#rnalgnant

[13elmst]

in a world without powers, everything works out. he doesn’t get orphaned just shy of his fifth birthday. the boys at school don’t look at him like captive mice in a cage. he gets to be the soccer player he’s always dreamed of. as far as he’s concerned, life would be fucking peachy— or in other words, they’d get what they want. who? the fucking humans, of course.

park jaehyun sinks his canines into his hatred like a rabid dog on a bone. the idea of him buckling under the globe of pressure that they’ve so carelessly balanced atop his shoulders is akin to death itself, perhaps not of the physical body, but of his essence. and perhaps one might argue that life would be better if he just let go of his blind hate and think. but that’s the thing: even if he caved now, if he complied like a well-trained purebred and killed this part of himself, he still wouldn’t get his parents back. he’d still be an orphan, still have the lived experience of being looked upon like a freak. it wouldn’t erase the fact that the very same people had so quickly thrown him in jail and took his life away from him.

it's for this reason that he despises the anomalies who try to play nice. people like sanghyun who decide, against their better judgement, to wipe the slate clean and fall in line. did they forget, so easily, all the things that humans had done to them? did they have so little respect for all that had been taken away? now here is an anomaly from their camp attempting to network, to crash the party with his brainwashed scriptures, and it takes every nerve in his body to stop himself from plucking the guy by the neck and throwing him out. so instead, he settles for second best, brushes shoulders with the anomaly accidentally on purpose while forgetting to watch his strength. the man falls and he snickers, pretends his company’s said something witty to trigger the shit-eating laugh that pours from his chest. he’s had his fun and he thinks to end it there, until he hears the pipsqueak’s voice accusing jaehyun of attacking him on purpose and demanding an apology. jaehyun stops in his tracks, turns so glacially you could hear the creak, and approaches the campaigner. “i barely touched you,” the statement falls as a threat, low and gravelly past near gritted teeth, “if you want, i can attack you. so you can compare.” and just like that, he decides that maybe, he’ll make good on his original plan after all.

ft. park jaehyun & @rnalgnant's lee sanghyun

[eilouros]

at your worst ｡

// @rnalgnant

it's quiet in the office, nothing but the steady ticking of the clock filling the air. it hadn't taken long for them to be shown to the room with the promise of the doctor's appearance in just a moment. she supposes it's no surprise given that there had been no other patients around. after all, wasn't this why they'd made the trek to the outskirts of town? her hand is in sanghyun's as they wait, head rested against his shoulder with her eyes closed. she hates to show this side of her, human and fragile, but he is familiar comfort. there's been a pressure building in her head, relentless and unyielding. it'd been three days of this before she had finally accepted that there was something wrong. of course, sanghyun had been all too eager to help, soothing touches and solutions abound. she only comes to when the door opens up as the doctor arrives, voice perky as he announces his entrance. it's not long though before she can feel the shift in the air. her head might be a mess but she's not too far gone to see the friendliness in the doctor's eyes disappear the moment he had caught sight of their patches. she glances to sanghyun, wondering if he's caught it too. for now though, she supposes they'll just have to carry on as she goes on to explain why they're here.

[acidrcins]

𝐟𝐨𝐫    *    @rnalgnant tw: fire, death & mild nsfw

throughout her lifetime, seori has kissed a myriad of souls. there were boys in the shadows behind convenience stores, bartering intimacy for her meal of the day; soft strawberry-scented lips painting hers vibrant shades of pink; hushed whispers of indiscretions in darkened rooms far too illicit to ever see daylight. yet, in the vast collection of these moments, none held any significance. for fuck’s sake, she didn’t even need to wear a patch, because it had all just been so mindnumbingly placid and dull. another shade of dreary gray, blending seamlessly with the other, indistinguishable in its monotony. 

but sanghyun is different. sanghyun doesn’t hold her tight and ask her when is the next time he’ll see her. sanghyun doesn’t ask if he can use her lipstick with excuses veiled with a facade of innocence. sanghyun doesn’t murmur sweet, empty nothings that lose their luster when the lights turn on and the harsh glow illuminates their faces. no, in fact, when sanghyun kisses her for the first time, he breathes fire into her lungs. a smoldering rage that burgeons into a violent inferno that engulfs her being. 

