#chr: seo hwi.

[entropedie]

stage one: to be entirely just, hwi is a man of patience in spite of the riddling, rippling misfortune that lines his life. he’s not a mouthful of laments regardless of his father’s unfair death, which shock resulting in his sister’s illnesses’ worsening. he is stitched of unabridged acceptance over fate, but when it comes to his beloved, depending on the canon points he’s taken from, he is willing to take risks in order to protect them, ensuring their safety. this is especially true with his sister, yeon, and his closest friends, heejae and seonho. escalation does not occur until those people are endangered, and even so, he sometimes still resorts to begging as opposed to outright anger. he doesn’t indulge in rage much, but in panic, he tends to increaser the volume of his voice. it isn’t out of pure wrath. out of the five causes of conflict, stress that stems from misunderstandings would be the worst; he doesn’t really comprehend what’s expected of him sometimes, for his acts can be deemed very haphazard, unruly. he’s not one to hide his anger, specifically when his father’s name is tainted. or, again, when those he loves are being on the verge of perils. prior to war, while his fuse is typically lit due to the common injustice following stigmatized children, he’d rather have himself pleading than see his sister suffer. in the case of the latter, he’s more likely to detonate. over the course of his development, however, he isn’t one to stand still upon being stomped over by the ‘higher-ups’ in the military. provocations, war postpartum-wise, he’s not one to kneel or shout over the indignation felt within. instead, he tends to act more once words run their course. if pleas and orders no longer work, he’s no longer hesitant to resort to violence. while his eruption often manifests in the shape of direct confrontation, he’s not one to immediately go for fights. months of war, in addition to the rift drawn between seonho and himself, have sculpted his range of emotions to be more complex, their intricacies typically a mixture of deadly silence. he’s no longer on his knees when he’s being threatened, having chosen to stand for himself, his family. his friends. all in all, lay a finger on his beloved, and he will display not an ounce of doubts to maim, even when deep down in his heart, he doesn’t approve of killing, still. but a man does what he needs to do in the advent of life and death situations — and he is of no exception. this is war, after all.

stage two: conflicts are ripe when it comes to his life, so it is highly dependent on the kind of circumstances. just like others, as a growing individual, he handles the depth of his dark with means he knows how. that includes explosive anger, especially in front of those speaking ill of his father’s death, the slanders not even once painting hesitation in him. he will lash out when it happens, when he’s discriminated because of the way his father is labelled. he’s lashing out more due to his father’s shredded name than his own selfish pride. in terms of whether or not his rage detonation is justified according to himself, there are occasional conflicts within, in retrospect. but as the circumstances beckon, time for thoughts is rare, that he doesn’t indulge in them much. he has the best intents, however, so he doesn’t think of the worst until proven otherwise, and for that, he tends to have the wish to handle his emotions well, keeping them at bay. post-progression, or even during that, he’s developed some kind of maturity, if not a sense of intrepid display of ire. he is stubborn, for certain, when it comes to values he holds dear, close to his chest. he can be aggressive, explosive, upon provocation; the levels tend to show a bell curve, sort of, in which he will escalate to a certain point of anger to lash out, expressing them in loud words. nevertheless, when that ceases working, his next step is to fight. to defend his pride, life. he’s not scared to declare people as his enemies anymore. doesn’t make him less kind, less loving. he is a gentle soul trapped in unfortunate situations, and for that, he tends to be driven by sudden lapse of judgments, instead of mulling things over first. the latter is preferred, sure, but again, there’s no room, no time to desist once the event summons an act, a decision. after that, passive destruction is something he will resort to, the stagnated emotions that eventually die out would leave him plenty of moments to lament. still, it is proven time and time again that despite his gentle side, he’s not incapable of throwing tantrum upon stressful events. he’s not easily irritated, but he’s rapidly angered, especially by strangers looking down to him.

