up to, she knew that laughter was from him. He had that kind of warmth that disarmed everyone, even her. Especially her. Jiyeon still didn’t know how he’d managed to slip past her walls so easily. It was almost as if they had never existed to him. He didn’t climb them or knock, he simply stepped into her life and was in.

She hadn’t told him everything, not in detail, but he didn’t need her to. He never asked why she flinched at sudden sounds or why she couldn’t sleep with the door fully closed. He just took notice and adjusted. The first night she’d woken up from a nightmare, shaking and disoriented, Bryce hadn’t tried to fix it. He’d just sat there beside her, holding her until she was ready to close her eyes again. That was all, and that was enough.

A small wave reached her ankles, and she stepped back instinctively before laughing softly at herself. The salt air clung to her skin and hair, the moonlight catching the faint outline of the scar that lingered on her wrist. She traced it absently, not with shame, but with a strange kind of gratitude. It felt like proof that she’d survived the worst version of herself, and of someone else.

She didn’t hear Bryce approach, but she felt him before she saw him. The familiar warmth of his chest pressing against her back as his big arms that she adored so much wrapped around her waist.

“You’re always sneaking off.” His voice was low and laced with amusement. Jiyeon smiled, leaning into him, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” she said softly, her voice barely louder than the sea. “I just needed a moment.”

He tightened his arms around her, his chin resting against her temple. “You can take all the minutes you need.” He said simply. As they stood there with his heart beating steadily against her back and the ocean stretching out endlessly before them, Jiyeon felt a true sense of security. It was steady, quiet. In this moment, it was real.

[yokijii]

little dove

cw ;; blood

She had never known anyone like him. That was the root of it, she supposed. It wasn’t love at first, it wasn’t lust until later. From the moment she laid eyes on him, it had just been pure curiosity. It was a morbid kind of wonder, the same kind that made people slow down to look at car crashes or watch documentaries about serial killers right before going to bed.

He was soft-spoken, with an air of elegance around him, as if he were something misplaced from another era. Everything he did was deliberate. He listened to her speak as if her words were rare, precious, and fragile. Like he might break them if he were to interrupt her. When he touched her, it never felt possessive or hurried. His hands always asked permission, even if his eyes did not.

They had known each other for exactly three months before he finally kissed her.

She remembered her first kiss the way others might remember religious awakenings. Not because it was dramatic or ravenous, but because it felt like she had been chosen by him. Like he had been starving, and still had waited, and waited, and waited — until he couldn’t anymore. And when he finally leaned in, lips brushing hers so lightly she thought she’d imagined it, it wasn’t lust that clenched in her chest.

It was fear.

Not of him, but of herself, and how badly she wanted him.

There was always something slightly off about him, a sort of quiet dissonance. He was kind and attentive to her at all times, but there was a tension she felt in him that never fully eased. Sometimes she'd catch him staring at her. It wasn't with desire exactly, and it wasn’t with affection — but with a kind of aching restraint that made her skin prickle. He’d always look away when their eyes met in these moments.

It never felt really dangerous, just strange. Strange enough to make her wonder what it was he wasn’t telling her, what he was hiding.

But he never crossed a line, he never gave her reason to distrust him or even fear him.

Not until that night.

They were in her apartment, of course. She’d never been invited to his. There were candles and music, quite the romantic setting set by Jiyeon herself. Her head rested on his chest, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It had taken her weeks to get him to agree to stay the night with her. He had always made excuses, always said he didn’t sleep well in unfamiliar places, that he could stay until she slept, but he’d always left just before the sun rose. At one point, she assumed he was maybe a type of vampire. Some sort of creature who couldn’t be caught somewhere overnight. But at times like this, she felt silly for having such thoughts of things that didn’t exist. He was here. He was real.

They kissed slowly, like the two of them had all the time in the world. His lips that she had spent so many months longing to feel trailed along her jaw. His hands moved with that same familiar care that made her fall for him, his fingertips like ghosts brushing over her ribs, her waist, her hips. Everything about him was hot and cold both at the same time, his lust restrained but trembling beneath the surface.

When he sank his teeth gently into the curve of her shoulder, she didn’t mind.

In fact, she liked it. The way it startled her, the way it pulled a sound from her she didn’t recognize. She liked how tightly he held her in his arms, as if she might float away if he let go of her.

But he didn’t stop. 

The pressure deepened and it didn’t feel playful. A little more. A little deeper. Then too much.

“Hey—baby…” she said softly, breathless, half-laughing to combat the uneasiness she suddenly felt.

He didn’t respond. His hands were gripping her now, harder than before. The pads of his fingertips pressed tightly against her skin. It wasn’t hurting her yet, but her panic began to grow. She could feel his teeth sinking deeper, her breath growing shallow.

“Stop,” The single word came out louder than she had anticipated, one palm pressing flat against his chest to attempt to get him away, just enough so she could look at him.

He froze, his head lifting but only enough that his mouth was no longer on her. He was looking at her neck, not at her. They laid like that, frozen, for longer than she could remember. Then she felt it. A thick, wet warmth was rolling slowly down her neck.

He pulled back as if she had struck him. His soft eyes wide, his mouth open, his lips red. It wasn’t the usual hue of his lips, nor was it the flushed shade of his lips after they had gotten intimate. It was dark, crimson almost. Like blood.

Her blood.

“What the—” she whispered to herself, reaching up to touch the bite. Her fingers came away slick, glistening with the same substance that could also be seen on his lips. Her heartbeat began to pound in her throat and in her ears, trying her best to make sense of what just happened. 

“I’m—” he started, voice ragged with an emotion she had never heard from him before. “I didn’t mean— I just— Jiyeon—”

She was already up and off of the couch, backing away from him as she tugged the blanket up over herself to cover the bloom of crimson on her shoulder. Her chest was tight. Not from pain, not from the wound, but from the sudden shift in the air and how heavy it made everything suddenly feel.

His face was horrorstruck. He was on the floor on his knees, his eyes looking up at her, pleading and devastated. Like she had hurt him.

She wanted to scream at him. To tell him to get out, and leave. But the words wouldn’t form. All she could do was stare at him from across the room in silence.

The silence stretched long between them, heavy and breathless.

And then, very quietly, she turned her back on him and went to her room, locking the door behind him. It was a soft click, but she knew he heard it. 

And they both knew that was the end of them.

