dia1tone

[dia1tone]

hey besties. sorry for the absence, i’ve decided to drop jiyeon. super sad, i loved writing and plotting with all of you and im sorry for those of you that i didn’t get to interact with. trust that i’ll be following along with the plot 😉 but i just don’t have the time to write right now. i sincerely hope were able to write again together in the future !!

[dia1tone]

viragosoul​:

*   motives    ⏤⏤⏤⏤    @4ntemortem 

siyeon’s mentor had always instilled within her the hidden resilience that comes with standing on your own, as it was better to be alone than with people that make you feel all alone. she wasn’t exactly sure if she understood those words at a younger age, where her incompliant stance was much more of a facade than it is of current times, but she made sure to take the older woman’s words to heart regardless. while not immediately applicable at times, her mentor’s wisdom had never been wrong through out the years of her advisership. and as siyeon stands among her designated space within the exhibition hall, brows crinkling in sharp deliberation at the project that comes together before her, that specific quote finds its way into the forefront of her mind. now, an impasse.

the reverberation of labor and chatter fill the area of the hall, chiefly coming from the red and green club; a good number of which she finds herself on unfavorable terms with, at best. it would be in her nature to leave had it not been for the acclaim and perks that came with being a member ( as she’s working in now ), along with that nagging feeling of being where the universe wants her to be. so as much as siyeon would like to flee mugunghwa, she remains. as much as she doesn’t want to engage with the red and green club ⏤ especially after the one pro regarding said club passed away ⏤ she makes do. and as much as she wants this piece to come together in a seamless manner, it doesn’t. 

running fingers through brunette tresses with a sigh, eyes connect with son jiyeon after breaking away from trance; a beacon of hope amongst precarious waters. the older was a neutral party to her within the club, and held a place of respect within the way she carries her duties and proficiency. but there’s a part of siyeon that hesitates, unable to ask for help in lieu of it being unbecoming, a sign of weakness. before giving herself time to think it over legs find themselves roaming towards jiyeon’s side, an olive branch in the way glossed lips pull into a tight grin, a lock of hair twirling around an index finger, “hey … uh, jiyeon? you gotta sec? i think i need some advice on my uh … thing, over there. if you can.” she starts, motioning to her hanging sculpture with a tilt of her head.

maybe jiyeon’s finally reached her it’s end, finally up to here with the small town bullshit and the even smaller school politics. she sits smack dab in the middle of two gossiping classmates, girls she’s known since they were all in diapers. the gossiping isn’t the problem, it’s the fact that they’re stuck rehashing drama from middle school for lack of anything new to talk about. 

still, she listens. maybe for all of her griping, she truly was no better than the next.

the conversation tapers off quickly enough, both girls reaching the same conclusion they do every time this particular conversation starts up (tldr; sumin actually fucking sucks). jiyeon hums her assent, chimes in whenever the lull in conversation indicates she should. then yeojin and jihye wrap their slender arms around her in goodbye as they take their leave. jiyeon watches as they disappear into the crowd, arms linked at the crease of their elbows. 

and just like their mothers, they will finish their schooling, and hopefully in the process of doing so, find themselves a suitable husband; after which they will settle down and have one or two kids (no more) before starting this endless cycle again.

jiyeon shivers. what a waste.

still, she has her own problems to deal with. namely, her ludicrous little club and its members. it had taken them literal years to perfect the dynamic between themselves, to learn how to accommodate each others eccentricities and bad habits. it was a delicate balance, one too easily disrupted by the introduction of others (outsiders). jiyeon knows how this works, knows that fresh blood is what is truly keeping them alive. and, yet.

jiyeon meets eyes with siyeon immediately, as if on cue. speaking of outsiders. 

