#twentysixdegrees

[riveires]

precursor

@toauz / @twentysixdegrees

BOM

( / she paces, antsy. the good(?) kind, fingers not exactly shaking, the rest of her body prepared to feel a high that’s to come ) first of all, you’ll know not to call it the roarin’ 50s. ( / not that a bruise would be left on rhys’ arm if she were to hit him for even thinking it. she glances at lifeboat, then at margot next, rhys last. clasps her hands together as she finally stands still in front of said time machine, tilting her head, letting out a sigh ) we’re not getting on this until i stop feeling this rush all by myself.

RHYS

[ > he leans against one of the steel pillars keeping their little hideaway from collapsing on itself, arms crossed. machinery isn't unfamiliar to him. in fact, he'd been introduced to many a contraption in the military that he had learned the mechanics of, but this one...there's something he inherently distrusts about it all, even if connor-freaking-mason says it will timetravel them. ] weren't the 20s the decade that roared? [ > pushing off, he walks closer, standing a bit behind bom, still. a good soldier trusts his higher ups, so - ] well, chief - wanna tell me something that's taboo to do in the 50s, so i don't commit a faux pas? [ > to his right, margot. ] you good, captain?

MARGOT

( / the key—or "goober" as she affectionately calls it—is deep inside her hoodie pockets—a card chip about as thin as a nail, but with enough processing power to put the highest OS on the market to bust. a little too wired to be on the blueprint for the next line of PCs, so why not just leave it on the backburner for the next best thing? ) ( / somehow next best thing is code for a state of the art time machine, but it's connor. it's 0-100 a mile a minute whenever he's involved. getting Bookworm Babe and Army Adonis up in here is just another way to push the limit. ) yeah. real peachy. ( / even if her semi-pinched expression might say otherwise—blame it on the "what the hell" thought that loops through her head for the umpteenth time ) ( / pushes herself off the beat-up sofa to stand next to bom as well, give the Lifeboat a once-over ) we'll have it easier than Bill and Ted if that'll help with the nerves. trip-wise.

RHYS

[ > the side of his lip pulls down and out, and he watches both of their backs carefully. always been terrible at faces, which is why he pays close attention to their mannerisms, instead. ] [ > not that he's been given all that long to get to know them...agent christopher moved fast, connor mason moved faster, and he's not sure that he's ever seen anyone with as much anxious energy as margot. ] i don't understand that reference. [ > or someone vibrating such terribly contained excitement as bom. ] the excitement is endearing. hell, i’d be feeling the same way if i were in your shoes. [ > but he's not. the only shoes he's in are his own, and though he doesn't think he'll need to fight tooth or nail in 1950s hollywood, his first mistake would be to completely let down his guard. ] now is there a special way to climb into this thing or should i just run, jump, and hope for the best? 

BOM 

( / nudges margot’s shoulder gently with the push of her palm, pointing her finger at her soon after. i got that reference, she mouths, nerves simultaneously eased just thinking of the comparison point indeed. ) 

how curt. ( / has her head turned back towards lifeboat, smiling tightlipped, choosing not to look back at him right away in case he really is being sarcastic after all. she spares margot a glance once more, sneaking another one that lasts a little longer in the same breath. ) also, i’m sure whatever “bad” flies now will definitely fly like it’s nothing there. ( / purses her lips in thought, squinting at the sight of the door ) get ready to be mistaken as siblings, spoken down to like we don’t speak the damn language, all that jazz.

MARGOT

( / a flash of exasperation across her features, half thank you and half can you believe this guy? ) ( / really, it's not that serious, but that's between her and bom ) ( / out loud and with a dismissive wave: ) no need. ( / delivers the side of the lifeboat a good kick, which triggers the stairs to fold out. something that should be automatic, but that's just one last minute discovery bug in the design to work through once they return. priorities. ) ( / she does the honors of climbing into the lifeboat first, goober in hand to slide it in as you would with coins into a slot machine and jackpot: baby blinks to life, lights and circuitry flickering on as they should. it's always easier to breathe when you're in your element. ) speaking of jazz, there's never a bad time for some mood music. ( / kidding! unless...? ) 

BOM

( / if overthinking is as much of rhys’ thing as it is her own, they’re definitely in for a ride. she follows suit, taking him as a ladies first type of guy. something about him... ) ( / when she’s inside with margot, the time and space between just the two of them alone brief, bom is quiet enough for him to not hear from outside. ) do you think he knows jack about that, too?

MARGOT

( / she matches her in volume ) we'll find out. ( / if not now then eventually, what with the way this "mission" has them buckled up for a ride and a half. nothing like shared history to bring people together—literally ) ( / grins and it's a full show of teeth ) but that's what you're here for if he doesn't, doc. ( / fingers dance over the dashboard, thinking to take the opportunity by the horns before he gets on board ) i'm down for taking bets if you are.

BOM

( / the hairs on the back of her neck rise when she catches glimpse of margot’s smile, eyes shifting literally anywhere else for a second before flitting over to “check on” rhys ) depends on what your idea of one is. ( / for this round anyway )

RHYS

[ > he sees the professor and their pilot climb into the lifeboat out of his peripherals. he gives agent christopher a small, relaxed salute. it's really just the hand motion, and his commander would roll over in his grave if he saw, but it's been a few since his time in the service anyways. but also - fuck him ] i may be older the both of you, but my hearing isn't that bad. [ > he sits on the little space between in and out, half of his body slung in and the other half needing a second longer. ] 'course i know jazz - played in jazz band in high school. saxophone. [ > ant then, he slings his body in, watching as the door closes behind him. ] [ > there's a look of wonder of his face but he doesn't care. eyes passing over everything on the inside, he whistles a tone, somewhere between an f and a g. ] never would i have thought i'd be here, with you two. [ > an honest smile, directed at the two he's sharing a space with. it feels weird - but this isn't an alpha-male, guard your emotions-type of shit. his therapist had helped him work through a lot of that, so he's trying to be mindful, and not fall back into that. baby steps. ] just a retired soldier getting called back into some type of service, for something i know nothing about. i'll be relying on you both quite a bit, but know that you can rely on me for anything. [ > camaraderie is a slow build of shared experiences, earned trust, and developed loyalty - but it always starts somewhere. ] i'll always do my best for you both, i promise.

MARGOT

only by what, two years? ( / well color her surprised. guess what they say about first impressions are true, after all. sweet, and a band kid to boot? huh! ) still, my mistake. ( / margot's eyes slide over to bom anyway in unspoken mischief. maybe this deal's off the table, but for next time, count her in. ) ( / the machine hums electric beneath her hands, steady like a pulse, yet it feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff ) ( / freefall has never felt so new, so real. ) and likewise.  ( / her attention turns to the screen ) can't promise much other than a smooth ride to and fro, but it's a decent start. (  / back to the other two. ) y'all ready for this thing? 