(maybe it’s because it’d been amidst a taut, strained conversation laced with the venom of blame. maybe it’s because for the last two years, their interactions have been shrouded with an unsettling undercurrent of tension, masked behind polite passive-aggressive jabs. but most likely, it’s because it’s what she shouldn’t have, it’s noxious and lethal and she knows he could - and would kill her if he could. and nothing could make her want someone more.) 

her body pressed up against his, hands exploring his torso, he incinerates what little is left of her restraint. the news reports it as a freak accident. five people killed. seori and sanghyun never talk about it because fiction tastes better, a pill less demanding to swallow than the truth that it had all been because of a boy with a violent headache and an unruly heat vision, induced by a girl and her malevolent toxins.   

okay - seori lied. they do attempt to talk about it, but unsurprisingly, they speak the language of fervid kisses better. and within a matter of weeks, they concoct a clandestine cipher shared between themselves; a crimson-red code of uninhibited desire. objectively, it’s a bad idea. In every conceivable manner, it is a horrible fucking idea. but sanghyun’s a mercurial high, an all-consuming force she aches for. a ravaging of chaos, and lust that makes her meet him again and again and again. (seori is proud to say that they do better, though. no more casualties - just abandoned factories, barren land, junkyards. they’re good people.)  

tonight, it’s a housing estate to be demolished. a questionable setting for a tempestous fever dream of desire and destruction, but nevertheless, it ends with her patch ripped off her arm with his teeth, her body marked with searing scarlet remains of coveting. the air around them is smoky, ashy with charred debris wafting through the air. there’s an incandescent glow painting his face - makes him look softer than he actually is. she props her face up and traces his arm with a tenderness that neither of them deserve. “so, what’s next?" she asks, absentmindedly playing with a lock of his hair. "you blow up another house, or i kill you?" 

[key2earth]

@rnalgnant

( ... ) "maybe with a bit more blood in you, i'd have something to be nervous about," he quips, belated, picking the conversation up from where he'd let it skid along the asphalt. there's a playfulness underlying his words, like a cold he caught from her, almost drowned out by all that gusty wind—a tone he doesn't usually speak with. so different it alters the sound of his voice, the way the right color can make your eyes pop. he caps the joke with a soft chuckle. "hungry?" he asks, gentler this time, "want to make a stop over?" a glance to the screen on the dash. 1:28 to pinned location.

the drive passes them by in certain quiet, just the hiss of propane that fills the small sedan and the space between them. match, unstruck. there's kindling in the form of all those spars they've thrown together, scrapes that mean she reads his eyes a little too easily, tricks with her blood that he's learning to counter. none of that translates to conversation starters, though, so thank god ziying's not exactly interested in the prospect of talking—she links her phone up to the speakers and finds a playlist she thinks he'll hate instead.

but something's taken the bite out of him, playful in place of the usual stick up his ass. happens once in a while, and ziying knows it means that their sparring is going to be that much more fun, of the bloodied variety. it makes her grin, the pointy edge of her teeth showing as she turns towards him with barely a half beat in between. "shut up, dude, i've got plenty here," she shoots back, mimes biting her thumb at him in warning, "and whoever you've got in the back!"

because that's what they're here for, someone to take a punch and return with two. they're not friends out for lunch, though his tone begets the feeling. "you're being weird, t4d," ziying says, index finger sending an accusatory point his way before snatching it back, adding, "but i want a burger if you're paying." let it be known, no free food is beneath xie ziying. the gps on the dash marks out the distance to go, enough time for anything to digest; fuel for unfriendly fire.