[yokijii]

resentment.

cw ;; none

The hotel suite was quiet in a way that Jiyeon hated. The air was thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and faint laundry detergent from the pressed sheets, but none of it made the room feel any more welcoming. She sat on the edge of the couch that was nestled into the corner of the room, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. Her mother had left the suite earlier in the day, happily talking to herself about her shopping spree in Meyongdong. That, of course, left Jiyeon to be alone in the company of her father. She hadn’t protested, but she wasn’t necessarily thrilled at the idea of spending one-on-one time with the parent who was louder about his neutrality to her company.

It wasn’t as if they yelled at each other anytime they were left alone; hell, if she had to pick, that might be favorable. No, it was just the way that he looked at her. As if she were a puzzle piece that didn’t fit into him. She could never tell how he truly felt. If he was disappointed, angry, or simply indifferent, the way he looked right through her always left an impression. It had been this way for as long as she could remember, and it never got any easier to receive such a gaze.

“You’ve been busy,” he said finally, his voice slicing through the silence. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “Too busy, perhaps. Even now, I spent all this money to see you, and it feels like we’re fighting just to see you for an hour. 

Jiyeon’s head snapped up, feeling a familiar spark of defensiveness build up in her chest. She forced out a small laugh. “Ah, dad, that’s just what it's like… You knew what my schedule was like when you told me you were coming. I can’t exactly like… cancel work stuff, just because you and mom are here. Mian..”

He shook his head, lips pressed tight before muttering, “Your brother makes time. Your sister makes time.”

There it was. The comparison. Always, always, always. Jiyeon felt her jaw clench, her grip tightening on her phone until her knuckles turned white. “Yeah, good for them.” That was all that she could manage.” That should’ve been enough to end the short conversation, but as per usual, he didn’t stop. 

“Always excuses with you. Always some reason you can’t just—” He gestured his hands in her direction, the words stalling as though he couldn’t even name what it was she failed at being. That would be a new one.

Jiyeon felt her throat tighten, a swell of heat rising in her chest. She was generally better at controlling herself, but her last few weeks had already been taking a toll on her emotions.

“Why do you talk to me like that? Every time we’re together, you tear into me. You act like I can never do anything right. Why does it feel like you hate me so much?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. The room seemed to fall still, the hum of the air conditioner being the only sound between them. Her dad stood in his spot, his jaw working, eyes looking at the floor as if weighing whether to answer. Jiyeon’s heart pounded in her chest, feeling a heavy weight drop onto her shoulders as regret filled her.

After what felt like an eternity, his mouth curved into something else, stuck between a grimace and a smile. “Hate you? Don’t twist it into that. You think me giving you criticism is hate? You’ve been so spoiled, Jiyeon, since day one. Everyone tells you you’re so special, that you shine so brightly onstage, and all that crap. Someone has to keep your feet on the ground.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, rising from the couch. “That’s not keeping me on the ground! That’s making me feel small and stupid. You don’t talk to Yeonjae like this, you don’t talk to Jieun like this. You don’t even look at them the same. With them it’s like… pride. With me it’s—” she broke off, searching for the word, “—I don’t know, resentment.”

“Don’t start comparing yourself to them. They’ve earned their place. Your brother is disciplined, and your sister pushes herself. They don’t waste time chasing—” he waved his hand vaguely, dismissively, as he always did. “—illusions.”

“Illusions?” Jiyeon repeated, her voice cracking as it grew louder. “This is my life! My career. Everything I’ve worked for, do you even realize how hard it was for me to get here? What I had to give up?”

“And do you realize,” he shot back, his voice easily overpowering her own, “how exhausting it is to watch you throw yourself into something that will never last? You think I don’t know what the industry does to people? You think I want to sit back and watch my daughter become a has-been and end up with no job, living on my couch? At least your brother and sister have actual achievements.”

Jiyeon fell quiet for a moment, processing his words. She shook her head, blinking hard as she did her best not to let any of the tears that were building fall. 

“You don’t want to watch me crash and burn, but not because you’re worried about my well-being. You want to watch me fail. You’ve always wanted that. And I don’t know why.”

That stopped him, just for a moment. Her dad’s face shifted—a flicker of something raw, something unguarded. His jaw tightened once again, and she watched as his throat worked as if forcing words back down, then up again. Finally, he exhaled, his voice quieter than she expected, but his words were heavy, cutting.

“Because you’re not mine.”

The air left her lungs. For a second, she wondered if she’d misheard. No, of course she misheard. What does he mean she isn’t his? But then he kept going, and as he spoke, the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet.

“You were never mine, Jiyeon. Your mother slept around, and you’re the result of that. I didn’t want her to keep you, but she insisted. Every time I look at you, all I can feel is disgust. But I gave your mother another chance, I gave you a chance, and you chose this life. It was a waste of a second chance.”

His words landed like stones, each one heavier than the last. He spoke them so easily, so emotionless, as if he had rehearsed them in the mirror one too many times. Jiyeon blinked at him, her body rigid, unable to move. The walls of the oversized hotel suite suddenly felt too tight, the light too harsh, the air too thin. She wanted to scream, tell him that he was lying, that he was saying it out of anger. But his face — so bitter, so resigned — told her that he meant every word he said.

Her throat burned as she forced her now trembling hands flat against her jeans, willing them to still. If she cried, if she let herself unravel, she’d give him something else he could hold against her. So she steadied her breathing, one sharp inhale, one controlled exhale.

“Okay.”

That was it. No more questions, no pleas. She turned and walked towards the door, her legs feeling heavier than they ever had. Jiyeon could feel his eyes on her, burning into the back of her head, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Her hand closed around the handle, and she opened the door so she could step into the hall.

The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made her chest ache all over again. The hallway was dimmer, quieter, but she couldn’t breathe any easier. She walked, slow at first, then faster, her footsteps echoing against the carpeted floor until she found the stairwell door. She pushed it open, her mind empty as she sprinted down the stairs. 

About halfway down, roughly seven floors or so, she finally stopped. Her back pressed against the wall, and her body slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill, but it was no use. A broken sob slipped out, emphasized as the echo carried down the empty stairwell. She buried her face against her knees, silent tears soaking into the fabric of her jeans. Jiyeon remained where she was, letting the silence that surrounded her be the only witness to her cries.

[rageinpas]

didn't we agree on that? (kit)

The studio smelled the same. Chalky, like powdered resin and sweat pressed into wood. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint buzz of fluorescent lights above, and the soft slide of Jimin’s socked foot across the marley floor.