stage three: the pinnacle of his childhood would be the loss of his father, and the illness in his sister. a causality that basically compelled him to mature up faster, shouldering the burden of the one to care for his sister, ensuring her safety and happiness. he understands the fact that his father was framed, slandered to the point of inflicting death upon himself so that the children would not be demonized and ostracized as the children of a traitor. these shaped hwi to be extremely caring around his sister, as well as seonho, who has been with him since childhood. towards the beloved, he is the kindest, but it has never meant bending towards those who look at him in the eye to belittle him. this includes seonho’s father. while hwi does keep the sorrow and anger to himself around his beloved, he is by no means the most patient person to be around, his temper unbridled in certain circumstances. considering the lack of parental figures on top of his having to carry the weight of the world, he isn’t that well-tempered, as he shows signs of inability to stand down, to give up. in this dog-eat-dog world, he’s not one to say surrender when he cannot afford it, and most times, he cannot. not when he wants to make his sister, his parents, proud of him. he wants to proffer a better life for his ill sister so that she can see the better days, getting the medication for her ailments to lengthen her lifespan. in that kind of situations, he has no reason to back down. it is especially true when he was enlisting in the army, hoping to win without hurting seonho in the duel too much. it displays compassion even in the eye of the raging hurricane. due to all these backgrounds, complexities ensue. he does his best to protect his beloved, as well as his identity and self-esteem as he wants to make his parents and sister proud. he’s not going to break in spite of the injustice, and it creates conflicts in interests with seonho. he’s never come to hate seonho apart from when seonho lied over yeon’s death, and even then, still possesses it within him to doubt seonho’s mistakes, and eventually, to forgive. he forgives, again and again and again, after his ire is no longer flaming. he does have extreme volatility in his relationships with others, specifically seonho, considering that he breaks into conflicts not because he is unkind, but because he has to. he is a product of unfortunate circumstances — and so is seonho. for that, the conflicts tend to not root in him, but rather, in those surrounding him, the environments and situations that force him to act fast and stern lest he would be eaten alive, his beloved endangered.

stage four: he can be rather explosive if not implosive at some points, just like normal people, but he tends to compartmentalize when he can afford it. not everything can be dealt with at once, and in the personal afflictions he tends to keep them to himself, whether it’s sadness or anger. his form of calming down occurs like a sharp slope, plunging to emptiness, nullified. he cannot truly contain his tantrum, be it aggressive or otherwise — for when he’s reached that peak, his utmost rage would manifest in the shape of quiet threats. his progression occurs in turning him to deeper, more controlled form of unadulterated ire, so deep that the words impale. he will come down from this, but it depends on the severity of the trigger and response: those that render him almost unable to forgive will typically end up in having the objectives of the threats fulfilled before he can sense the smidgen of calm. no, he isn’t one to hold grudges, but he is the protective type over his beloved, especially his sister, that he would stand between that obstacle that hinders yeon’s happiness. this is what complicates his relationship with seonho, seeing that while he’s the next person hwi loves the most, seonho also at some points serve as a hindrance for his certainty of yeon’s life. in this phase, it is too intricate to forge a sense of peace within. depending on the degrees of anger, he can come down quickly from the vexation and discomfort to face what’s in front of him to survive, but again, the severity highly varies that it’s almost impossible to place this issue into one box, classifying it as one thing or another.

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊? conflicts as prompted by rpcdev’s may monthly challenge: seo hwi.

[entropedie]

this is how they count day by day: by each bathed breath. survival comes with cost paid so much, too much that some days, hwi asks himself if it’s a price he can afford, still. and thinks of yeon, crosses his heart, moves forward. that is how he knows how to live, otherwise, if all else fails, he would die… and he would die with his blade cutting nam jeon’s throat. this is hatred so embedded, for the man turns seonho into ruins, and he’s witnessed it firsthand, over and over and over again, until he’s reminded that it is the same man that also provides yeon with an illusion of a life she deserves. an illusion, for what kind of a monster would rip her away, using her as blackmail?

and this, the man standing before him, is the product carved out of nam jeon’s cruelties. it feels far, nam seonho to his heart. hwi refuses. some of these days, he still inebriates himself with the lathering memories. the boy, seonho was, is the boy hwi is unable to forget. their rendezvous is plotted so furtively hwi forgets he’s more human than shadows. seonho has waited for him in the barely lit room, the place a jarring contrast to seonho’s pristine image. when he draws closer, his chest grows impossibly tighter. there are times when his instincts tell him to run away from seonho; far, far away. but instead, he listens to the briefing, precise wording from the said inspector, devising something so intricate yet so vulnerable that he feels like they’re throwing a stone in the river. the ripple effects would craft their demise. if this ever crumbles, he’ll lose seonho, and that’s his next deepest fear after yeon.