@rnalgnant

( ... ) "maybe with a bit more blood in you, i'd have something to be nervous about," he quips, belated, picking the conversation up from where he'd let it skid along the asphalt. there's a playfulness underlying his words, like a cold he caught from her, almost drowned out by all that gusty wind—a tone he doesn't usually speak with. so different it alters the sound of his voice, the way the right color can make your eyes pop. he caps the joke with a soft chuckle. "hungry?" he asks, gentler this time, "want to make a stop over?" a glance to the screen on the dash. 1:28 to pinned location.

the drive passes them by in certain quiet, just the hiss of propane that fills the small sedan and the space between them. match, unstruck. there's kindling in the form of all those spars they've thrown together, scrapes that mean she reads his eyes a little too easily, tricks with her blood that he's learning to counter. none of that translates to conversation starters, though, so thank god ziying's not exactly interested in the prospect of talking—she links her phone up to the speakers and finds a playlist she thinks he'll hate instead.

but something's taken the bite out of him, playful in place of the usual stick up his ass. happens once in a while, and ziying knows it means that their sparring is going to be that much more fun, of the bloodied variety. it makes her grin, the pointy edge of her teeth showing as she turns towards him with barely a half beat in between. "shut up, dude, i've got plenty here," she shoots back, mimes biting her thumb at him in warning, "and whoever you've got in the back!"

because that's what they're here for, someone to take a punch and return with two. they're not friends out for lunch, though his tone begets the feeling. "you're being weird, t4d," ziying says, index finger sending an accusatory point his way before snatching it back, adding, "but i want a burger if you're paying." let it be known, no free food is beneath xie ziying. the gps on the dash marks out the distance to go, enough time for anything to digest; fuel for unfriendly fire.

[13elmst]

sanghyun:

( … ) when he thinks about it, nothing had distracted him. he really had been walking around that dark place hoping to bump into her. "nothing," he answers, confesses. his voice is low and soft but somehow makes it through the noise. a pause. a heaviness in the air he burns away with a wry smile, "i was walking around hoping to bump into you. what did you do while you were waiting for me?"

—

mother had called her a lot of things, but before she was five—that is, before the arrival of her sentient shadow, before she was the devil’s child, the harbinger of bad health, the optional daughter— sumi was smart. and here are her wits now, a knowing smile hidden behind the rim of the cup sanghyun brings her, recognising that this was going to be her last drink. recognising the way he’s staring at her, gaze moving across her features like he’s drinking in the spiked punch in her cup. and what then? what after?

“oh?” she holds her breath, and there’s this way in which her lips stretch into a smile. cheeky, cheshire-like. “bold of you to think i was waiting for you,” she teases, takes a sip of her water but it’s too soon to sober her up, so she presses with a suggestive, “i was waiting for someone to save me from this party.” like she means him. and she’s not usually so forward, but lee sanghyun is the vice presidential candidate of t4d, which means he’s the kind of guy that she should be seen with. the kind of guy that makes sense for her to fall into. so here, now. the conjured butterflies. sumi lets out a soft, “it’s getting a little… boring in here, don’t you think?”

[koreanpepamadrigal]

Seoyoung's seriously considering changing the topic of her thesis. Her entire focus, in fact. Figure out if there was a mass dropping of babies in Asia, because there's absolutely no other explanation for the work she'd been grading for the past god-knows-how-long. Blunt head trauma equals to inability to follow the provided rubrics she'd sent the students multiple times, gentle reminders no longer quite so. She's sure she'd be making so much more headway with research--- there's a ton of evidence on the desk, right in front of her!

The crick in her neck's taken up permanent residence beside her nullivi patch, long expired since she'd slapped it on this morning. She peels it off and tosses the wad in the general direction of the trash bin, and takes the opportunity to relax her eyes for a moment. Her comrade-in-arms, also suffering through grading, looks just as tired of this as she is. Seoyoung shuts her eyes, leaning back into her chair.

Maladaptive daydreaming, while a cost-effective way to maintain her sanity, has its drawbacks. She's unceremoniously brought back to reality by her colleague's voice, her dreams of being literally anywhere but here disappearing in a puff of smoke. She doesn't even bother to sit up and pretend like she was working, peeling an eye open to see what Sanghyun's on about.