He’d come here after hours, seeking solitude. The rehearsal mirrors were easier to face than people, easier than memory, maybe.

The music had been off for a while now, but he kept moving, small, slow movements that never quite built into a full phrase. A pirouette that ended before the full turn, a développé that dropped before its peak. Incomplete, and held back.

He heard the door before he saw her, her reflection arrived first.

Ryangyi stood near the entrance, bag in hand, hair pulled up the way she always did when she was trying to pretend things were normal. He didn’t stop moving, just let the motion slow, arms softening, breath evening out.

She didn’t speak, not at first, just stepped inside like she still knew her way around his silences. The weight of her gaze in the mirror felt familiar, too familiar. He lowered his arms and let the stillness settle.

“I thought you didn’t come here anymore,” he said, finally. His voice didn’t echo, but it filled the space just enough.

Ryangyi stepped in closer, setting her bag down with too much care. She looked at his reflection, not him.

"Didn’t we agree on that?”

He held her gaze in the mirror. Her words hovered between them like dust, unswept. He didn’t answer right away, just watched the mirrored version of himself instead, drawn, sharp around the edges, tired in the bones.

Then, he said, “we agreed on a lot of things.” A pause. A plié. The floor creaked under his weight. “And not all of them held.”

Ryangyi didn’t reply. Maybe she didn’t need to, and he turned from the mirror. Not toward her, but the door behind her. He didn’t need to say it, but it was clear in the set of his shoulders; some choreographies aren’t meant to be revived. Some pas de deux were always better unfinished.

[yokijii]

"Seen any miracles lately?"

lyric prompt for @uninvitedawn

It was 2:03 a.m. in a nearly empty convenience store, the kind that seemed a little scary, with flickering fluorescent lights, humming refrigerators, and creaky shelves that always seemed one item away from collapsing. The air inside smelled like dust and microwavable dinners that were heated up twenty seconds too long. Jiyeon was crouched down in front of the ramen section, clutching two different flavors with furrowed brows as if her decision would make or break the rest of the night. And maybe it did. After the kind of day she’d been having, choosing the right ramen might end up being the one thing she’d feel in control of.

Sen stood by the fridges, his figure leaning against the glass doors as if he was part of the decor, sipping from a bottle of strawberry milk he definitely hadn’t paid for. He wore an oversized white t-shirt with dark denim jeans, his eyes beyond tired. Still, he had come. Jiyeon had texted him just after midnight:

It’s getting bad.

No context. No explanation. He didn’t ask questions; he just promptly responded to her

7-Eleven by the river

And he was there, waiting for her.

“You’re acting weird tonight,” she muttered at a low volume, not bothering to look at him. “Weirder than usual, I mean.”

Sen didn’t move. He didn’t even shrug. He just stared at the gum rack like it was somehow philosophical. He often stared at objects like that, she noticed.

“I’m uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional,” he said, deadpan, like he was reciting a memorized safety manual. He took another sip of milk and looked mildly disappointed into the carton, as if the strawberry flavor had personally offended him. Another look he wore often.

Jiyeon’s head finally lifted to look up at him, her eyes slowly blinking from her spot on the floor. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“No clue,” he replied, without missing a beat. “Just felt true in the moment.”

There was a pause before she laughed. Not her curated fake laugh. Not the half-smile she generally gave interviewers when they asked all-too-personal questions. It was her real laugh, messy and warm and slightly cracked down the middle. It surprised her. It always surprised her with him. Somehow, Sen’s dry nonsense had pulled her back from the edge again, without having to actually fix anything. He didn’t offer unsolicited advice; he was just being exactly who he was.

“You’re so full of shit,” she said, grinning as she finally stood up, tossing one of the two ramen packs back onto the shelf.

Sen looked at her then, one eyebrow raised slightly. “You texted me, y’know.”

“Only because I was spiraling,” she shot back.

“And now?”

She paused, looking at the pink bag of ramen in her hand, then at him. “Now I’m spiraling… a little less.”

“Good. Then my job as your friend is done,” he said quietly, almost like a joke, but not quite. There was something in the way he said friend. It was soft, genuine.

They didn’t talk much after that. They just walked to the self-checkout, paid for the ramen and not the strawberry milk, and stepped back into the quiet outside. It was humid and quiet. Jiyeon walked a little closer than usual by his side, enjoying the closeness. Sen didn’t move away.

She didn’t thank him. He didn’t ask her to. He felt it, and she knew as much.

[yokijii]

Three Years Later, Doubts Still Linger Around Ellie’s “Stalker Incident” By Choi Minhee | July 15, 2025

It’s been nearly three years since Jiyeon, better known as Ellie from the powerhouse girl group STARBLOOM, abruptly halted her career after reports came out that she had been attacked by a stalker inside her apartment. Fans and media alike reacted with both shock and sympathy, and Ellie quietly stepped away from the spotlight in order to “recover.” But as the anniversary of the so-called incident approaches, old skepticism is being revisited. Unlike many idol scandals that tend to come to light when a group's popularity dips, Ellie’s came at the peak of STARBLOOM’S success. The group didn’t falter — in fact, they were thriving. Hits continued to climb the charts, fan meetings sold out, and members secured endorsements left and right. Ellie’s absence was noticed, yes, but it didn’t derail the group’s momentum. Some would say it made them even more talked about. And talk, of course, is what a story such as this thrives on. According to the official reports, Ellie’s alleged stalker was arrested and sentenced to five years in prison, though few details were ever made public. There were no official interviews, no security footage, no tell-all statements from Ellie or her management. Just controlled press releases and mentions of trauma. During her 18-month hiatus from STARBLOOM, Ellie was seen to be throwing herself into fitness, a “coping mechanism”, as her agency described it. But for others, it seemed more of an attempt at a rebranding. When she finally reappeared at the end of 2023, the timing was suspiciously cinematic. She returned sleek and confident, almost too perfect for someone who had suffered a brutal attack. She did no interviews, no Q&As. Just glossy comeback teasers and a highly produced reunion with STARBLOOM and their fans on stage. They cried; cameras flashed. She was on top of the world. Now, in 2025, Ellie has begun to branch into acting, another career milestone announced just months ahead of the July 17th anniversary. Many do not find this to be a coincidence. Her agency insists she is “stronger than ever,” and Ellie herself has vowed to remain active in her group. But behind all her smiles and press quotes, many are beginning to wonder, was her incident ever fully real, or was it just a story crafted well enough to come off as inspiring? Three years on, one question still hangs in the air: Was she truly healing… or just playing the part?