BOM

( / is "too sweet" a thing? something tells bom rhys will never get there, this equal parts comforting and cause for curiosity more than concern. margot's a treat in another way, probably has been as cool as she is since the second grade. with all three of them on board for dixieland alone, the uneasy feeling in her stomach lessens just a bit. ) ( / she hopes she can promise even half of what the other two have the offer in her own way, holding on for the ride, as snug as can be. her turf's moments away. ) if you are. 

RHYS

as much as i'll ever be [ > he's impressed by the confidence in which margot navigates through the immensely complicated looking control panel, and he feels a little more relaxed by it in response. ] [ > a process keeps him sane, it keeps him focused. so when he feels like his soul is getting tugged out through his navel and shoved back into his head through his eyeballs, rhys tries to center himself by running through the facts of their mission: rittenhouse - big bad. more surveillance and scouting than actual engagement, but it never hurts to be prepared - ] [ > now, he just wants someone to confirm: holy shit, did they actually just time travel? ]  that is the strangest sensation i have ever experienced in my life.

[ultracocobabe-blog]

refraction

@twentysixdegrees

sumin didn’t often go on dates like these. it wasn’t as if she was ashamed of anything, but when one had to keep two public identities, it was much better to be careful of the one they bring home after the fighting and the heroism. she made it a policy never to bring her work home, too, to keep things tidy and separated and organised. the world operated this way, and it was a good thing that she did as well, except that sometimes work overflowed to the point that it broke down the doors of her home and invaded on her desk and her room and, most notably, the bathroom that saw one too many wounds nursed on her own. there was a reason why her medicine cabinet was so well-stocked.

but the thing was the emergency was an emergency. work spilled again into her home just before she was about to host a dinner for two, and it wasn’t that sumin particularly liked keeping things from ahyoung, either, despite that they were practically just strangers who happened to like each other. a lot. very, very, very much.

the trick was not to think about it too much while she was preparing dinner and fishing for reasons why a) there was blood on her bath mat and b) there was a line of band-aids on her knuckles just by preparing a nice batch of pasta and garlic bread. it would distract her from the main task, and it certainly wasn’t beating the garlic bread to submission like she did to those robbers in the nearby bank. despite her morals and her beliefs about the law and what she could do to uphold it, it certainly shouldn’t hurt that she took just one night off? oh, but she had to take that particular route, and she really did have to intervene, even if it meant using an old ski mask and looking more like a gangster in her black leather jacket than a hero.

well, she was out of it now, at least. there were no papers scattered on her desk, all neatly put away; there was nothing of her costume that could be seen anywhere, or could be found anywhere, unless ahyoung pressed the wrong button on the remote; the blood could at least be wiped away from the sink; and, most importantly, dinner was as warm and tasted as well as she wanted it to. she didn’t want ahyoung to think she was a terrible cook, god forbid, especially if this was her first time coming to sumin’s apartment.

neat and organised was the impression she was going for, not horny and drunk. 

at least she managed to change out of her ratty clothes too, and into something nicer, even if it was a dress she scrounged up from her closet. her hair could do some work, but at least the immediate signs of overwork could be disguised by a little bit of make-up. and at that, just as she was taking the garlic bread out of the oven, the doorbell rang –

“coming!” and, no, the butterflies knocking about her insides certainly weren’t from, say, fumbling with the tray a little as she put it down, or the knot of the apron behind her back as she tried to undo it, all while walking towards the door. and she was still fumbling with it when she opened the door, like a fool, smiling anyway, “hi.” sumin moved assigned, one hand on the knot and the other at the doorknob. “come in, come in. i was just getting finished – here, do you mind helping me untie this? it’s a bit fiddly. i’m not sure how i managed to do it!”

[freightranes]

plenty of reasons.

to: @twentysixdegrees. / /

“i’d rather have a child grow up kind than smart.”

filtering between the raised curtains was an ounce of sunlight. dimly lit, hidden behind thin, woven cotton. he left the jar of lavender open with a purpose. some say it has calming properties, and although not an expert, his troubles were left at bay. takuma begins to peel cloves of garlic.

“education,” he murmurs. his tone was ridden with lone self-condemnation, having been raised a product of an educated, capable couple. “it’s a bit overrated, don’t you think? go to school, do great work, get a job. i’m not against any of those, but, they all have some sort of pressure linked with them.” the garlic is now beginning to overpower the lavender. he lifts his eyes towards the front of the shop, curated by windows open to the rest of the world. as he watches human activity roam about, nothing phases him any differently. the passing of cars, men, and women on foot, sometimes they’d peer inside and make eye contact.

“i don’t think street smarts get enough credit.”

the garlic hits the cutting board and he makes his way around haneul to wash his hands. “know your surroundings. try to be a compassionate person. there are so many things happening around us, i’d hate to see kids turn a blind side.” a clean washcloth is found in his hands, and as takuma dries them off, he turns towards her. his smile is empathetic, and his eyes mirror his words; concerned. traces of silence picks up in the wavelengths. he watches her to the beat of cars starting up from across the street, to the pacing of the clouds. how her body moves to the sound of clocks ticking, the beautiful, the quietest bit of peace. he adores her. at least that much, he knows.

“my instincts also tell me that we might be low on lemon balm.”

[wistfulreality]

for all threads with no activity since june or july, could you please LIKE this post if you’d still like to keep the thread ( even if you can’t reply to it at this time ... i’d like to know if i’m waiting on nothing or whatnot :) ) or REPLY if you’d like to drop it ( no hard feelings ... i’d prefer you tell me )? this will help me to know that you’ve looked at the tracker and i didn’t accidentally miss the thread at some point in time. if i don’t hear anything back, the thread will be dropped.

@bcnnenuit ; @twentysixdegrees ; @wovhos ; @profiile ; @mlilk ; @gidxe ; @strataisms ; @lionhevrts ; @sanhuns ; @tvctix ; @kkvm ; @dullfaith ; @pcmilya ; @soluniis ; @hcroincs ; @magariis ; @firewclking ; @pxrfait ; @elvctrickiss ; @bcbbletea ; @trcpicalnights ; @disconnctcd ; @lonelylot ; @ofpenandtea ; @temptaticns ; @vclvctkisscs ; @thcnine

crossed out = hiatus / replied to post

[melxodrava]

– seaview.

Being the king of a nation was not an easy feat. It required that he attend meetings all day, almost every day, and listen to all of the citizens talk about their concerns. It wasn’t that eventful, but Minkyun was good at masking his true feelings by this time. He had been the king for almost 6 years now, and people have praised him for being so adaptable to the position at such a young age. 