Her expression doesn't budge, not till the last part of the sentence. Her bank account thanks him with a winning smile that lights up her face, the way only the promise of getting shitfaced does. Re-energised, she slaps her hands down on her thighs as she stands and stretches. "Should've led with that. Where were you thinking?" Catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the window, Seoyoung winces. "I feel like I've aged a fucking decade, dude. I need to drink until we die."

𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗮𝘇𝗮𝗿𝗱 | sanghyun & seoyoung @koreanpepamadrigal

after all the work of helping with the gala, sanghyun returns to all the work of being a teaching assistant. the professor had been patient enough with him, but sanghyun didn't want to push it, so he returned to his regular schedule without delay. without mercy, he's immediately loaded with work. he'd braced himself when he saw what all the papers handed to him were on. x-ray crystallography. christ, no one ever understands it.

there, hours later, his eyes swim with red—he doesn't know if it's from all the red pen or because the blood in his left eye from the vessel that burst the night of the gala still hasn't cleared. he's tired, but of course, he's high-gloss as ever, not a hair out of place. and yet, the sigh he lets out as he drops his red pen with a clatter is nothing but distressed—even more so than the cry of old springs when he leans far back in his chair.

he looks up at the ceiling, looks out the window. his reflection stares back at him from the black. it's night. it's late, but something tells him it's not as late as he thinks it is, so he doesn't glance his wrist watch for demoralizing confirmation. a yawn comes on and it's all he can do to put a fist over his mouth. he yawns long and loud, then drags his palms down his face. a few strands of hair fall over his eye. he rubs his neck, irritated when he feels the patch. it takes everything in him not to rip it off. it's not like him to be like this, but without much of anyone around, sanghyun lacks motivation to be the way he usually is.

he sits back up straight. he needs a coma-long nap but he doesn't have time for it, so he figures the next best thing is a stiff drink. "hey," he looks at seoyoung from across the table, "i'm calling time of death on this"—stacks of papers wasted on wrong answers—"and getting a drink." he grabs his leather jacket from the backrest of his chair and starts putting it on. hopeful glint in his eye, "come with. on me."

[eilouros]

@rnalgnant

(...) lifting his head, he looks at her, lips almost grazing hers as he speaks. "sooah." leaning forward, he presses his lips to hers, the gesture so faint it's almost nothing at all. "thank you for letting me come tonight." his voice so soft, it's almost a whisper. "have you eaten? let's order in? what do you want?"

this moment feels so fragile between them, as if a mere breath could blow it all away like dust. he's soft, ethereal and she tries her best to not break him. his response has her smirking, little truths hidden behind smoke and mirror. "you'd like that, wouldn't you?" she teases back, intentional in the way she neither agrees nor disagrees. in truth, she's never been one to think of forevers. she's a creature of impulse, known only to live in the present. the thought of a future together intimidates her so she prefers to bask in the moment, happy enough with having his hand in hers, his lips on hers.

"hm ... let's do that fried chicken place we went to last month." she proposes. "i can call in the order. do you want to take a quick rinse in the mean time to wake yourself up?" she's admittedly reluctant to leave the comforts of his embrace, a warm place that's become a secret favorite. still, the reality is that her phone is across the room and it's not yet late enough for them to stay in one place until the sun rises.

the time will come soon enough though so she does her best to be patient. "if you're too tired, i can give you a helping hand in a bit." she can't resist the opportunity to make a pass, overt flirtation paired with a mischievous smile. she can only be so good after all and teetering on the edge of will they, will they not has become a constant of theirs.

[13elmst]

sanghyun:

( … ) "i live here, jaehyun," he drawls, with restrained patience and unbridled patronizing. he inches forward, daring the invisible barrier between them to mean a damn thing. "i didn't move out of the building when you decided to switch rooms," sanghyun rounds on him, sarcastic and condescending to the listening ear. "i'm not giving you orders. you want him out, right? i'm agreeing with you and i'm trying to help you." despite his words, his eyes glow impossibly brighter, and a low, resonant vibration begins to hum. the air quivers with the promise of an impending surge of power. his voice low, steely, only for jaehyun to hear, "what do you think should happen here?"