“siyeon, hi!” siyeon’s been at the center of a particularly unlucky bout of attention within the red and green club. things had already been awkward after her and minjun’s sudden break up (the details of which even jiyeon wasn’t privy to), which was only further exasperated by both parties stubborn insistence on not acknowledging each other during meetings. jiyeon feels for the girl, truly. “advice? i’m flattered, but i think you’d benefit more from mingze’s opinion if we’re talking sculpture,” regardless, she follows behind siyeon closely, coming embarrassingly close to stepping on the back of her shoe as jiyeon tries to match pace. 

again, the sculpture is beautiful. jiyeon’s learned that a critical eye wasn’t always what was needed or wanted from her. “in a purely aesthetic sense it’s beautiful.” yet, she sense that this may not be the only reason siyeons pulled her to the side to talk about. it’s awkward, trying to find a way to address what’s been going on with the club without coming across as pitying still, jiyeon takes a leap of faith and hopes for the best. “how have you been? i know everything’s been … weird with the club. but i really hope you haven’t let it get to you.”

[dia1tone]

INT. MUHUNGHWA BUILDING - DAY

@stageprop, nari

approx. 3 months after jisoo’s death

the professor shuts their laptop closed with a click and effectively dismisses their class. the sounds of paper shuffling and bags zipping slowly begin to fill the lecture hall as students make their way to the two dour-faced TAs tasked with returning their tests back to them. even jiyeon could agree that it was a tad bit excessive to have a test the first month back for the semester. she, too, could get behind the grumbling and sighing of her fellow students. 

it doesn’t take her long to reach the front of the line. the TA offers her a precursory glance before turning away to flick through a stack of tests until they’re able to find hers buried near the bottom. they nearly shove it into jiyeon’s expecting hands and then turn to the next student ready to begin the insurmountable task anew. 

it’s an A. barely. but A regardless. in the grand scheme of things, it’s irrelevant and she knows it well. she also knows that lim namgyu (ewww. no one calls me that. my name is nari), will find a way to somehow surprise her again with a grade that either rivals her own or bests it completely. 

she sidles up to the girl in question innocently enough, trying not to give away the nervous curiosity burning under her skin. she watches nari’s doll-like face careful, waiting for anything that might give away the answer to her yet-unasked question. finally, after the seconds pass them by like minutes, jiyeon asks: “what did you get?” 

[dia1tone]

to: @wingedvictor, @moonflcwrs, @plctwists, @viragosoul, @godhe4rt, ...

jiyeon [22:54] : hey, guys. sorry for the super late text. jiyeon [22:54] : with everything that's happened recently, i thought it'd be nice for us to get together. jiyeon [22:56] : i'd love to be able to host you all in my home and take a moment to reflect on the past few months. jiyeon [22:57] : please let me know! have a great night :-)

[dia1tone]

beastsandnatives

[dia1tone]

EXT. MUGUNGHWA FALL EXHIBIT FAIR - DAY

@dulcetcure, fukumura seina

approx. 3 months after jisoo’s death

jiyeon reemerges in the middle of the exhibition space, surrounding conversations washing over her like white noise. an underclassmen writer from the blue stares up at her earnestly (expectantly). jiyeon falters for a moment, a second; the slip-up is unnoticeable to the untrained eye, those types of things don’t happen to son jiyeon. the smile she offers in response is practiced, ingrained muscle memory. the underclassmen beams.

“why don’t you send me that in an e-mail?” jiyeon’s smile deepens, she smooths a placating hand down the girl’s arm. “just so i don’t forget.” the girl nods, a touch stilted, and then goes on her way.

she’s something of a broken record now, she feels. jiyeon is tired. jiyeon is always tired nowadays. she tucks her hair behind her ear, away from her face, and sighs. 

but, well, at least she had a reason for it.

her expression pinches minutely, eyes scanning the crowd of students littering the outside campus space as they move from one stand to another. jiyeon had completed what had been expected of her as editor in chief, delegated responsibilities as she saw fit (to, uncharacteristically, lighten the mental load she had inadvertently placed upon herself). now was time to reap the fruit of her labor, so to speak, and allow herself the opportunity to relax. (odd, unfamiliar word. it feels thick on her tongue from underuse).

seina is easy enough to spot. if not for her boisterous nature, then for her natural charisma. boys stare, girls whisper, seina continues to move through the motions of life unperturbed by her audience. jiyeon slips her own arm into the bend of seina’s, effectively linking them together. the touch is easy, comes as natural as breathing as jiyeon unreservedly leans into her completely. “how’s the stand going?” none of the heavy stuff; no jisoo, no death, no overwhelming feelings. “don’t tell me little miss yuri left you to fend for yourself?” jiyeon hums with laughter, refusing to move from where her cheek has situated itself against the slope of seina’s shoulder. “do we need to call in reinforcements?”