He would always cringe whenever they called him Master Song, however, because in all honesty, that was his father. It never felt right to be called like that. Minkyun always preferred being called Master Minkyun or something to that extent, because he didn’t want to follow his father’s foot steps. No. 

When he was younger, his father was stern on him. He never praised Minkyun for his achievements, for being the top of his class, or for getting into one of the best schools in the country. All his life, he has been trying to gain his father’s approval, only to be met with a straight face every time. His mother was more caring, of course, telling him that his father was only doing so in order to make him a better king. 

Perhaps, Minkyun was grateful for his father’s way of upbringing. If not for him, he wouldn’t be where he is now. Not after their untimely passing back when Minkyun was just a teen. They were on their way to another country, when their plane got into an accident. And that was how Minkyun became one of the youngest kings at the age of 18.

“Master Minkyun?”

Minkyun is brought out of his thoughts and realized that he had momentarily spaced out from their meeting. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, as if they were waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry,” Minkyun said, looking down as his hands started fidgeting. “May we... Reschedule our meeting today? I’m not feeling well.” Minkyun admitted. If anyone had thought this was not a good idea to hold it off any longer, they said nothing. Instead, they bowed their heads in understanding as they prepared to leave. 

Minkyun stood from his seat and approached the window. From afar, the sun began to set while it reflected towards the sea. All his life, Minkyun had seen this view. But how come only now did he come to appreciate it and see the beauty it had?

His eyes travelled downwards towards the beach, and he noticed a lone figure standing on the shore. Blinking, he realized that it was Huijun. Minkyun paused. He was always... Wary of Huijun. Minkyun had found him one day by the shore,  and found out that this man had nowhere to stay and no family to go to. Feeling responsible, Minkyun allowed him to stay at the palace.

But Minkyun knew nothing about the man. Which is why Minkyun didn’t seem to trust him much. Minkyun would look at him and try to figure him out, but always remained an enigma to Minkyun. It frustrated him so. Despite this, there was something about him made Minkyun drawn to him, which scared Minkyun greatly. 

Going down the stairs, he grabbed his coat and a scarf before heading outside towards where Huijun was. “Hey.” Minkyun said, approaching the other. By the time he was next to Huijun, Minkyun placed the scarf around the his neck. “It’s cold. Why are you outside?” Minkyun asked, curious. 

( @twentysixdegrees )

[lovedustxx]

#selfie #warmweather #tank #shorts #summertime #crochet #twentysixdegrees #yeg

[regretabull]

First swim for the summer #freezingisanunderstatement #dunediniamlovingyourightnow #twentysixdegrees #omg @arceerapper

[riveires]

fight club

@twentysixdegrees​

JOOHYUK

It's insult to injury. It may or may not be the right metaphor...or, simile? Shit, he's always been bad at this kind of stuff. Add another language to the mix and things all get jumbled up in his brain, especially when he's in this kind of mood. The bus ride back had been full of tension, and he'd practically jumped down the stairs of the thing, only barely remembering to grab his gym bag before heading back to the dorm.

He's half hoping Joonho isn't there--a part of him knows he needs time to cool off. But the other half just wants to--"What the fuck." It's like he can't throw the bag hard enough against the wall, but he hears something clack against the concrete blocks before it drops down harmlessly onto his bed. "Where the hell were you today?" His hands are balled up at his sides and he's practically shaking. It may seem silly but--Joohyuk needed this. He needed them to do well today and he needed Joonho there because he's--his person.

You'll never hear him admit it though.

"We lost." The tiny space of their room is suddenly too large. "We got our asses handed to us and you were supposed to be there. You fucking promised, and, and, here you are on your ass doing nothing. Nothing." He feels suffocated. He wants to grab Joonho by the collar. He wants to run far away but he can't help himself, either--"You're such a shitty fucking best friend. You couldn't even do this one thing for me?"

JOONHO

the current circumstances have been everything but forgiving lately: if their semi-packed room is looking like something of a shit show right now, joonho's own state of presence is giving it a run for its money. a glance at the wear and tear of the past week is one hell of a revelation: dark circles marked in, coffee of breath, patches of stubble thanks to none other but his negligence. and it's indeed negligence that's to blame this time. diving head first into some logistics project had rendered everything else that mattered completely and utterly lost to him.

so when joohyuk's voice cuts through the air, all he can say is,

"what?" 

it takes him a minute for joonho to gather himself: day, time, event. a friday, he notes. upon giving the digital clock a closer look does the second realization drop down like a catastrophic bomb because god fucking damn it, he wasn't supposed to be here but at the soccer field.

but there's no time to salvage the damage, not when it's already done. between them simmers a third presence, the other's anger threatening to boil over. 

“christ, that completely slipped from my mind, i—" and he can only flinch, because the next string of words that would fall from his mouth suddenly sounded like the most insensitive thing he could say right then and there: "i'm so sorry, dude."

JOOHYUK

how bitter the realization was, when he scoured the crowd for a familiar face and didn't find the one he was looking for. it was almost like adding salt to the wound; he could have used joonho's nauseatingly affable disposition right after the loss.

for a few seconds, joohyuk breathes in deep through his nose and wonders if he's overreacting. he looks at joonho's face, at the figure he cuts against the harsh lighting of their school desk lamps, and he feels like a fool. this kind of thing has happened before. joonho is prone to getting lost in whatever he's put his mind to, and in many ways that's an admirable trait but in situations like this...how many times does joohyuk gotta utter "it's fine, man" and pretend it really is? fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, thrice--shame on me.

"you said you'd be there, and yeah--life happens, shit happens, but this was really goddamn important to me! and you knew that. why do you do this kind of shit so much? it's not cute." joohyuk keeps balling and un-balling his fist. he doesn't want to get physical but there's an urge to do something with his hands. "'i'm so sorry, dude?' that's all you have to say? you're the worst; best friend my ass--you probably just barely remember my fucking name."

JOONHO

there's a thin line between admission and pure, unadulterated guilt. he has enough shame to feel the latter, enough of a brain to perform the former. thing is, it seems like neither will do any good to pacify joohyuk's brimming rage. from the corner of his eye, he can see the movement of his hands, akin to the clenching of a jaw. a jaw that might be his own after he gets his teeth knocked out raw. be it because of the lack of an immediate solution, or the sight of that alone,  traces of annoyance start to snake in right beneath the somber tone of his voice.

joonho sighs. "it's been busy. you know that as well as i do, joohyuk." especially, most definitely of far more pressing issues. the fact that this—no, their, as in under mutually shared ownership—room isn't fully in order, for one. maybe that he's been covering for him whenever he'd been gone, for another. childish is the thought that begins to circle around in his head. so fucking childish.

"it sucks that the team lost. how am i supposed to make it up to you?"