[yokijii]

"Seen any miracles lately?"

lyric prompt for @rageinpas

The rooftop was the only place where Jiyeon didn’t feel as if the world was watching her. There were no mirrors, no cameras, no managers watching her every move. The recent articles circulating had been too haunting, a reminder that it's now been another year since she’d been attacked.

Where is the attacker now? What is Ellie up to? Should idols protect themselves better? Was it a publicity stunt?

It had been too much, her mind was in a different plane than she was. Here, it was quiet. Just the skyline and the sound of Seoul below her. Her slim fingers wrapped around the handle of the door, pushing it open with the hope that she would find it empty at this time of night.

To her luck, however, she didn’t. A figure sat near the edge, right where she was going to sit. One of his legs stretched out, the other tucked beneath him as his head tilted back against the concrete wall behind him. She quietly approached the spot, a smile spreading over her lips as she quickly recognized the man. Jimin’s headphones were in, his eyes half-lidded as if his mind was elsewhere. The soft glow of his phone screen lit up his face, his gaze still distant as it usually was.

Jiyeon hesitated for a moment before sinking down at his side, her body close enough for her arm to brush against his, finally catching his attention. She didn’t say anything, as the silence between them didn’t need to be filled. After a few minutes of her looking down at the moving cars below, Jimin reached up and removed an earbud from his ear, reaching over to gently place it in her own. 2 Things by Jimmy Brown played at a low volume, her eyes shutting as she listened to the sound of the singer's voice.

Once it ended, he paused it, looking at her expectantly. His eyebrow quirked in that annoying way it usually did. She let out a shaky breath, the humidity in the air feeling suffocating for only a moment. “Seen any miracles lately?” Her voice was light but tired, her eyes focused on the glowing skyline ahead of them. It wasn’t an actual question, just something to appeal to his gaze.

Jimin didn’t fully respond to her, nor did he ask her what she meant. He seemed to be pondering over her question before speaking, his own voice calm and steady. “I’m seeing one, now. But here you are.”  

His words landed softer than she had expected, a type of balm to the rawness she had been carrying all week. Jiyeon let her eyes close, just for a moment. For some reason, his words brought her a great deal of comfort. Maybe the miracle wasn’t that the tabloids would finally shut the fuck up, or that people would stop bringing up her past on the days it stung the most. Maybe it was this, a quiet comfort in someone who didn’t ask questions, who didn’t flinch when she walked into a room already on fire. Just someone who saw her as she was, and didn’t ask why.

[yokijii]

still there.

cw ;; mentions of stalker attack / home invasion

The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional drunk stumbling out of a convenience store or a delivery bike humming past in the. Seoul never really slept, but it did pause, just enough for Jiyeon to slip through unnoticed. Her cap was pulled low over her forehead, her ponytail bouncing with every footfall as her sneakers struck the pavement with a rhythmic repetition. This was her ritual. Her therapy. Her way of outrunning the memories that still sank their claws into her, though the bruises had long faded.

Her breath was fast and shallow, not just from exhaustion, but from the tightening in her chest. That weight again, always present. Always there.

It was supposed to be just a regular night.

She could still feel the cold tough of the water bottle in her hand. The way her couch cushions gave under her body as she collapsed onto them. The peaceful quiet, the kind that used to feel like a safety net after a long day of being surrounded by voices.

Until it didn’t.

That sound.

A floorboard. Just one. Right behind her.

Her legs pushed harder now, faster, as if trying to outrun the sound. Jiyeon rounded a corner near the river trail, nearly colliding with a couple still out. She muttered an apology, but didn’t slow down.

The panic that followed that creak in the floor hadn’t left her body in years. It waited for her in the corners of dark rooms, in the spaces behind open doors. It crawled into her lungs and sat there, dormant, until something—anything—triggered it.

“Stop it! Get off of me!”

Her feet pounded the ground. Her hands were fists. Her lungs were burning.

Even now, she could feel his weight crushing her, she could smell the fabric of his coat pressed against her face. The way he snarled when her knee made contact was ringing in her ear. She had fought, god, she had fought.

But she had still lost.

That crack. Her wrist—

Jiyeon stumbled slightly on the sidewalk, catching herself before she fully tripped. She came to a slow jog, then to a brisk walk, her heart racing too fast for her to breathe properly. She ripped her jacket off and sucked in the night air, eyes wide and unfocused.

Sometimes she’d think she was past it. That she was healed, and moving forward with her life.

And then suddenly—

“There you are…”

That voice. Soft, spoken in a familiar tone, as if he were greeting an old friend. Like he hadn’t just knocked her unconscious and tied her up. Like she was supposed to be grateful to still be alive.

She leaned over and braced her hands on her knees, trembling.

The worst part hadn’t even been the attack itself. The after was far worse. When everyone told her that she was safe, when she was told she could "heal now", because it was over. When she went home to a boyfriend who never understood why she flinched at his touch.

“Why won’t you let me hold you? I’m trying to help.” “Do you even love me?” “You act like I’m the one who hurt you.”

He said that once after she’d pushed him out from a hug. His arms had felt too tight, his voice too low and eerie.

She hadn’t responded. Instead, she’d just gone to the bathroom and locked the door, her forehead against the cold tile as she cried.

She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t feel safe with anyone either. Not fully.

Back on the trail, Jiyeon’s breathing slowed. She stood upright and wiped the sweat from her forehead, her gaze lifting toward the Han River glittering beneath the streetlights. The city night life buzzed in the background, but it all sounded so far away.

She knew how this went. The flashbacks would pass. The dread would ease. She’d go home, shower, maybe cry. Maybe not. Tomorrow, she’d film a commercial, smile at the camera, and say her lines like everything was okay. The perks of being an actor, of course. She was good at pretending.

But tonight she would run. Because running meant she was still alive.

[yokijii]

dinner.

cw ;; none

Dinner had been exactly what Jiyeon expected: roasted fish, an immaculately set table, and a running list of her siblings' accolades delivered like a corporate earnings report.

Her mother served with practiced elegance. “Yeonjae just got invited to speak at Stanford,” she said, smoothing a napkin on her lap. “Did I tell you? They’re flying him out. Business class, of course. Not that he’d accept anything less.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jiyeon replied. “That’s great.”

“And Jieun’s coach thinks she could go national next season,” her father added, reaching for the soy sauce. “If her ankle holds up. She’s a tough girl, that one. Always pushing herself.”