[dia1tone]

96ymh​:

there’s sometimes moments in life where the world abruptly tips out underneath your feet, like a missed last step on the stairs, getting up too quickly and feeling the blood rush to your head, going to investigate a burning smell and being one of two to survive a fire the campus golden boy doesn’t.

minhyuk feels like he’s been living in that state for the past three months of his life. tilted, unsteady. he supposes a rational part of him had known it would be too far-fetched to expect everything to return to normality so soon, but the irrational half had been all too convincing.

he’s miles away in his head but he hears her before he sees her, tell-tale clack of her shoes against the library floor a foreboding countdown. he doesn’t really like to call it running away when he thinks it’s something that’s necessary for his own peace of mind and self-preservation, but son jiyeon comes around the corner with the panache of a woman with a goal and he suddenly really, really wishes he had gone to the canteen earlier.

“uh.” the computer unhelpfully tells him he clocked out for lunch three minutes ago, and he wonders whether he can sit still and cope with an empty stomach for the rest of the day. even then, something tells him the uneasiness that currently resides within him doesn’t stem from mere hunger. the easiest option is for him to lie through his teeth. “i’m kind of on my shift.”

a beat of silence passes as if to further emphasise how flatly his words had fallen, and minhyuk promptly cringes. he knows there’s a hundred and one reasons jiyeon would want to talk to him and even though one stands out, that does little to placate his gnawing anxiety. through the biting of the inside of his cheek, “i mean – don’t you have class?”

“don’t be—” a sigh of exasperation, her shoulders droop with bone-deep fatigue; jiyeon narrowly resists the urge to roll her eyes at him but it’s a close thing. she wishes she could lean over the counter and throttle minhyuk, she wants the earth to open up and swallow her whole, there’s a neglected sob lodged at the bottom of her throat waiting for its chance to be heard; jiyeon ignores all those things in favor of trying to move forward. “don’t be difficult, minhyuk.” then, like an afterthought: “please.”

unfortunately, though, he isn’t wrong. jiyeon spares a glance at the white-faced clock on the wall behind minhyuk. the hour hand ticks forward as the seconds continue to pass them by. she has approximately an hour and a half before she’s needed anywhere, and jiyeon easily lets him know of this. 

it’s quiet between them, again. pages turn, keyboards click, she waits for him to offer another excuse and finds that there is finally none. “i’ll wait for you in the conference room down the hall.” jiyeon tells him, then, only able to hope that he’ll follow.

and then what? it comes to her begrudgingly, a pessimistic thought unable to help rear its ugly head. and then what, jiyeon? it taunts her. 

another sigh heaved, she leans her forehead against the cool surface of the conference room door. and then what, indeed.

this would have been easier if they were friends (still friends). when do I get to say i missed you? when do we get to go back to how things were? will we ever? instead, it’s all furtive glances and dancing around each other like matching magnetic poles. jiyeon bites the skin off her bottom lip and finally lets herself into the conference room. 

his steps are quiet and careful; under the slit of the door she can see him hesitate for a moment before letting himself in. she crosses her arms, defensive, stands up a little bit taller. “i need you to tell me everything you know.”