JOOHYUK

"stop saying my name like that." the anger had been dissipating, but then the pity in joonho's voice bled through the temporary impasse. he tries to navigate around the mess of boxes in their room, but his chin knocks against something particularly hard in a box and curses under his breath. it's one thing after the other--he just can't seem to win.

the walls aren't moving but the space seems smaller. "what the hell could you possibly do to make it up to me? there's literally nothing, joonho. you think its that easy?" the laugh that sounds into the room is full of something that creeps, claws, and settles somewhere in between them, just waiting for the perfect time to ruin everything. "god, life's so easy for you, isn't it? we're both here, at this fucking school, in this tiny little room, but you've got your shit together. you've got your priorities--treading water just fine with all these ivy league assholes. but me? i'm just not good enough. not enough for you to care."

JOONHO

there's no reason why he shouldn't be used to it—the slew of assumptions, the implications held under that sting. four years should be more than enough to grow a skin so thick that nothing should cut through, but joohyuk’s gaze is knife-sharp, the words that fall from his lips sharper. 

"easy?" joonho narrows his eyes. "well i think it'd be fucking easy for anyone to let something like this go." a pause, one that feels more like a deadweight about to drop over their heads than anything as light as an inhale. "but you're not just anybody, are you? can’t stand if not one person isn’t paying attention to you for one damn second.” 

the room bristles, the air crackling. it's palpable enough for joonho to realize that this is impossibly suffocating.

"there'll be other games." a poor attempt to backtrack, if at all. the tightness of his voice loosens, but the hollowness of his gaze betrays him entirely. since when had he become this stubborn?  "it’s not the end of the world.”

JOOHYUK

it's the feeling of when you're watching water fill something up, toomuchtoofast but you're too far, too helpless, to do anything about it. the surface tension arches, forming the slightest bulge over the rim, and then-

"you don't fucking understand!"

it overflows, and he's lost this battle. 

joohyuk's built a reputation for himself. he likes it, identifies with it, and plays into it. 'oh of course he won't mind! joohyuk's super chill!''you'll love joohyuk, he's so outgoing!him? that dude that's always smiling and laughing about anything and everything? pretty sure joohyuk never gets mad!

so why does joonho get under his skin like this? it's a particular skill - he knows the things that those other people don't. he can read joohyuk without him ever having to say anything. yet - they're not on the same wavelength right now. now, when it might just matter the absolute most. 

"i like attention, so what? it's fucking true - that shit doesn't hurt me." his voice is raising. joohyuk realizes, but it doesn't register, not fully. "i wanted you to be there because i fucking need you!" he stutters, regroups - rephrases. "i just -- i needed you there, but you have your priorities, don't you?" the anger deflates, the pressure releasing from his chest and his shoulders. he's unwinding but it doesn't make it better because what replaces that white-hot red tint is pure hurt. "i just don't matter as much as your - your little elitist ass friends!" he'd always joked about joonho's accelerated lecture friends, and truthfully he'd be lying if he wasn't a little insecure - yes, they all go to an ivy league school but he's here on an athletic scholarship, primarily.

and, he's not infallible - clearly.

joohyuk knows he's making assumptions, half-thought out accusations, but this is the only way he can take back what little is left of his pride. he's fishing for anything that he knows may hurt joonho because he's in the middle of his pity party and he needs to tear down the person closest to him in actual distance as well as just, in general.

"they're fucking elitist pricks and you're one of them, too!" he kicks his slightly pushed out chair into the desk, and puts his palms to his temples, as if he can re-center himself with the motion, ease his anger - but nothing is working.

JOONHO

and there it is.

they're not strangers to any of this, to the way joohyuk is at the mercy of his own emotions, and the perilous ups and downs that come with their weight. his words are hurled like pelting stones. they hit where it should hurt the most, one after another, meant to knock him down with each blow.

the last one lands, and then there's silence. all joonho can do is stare. 

then, "you really think that." 

his expression turns blank, eyes dark, a degree too cold to be mere neutrality. stiffly, he swivels around in his chair. grabs his bag from under the desk to slide in his things from the tabletop with a single sweep of his arm.

"you're only proving my point." he stills, tongue deliberately curling around his next set of words that might push them over the brink. every fiber of his being tenses in warning, to be the one to let go, be the better person. but what little remorse that had held him had long slipped free with his rationality. in its place are the thoughts that never fail to loom at his worst: ridiculous. insolent. a fucking child. 

shouldering his backpack, he stands to leave. his voice is void of any feeling. "grow up."

JOOHYUK

tell him to stay. tell him you're sorry, that you didn't mean it.

the rational part of him keeps repeating these things over and over in his brain, but it echoes in the space between his ears - nothing seems to absorb, nothing happens, and he doesn't so much as twitch a finger, as he watches joonho pack his things. joohyuk feels his limbs go numb, and he lets his hands fall back down to his sides.

it's just been a lot, lately. you've missed him so much but have been unable to tell him just how much. you're jealous - of his study budies and don't know how to properly express it without potentially getting too raw and revealing things that might change your relationship forever.

but instead, he twists his face into some sort of scowl, eyes burning not with hatred but with some emotion that is almost too heavy to put into words. "clearly, i'm right - if you're running off like this. i hit a nerve," he accuses. it's always the people closest to you that can inspire the strongest emotions. he's a maelstrom of feelings, and if he were even just a little more clear headed he could maybe try and pick apart and identify the individual emotions causing this shitstorm of a confrontation - and try to explain it in a way that'd be more fair, in a way that could diffuse this -

instead, he hears the last two words from joonho, and he laughs. bitterly. "honestly? fuck off, man." and he turns his back on him, listening closely for the sound of sneakers scuffing against linoleum to fade - going from right next to him to down the hall, around the corner.

going, going, going...gone.

"this sucks." this was far from the way he wanted this to end. but he's here now, and he's alone.

[FIN]

[freightranes]

hello! so i’ve been hit by a bus in terms of being overwhelmed by school this week, which explains me being out of the loop. unfortunately, i have work in a bit so i won’t be able to hop online. definitely sunday, however, i’ll be available throughout most of the day! i have a lot to owe.

writing for: @twentysixdegrees @injeok  @malvficvum

replying to: @twentysixdegrees

plotting with: a lot of you! working on that soon.

i’ve also sunk into the olympics craze, prioritizing that on accident over writing.. that’s gotta stop soon! also, another note: i have yet to send out greets to the newcomers. i wish to write and discuss something with you all whenever i’m free.