“Yeah? That’s awesome.” Jiyeon said, nodding. Her voice was bright, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Jun, visibly uncomfortable, shifted in his seat. He glanced at Ji, then back at the plate in front of him. He was doing that thing where he wasn’t sure if he should say something, his mouth silently opening and closing one too many times before he finally managed to speak.

“Oh, uh — Ji’s drama, actually did really well at Cannes. Like, really well. People were talking about her performance a lot.”

Her parents turned to him with twin expressions of mild curiosity.

“That’s nice,” her mother said.

Jun blinked. “Yeah, no, I mean — she was great. Really good. They had this screening and afterward this French guy came up to her and was like, ‘You — you are zee soul of zees movie,’” he attempted an accent, instantly regretting it as he looked back down at his meal. “Anyway. It was really impressive. Yeah.”

They nodded, and her father took a sip of his wine. “So, Jiyeon, what’s next? Are you… doing more of your acting thing?”

Ji set her utensils down gently, thinking over her next sentence. “Actually, I’ve been thinking a a lot about redebuting. As an idol.”

There was a beat of silence.

Her mother’s expression froze in place for a split second before she plastered on her usual smile. Present, but fake. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ji said. “Solo. New concept. Something closer to what I wanted to do the first time.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to be dancing around half-naked again, right?”

Ji didn’t blink.

Her mom laughed, like it was a joke. “You need to be careful with showing yourself off like that. You remember what happened last time.” The sentence broke her demeanor only for a split second, before a dry laugh came from Ji herself. It was all she could manage in response.

Jun opened his mouth, ready to say something.

“It’s okay,” Ji whispered quietly, still smiling. “Really.”

Silence fell over the table after that.

They kept eating, slowly, utensils clicking softly against ceramic. Nobody mentioned Cannes, acting, or being an idol again. Her mother asked if Jiyeon had heard of a new protein shake that was helping her sister’s muscle recovery. Her father brought up something about her brother mentoring graduate students.

Jun didn’t say anything else, nor did Jiyeon.

Later, their shared hotel room was dim. Ji sat propped against the headboard, her makeup wiped clean, and hair tied in a messy bun. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the travel pillow spray she’d gotten on the way home.

Jun lay beside her, head tilted toward her, scrolling aimlessly on his phone just to give her space.

She sniffed once — as quietly as she could manage— but he caught it.

“Ji?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

He put his phone down and rolled onto his side to face her. “It’s not.”

Another pause.

Then she finally let it fall out of her, voice soft and cracked. “They talk to me like I’m one wrong decision away from blowing up my life. Like I’m some… waste.”

Jun didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he slid closer and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest. She didn’t resist, crumpling into him as tears already slipping quietly down her cheeks.

“I’m so tired, Ju.” she whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head. “You don’t have to prove anything to them.”

She let herself cry harder, no longer bothering to muffle the sound.

And for a long while, they just lay there — the noise of the city humming faintly beyond the window, the sound of her breathing slowly evening out — his shirt soaked through, but he didn’t move.

[yokijii]

jul. 17 2020

cw ;; home invasion, physical assault, stalking

It was supposed to be just a regular night.

Jiyeon entered her apartment, which she had recently purchased on her own. No more sharing a dorm with six other girls. Her muscles ached from another extensive rehearsal, her mind already dreaming about a hot shower. She locked the door behind her, dropped her bag, put her phone on the table, and grabbed a water bottle from her refrigerator. Exhausted, her body collapsed onto the couch. A shower could wait. She closed her eyes and let a heavy breath escape through her nose. 

And that’s when she heard it. A single floorboard behind the couch let out a small squeak, which only sounds when it gives way under weight. Weight that shouldn’t be there.

The sound made her freeze. Her brain screamed to open her eyes, but the sudden feeling of another presence near her told her otherwise. Her heart stopped, and she jumped up only after she felt a shift on the cushions above her. But it was too late. She had barely managed a gasp before he was on top of her, his weight almost immediately crushing her lungs.

“Stop it! Get off of me!” She shrieked before his large hand slammed over her mouth, sending a sharp sting over her lips as her teeth cut into them. Her limbs began to flail, her eyes remaining shut as her hand caught his arm, attempting to rake her nails down it. An effort that went to waste, as he had been wearing a thick coat. She continued to fight blindly, managing to take a knee to his ribs. He snarled in pain, and the sound was almost animalistic. Before she had time to react further, she heard a sharp crack, and the side of her head exploded in pain as he struck her with his fist. She cried out and used all of her strength to knock him off of her, feeling a sharp pain in her wrist as it contorted into an unnatural position. Another crack, but this time it was her wrist. 

Despite the pounding in her head and the throbbing pain in her wrist, she managed to scramble off the couch, throwing herself over the back and onto the floor with a loud thud. “Help me!” She screamed again, hoping one of her neighbors would hear. As Jiyeon pushed herself to her feet, she felt a hand grab the back of her neck, holding her steady to deliver another blow to the side of her head, and everything quickly went black. 

She came back, too, slowly. Her mind swam through a thick fog of pain and confusion. Her mouth was dry, metallic. Her cheek throbbed. Her head throbbed. Her lips throbbed. Her wrist was on fire. Her arms– she couldn’t move them. Panic instantly took over her confusion, blooming as she realized she was no longer on the living room floor. She was on her bed, her arms bound to the frame with various clothing items. Her eyes looked down, and she was still fully clothed, to her immense relief. Just as she was about to scream again, she saw him. He was sitting in a chair he had taken from the dining room, sitting next to the bed, watching her. 

“There you are…” His voice was soft, his hand reaching out to caress her swollen cheek. Jiyeon recoiled as much as her restraints would allow her. Her skin crawled. “I’ve waited so long for this, you don’t understand. My beautiful Ellie…” 

Jiyeon’s breathing rapidly increased as he spoke, her eyes widening as she took in his features. She knew him. She had seen him before, on many occasions. He’d been at fan signings, concerts, and cafe events. Always front row, always watching her. Terror tightened her throat.

“Please.. Let me go.” She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes stayed on him, wide and desperate. He just smiled and watched her.

After what felt like forever, loud knocking rang outside the bedroom. A voice was shouting from the hallway. This was her chance. She screamed as loudly as she ever had, and ever would. It was raw, wounded, and it broke through her fear and shot out like a flare into the silence of her apartment. Her attacker’s head snapped towards the door and back at her, twisting with panic. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He hissed, lunging on top of her again. But she kept screaming. She yelled, and yelled, her whole body writhing under him, her head thrashing side to side to prevent him from covering her mouth again. 