for the thoughts, he stops the rattled words from seonho. calling his name does nothing, for his voice isn’t as stern as seonho’s, the resolution painted on seonho’s face scaring him by a measure he did not think he’d reach. “seonho,” he tries again, this time catching the wrist of the hand hovering on the paper he himself brought. an uprising, isn’t it? “what would you do if all else fails?” he asks, almost desperate. the hand around seonho’s hand tightening, slight tremors induced. “i might go back to the lowest caste, but what about you? if… if all else fails, promise me one thing.” it’s risible, even when he doesn’t have time to resound this in his head, let alone rehearse this. “promise me you’ll… save yourself. frame me, kill me. if necessary,” and he knows he’s rambling, sounding both nonsensical and realistic at the same time, but he relents to this. “you said you’d kill me to pass the exam. do you still mean it until today?” his question is genuine as he looks deep into seonho’s eyes, illuminated by the moonlight. “if this whole scheme is down, promise me that, at least?”

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. with @luredeep: seonho.

[entropedie]

yeon. yeon, yeon, yeon. seo yeon. a constant element in his dreams. can he call them dreams, still, when he wakes up heaving, on the verge of sobbing each time? in which the shoes would fit, her wearing them during the festival. rosy cheeks that blush underneath the stroke of sunlight. blooming lips that smile underneath the sigh of moonlight. but isn’t she, now? isn’t she blushing, smiling? the absence of ailments another element of his dreams. but isn’t she now, except he is not the one that becomes the cause of them?

in his wretched, wrecked tears, when late night descends so intensely that he cannot pretend like he’s okay again, he is reminded of the empty gaze held against him. so hollowed, the lack of recognition jarring. but of course, it is better that way… her not remembering. she was cured because of that. she was cured because of them — because seo hwi can never proffer her the peace of mind to the point where she doesn’t need to worry anymore. in this kind of moments, he wonders, is he still a good brother for trying? was he still a good brother for trying? yet, he couldn’t break free from the bound as he was taken away, witnessing as she was on the ground… the shock a havoc rupturing her body, and again, repeat. replay. he sees her in the aperture of failure, unable to move away.

seonho might have lied about her, but it was to protect yeon. from nam jeon, from himself, too. after all, what kind of brother has he been if not the flawed, inadequate? it haunts him to no end, this inability to just reach her, watching helplessly. please, please, just… just let him care for his sister for a few seconds, lest she’d die; and then, in the direct misconception of time, distorted to a future he’d never foreseen, anticipated, she stood. healthy, happy. everything he couldn’t provide her. that’s the time he understood his place, stepping back. again, standing back. just to observe her from afar. healthy, happy. it’s just in the clasp of nights like this that he’d allow himself this form of weakness, because she cannot see him either— that’s fine, it’s fine. ( don’t cry, a boy once said to the other. )

he swore to never cry in front of yeon. he’s been keeping that vow so well, too well, even after seonho lied about hwi in front of her. skewed her perspective on seo hwi. that’s fine, it’s fine… it’s fine because if it’s meant her staying alive, he’d do anything. and can he despise seonho in this case? no. he waits until morning comes, the first light filtered by the gaps in the walls… his father, his sister. he remembers them in simpler times, reminiscences cusping his cheeks with warmth no longer present.

in the first hour of the day, he cannot find calm within him anymore, so he leaves for the market. understands that she might not want to see him again, but what is he, if not made of longing? yeon. seo yeon, hasn’t she been the reason behind his every act? years and years apart after believing she passed because of a fault he didn’t know where to place. except nam jeon. but she’s on his side, now. alive, healthy. happy. for that, he keeps his strides. hair unkempt, still. aware that he’s exposing himself to unnecessary risks, but he is, first and foremost, a brother. even when she doesn’t remember. twenty years forgotten, and he has to pretend that he’s fine.

he notices her from his peripheral view when he runs a hand at the pair of flower shoes, similar to the ones he bought her. and knows that at this moment, he wants none but to hear her say it again: that she will live long enough for the shoes to fit… don’t trade them. he didn’t. and now, it has come true. he dreams of a day when she would those shoes on. and they would fit. he shuts his eyes, willing the thoughts away. she is still there, standing. he turns his head, now. looks at her. looks at her in those vacant eyes. tells himself, again, that she doesn’t recall the way he carried her on his back. “oh,” he starts. “it’s you.”

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. with @inaeterna: yeon.