[wistfulreality]

[!] DROPPING

the following threads will be dropped as i did not hear anything back. if there is something that you’d like to keep, please just let me know!

ziyuan x minhyun - @bcnnenuit

minho x jinae - @twentysixdegrees 

angel x jisoo - @profiile 

jingoo x beatriz - @mlilk

jinri x jaehyun - @gidxe

misun x daehyun - @strataisms

aiden x julie ; madison x owen ; namil x irene - @lionhevrts

yura x heeyeol - @tvctix

woohee x jaehyun - @kkvm

taewon x mina - @pcmilya 

haeyoung x sewoo ; jordan x miyeon - @hcroincs

yeojin x hyosunn ; hyerim x dylan - @trcpicalnights

[riveires]

wildfire

@twentysixdegrees

JOONHO

Midday in July, sunlight full and sweet, melting golden. It’s uncharacteristically poetic, more so yet when such a line is being waxed by none other but Son Joonho. Must be all that love in the air, with the newly weds having tied the knot—that, or it’s the dazed heat that’s making his thoughts slip clumsy.  He’s reliable in that department: too little to say, too much to think. He looks down at his flute, now drained of champagne and comes to the final conclusion that this, this is must be the root cause but it doesn’t matter. He needs another glass.

Pulling away from the small crowd that had began to gather around the table, Joonho turns to wave a server over, but before he can so much as pivot on his heels, eye meets unsuspecting eye and he’s struck. Stunned. Bolt of lightning without the thunder.

Standing at a distance no more than a couple of feet away is a face he once knew. Knows still, too well. Memory lines up almost perfectly to the present; his face is more angular here, no doubt sharpened with age, but then Joonho gaze roves over to the slant of his nose, jaw, curve of his mouth, and his breath is caught in his throat. Sugar dissolves from his tongue. Something stings. Aches.

“...Joohyuk?”

JOOHYUK

Jamie has been really great. She's picked up on his hesitation whenever people ask if they're next, and she plays it off like a champ. They work together, she's beautiful, and they get along well so it just made sense to ask her to be his plus one. There's no love there, just a lot of respect and admiration. In fact, he respects and admires her so much, that he offers to go grab them each another drink. Joohyuk is thanking god for the open bar when his internal prayer gets interrupted by the call of his own name.

"Joonho," he responds instinctively, blinking three times more than necessary when he turns to look in the direction of his former...roommate? best friend? flame? "You weren't, I didn't--uh," Joohyuk is panicking; it feels like he's back in college. "I didn't know you were coming to Lara and Jiya's wedding." It feels like New Year's again--that one night that changed everything but didn't seem to change enough.

He looks as Joohyuk would have imagined. The years between then and now have polished him; he's clean lines but gentle eyes, yet his posture betrays him. They're both tense. Where do they even stand?

"Do you want to walk with me? To somewhere a little quieter?" Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want anything to do with you anymore?

JOONHO

There’s something inherently wrong with this picture: two men with their feet forward, and the prospects of downing 70-proof concoctions by the bottle. The joke very nearly writes itself, but neither are laughing. Joohyuk stills as if he’s only a step away from making a mad dash for cover, and Joonho is too tongue-tied to be aware of anything else but the intense regret that washes through in overflow.

“I didn’t know you were here.” Here, in this little slice of New England that he’d made meticulous efforts to avoid any and almost all chances to return. A handful of hours from there, north of where back then marks a decade in its passage. Stagnancy and permanence, both ways that had been so undeniably his own that anything else was impossible. But the impossible had happened: the day after graduation, he’d hit the ground running, and for the next ten years, he’d never turned to look back.

Now, Joonho can’t even think to take his eyes off him, frozen in his shell-shocked state. Joohyuk’s lips spell out a stream of questions, ones that he carefully, dazedly answers.

“Yeah.” Again then, a little softer. He puts his hands in his pockets, steals a glance at the ground before his gaze returns. “Yeah, that’d be...good.” Joonho clears his throat. “Where...do you wanna go?”

JOOHYUK

The more appropriate way to go about this conversation would be if he'd been the one to say: 'I didn't know you were here.' Briefly, he's at a loss as to what he should say in response. Joonho had effectively taken his line and thrown it right back at him and-- "Lara and I kept in touch after graduation." The hidden implication sits uncomfortably in between them right after the sentence leaves his mouth.

Unlike Joonho, he'd stayed in the area, finding half-fulfillment in a well-paying, stable job with one of his former soccer teammates. Kyle had almost fully replaced Joonho in the 'best friend' department but there was always something a little lacking. They'd climbed up the corporate ladder with their prestigious university's mantle hanging above them with every promotion, networking like crazy--until Kyle moved halfway across the country and Joohyuk climbed up even further. Without him. Without Joonho.

That second loss wasn't nearly as devastating.

The reminder makes him stutter in his steps, and he feels a lot less in control. "There's the uh, the hedge maze or something right outside the...venue." He looks around for his date, for another classmate, anyone that can help ease the tension or take him out of the situation completely but it's like he can't place faces to names anymore. It's just Joonho. "We can just...walk around it or inside, it doesn't matter to me."

Ungracefully, he downs the rest of what's in his champagne glass, and waits for Joonho to walk his way. He's extremely conscious of their pace, how far they're walking apart, and in a fit of nervousness, he remarks, "Either way we're going to get lost. I'm still bad with directions even after living in New York for the past few years." Give a little, take a little.  "Where...have you been?"

JOONHO

With every answer, there's the unspoken question of his lack thereof. Couldn't, didn't keep in contact, his number always beneath his hovering hands but never pressed, leaving behind footprints everywhere and anywhere except where a certain someone might be. Between the two of them, Joohyuk may have been the athlete, but Joonho had the unfortunate skill ability to run at the first spur of reflexes—the heart wants what the heart wants, but he's already sprinted. Made a distance marked by miles. Years. Memories already fading into sepia tones.

So then what's stopping him from turning the other way?

"Oh. That's great." His steps match up to Joohyuk's strides. They fall faint, hushed against the padding of the trimmed grass as they walk. Instinctively, he moves on a couple inches ahead, in case they do get lost. That strikes him belatedly, with a pang. Old habits die hard.

“I’ve…” Joonho hesitates. “I’ve been around.” He can’t lie through his teeth, if that’s anything to find relief in. “Where I work they like to keep me constantly on my toes. Checking up on sites and such.” A dry laugh follows.

When they reach the maze, he moves on further ahead—through the entrance, to a bench situated somewhere in the clearing. He could easily suggest they go deeper into the coiled space, but then wonders if that would imply anything more than what is already lodged between them. He’s knotted with discomfort, or is it want? Or are those terms interchangeable? Want, the pang of not having anything at all. It brings the same spell of nausea all the same. He should’ve known to slip himself another glass before diving in head-first.

“I should’ve known you were there. New York. It’s...” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “You’d fit right in without question.” And there’s that laugh again. Not knowing, unknowingly so. “Much better than I could, anyway.”