perhaps one day, when the dust has settled and they’re old enough that how one dies becomes more of a concern than how one lives, jaehyun will think back to this moment. standing here, face to face with the man he once called his friend. how somewhere in the past, he once looked upon the man with mirth, arm around sanghyun’s shoulder as he badgered the man to drink beyond his limit. how sanghyun’s contact still remains even now, rotting in jaehyun’s phone. perhaps then, he’ll bother enough to reminisce, wonder where it all went wrong. it’ll take a couple of weeks and the sort of introspection that he’s not yet capable of, but maybe jaehyun will, one day, come to the haunting realisation that the reason why he’d come to loathe the latter was because deep down, they were not so different, him and sanghyun. sanghyun mirrors the anger that jaehyun carries. the difference between them is that sanghyun knows how to hide it. jaehyun is not so lucky.

( and maybe, had jaehyun been a little more like sanghyun, had learnt to make peace and make do, he’d never have had to go through all the shit that he’s had to deal with. that maybe then, he’d be able to carry the sort of optimism that sanghyun holds, bright-eyed and still having the strength to hold on to hope. )

but today’s not that day.

today, jaehyun curls his fists, fingers reddened with anger at sanghyun’s condescension. today, there is a fleeting impulse thought, a call from the void to drive his fist into the man and together, sate the curiosity of not having to pull his punches for once. jaehyun thinks to answer. the air is thick with the sort of tension that you can cut with a knife. jaehyun breaks it, a ridiculing laughter falling from the sneer. “help me?” a pause. a sniff. jaehyun raises his chin and drags his gaze lazily along the man’s form, “you can’t even help yourself.”

a step closer. a low, “see, that’s the thing about people like you.” jaehyun raises his hand, tips of his fingers pushing the man patronisingly back with ill-controlled strength. takes a step closer, “you think that pandering to the fucking humans like a starving mutt is gonna get you fed.” push back, step closer, “that begging on your knees and kissing their boot somehow makes you better than the rest of us.” and here, there is a way in which his face turns grave, almost sombre. like he’s back in his room, thumb halting the scroll when he catches sanghyun’s name in his contacts. how he forgets to delete it even still. “it’s not. it doesn’t.” jaehyun pauses, a sly grin along his lips as he raises an eyebrow in irony. “matter of fact—” he turns from sanghyun, puts distance between them as he regards their many spectators, two arms raised in the air as he gestures for them to pay attention. “listen up!” he roars, pivots strategically in the circle they’ve left for him as he announces, “together for daehan’s 2024 vice presidential candidate spotted enjoying all evo has to offer! fucking evo’s girls! that’s right—” jaehyun stretches an arm out towards his ex-roommate, eyes still locked onto a spectator’s, “lee sanghyun, everybody! in the flesh!” jaehyun curls his arm in, turns his head towards sanghyun and addresses him directly, “wonder how that’s gonna work out for your campaign when the gossip rag gets a hold of it.”

jaehyun drops his arms, strolls slowly back to sanghyun with a sneer, “you still gonna play dumb? or you gonna do yourself a favour, fuck outta this party and run back to that room you live in before it’s too late?” jaehyun gazes down momentarily to pick off a piece of lint from the shirt on sanghyun’s chest, then leans forward as his words fall to mirror sanghyun’s condescension from before, “oh, it’s not an order. i’m just trying to help you.”

[13elmst]

sanghyun:

( … ) sanghyun knows what this looks like, what it means. in some way, he's watching something he once knew turn to ashes here. a few people start to watch the pyre. he'd stood so close to jaehyun that his old friend's closer than an arm's reach away. sanghyun smiles, like this is something he wants to be amicable about. "i'll get him out of here and everyone can go back to the party, yeah?"

what do you know of balance? park jaehyun is born with the sort of strength that’s kept him on a tightrope for all his life. ahead of him is a linear, two-dimensional line of allowance— veer to the left, and everything and everyone is at the threat of breaking. lean to the right, and jaehyun becomes the sort of man he can’t recognise in the mirror.