[entropedie]

it is a tremble for the beloved that keeps him alive. somewhere in the nooks of this war-ridden country, in which he has to cleanse his sister and himself in order to survive this battle wrecked within the society… he is alive. trying. in which he has to wash his father’s blood off his garments, again, the memory of that burnt to the back of his head scorching him each time. a reminder that makes him wince, but he doesn’t exhibit such a look of bitter thoughts in front of yeon. never in front of yeon. she is meant to be well; and for that, he trains his hardest.

except he found out that he might have to face the man carved in his chest, too.

he sees the world in a blurred dichotomy: one of those beloved to him, holding them close to his sternum, and another? another of those against his odds to provide a better life for his sister. at this point, he’s standing on that paradox, the juncture coalescing. seonho is to be the man between him and that goal. he pretends like it is not the case, for now. hasn’t seo hwi been playing pretend since seo geom’s death, after all?

but the wear and tear in his heart eventually catches up with him. he wanders in the village, face still soot-stained, sun-kissed. he’s stored his sword and bow away, leaving the image of the conflict behind. he carries himself far, far enough from home that yeon doesn’t have to see the dilemma on his countenance. and it is fine: his burden is his own to shoulder. he keeps his steps even, believing the walk would bring a sense of faux peace into him. instills the thoughts, the hopes, to believe in it.

and that’s when he spots her. he didn’t realize he’s been venturing nearby ihwaru. heejae is a reminder of an escape away from the military, soldiers that begrudge her over putting up posters. she appears in a different aura with her hair down, her hanbok shining under the daylight. he smiles at her, slightly too wide for someone who hasn’t come to know her all that well, but seo hwi has never honed his social skills that much… amidst taking care of his sister, spending time to the iron wrought, and practicing his combat skills for the upcoming enlistment, he doesn’t really have designated time to socialize outside of seonho’s reach. her presence is another factor previously left in the realm of absence.

“hello,” he greets her politely, or so he hopes. or has he sounded way too casual? “not up for no good this time, i hope?” he asks, jesting. “are you on your way back to the house?” the obvious: it’s a confirmed case that seo hwi doesn’t really have the honed ability to charm people into chitchat. he seems to come off as straightforward, often, but he considers heejae a friend after the escape from government officials. so perhaps, just perhaps, this doesn’t cross any borders, boundaries.

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. with @elegea: heejae.

[entropedie]

his thoughts are led astray. nowadays, when everything blurs into one, into none, he dreams more than what he can afford. he dreams of yeon. he dreams of seonho. he dreams of his father, the vigor that is a life force surging into his veins. it is cold, numb. the feelings, somehow, have always been buried inside. bones, marrows. deep, deeper— he doesn’t know how to utter words without spitting blood. but. ( don’t cry, your sister will be sad. ) but he holds the synthesis of scavenged delight close to his chest, so close his sternum trembles. he holds the symbiosis of siphoned reality close to his heart, and he eventually lets go, or at least learns to. there’s no point in crying.

there’s no point in screaming, either.

last time he did, it didn’t alter anything. life desists in a distinct manner for each. yet, he still wakes up heaving sometimes, his father a mouthful of sorry, his father a lungful of promises. his wounds bloom, from the heart to the throat. and smiles. again, smiles. rinse, lather, repeat. he should be okay again, one day, seeing yeon in the yard underneath the streaming sunlight. he will be okay again.

he just needs to make it past the military. and heavy is his soul, clinging to his untamed covets. the feelings of rust against his palate… a muted series of footfalls, then. seonho is not as furtive as he believes; either that, or he’s not trying. he pretends not to notice. three more steps, four. the sound is closer and closer. he doesn’t miscount, he believes, as he moves aside of the tree trunk to be met with a wooden sword to his jugular. he chuckles, his own blunt edge against his friend’s chest. “well, i didn’t think you would kill me for real,” he says, mirth lining his tone. “but at this point, i might have to succumb to your great swordsmanship, no?” quirks his eyebrows as he jokes around, pulling his own sword. “you wish, though. i have no intention to lose against you.” and this… again, this. hwi believes wisdom is a petal long gone. after all, it is a baseless statement, isn’t it?

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. with @luredeep​: seonho.