JOOHYUK

It strikes him suddenly, that he's always looking at Joonho's back. Back in college, Joonho had hard-carried him through a few semesters when he couldn't figure his shit out, and Joohyuk had...provided comic relief? An outlet for those nights where Joonho needed to get out and drink until he forgot his own name?

But look at him now - cushy job in one of those fields that makes people nod, impressed. Full of crisp suits and white men - Joohyuk's where he is today because he's a great bullshitter. Half the battle is the confidence, and the other fourth is connections. And that last bit? Well, that part is actually is hard work, and he'd learned that from --

"Joonho, you coulda made it in New York if you really wanted to." He grins, and he feels like a college freshman again. "You're the smartest and most hard-working person I know - you'd do my job ten times better than me in half the time."

But the  feeling at Joonho's compliment fills him with giddiness - a little amplified by the open bar (former blessing turned current yikes), and he puts his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. And then, he takes a seat onto the stone bench, perched just a bit on the edge, looking up at Joonho.

Something about this position takes him back to some day in late December, and his chest tightens. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

"It's been a bit lonely without ya." And he never should have sat down. Joonho has the higher ground; Joohyuk has always been the one who felt too much, too quickly, too intensely. He's a bit of an all or nothing guy. "I did miss you, if we're being honest here."

Well, fuck.

JOONHO

There's a sting of disappointment that has him almost flinch despite himself. It's a compliment that means well—of course, it's Joonhyuk, for Christ's sake, he always does in twofold, three, heart stitched flame red on his sleeve—but the sinking feeling snakes in, anyway. Is that all there is to say? But he's the last person on this planet to have the right to such expectations, to yearn as so.

"Uh," Joonho tries on a polite smile. "Wouldn't be my kind of people there..." He doesn't dwell on the stagnancy of his own job—a passion project for sure, but Joonho's not blind to what that speaks volumes to  an outsider. A dismissive wave. The sentiment that follows this time is genuine. "I'll let you handle the big city for me."

Like he's let him done back then. The one constant he's known, forever steadfast in his presence, his warmth.

In the beat of silence that falls, Joonho wonders if it's too late to turn things around. To let the confessions he's left buried to fall free from his mouth. That there was never really anyone else after him.  That his absence has become a part of his very being, like a tangible limb, a faithful shadow. That there are days where the empty air of his room is filled whole with it, a kind of lonely that is intimate with the pain it brings.

But then Joohyuk speaks, and he's stunned speechless.

The shock on his face is vivid. Common sense lags too far behind to have the decency to at least be embarrassed, thoughts lapsing into white noise.

"You-" It's on the top of his tongue. You don't even know. He takes a shaky breath, his mind catches up at last. Composure. Not yet.

"I actually thought about calling you before," Joonho shifts, one foot to the other. "Maybe once. Couple of times. But-" Excuses by the dime, but he's not in the proper state of mind to pick the right one. Another breath, and it lets out in a defeated sigh. "I don't know." I don't know if you'd want me back.

JOOHYUK 

"Me." he teases back, interjecting himself in between the breath it takes for Joonho to continue with his sentence - because Joohyuk is the one that's afraid of being forgotten. "You should have called. I would have liked that." But then he remembers himself in college, and the way they'd left off, the way he'd acted towards the end. It's a two-way street, and he's played just as big a part in this mess they're in right now (if not more). "I could have called too. Should have."

But now they're adults, and their friends are getting married, settling down. Joohyuk's biological clock isn't bothering him and he isn't desperate to find someone to get all domestic with, but there are regrets that have been left gaping still. Tonight might be the best and only night to disinfect and band-aid the damn thing so he decides not to hold back. "You're still a bit of an old man, aren't you? The city and its people aren't so bad. You just need to find your niche."

Joonho looks antsy, and Joohyuk wonders if he should try and wrap this up. He's always been the one to push Joonho from his comfort zone but he doesn't want to actually make him uncomfortable. This situation is awkward enough as is. "You say your people aren't there, but..." The incessant need to be noticed and acknowledged, and the uglier parts of himself that manifest out of those traits - well, he's working on them. Therapy has been great for that. "I'm there." So, that was a bit selfish, a bit self-indulgent, but two steps forward and one step back still nets positive, right?

"And wasn't I your person at one point?" Joohyuk looks up at the man that had given him so many firsts. The one who he truly felt attached at the soul with. "You were mine." Bonds like that don't just fade, not when it's them. "The position's still open if you're interested."

No holding back.

[riveires]

sugar

@twentysixdegrees​​

ZHIRUO

"I'll go with."

She could have kissed him right then and there. Just the idea of potentially having to take any of their other members mortified her and she was certain he saw the value in the fundraiser, too. High profile attendees, lots of wealth being exchanged and flaunted, and many potential connections to flatter into the good graces of. In the words of Natsume - tonight, if navigated correctly, would be an absolute jackpot.

Zhiruo holds the top of her dress to her chest. Ironically, for as important as tonight was...she completely lost the time absorbed in a new project. Her makeup and hair were done from earlier this afternoon, but she now no longer had the time to run home and grab one of her dresses to simply slip into. Instead, she only had this one dark blue gown with extensive lacing in the back. Relatively easy to get out of (an event a while ago that went over meant being fashionably late to a heist debrief at HQ all dolled up) but an absolute pain to get into by yourself, she had to call it.

A knock on his door before she walks in after receiving a confirmation. With her head tilted to the side as her free hand closes the door behind her, she leans against it and smiles sweetly. "I am finding myself in a bind." Cheek pressing into her shoulder, her head tilts back before she turns halfway, showing him her issue. "I need two hands that are not my own to help with the lacing. Corset backs are beautiful and flattering, but generally require a second person."

Zhiruo walks over to him, eyes tracing over the amazing suit he's adding the final touches to. There's something about a man putting cuff links in. She turns around when she gest to the floor-length mirro, eyeing the front of the dress for any loose threads. After, she makes eye contact with him in the mirror and smiles coquettishly at him through it. "Hyunsoo, have I ever told you that you clean up spectacularly?"

HYUNSOO

The situation presents itself before Zhiruo speaks to it. Body language may play well into the bigger picture, but he also has a trained eye that catches the loose tail of peacock-blue lace that falls at her sides. Hyunsoo raises his head, a warm smile in lieu of a hello, hand still working through fastening the last gold clasp before the sleeve is straightened out.

Time's on their side—the gala isn't set to commence until a few hours from now, leaving them enough legroom to take scope and slip into their roles with ease. No harm in starting a little early while they're at it.

He turns on his heels, finds the reflection of her smirk, the coy pull of her lips in dark, ruby red. His head ducks in a laugh. "You make it sound like I was looking pretty rough before..."

Impulse has him for a second, fingers moving up to tuck a stray strand back into her updo before they trail down to find the undone lacework. "Wait." Gently, he shifts the body of the corset in place. "There."