She heard the front door bust open seconds later, followed by shouting and heavy boots stomping across her apartment. A flood of police officers came pouring into her bedroom, pointing guns at the man on top of her. To her relief, he immediately jumped off her and onto his feet, holding his hands up in surrender. Jiyeon began to sob, her mind falling away as the man was removed, she was untied, and comforted by the first responders. 

Their words rang numbly in her mind.

“You’re safe now. You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

But she didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Her face was bleeding. Her head was pounding. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry. And in her mind, she could still hear his soft and possessive voice echoing like a sickness. This night wasn’t over just because he was gone. This night would stay with her forever.

[yokijii]

muse additions

hi all! i am going to use this account for wiritngs for both of my muses so it will no longer just be ryangyi! anything before this post will be for her POV, but ill tag accordingly moving forward. thank you!

[yokijii]

casino night

cw ;; none

1 year ago

Kit wasn't sure what to expect as she arrived at Hajoon's birthday party. The venue was decorated with an elaborate casino theme, with golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, poker tables lining the walls, and guests dressed in glitzy attire. The hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filled the air. Kit adjusted her outfit—a pink silk dress that she thought might catch Hajoon's eye—and entered, her heart racing as she scanned the room for him. She spotted the male near the bar, laughing with his friends. He looked effortlessly charming in his tailored suit. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him, and for a moment, she hesitated, wondering if she should even bother approaching. But this was the night she had convinced herself that maybe, just maybe, something could finally happen between them. They had been talking almost daily, in tones that she was practically positive were flirting. He'd call her 'my pretty kitty'; there's no way she's reading too much into it…

Right?

Slapping on a bright smile, Kit walked over to him, her hesitant and determined steps. When he noticed her, his face lit up with a warm, friendly smile. "Kitty!" he greeted, giving her a quick hug, his cologne intoxicating. "I didn't expect you to show up so early. Oh wow, you look amazing."

"Thanks," she said, her voice quieter than intended. "Happy birthday, Joonie!" She forced a bigger smile to mask the nerves gnawing at her.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he said, briefly brushing his hand against her arm before turning to his friends. "Come hang out later. We're playing blackjack in a bit." Before she could fully respond, he was back conversing with the group, his attention quickly diverting elsewhere.

Kit stood there momentarily, her heart sinking as she watched him laugh with his friends without bothering to introduce her. She had hoped their flirty banter and the time they had been spending together would lead to something more, but now, she felt like she was just another face in the crowd of people, all here for him. Her self-consciousness flared up. Was she being delusional? Maybe she was just imagining their connection, as she had a track record of doing. Perhaps he didn't see her the way she saw him.

She grabbed a drink, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to settle into the crowd. The music thumped in her ears, and she tried to shake off the feeling of being ignored. But every time she glanced at Hajoon, she saw him laughing and chatting with other people. She watched as a girl leaned in too close, whispering something in his ear. Kit's stomach twisted again, and before she realized it, she had drained her drink. She ordered another, then another, trying to numb the tightening feeling in her chest.

By the time the party was in full swing, Kit had lost count of how many drinks she'd had. She wasn't sure what she was doing anymore—the weight of her insecurities pressed down on her, and she felt like the more she tried to push forward, the more Hajoon seemed to be preoccupied with other people. Other girls. She excused herself from the small group she had attempted to mingle with and headed to the bathroom, desperate to get away for a moment. She let the tears spill over inside the small, dimly lit space. Her mascara was smudged, and her face flushed from both alcohol and just the general embarrassment. Why was she always second place in this world? Why did she always feel invisible? Why was she not good enough to have someone look at her when other people were around? Why? After moments, Kit wiped her eyes and took a slow, deep breath, doing her best to pull herself together. She nodded in the mirror and pulled out her phone, sending a text to an old hook-up, hoping to fill the void that Hajoon had left open that night. The text was simple, but her heart wasn't in it. Sending it, she honestly felt numb.

wyd? are you still awake?

It was enough to break the silence in her mind, to get someone else's attention. Someone who didn't make her feel like she was chasing shadows, at least for a few hours.

She left the bathroom and stood in the hallway momentarily, looking around. The party was still alive, but everything felt so distant now. Kit couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just been a side note in Hajoon's night. Taking one last look at the crowd, she exited the building, not bothering to find the birthday boy to say goodbye. Her heart felt heavy, and the night's excitement seemed far removed from her expectations. Walking to the taxi, she stared at her phone, which showed no further reply than an address. All she could think about was Hajoon, the quiet ache in her chest, and how, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was never interested. As always, she had excited herself to the point of disappointment. As she climbed into the car, she sighed and sent another text.

see you soon, oppa

[yokijii]

unfamiliar feelings.

cw;; none

hc of kit & Eva's first encounter

Kit hadn't always been a quiet soul, but in the past couple of months, she had become the type to blend into the background more frequently than not. She had been working as an assistant stylist for photoshoots to improve her resume—mainly behind the scenes, arranging clothes, fixing hems, and ensuring the model's hair was perfect. It was a steady job, making her more connections and keeping her busy enough not to overthink. 

A young girl that Ryangyi hadn't met yet was the model for today's shoot, with striking eyes that seemed to glow under the harsh lighting. She exhibited an effortless grace as she moved between the makeup chair and in front of the camera, and although she wasn't the one that Kit was working with for the day, she couldn't help but notice her. She was captivating. It was almost as if she didn't belong in the studio but in an art museum. The girl had a magnetic energy, an aura that immediately attracted Kit.

As chance would have it, the lead stylist working on her called Kit over, having her adjust the collar of a leather jacket. As her slim fingers were fumbling with the fabric, she met eyes with the unnamed female, and she felt her stomach do a strangle little flip when she was greeted with the cutest little smile from her. It had been years since Kit had felt anything like this–as if her heart had stopped beating at the same time the beating became uncontrollable. Heat quickly rose to her cheeks as she looked away, her attention turned back to the stupid fucking collar that wouldn't stay in place.

The rest of the shoot was blurry, and Kit couldn't recall if she had helped with anything. She felt her eyes continuously returning to the other girl across the large room, and each time they met, Kit felt too flustered to offer as much as a smile of her own. When the shoot ended, and the lead photographer bid everyone farewell, she couldn't grab her purse and get out of there fast enough.