[dia1tone]

plctwists​:

for @4ntemortem​

they don’t have to speak for her to know. it’s in flyaway specks of details they divulge; a gossamer for mina to weave her intricate tales. the look of forced concern on the dean’s face speaks of his fear - trepidation that not only have they lost a student, but now, the potential future. (”take your time to heal,” he says but mina knows otherwise.) the radio silence from her parents, barring her mother’s personal assistant who had shown up at her dorm room a day after she’d been hospitalized with a basket of fruit she didn’t even enjoy, screams disdain. disdain that their only daughter somehow manages to be entangled in yet another tragedy, forcing unwilling parties to reflect on whether this is karmaic retribution for their sins or whether the true omen was mina and her blood-soaked hands.

and of course, son jiyeon, with her crisp silence and frigid smiles; it’s the kind of cold that cuts through the bone, much unlike how it had been when it was the three of them during the summer. to a naked eye, it could easily be brushed away but god, mina knows this glacial familiarity all too well; it’s the same perennial chill she’s become acclimated to, growing up with it after her sister’s death. blame. inculpating her for being the only one to walk away that night unscathed that fiery night, that she had been the one to spark his sweltering demise, that if she hadn’t been there, neither would he.

perhaps there is a levelheaded explanation - one that logic and reason would concoct, instead of her mere wandering thoughts. such as, maybe they were never really friends in the first place, but just jisoo’s attachments willed to get along sufficiently enough. but the thought of losing another friend, after watching her boyfriend’s body escorted in some unremarkable black bag, feels a little too much. at times like this, it’s when fiction tastes better, a pill less demanding to swallow than the truth. self-devised blame is easier to shoulder than the heavy burden of reality that jisoo is dead and that jiyeon, most likely, doesn’t like her anymore. so, mina holds onto the story as gospel - son jiyeon thinks she killed her brother.

still, jiyeon is still a trace of jisoo that she can’t bear to expunge and so, when she bumps into her at the cafeteria, she doesn’t turn away. “hi,” she says, faint smile on her lips, glancing at her through the corners of her eyes, “how’s your art exhibition piece going?”

as the students around her begin to pack up and leave, jiyeon remains at her seat with a blank page of notes staring back at her.

it’s difficult enough as is trying to keep up with her ever-increasing workload; at this point, she’d argue, that it’s nigh impossible. for a brief moment she contemplates the possibility of taking the semester off, maybe under the pretense of extenuating circumstances. she scoffs lowly to herself, instead, and begins packing away her things.

she yawns brazenly, barely concealing it behind the width of her hand, as she trudges into the school’s cafeteria. the upcoming fall art exhibition was already doing its damage to her already suffering sleep schedule, she had no energy left for thought or logic and just let the white-noise of everyday life wash over her as she allowed muscle memory to take over. 

tug the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder, side step a pair of distracted students, force a smile at the sight of mina’s greeting--oh.

mina. 

it’s not on purpose, jiyeon tries to tell herself it wasn’t on purpose, how she slowly distanced herself from the girl. it was just a very bleak reality they’d reached. jiyeon didn’t have time or energy for the girl’s plentitude of volatile emotions; mina needed something more, always needed more than one could possibly have to give. she was childishly selfish like that, not that jiyeon could blame her.

but she musters her best smile regardless, which admittedly was barely passable, and returns mina’s greeting. “hey, mina.” jiyeon takes a second to try and rub the encroaching sleep from her eyes, welcoming the brief respite from mina’s questioning eyes. “it’s, uh, it’s going” jiyeon barely swallows back the urge to divulge more than necessary, lest mina latch on and once more ask for more than jiyeon could give. “how about yours? let me know if you need any help, i’m sure i could find a professor with more time than they know what to do with.”

it’s something of an olive branch, the suggestion. i can’t handle you, but i don’t hate you. entirely? yet? who knew, with mina. “i know you were really excited when we talked about it last semester,” y’know, before. “but, um, you know how things change.”

[dia1tone]

godhe4rt​:

@4ntemortem​ ╱  fragile

[ ... ]

there’s a rooftop garden that’s hardly cared for in a more abandoned part of the university. mingze goes there for the quiet—or at least when there isn’t construction. from there, he was either people watching or playing judgment. It’s the same difference. or maybe not. mingze was still trying to pick apart the difference between people being kind and people being nice. what would he know? 