Beginning at the small of her back, he threads the ends in and out, tightening with a tug. One row, then the next; careful, methodical. An inhale, and he's far too close to not catch her scent, warm-sweet over bitter almond, faint but unmistakable. "We'll stick to the basics, as usual." The same old spun lies—based abroad, married two years and counting. His voice takes on an amused lilt. "Unless it's starting to go stale, of course. I'm open to suggestions."

ZHIRUO 

His attention to detail still catches her off guard every so often. It shouldn't, given what he does and how meticulous he has to be day to day, but she nods slightly in approval at the slight change he makes to the centering of the gown, before she's just barely containing the smallest of shivers at his fingertips gently brushing against sensitive skin. Such an accidental touch, such a normal brush, shouldn't make her feel any of these things, and yet.

Recovering, quickly, she aims her next sentence over her shoulder, "Oh, darling, you're easily one of the most handsome members we have on the team, no matter the state of dress." With eagle eyes, she watches him finish lacing up the last few rows before turning around to gaze at the finished, and impeccable, work through the reflective surface. "Although, Cal's most recent haircut suits him very much." 

"But I married you - and isn't that the most important?" Fully turned towards him now, she reaches up and out, one arm outstretched and draping over his shoulder, hand dangling down while the other cups his cheek. "Our love life isn't stale at all, my love, but this is a benefit hosted by a few of my older contacts. And to them - I've been married for almost five years now, and we're still very much in love." 

It's almost concerning how fast she can turn it on and up, leaning up on her tippy toes to press a quick kiss right to the side of his mouth. "Everything else can stay the same as our usual cover." her brows furrow for a moment, a little guilty that the fake role she'd always made up for her 'husband' to dissuade people prying into her personal life, was one that Hyunsoo had to mold himself into. "I always speak very positively about you, however. Very dashing, very kind, impeccably witty."

[riveires]

the chain

@twentysixdegrees​

GAHYE

The advice goes: if you're tossing and turning, get up and do some physical activity to chase the restlessness out of your limbs. Unfortunately, that's not an option. It would look incredibly strange for a young, married, professional to be strolling on the sidewalk of their quiet, quaint, neighborhood at 2:47am in the morning--without her charming, handsome, husband by her side at the very least.

Thinking about him makes her want to roll over and curl in on herself. Would she feel safer in that position?

Earlier--that'd been a trap. A set-up if she's ever been trained to spot one. They were lucky, she supposes, but she wonders why them. They weren't fresh faced by any means, but she always thought they seemed too young still. Was it their youth and by extension--their adaptability? Or maybe it was the fact that they were young enough to still be disposable?

Her eyes were burning; it'd been a while since she blinked. The darkness made the action seem less important. Gahye thinks that maybe, she forgot to, mistaking the absence of light at this time of night for the dark behind her eyelids.

Would she feel safer if he were here next to her?

The doorknob is cold against her palm, the air is too on her bare legs. She opens the door soundlessly, and she can tell that he's not asleep, either. It's hesitation that keeps her feet rooted where they are, but it dissolves when his shoulders seem to relax.

For the longest of times, she'd always thought that missions were hard, and that the decompressing after was easy. Tonight, it's a bit of an inversion (but not completely).

She slips under the covers, shivering at the cold sheets against her warm skin. Strangers, but not quite. Right now he's the closest thing she's got to home. He's the only one she comes close to trusting, right now.

Gahye curls up on herself on the opposite end of the bed. 

TAESIK

It’s hard to pinpoint what had done him in—the seconds ticking down to then, or the aftermath. Whatever it is, whatever it had been, it followed. From the scene of the crime to trailing right at their heels. To the back of their four-seater, as they drove into the night. And now, it pads through the silence, the confines of their home. Inertia creeping. 

Motionless, Taesik has nothing more but the company of shadows and the thoughts that slip through the expanse of the room, oil-slick. He’d be foolish to think sleep would wash over him by now: two hours and counting with his eyes wide open, fixed to the slow spin of the ceiling fan. 

A close call. The closest they’ve ever been to being slit over a knife’s edge. Fear is a notion that’s long drained out of him—that, or it’s morphed into a different shape entirely. It’s hard to tell if it’s this numbing sensation he wants off his chest, or the weight of the memory itself. Dichotomies of choice that come around in full circle. 

The sudden creak of the door startles him. Immediately, Taesik turns on his side, held tense, bated breath. Waiting. It’s the sound that follows that has him recoil slow. Exhale, then relief.  He carefully sinks back against the pillows. 

For all the time they’ve spent together, what he knows about her is little to none. Perhaps this is inconsequential. After all, it seems, they have heavier things to share in its place. The grievances. The small diamonds in the rough to counter each one: this isn’t home, this is close enough, I don’t need this, I need you as you need me. Necessity is both the mother of invention and the noose that pulls tighter, all without mercy in equal measure. 

Tonight he has no stories to spin. 

Tonight there’s a knot that neither of them can untie. 

His eyes take in the space between them, her face. The thick tangle of hair spilling over the pillow. He only dares to move an inch closer, barely breaking this distance. His voice is barely above a thin murmur, echoing faintly. 

“Gahye?” 

GAHYE

The answer? Yes. Every step closer to this very spot had made her feel safer. As soon as she'd walked through that door, there was no turning back. It's a silly phenomenon, and she doesn't want to examine it too closely. There might be some realizations that she's not quite ready to reckon with--mainly, that she needs him more than she wants to admit. It's a primordial truth: there's comfort in company, there's strength in numbers.

"I didn't mean to intrude," he's already awake. Her eyes have adjusted to the relative darkness, and she slowly shifts onto her back, as if moving too fast might startle him. "I'm sorry, I thought you might want some company tonight." Because I need it.

With her back completely pressed against the mattress, she allows herself to turn her head to look at him. The moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains outlines his figure like a halo, and Gahye almost wants to laugh at the irony. "I'll leave if you want me to, though." I know we're not close like this. She's not good at...this. And she feels foolish, backtracking on all those months of being an ice cold bitch, but there are too many sentences jammed into her head to be able to properly convey that. She's also got a little too much pride.

Gahye's body is completely still, save for her hands. Muscles slowly relaxing, there's a few beats of complete silence as they both try to figure this out. Her thumbs are nervously tracing over the shape of her nail, a nervous tick that betrays her so completely. Usually she's good at keeping it under wraps, but right now it's just--idle hands are the devil's playthings.

"Taesik, can I…?" Can I what?

So are idle lips, apparently. 

TAESIK

She must think of him to be transparent, what with the way she can unlace him entirely with the single sweep of her gaze. Exposed before he can so much as pull the strings loose himself. Though their target had nearly beat them to the chase. Taesik can still see it now, clear as a picture. The barreling down of bullets. The shattering. Broken glass and metal and a deep, deep red.