How fucking embarrassing.

A few days later, Kit was sitting at her favorite little café downstairs from her apartment, sipping on an iced vanilla latte and scrolling through her phone when she heard a voice.

"Kit?"

She looked up, startled, and the same girl from the other day standing there, a casual smile on her face as if they'd already become acquainted.

"Oh–Eva, right? Uh… hey?" Kit stammered, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. "What—what are you doing here?"

Eva laughed lightly, a sound that Kit couldn't help but flush at. "I was just grabbing a coffee. I didn't expect to see you here, but this place is great. Mind if I join you?"

Kit felt her face flush even further, unsure how to react. Her thoughts were racing. She hadn't expected to see Eva again, and certainly not out of work.

"Uh, sure," Kit said, clearing her throat and motioning to the empty seat. "I mean, yeah. Of course, yes! Please."

As Eva sat down, she leaned in a little, her smile warm. "You were great on the shoot the other day. You have a real eye for details. I was so sad that you left before I could speak to you."

Kit blinked, still trying to process how fucking nervous she was feeling. "Oh– I'm sorry. Thanks. It's—uh, it's just what I do," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Inside, her brain was doing somersaults. Why was she so nervous? She didn't even know Eva, and yet there was something about her—something that made Kit's heart beat faster.

Eva tilted her head, studying Kit with a knowing look. "You okay? You look a little… flustered?" A sly grin played on her features. Her beautiful features.

Kit froze. She had been caught. "I'm just… surprised to see you here, is all," she managed, still trying to act normal despite the overwhelming rush of emotions she was experiencing. 

"I can tell," Eva said, laughing softly. "It's okay! I promise I'm harmless. I just thought you seemed like someone worth getting to know."

Kit felt a slight weight lift from her chest. She hadn't realized how much she'd held her breath since Eva walked in. "Yeah, I just… I wasn't expecting to see you here. I mean, I don't know. It's been a while since I, uh…" She trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. Kit's mind was a whirlwind. She didn't think she was into women anymore. Or maybe she had just forgotten what it felt like to be drawn to someone that way. 

But here was Eva, sitting across from her, easy and kind, with a comforting smile that made her feel…

Safe.

[yokijii]

untitled.

cw;; none

a little apoctolyptic au for @uninvitedawn

Ryangyi knelt beside a broken vending machine, her slim fingers digging through the mess of snacks inside. Well, what was left of them. She was finally starting to get used to this—hunting for food in the ruins of a world that no longer made sense to her. Society had fallen apart, but her hunger still felt like a constant, gnawing annoyance. It didn’t matter what had happened out there, what was left of civilization—getting by without starving was the only thing that mattered these days.

Sen’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Anything good?” She glanced over at him, his figure half-hidden in the shadows, his eyes cautiously scanning the street behind them for any sign of danger. He wasn’t ever a man big on jokes, but these days he tried to keep the tension from overtaking them both. At least, most of the time.

“Some shit chips, a shit granola bar, and a bag of peanuts,” she said, shrugging. “You’re the expert, though. Did you find anything better? Pizza?”

Sen paused for a moment, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond to her right away, his eyes focusing on something outside. “There’s a store down the street,” he finally said, nodding toward the alley. “We might find something in there. It looks clean.”

Ryangyi didn’t mind the way he kept his tone flat, controlled. He was always the one to keep them both grounded when out in the open, making sure they didn’t get too careless. But even now, when they were barely hanging on, he didn’t allow himself to slip. She appreciated that.

“Lead the way, then,” she said, standing up and brushing off her knees.

The two of them moved quickly, slipping down the empty streets, each footstep echoing in the eerie silence. When they reached the store, the door was already half-open, creaking in the breeze. Sen pushed it open slowly, his eyes scanning the interior first. The world outside was a wasteland, but inside this store—this small, forgotten place—they might just find something worth finding.

Ryangyi followed him inside, her hand on the hilt of the knife she kept at her side. There wasn’t much left in the aisles, but a few cans here and there, some dried goods. Nothing fancy. Nothing to get excited about. Just enough to keep them going for another couple of days.

She grabbed a few cans, scanning the labels for anything that might still be good. “You think this is enough?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Sen didn’t answer right away. He was too busy looking through the shelves, his movements deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was low, like he was saying something important, something that mattered more than the food they were gathering.

“Every day is a chance. That’s all we’ve got now.” He glanced over at her, his gaze steady. “We’ll keep going. One day at a time.”

Ryangyi snorted, always finding humor in the moments he spoke as if he was attempting to inspire her, to keep going another day. He didn’t have to say anything else, though. Despite her eye roll, she knew what he meant. It wasn’t about hope, or some grand plan—it was just about surviving. She let out a breath and offered him a tired smile. “One day at a time,” she repeated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

[yokijii]

untitled.

cw;; none

a little au for gabs.

Gabriel and Kit scurried through the alleyways, their small paws tip-tapping on the cracked concrete, the scent of garbage wafting through the air. It had been a long day of scavenging, and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a pink glow on the world around them. The city was quiet now, the bustle of the day replaced by the incoming darkness.

"I think I smell something," Gabriel whispered, his whiskers twitching as he darted toward a half-open trash can. His tail flicked back and forth in excitement. Kit, always the more cautious of the pair, glanced over his shoulder nervously. 

"You think it's worth the risk? Last time, the birds almost had us."

Gabriel grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming in the fading light. "What’s life without a little risk? Besides, if we don’t find something soon, we’ll be stuck gnawing on crumbs again, and I refuse."

Kit hesitated, but Gabriel was already diving into the can, his tiny paws thrashing through the discarded wrappers and leftover pizza crusts. Kit followed, albeit reluctantly, peering nervously around the corner of the alley every now and again.

As Gabriel grabbed a half-eaten sausage, Kit froze. Her ears twitched. Something wasn’t right. Something was watching them. Suddenly, a shadow casted over the two of them.

Before they could even react, a powerful paw swiped down, sending Gabriel tumbling across the ground. Kit squealed and leaped back as the massive, green-eyed tuxedo cat loomed above them. Its fur was sleek, its claws sharp as knives. The cat’s gaze was cold, calculating... something.

"You two are far too small for this part of the city," the cat purred, his voice low and rumbling. "But I guess I can make do."

Gabriel scrambled to his four paws, looking to Kit with wide, panicked eyes. "Run!" he squeaked.

But Kit wasn’t moving. Instead, she stood frozen, her tail twitching in terror.