he doesn’t turn around when he hears jiyeon’s footsteps—it’s hard to not recognize the pvc outsoles of her boots. “look there.” he leans slightly towards her to reign her into his line of vision. “they’ve been fighting for maybe ten minutes now.” mingze takes a longer drag from the rolled tobacco. he blows his smoke to the side. “doesn’t know we can hear everything.” when mingze’s eyes finally meets jiyeon’s for the first time in days, he’s greeted with a curious look. her eyes fell to his hand and he lightly laughs in response. “okay, okay—here.” her brown eyes are too warm; he burns along with the dimly lit cigarette that he holds out to her. “you know how.” he insists. “like the movies.” he waves it so that it hovers over his lips and pulls away. no smoke leaves his mouth, just a simper that stays for a second too long. the cigarette sits loosely in his hold between two fingers. familiarity is nice.

but the sinking feeling settles when he decides that he’s not deserving of that. he decides this when he’s in jiyeon’s company. mingze’s attached to this crowd—he’d silently wrung his heart out to dry of any emotion so that he could greet them simply. the overdue hurt makes its way to his joints. “don’t make a vice out of it.” he’s speaking more to himself—he shouldn’t be so absent. “will you let me know if i can help out in any way?” ... “about yeah—i’m sorry.” he’s half frustrated at his korean verging on inadequacy in this moment. “i’m your friend.” he knows that much.

she comes here to be alone. 

there are no problems to be taken care of, no wayward students to guide, no arguments to mediate. just hushed solitude and--apparently, mingze. she could turn heel and leave, but that would bring about questions she’d rather not have to answer considering how observant he could be (jiyeon would even argue that maybe excessively so). she’ll humor it, just this once.

a quiet snicker escapes her, just a touch uncharacteristic, as she leans against the railing trying to find the two arguing students. it’s obvious they’ve been at this for a while, already having exhausted themselves to the point of simply trading insults rather than expressing a point of any kind. she turns to look at mingze, taking the chance to unabashedly study the strong profile of his face as he continued to watch the two students. miyoung really did know how to choose them.

a rolled cigarette sits pinched between his lips, if she looks hard enough she’s sure she could easily imagine her father in his pace what with shared vices and matching strong brows. she’s never given much thought to it, smoking, its lingering scent and detrimental health effects being all she really knew of it. she’s curious, in a child-like sort of way, and doesn’t refuse him when he offers.

“right. like the movies.”

the movies make it look easy, sultry women with their dark eyes and mysterious smiles. jiyeon feels childish, trying to emulate them and knowing she pales in comparison. the smoke feels foreign in her lungs, expelled in a fit of embarrassingly loud coughs just as quickly as she greedily sucked it down. she passes the cigarette back to mingze, eager to rid herself of it already.

“i--” jiyeon turns away from him, under the pretense of trying to regulate her breathing. “of course,” she lies. it’s easier like this, to accept the comfort people offer her as what they are: platitudes. he’s a friend, well enough. everyone’s a friend, everyone wants to be a friend. “you are my friend.”

“how’s miyoung?” it’s a hard pivot, an obvious ruse to anyone paying enough attention. but, it’s innocuous enough that he hopefully won’t call her out for it. jiyeon knows how miyoung is, maybe even better than mingze could ever.  

[dia1tone]

INT. SON FAMILY RESIDENCE - EVENING @wingedvictor, nam minjun approx. 3 months after jisoo’s death

outside, the sun is setting. 

jiyeon lies on her side, hands between her thighs, as she contemplates the ability to pack someone’s entire life away using just a dozen carboard boxes. 

the threadbare clothing, the middle school medals, the collected knick-knacks; all gone save for the lingering dust to show that he had really existed at all.

in retrospect, it was likely not healthy for her to wallow for as long as she did. but what part of guilt or grief was ever truly reasonable? 

the minutes tick by, voices from downstairs carry. 

“why aren’t you saying anything?” the voices continue and she meets eyes with minjun. there’s a deep sigh sitting in jiyeon’s chest. minjun leans against the doorframe and jiyeon sits up. 

a whisper of a smile unfurls on her lips as she invites minjun to take a seat in the space next to her. “you forgot the fourth step creaks.” a sad realization, a reminder that they all change and forget and grow and become the adults they said they never would. 