[entropedie]

static moments haunt. he’s a crippled series of bones, the teeth of the night spelled in the way they incise the skin. forming half crescents. here. here, here. and it is almost as if his flesh were calling for them, a moon to a lover. he’s become one with the pain, suffering. he is nothing if not the hollowed weapon crafted out of each battle wound. he longs for the feelings to not feel at all, for every time he draws near anyone he loves, he feels that he’s further and further away from them even when what he has done, is doing, and will do, they all are pointed at them. no… no. the empty that was her space to sit in the front yard is now a reminder of void.

seonho is another equation he knows he’ll bend for. and just… sometimes he sees too many ruptures in seonho, not from all the wounds that have punctured them. less on the body, more on the psyche. hwi looks at him, sometimes, and sees pieces. wonders if seonho looks at him the same, too. it is not about the way seonho cried for him, feared for him. they dealt with death, coming out of it is never unscathed. so remnants they become, but remnants together they become. they try fixing their broken, jagged edged together. matching their ends to the point where they are halves forming one.

so this, this is the story on how they contrive the unity.

before everything crumbled before them, they lived in a fear unbridled. their merging skin to skin, their drowning mouth to mouth. that has not changed, except for the fact that he’s an entity made of fragments stitched together, so haphazardly, to form a half. a half of a man that isn’t scared of death anymore, at this point. everything he’s fought for has been cruelly ripped away from him, right before him. and he’s wept. wept enough. the sadness has permeated so deeply that there’s no way to undo this, and as he lies on the futon, he wonders if the man next to him feels the same. that this war, with its greed, has formed seonho into nothing if not tactical confines. and he sees that, hwi sees that. he doesn’t blame seonho. doesn’t blame himself.

there’s never any room for children running around with wooden staffs in war. so, they exchanged the wooden staffs for sharpened swords, and commenced from there.

it is silent, their heartbeats almost too palpable for hwi’s liking. in this case, it isn’t like they’re not committing the taboo: lying next to each other, so close, too close. he’s listening to the night, until seonho says that. out of rumination, it seems.

it is him, all the roads leading to him. to hwi. he furrows his eyebrows; seonho knows he’s not been asleep, as if seonho had studied the patterns of his sleep. how he breathes restlessly in it, perhaps. he opens his eyes, turning his head to meet seonho. they are not looking at each other, the distanced between them narrowed so much. much more than what they can afford: if they were found out… well, there might be more chaos ensued. but not like hwi hasn’t been prepared for that — nothing is more, at this point. he’s grown fearless. if anyone touches the man next to him, or chido, beom, moonbok, heejae… he will fight for them to his last bathed breath. but if anyone touches seonho, he will raise hell. for that, he fears none. but.

but he doesn’t know how to digest the words enunciated. in the whispers of the night, he tries to swallow the fact that seonho is here with feelings, shedding the layers, the armour. it isn’t often, so hwi doesn’t treat this lightly. almost perplexed, he sinks into the captive thoughts for a moment, and let them seep into reality a minute later. the lapse is long in this sleepless night. his scoff is not derisive, but jarring in the quietude. “i will always go back to you,” he eventually says. “and you, to me.” shuts his eyes in another pause. “in spite of the distance, in spite of the bloodshed. i was meant to find you, too. since the very beginning.” swallows down the thought of losing seonho, two. “and i will always be here, at the end of each and every road. always.”

this time, he stares straight. the shelter beyond them proffers the transient solace he sometimes forgets. forgoes. “we will find our way back to each other every time, seonho. so don’t you dare… don’t you ever dare die without me. i won’t allow that.”

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋? 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄? “it’s you. all the roads lead to you.” — @luredeep as seonho. as directed towards seo hwi. from these prompts, status: accepting.

[entropedie]

counts the days like beads. hundreds, and hundreds. time that pours into the ocean, filling it in… as if it matters, all the time spent with the world. he’s lost the dollops of measures, again, the cicadas outside the decrepit construct of this house reminding him that it is, once again, evening. flickering flames remind him of vows spat out of unbridled hatred; wonders, for the nth time, if these lies will ever desist. or at least pause, for a moment, unlike the incessant rains that have been drenching the soil of this outskirt. aching heart is ever-present. he trains himself to live in the shadows, nearly nameless, nearly faceless. wonders, for the nth time, if he’s ever able to retrieve what he’s lost: his sister, his friends. and that man, which fills the craters of his bones with so much, so little. at once protecting, at once debilitating. he is nothing if not a product of misfortune that does not grant any lapse for even a single inhale. he’s kept running.