walk a tightrope all your life, and even the fittest will fall. and what this means is despite the muted touches and mindful paces, jaehyun has only ever known how to hurt. it builds like water on a fire: still and foreboding as he toes the line in front of him— then comes the fall. then comes the part where it bubbles over and makes the sort of mess that’s a bitch to undo. a light shove in the locker room, an incensed thump on the side of the road.

here. he likes to think he had it under control. that he’d eventually settle for curling his fingers around the student’s arm and booting him firmly out the door, all under the guise of being the night’s stand-in bouncer. until lee fucking sanghyun steps in, the once-friend that jaehyun could barely stomach the sight of thanks to his holier-than-thou attitude. the man thinks he’s got it all figured out, strives for assimilation when his is the sort of anomaly that takes effort to charge up. what does he know of balance? a couple of eye drops and he calls it a fucking day. what does he know of control?

not all anomalies are made the same—some are harder to stomach than others. staring into the man’s eyes now, jaehyun has half the mind to show him what that means. so here comes the boil, the spill over. there’s a beat held between them, a gravelly, “while you’re at it, you can keep my name out of your fucking mouth.” and he’s closing the gap, standing so close that they’re almost touching, “who the fuck are you to be giving orders?” and now that they’re here, he sees sanghyun for who he truly is: a selfish fucking bastard in some gaudy jacket made of sheepskin. the people’s make-believe champion. there’s a snarky smirk pulling over his gritted teeth, a derisive scoff that follows the delight— the realisation that he’s always wanted to put this fucker in his place, from all the way back then, “you lost? forget whose party this is?”

[13elmst]

sanghyun:

( … ) "hello." he leans against the wall. he's delighted to see her and it shows even past the slow nonchalance that tiredness has forced upon his movements, in how he's beaming down at her. it's almost a trick of the light, how quick his hands are in switching her cup of bitters for an identical cup of water. there's a bout of silence, a pause where words should probably go. he thinks of something to say, but it's hard to think. little dark hairs fly away in a very engaging way at her temples. he touches the rims of their cups in a cheerless cheers. "drink some water for me and i'll get you another drink."

—

there’s this sort of giddiness about her that is more than just the liquor. it’s evident in every smile, every squeal, every dance and it bleeds outside just the blue hall parties. bae sumi is a dandelion growing through cracks of concrete— that is, for all intents and purposes, she really shouldn’t be like this. she’s cursed with a phobia of ghosts and life hands her a sentient shadow to keep her awake. it fractures her brother’s left tibia and the people who are meant to love her drop her off on a sidewalk, never to return. life deals her a shitty hand from the point in the game where it’s early enough that you can still quit.

even then, sumi wants to live. she wants to love. she wants to sit by the riverside, take off her heels, and dip her toes in. she wants it in the way that a starved child is called to bread— a wandering eye, a reaching hand, a desperate please, please, please.

now, here is a man who her arm reaches out to find. lee sanghyun makes sense. they’ve got the same political beliefs and aspirations, and he’s got the kind of smile that she could look at forever. and here it is now, breaking through the beads of sweat and unkempt attractiveness that he has about him. through the blare of the crowd, sumi chitters out a warm, “sanghyun!” and her hands find any excuse to touch him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tender hug. he switches her cup for water and she barely notices, blames it on being intoxicated as she wrinkles her nose and whispers a ribbing, “you promise?” she takes a sip then places a hand on his bicep. “took you long enough to find me,” it’s sheepish, falls as a tease but lacks the adequate confidence. sumi hooks the rogue strands of hair behind her ear, “what distracted you?”

[eilouros]

@rnalgnant "ah..." a soft, confused noise sounds from the back of sanghyun's throat as he leans slightly forward. his grip slips, and he can't quite control himself enough to make a big secret of being completely disingenuous. still, as ever, he's the picture of politeness, "is doctor park not available today?"

she sees the cracks beneath his facade, the anxious energy that ignites between their feather-light hold of each other's fingers. to most he must look fine beyond some minor confusion. yet, she's acutely aware thanks to the feline within. nevermind that she's also known him long enough by now to know better. "no he's not." the man snaps with seemingly no intentions to explain further. "now what is it that you two need?" the conversation already sounds like it's over before they've really begun. it's wildly apparent that whatever sanghyun had planned to help her get was not going to be a possibility with this doctor. perhaps on a good day, sooah would be ready to bare teeth and bite back. today though, she is tired, has no energy or desire to deal with this disdain. "let's just come back another time." sooah sighs as she turns to sanghyun.