"Kit!" Gabriel hissed, but it was no use. The cat was already advancing, its muscles coiled, ready to pounce.

A heartbeat passed. Then everything stopped.

The cat paused, its head tilting slightly as if considering the pair. It lowered itself onto its belly, eyes narrowing in thought.

"Wait," it said, voice almost thoughtful. "You two... are not like the others." Kit blinked. Gabriel did too, confusion replacing fear in the both of them. 

"What do you mean?" 

The cat’s lips curled into a crooked smile. "I’ve seen many rats scurrying through these streets. Greedy, dirty, desperate. But you... you both have a certain... spirit."

Kit’s eyes narrowed. "We are not interested in whatever you’re offering, cat," she muttered, trying to subtly inch backward to safety.

The cat chuckled. "Not offering anything, little rat. Just... wondering. Why scavenge? Why fight for scraps when you could have so much more?"

Gabriel tilted his head, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "More? What are you talking about?"

The cat stretched its long body, sitting up and licking a paw with elegance. "I’ve spent enough time in these alleys to know that there’s more out there. A life beyond the scraps. You two... you’re clever. You could have anything you want."

Kit’s ears flattened. "And why would you help us?"

The cat’s eyes gleamed mischievously. "Why not? We’ve both been misjudged, haven’t we? You, by the rest of your kind, and me... by the city.” He snarled. “But perhaps we can help each other." 

Gabriel’s heart raced. This was too strange, too dangerous. Yet something in the cat’s gaze spoke of a shared loneliness, a quiet understanding. "You want us to follow you?" he asked cautiously.

The cat grinned. "Not follow, little rat. Ride."

Kit’s whiskers twitched. "Ride? Are you out of your mind?"

Gabriel, always the adventurer, was already on board. "I’m in. Let’s see where this goes."

Kit sighed, knowing it was pointless to try to talk her friend out of something so strangely adventurous. "You’re insane."

But Gabriel’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and soon enough, the two rats found themselves climbing onto the cat’s broad, muscular back. The cat didn’t seem to mind at all, as though it had done this a hundred times before. 

"Hold tight," the cat purred, his tail flicking high. Without another word, it bolted down the alley, its body flowing through the streets as if it owned them.

Gabriel squealed in delight as the wind rushed through his fur. Kit, still unsure, clung tightly to the cat’s back, her paws digging into its sleek coat for balance. The city whizzed by, their path taking them past the bustling streets and high above the rooftops. They sped through quiet parks, across bridges lit with the soft glow of lanterns, and over rolling fields beyond the city’s edge. The world seemed to stretch out infinitely in front of them, and for the first time, the city no longer felt like a trap.

"Where are we going?" Kit finally asked, her voice barely audible over the wind.

The cat’s green eyes shone with mischief. "Wherever we want."

As they galloped toward the horizon, the sky grew darker, painted in hues of purple and gold. The sun dipped lower, casting a glow that made the world feel almost magical. It was as though they were riding straight into a dream.

Gabriel glanced back at Kit, a grin plastered across his face. "This isn’t so bad, is it?"

Kit let out a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Slowly, a small smile tugged at her little rat lips. "Alright, I admit it. This is kind of... amazing."

And so, the three unlikely companions rode on, beneath the fading sunlight, the city far behind them. 

In a world where rats were meant to hide, and cats were meant to hunt, Gabriel, Kit, and their new feline friend found a new beginning, one that promised endless adventures and freedom.

Together, they raced into the sunset, the promise of tomorrow stretching out before them.

[yokijii]

three decades.

cw ;; none

Ryangyi and Nova strolled down the busy streets of Myeongdong, the crisp winter air fresh against their faces as they held tight to both each other and their shopping bags. It was one of those rare afternoons where they could simply be together—no rush, no obligations, just two best friends enjoying a much-needed girls’ day out. Nova was already in her third store, dragging Ryangyi along by the arm as she sifted through racks of clothes, rambling on about how she was buying this, and buying that. How Kit needed this skirt in her closet, and she wouldn’t take any sort of protest.

After a good while of wandering around, they stopped for their second round coffee at a cute little café that was tucked in between two buildings, Nova eagerly pulling out her phone to show Ryangyi more pictures of her latest date with their other good friend. But as they were laughing over one of Nova’s stories, something caught Ryangyi’s attention. It wasn’t a sound, or a smell, but a feeling she couldn’t explain. It was almost like an invisible force, one that demanded her to turn around. While Nova continued to describe the wines she had recently come to love, Kit’s body turned, her eyes laying on a man across the way. There, casually leaning against a lamppost, was Jiwon. Her pulse quickened, the sound of Nova’s voice faded into a dull hum. Jiwon, after all these years, was no more than several dozen meters from her. His hair was slightly longer, his clothes more refined, but his presence was unmistakable. It was him.

Her stomach flipped as a rush of emotions flooded through her, ones that she had long since buried—confusion, longing, disbelief. Anger. Nova noticed the shift in Ryangyi almost instantly, stopping mid-sentence to follow her gaze.

“Who is that…?” Nova asked, her voice tentative. Ryangyi couldn’t find any words, her lips parting but unable to speak. She just shook her head, her eyes still fixed on him, unwilling to turn away.

It had been thirty years since she last saw him—thirty years since she felt the same pull when they crossed paths in a similar manner. The flashbacks came back, hitting her like a truck. The way they would banter back and forth with each other, the late nights spent sharing the fragments of their past they could piece together, the way he would hold onto her waist when they kissed, the way he’d delicately trace his fingers over the scars on her back where her wings once sat. Of course, it wasn’t love, but the brief time that she had spent with the demon had been enough to make an impression on her and leave her with a sense of emptiness when he had suddenly told her he had to go, only for her to never hear from him again.

But here he was, thirty years later, right in front of her. She knew that he could feel her near, he had told her he could always sense her. Ryangyi shook her head, turning her attention back to the older girl in front of her. She had long since moved on, and all that she could bear to feel now was what she’d always default to— anger. Anything else she had felt before was now buried under the sharp edges of resentment. He was nothing more than a faded memory of a life she had no intention of revisiting. Ryangyi prompted Nova to continue on with a reassuring smile, the pair going back to their stroll.

Bye, Ryangyi…

Hearing the familiar voice in her head prompted her to whip around, turning her attention back to Jiwon, who was now staring directly at her. The two locked eyes, and she felt her cheeks instantly flush a deep red.

Fuck…