he doesn’t know how long he’s been running.

sure, the telltale years as prescribed by this era, the new country as inscribed on the land by the new king that won the support via deceits, via murders. but he’s not talking about the days and nights coexisting underneath this firmament. years feel too elongated, the time away from yeon another brand of heart apnea. he recalls the heaving, the heavy. the sternum wraps around in knots with an anchor dropped to the depth of this sea to keep him from swimming afloat, adrift. and again, tells himself he’s fine: yeon will be okay. heejae, too. seonho? he doesn’t know. he’s fine. pretends, and he’s been pretending for the last three years to no avail. friends from that crook of childhood; they share more similarities, those hwi does not want to admit, concede. he is as manipulative, perhaps, but he only does so to survive. and sometimes, reverses his train of thoughts: in the beginning, there is nothing if not the void. the cleft that separated nam jeon from his son. he doesn’t believe that the latter in this case is even half as much of a liar as the former. yes, seonho is as manipulative, perhaps, but he only does so to survive, too. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps—

he’s snapped out of the blistering daylight terrors to head out. the paths have learned how to be deserted. and he should, too. after all, what is a man like him, if not the aftermath of loss and love? his friends are the only ones left, now, never engraving another goodbye into his stone of a heart. hardened, but he still retains that chamber in his core for the boy that did not wait for him at the slope of that hill just so that he could weep. and he’s not about to weep tonight. sneaking past the village in the dark has been proven to be an easy feat after years-long training. he doesn’t draw attention at the very least upon entering the premise, the den filled with chatters does not offer him the slightest of their focus dividends. he is quick to make a beeline towards the enclosed room, his shadow supposedly warning seonho of his arrival prior to his entrance. seated, he offers a small smile, which sometimes proves to be wearier, heavier than it should be. today, it is lighter. the man seated across him might as well a stranger: it doesn’t register in hwi’s mind, how the forked riverbeds have led them apart. so far, too far, sometimes he looks at the man before him, asking himself if the boy still exists deep, deep within.

if he closes his eyes, maybe hwi can pretend. but this is no time to play pretense. they start speaking in riddles, yi bangwon a factor to their meeting. reunion, if it suits hwi’s fancy. however, it doesn’t feel right calling it as such when the man before him is a stranger, a monster cloaked in the skin of nam seonho. alas, while he chews on the chicken, he looks at seonho deep into the eyes, never wavering. “how is she?” he inquires. volume low, intent sharp. seonho leaves a lapse in the moment, his hand moving to resume eating, and that’s when the impatience in hwi that erupts every now and then — after all, can anyone fault him for being such when his life has been in disarray, caught between the teeth of political mud, to the point where it’s grown worse than simply losing the last family he had? he grabs seonho by the wrist, looking at him deep, deeper. “take care of her well,” and he sounds like the rapt of horse hooves against the solid ground of forest paths, repeating it over and over again. only when seonho provides the answer, and they fall into the elongated quietude that feels too surreal to even be counted as one, that hwi decides to spill the thoughts clamoring his mind.

“do you regret it, any of the things you have ever done for yeon?” he asks, compelling his gaze to remain still. it is impossibly difficult when he has none but the lament blooming slightly. at this point of life, even when everything has proven to point blames at seonho, he finds it hard to just swallow that, to just cultivate hatred towards the man supposedly partaking in the road forced onto hwi. “for me?” this one that follows falters. voice is just slightly above a whisper. what he wants to say is this: do you regret the times spent with the world, when the world is tainted, intertwined with the boy at the slope of the hill? even the question sounds too… hopeful, coruscating with slight positivity. but what can he expect, right?

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄. with @luredeep​: seonho.

[entropedie]

now that the memories are distant, muted, he recalls and relives them once more. 

at this distance, the wind has carried the ache away, replacing the ire and the pain and the acts and the thoughts… specifically the thoughts. he dissects them, one by one, and it feels like shedding layers of clothing that are nothing but garments of mortality. skin, in its rawest form, his shape no longer a mirror to the past, simply letting it flow in the river. the ocean will welcome it home, the way he will welcome peace home.

in its last peel, he finds three beads, three counts. 