[eilouros]

@rnalgnant

( ... ) he watches her, unabashed stare and slow blinks, and finds some sweet, simple bliss in it. dim yellow lights in her hair, shadows dancing across her face. this all feels so familiar. something he’s seen a million times before, and would look at again a million times over. when she walks by him, he suddenly reaches for her hand. sanghyun languidly tangles his fingers in between hers and tugs gently, pulling her forward a little when he leans back against the backrest. he looks up at her, something inviting, eyelids heavy with tiredness but eyes bright with interest. he says nothing for a moment. a migraine quietly hammers at the back of his head. fatigue starts to settle in his bones. “sit down,” he tells her, voice soft and a little rasped from exhaustion, “talk to me. tell me about your day. i want to know.”

she doesn't need eyes on the back of her head to feel his gaze following her to and fro like a lost puppy dog since he walked in through the door. maybe it's the half cat in her that tends to find neediness tiring, attachment usually triggering her sense of fight or flight. but truth be told, she's yet to feel that with him and she tends not to question why she only finds it endearing instead. he takes her hand and offers himself up like the gravitational pull of a planet that she can't deny. lithe limbs are quick to settle down into the comfort of his warmth as she takes a familiar seat on his lap for the umpteenth time. "mmm ... nothing interesting enough that wouldn't put you to sleep in a minute." she muses while running her fingers through his hair. she can see the sleep in his eyes and hear the fatigue in his voice. she's never been one to be a sanctuary but today she feels nice enough to at least help lick his wounds. "you look like you could use a nice long break, pet." palm moves to his jaw as her fingertips brush against his cheek. "how about you stay the night?" she's well aware of all that's on his plate and that he may still have mountains to move. yet knowing this, she still plays the temptress. hoping to win an easy yes, she leans forward to line kisses on his neck.

[key2earth]

@rnalgnant

( ... ) in the backseat of his car sits a cylindrical black gym bag next to a rectangular red bag, with a black handle and 'BLOOD PRODUCTS IN TRANSIT' in bold white letters on the front. he takes a breath, and though he'd sprayed lysol and perfume and hung up a new air freshener and kept the windows open a while after he finished his cigarette two hours ago, the smell of smoke still lingers on the leather. it's too late to do anything about it now. he sighs, not even bothering to hope for the possibility that she won't say something undoubtedly, aggravatingly clever about it.

she sees him before she gets his text, downing the last of her double shot espresso before ziying grabs her phone and leaves. there's a plain grey car waiting for her outside, dull like the rest of him and the barest mark in the reflective polish of sanghyun's sedan. ziying's a smudge of ink black when she yanks the door open and slams it shut in the next moment, sinking down into shotgun even though no one would be able to see her through the tint of the windows.

"'sup', ziying glances to the back, the reason she's still here sitting in an innocent black bag. "oh, shit," half a laugh cuts off the last word, sharp sparkle to her eyes. the wonderful mister presidential candidate, siphoning off his own blood donation drive for so he can beat someone down? the best thing that sanghyun's done in her book. "you really stole the blood? fucked up, t4d," she says, "you're not getting my vote!"

her eyes dart to the side, the guy in question tapping off rhythm on the plastic of the steering wheel. sanghyun's looking jittery in a way that's not the caffeine she's had, though there's no actual way for her to know—they aren't in the habit of asking after each other. it doesn't stop her from clocking the scent of bleach mixed with something woodsy, neither enough to cover up the sourness of nicotine that's still floating around. it's not her vice of choice, so it's fair game when ziying scrunches up her face at him, intent obvious. "nervous? needed a smoke, huh, gonna chicken out on me?" she's needling, canines sharp when she grins, "let's go!"