“i missed you,” i miss being a child, i wish i had done things differently; why must this be the life i live? “how was your summer?”

[dia1tone]

can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been?

the florescent lights bounce off of the apple’s waxy, red skin. the supermarket is quiet today, as it tends to be most sunday mornings just before the after-sermon rush. jiyeon drops the apple into a plastic bag, then reaches out to grab another. 

she hears him before she sees him; the sharp, nervous intake of breath that precedes his quiet greeting. “hey,” he doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he reaches to straighten his hat, to pull at the straps of his apron, to do anything to expel the sudden onset of nervous energy that has built up inside of him at the sight of her.

jiyeon, evidently still preoccupied, tenderly squeezes the apple in her hand as she tests it for any ripening softness. hyunsik is nice, eager for her attention, and woefully falls short of her mother’s demanding expectations. 

she hates having to look at him; he and his hopeful eyes and kind hands. jiyeon does not want to think of what man her parents hoped she would one day bring home if even tender-hearted hyunsik was not good enough for them. 

there is a pain that radiates from the epicenter that is her heart all the way to the extremities of her body, it leaves no space within her untouched as she forces herself to ignore hyunsik in favor of the waxy apples on display. 

he leaves, wordlessly. and something within her withers away.

*

“look! look!”

she runs down the narrow hall of their entrance, just barely slowing down enough to toe off her shoes before crossing over into the living room. mom is in the kitchen, standing by the stove; she turns to look over her shoulder sharply, patting her hands dry with a a spare dishcloth once she realizes that it is only jiyeon bounding into their living room, uncharacteristically excited. 

mom’s lips spread into an easy smile, hands instinctively settling on her hips. “what is it?” jiyeon waves the papers in her hand as response, a too-wide smile adorning her own face. “well?” mom questions again, reaching for the papers in jiyeon’s hands.

“i got accepted! to the school in london!” 

confusion washes over mom’s face, which is quickly replaced by a pained expression as she lurches forward with a hand clutched to her chest.

“m-mom! wha--mom!” mom forces herself to take a deep breath, steadies herself just enough to instruct jiyeon to call dad immediately.

the rest of the day breezes past her. dad arrives, then helps mom up into their room where she lies waiting for the doctor to arrive as well. jiyeon waits at the foot of the stairs, head in her hands, as jisoo sits besides her.  

jisoo is quiet, barely audibly against the sound of the world moving on around them. “do you think she’ll be ok?” jiyeon sighs, and leans against him in response 

hours later, dad calls her upstairs.

mom lays in bed feebly, buried under a mountain of blankets in effort to keep her warm. 

“you won’t--you won’t really leave me, right?”

jiyeon freezes. there is only one acceptable answer. so, she bids a quick farewell to any wishes or desires she may have once entertained and kneels by mom’s bedside. mom smiles wetly, and reaches out her hand. dutifully, jiyeon leans into mom’s touch but finds the curve of her hand against her cheek inhospitable, as if built to fit someone else (never her) entirely.

*

jiyeon finds mom in bed, again. the curtains are drawn, engulfing the room in a stifling sort of darkness. the air is stale and mom is quiet.

jiyeon can be patient, jiyeon has been patient. but now, she stands in the doorway, an unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up her throat and threating to spill out between clenched teeth. 

he was my family, too.

jiyeon goes downstairs and dutifully begins to prepare dinner for the three of them that are left. dad’s portion will be set to the side to cool off, and then immediately put into the fridge since there is no telling when he’ll drag himself back home. her portion will go forgotten on the kitchen island, untouched and left to spoil. mom’s portion will be perfectly plated on a bed table and then brought up to her room where jiyeon will spend the rest of the evening begging her to eat something.

it’s frightening how suddenly the waves of grief hit her, even now. she is cooking by the stove one moment and soundlessly sobbing in their deserted kitchen the next. she’ll swallow it back down and compose herself; maybe she��s still waiting for the permission to allow herself to wallow in her grief unabashedly.

it’s a tireless thing, a thankless task, to pretend to have it together even in the face of death. 

jiyeon sniffles wetly once, and begins the arduous trek to mom’s room.