they are the trifecta to a man once loved and lost:

one is found in the crux of the weeks, months of barren uncertainties. the pungent stench of death hung in the air. the atmosphere was thematic, cremation under the sun in the company of the crows, the vultures. they licked the bones clean with their unforgiving cacophonies, sans tongues. it was three months away from yeon, from heejae. and even when the concern was potent, laminating him in its dominance, sometimes the thoughts of the man eclipsed them. he should have been more than angered, the inclination towards the pendulum of wrath was more than justified. expected, even. but here he is, wondering where all the indignation went, as it was instead replaced by the consternation. it was as if a betrayal so lamented could not erase, eliminate feelings cultivated since they were children. and don’t cry, again, don’t cry— so, he didn’t cry. there was no use; again, crying, like shouting, screaming, it would only earn nothing if not more beating to the body. but hasn’t he always preferred that brand of agony, more corporeal than psychological? and no tears to spare. after all, what was the man if not a pawn to his father? for that, he painted the nights with doubt. it was not the man, was not the boy. he found himself in the juncture of worries again, from time to time, even when he could have detested it, should have detested it. seonho might not have been innocent, yet might not have been guilt-ridden. not that way. not in ways that faulted, flawed him to absolution. hwi knew better. or so he thought. and still, that was how he knew how to kill, maim. survival was an odd won. strangely so, but he wouldn’t default the red onto seonho’s hands. it was the war. he couldn’t, wouldn’t blame seonho for it. and is he to blame, for not blaming seonho? they both had red on their palms, fingers coated in the weight of lives taken. one, another. he lost count of his own kills at the age of twenty. ( and swore, someday, one of them would be the father’s. swore. swore again, closer to the heart, severed arteries proving that he was more a man than a beast… or at least, that was what he wanted to believe. )

the second phase was syncopated like a series of heartbeats, unveiled only after the ear was pressed against the vessel, the barrier. eavesdrop on the thud, thud, thud. he recalls vividly how seonho swallowed. he swallowed after the lies, didn’t he? yeon was not alive. no, no, no. again, in the proximity of demise, he was told, once more, that his sister was the sacrifice that bloomed naught if not the strange flowers, of whose each petal was inscribed with the calligraphy of youth. seonho had witnessed everything, everything in hwi’s life that he’d ever come to value after his father’s passing: his sister, his arrows. seonho knew the best, worst points to strike, to stab. and his wounds gushed incessantly, giving away the vermilion underneath the torched light. it illuminated the grotesque truth: for him to survive, he was to stand against the man that would lie through his teeth… nemeses carved out of circumstances. he was to stand against the man that would lie through his teeth— lies that were intended not to sear but to save. yeon, no. yeon was the last filament pulled so thin to the point of unbridled hatred, so yeon became a name lied. it is risible, in retrospect, how he did not falter to see the mirroring tears in seonho’s eyes. the lies were not easy. the facts were not easy. they lived with each other’s blades pointed to the throats, edging towards the verge of this precipice. when it ended, none of them walked out unscathed, because in a war, blood had to be spilled, and men had to be killed. so killed, he was. is. life is nothing if not the aftermath of all the parchments scribbled with history so grotesque he forgets the feelings of his hands, the feelings of his heart. does he have the latter when the former sinned so much, too much? when the former held the cold body of a beloved without the capability to hear the beating, ramming heartbeats? … and again, again, again, in the pit of his hollowed chest, he dares seonho to take this beating alongside seonho’s. not like it does anything else other than beating him from inside out his heart purpled. he is a case of post-mortem drowned in pity.

and the third dissection is a dichotomy. first, how do you long for a man that would shatter you, smother you? next, how do you yearn for a man that would cradle you, alter you? for the high and for the low. the man was shaped into the mould of a bastard son; he wonders, sometimes, how blinded he had been, to the point where deceits were wielded so flagrantly before his eyes, and he fell for them without a second thought? so turn back, he needed to turn back. to the beginning, in which these lattices of lies started being spun. the knots clumped at all the wrong, worst places for them. see it this way: when the table is turned, there was a boy at the hill where his mother had been buried years and years prior. there was a boy at the hill that would smear his silk robe with the soil, digging and digging and digging until his small hands were blistered, so that he could put the clothing on his father’s corpse, so that he could put the corpses in his own heart? next to each other, his parents were, are. and next to each other, the boys were. are? to this question, he has no answer. to this question, he has no verdict.

( at the end of the day, there is a boy that will welcome him home, too. )

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌. the first arch on seo hwi.