[dia1tone]

INT. MUGUNGHWA LIBRARY - DAY

@96ymh, yoo minhyuk

approx. 3 months after jisoo’s death

jiyeon sighs into her phone, the screen hot where it’s pressed against the shell of her ear. “can we talk about this later? i need to--i need to get to class.” she squints against the mid-morning sunlight, a hand reaching out to block what the visor of her hat can’t. the voice on the other end of the line sighs, then hangs up.

it’s like this that jiyeon welcomes the new semester at mugunghwa. the summer break had been spent away, out of town, in the homes of extended family as they collectively grieved the lost life of son jihoon’s youngest (and only) son. as if time had been suspended in the meantime, she finds herself right back in the middle of it upon her return; messages from strangers, getting stopped in the hall as someone else laments her loss, the pitying stares from faculty. it never stops, never ends, she’s constantly being flooded with a litany of reminders that jisoo is really gone.

he’s dead. he’s dead. he’s dead.

new notification!

> kim soohyun: hey i’m sorry to hear about …

maybe jisoo intended for this to be his parting wish.

maybe she was destined to be reminded of her dead little brother at every turn for the rest of her life. privately, jiyeon grimaces. even in death, jisoo manages to command the center of attention. 

the hollow in her chest aches as the skin around her eyes tightens anew. jiyeon takes a deep breath.

regardless, she’s something of a woman on a mission currently. jiyeon had already sat through a rather tearful recount of the event from mina--only one other person involved was left to hear from.

the reasoning is purely selfish. jiyeon knows, rationally, that it was a freak accident and jisoo its unlucky victim. but a less rational part of herself craves to know all the answers, to leave no stone unturned and no thread loose. selfish, purely selfish, yet she finds herself at the library’s front counter anyway. 

minhyuk regards her carefully, stiffly, from the other side of the counter. “i need to talk to you.” 

[dia1tone]

hello, all ! super excited to be here. below the cut is more about jiyeon, and, as always, please like the post to plot !

son jiyeon: 24, architecture major, currently grieving

family

nothing too crazy. just a father, a mother, their son, and their daughter. father owns mugunghwa’s one and only newspaper firm, though it is dying a slow death given the rise of the technological age. numbers are still high enough that it affords them a comfortable lifestyle, but nothing like what it once used to be.

father is a taciturn, aging man. his own brother ended up being the more talented of two. father got to inherit the family business and uncle got to live the lavish lifestyle of world renowned artist. they speak occasionally.

mother is a neurotic hypochondriac. once a talented painter--mom had just gotten accepted into mugunghwa’s prestigious art program when she met dad in the town’s one and only art gallery. she stayed for the potential dad never once lived up to.

jisoo is (was?) the golden child. the star. the prodigy. forever the center of attention, it wouldn’t actually bother her if it didn’t follow them home, too. jiyeon loves him, but she will forever be resentful of the fact that her own wants and wishes had to take a backseat to jisoo’s.

nothing quite noteworthy in the years prior to her enrollment to mugunghwa. 

personality

dutiful daughter. the upper classman you feel like you can run to for any and all of your problems. a shoulder to cry on. the perfect student. your mother’s friend’s daughter she keeps comparing you to.

/

rage simmering just under your skin, a soundless scream into your pillow, watching everyone live their lives while you rot away, biting your tongue, the taste of a nosebleed, pretending to be someone you outgrew

the vibe is that she’s sick of having to be the dutiful daughter. she hates having people depend on her in any capacity but also feels guilty about not helping. hates the responsibilities she has but will continue to take care of them.

plots

of course, town locals. friends, almost family, actual family, frenemies (because she would never outright dislike someone).

a current academic rival, so to speak. she may not want it but god forbid she not be top of her class, it’s one of the last things she can use to measure her self-worth.

something of an ex. you two never really got together and never really broke up.

younger students that idolize her in some shape, way, or form. 

people that befriended her as a way to get to jisoo (ha!)

pls add me @ ella ˎˊ˗ ♡ °#4547 on discord !!

[dia1tone]

[dia1tone]