"You're not intruding." Watching her watching him. There's no animal instinct involved in the act besides the draw of curiosity. Fear too, a quiet kind, that brims beneath the skin. Espionage teaches you the art of stealth, of slipping without tipping over the edge, but it's never ever brushed upon what it means to be vulnerable. 

In the dark, she's a figure that cuts in sharp-soft. Pale moonglow and the thinned hardness of her hands. He remembers the first time they'd interlocked fingers, not because of some magnetic pull of want but the push of a reminder. You have to sell yourselves. His grip had tightened on the spot. Back then, perhaps that was the least passive pretense he'd donned at all in those months. It's different now.

There's not any form of tense to describe their positions, the questions that pool beneath their bodies. His eyes flit between her thumb and the curve of her bare collarbone. Time only exists between the faint pound of their pulses. 

"I don't want you to go." His arm lifts from his side to rest over her waist. Different. Different. A novelty he's not sure what to make of, but is willing to revel in out of none other but sheer, careful need. 

Please. 

GAHYE

She stills completely, mid-motion, pausing with the tip of her nail still pressing into her fingertip. This feels real. The sensation, it grounds her until suddenly it's insignificant compared to the feeling of his arm around her. He feels primordially close, and her instincts tell her to shift closer-- "I'm not going anywhere," it almost feels like a promise. Her eyes drift closed and Gahye breathes out slowly, body moving with every inhale, exhale, curving closer towards Taesik. "Don't want to be anywhere but here."

Sometimes she's afraid that this is it. That her experiences up to this point are everything she's going to do, everything she's ever going to feel.

It was a silent sort of terror watching their cover slip away, like the sand beneath your feet when the tide sweeps back out. It's a certain brand of relief whenever they come back, together, alive (bruised, bloodied, but not too too broken). It's the particular stillness of them lying together, pressed closer than they'd been before. 

Gahye imagines how deeply she might have fallen in love if the circumstances were different. If they weren't brought up in these worlds where everything except for their orders are off-limits. "I was a little afraid of losing you tonight." It might even feel somewhat like this.

"I really don't know what I would have done if I did." Her arm slips out from under the covers to mimic the positioning of Taesik's, settling over until her fingers trace over his own. 

But she does know. If either of them never came back, the other person would be ordered to pretend to grieve appropriately, then uproot and disappear. They'd be re-assigned. Rinse and repeat until they've wrung every bit of life out of you.

The thought of it gives rise to something unpleasant.

She turns her upper body, eyes searching for him in the dim light. It's been like this for a while. A call and response. This time, she wants to initiate. "Things feel different tonight, don't they?" As much as she wants to live in this role, she doesn't know if she can continue to do so, strategically keeping each touch hollow, empty.

When she lays completely flat on her back, hand reaching up to brush against his cheek, Gahye muses out loud. "I'm going to stay."

TAESIK

There’s that telltale second where he wonders if he had crossed a line. Intimacy of this kind has always been foreign by design, between them, with her. Obligation in place of emotion. He thinks to move his hand.

Until she moves first. Closer to become close, close enough that if he reached out to trace a finger slow over her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, down, down, to the dip of her Cupid’s bow, it’d be the closest he’d ever be in that moment, for that moment.

The inevitability of it all looms, like a distant cloud, a shadow ten steps behind their heels. You’re as young as you feel, so they say. Only the feeling has long been drained. Looking at the mirror these days reflects an exhaustion that is starting to sink in, and after tonight, it’s sunk bone-deep. Looking at Gahye’s face and months flash to decades to the bare, few milliseconds that had divided them between another breath and their very last.

He exhales carefully and is immediately conscious of the sensation, the deliberate attention to it at all unnerving in its newness. 

“You’d know.” He revels quietly in her touch, love-like but not love in the way it should be, and there’s a faint ache in his chest knowing this to be as so. “If not right away, then eventually.” 

A promise for a promise. In the end, it’s all they can afford to give, and hold onto, despite the odds. They’re still human, after all. 

(Aren’t they?) 

As if to reaffirm it, his hand lifts up, lays over the one that cups his cheek. It’s only human to need this. To seek comfort wherever it can find you. His eyes lower to the curve of her mouth, then rove back up to lock their gazes once more.

“I’m staying too.” His fingers curl around hers gently, folding them. Carefully, he moves her hand down from his cheek, letting her knuckles brush soft against his lips in place of something unspoken.

For as long as I can.

GAHYE

Nothing comes before their loyalty. Their loyalty to their common goal. To Mother Russia. She knows they’re supposed to fight and die and claw back from the dead, only to do it all over again until they’re actually dead this time around. That’s the only way to earn a comrades’ honorable death. Death in the name of loyalty. Storm clouds gather over this thought, the quiet rumble of thunder the undercurrent to everything she’s about to do.

“Eventually, they’d tell me what to do.”  There’s weakness in allowing your feelings to radiate from within strong enough to interpret without words. “Eventually I’d fall into my next assignment.” So she tries to say them out loud this time, instead. “But I wouldn’t know what to do before those eventualities.” I’d be lost.

They break you. Then, they make you into a weapon. His hands could kill her if he wanted to. Hers could do the exact same to him. But his motions are gentle in the way you soothe something you anticipate will run. They make you into a weapon of war and then tell you to make peace with it. She counts the seconds that he takes to kiss her knuckles.

Gahye watches him carefully, eyes closing when they start to burn from not blinking. She forces her shoulders to relax as she feels his comfort. She’s never closed her eyes during a kill, but instinct has her eyes closing now, in front of him. Vulnerability. Maybe she’s starting to make peace with it.

“You’re very good at making this feel real.”

The world has been unkind to them. So, she decides, they need to be kind to each other. Each step, each offered hand, each moment like this, is a brick laid towards the foundation of something that may just be stronger than blind loyalty.

Her free palm presses to his chest as she shifts closer. Touch starved. “Does this feel real to you, too?”

TAESIK

Truth be told, there’s been a disconnect from the start.

Sworn allegiances are a given. So are the claims to protect the motherland at all costs, even if the price is to be paid in blood. Sacrifice always, always, the means to an end. But he thinks beyond the dogmas instilled in them, to a time before Jeon Taesik was yet another name to assume and he’d been nothing more but a Sakhalin boy. 

This was never our home. 

So the story went, as his grandparents had prepared to return to the Korean peninsula at last. Occupation and war had kept them on that small island until then. What home meant in that moment was irrefutable, almost sacrilegious to question it otherwise. 

They’re long gone now. As is he, continents apart in a strange land, held down with the burgeoning doubt of whether what had been home was ever home at all. 

Would you let them happen? Is what he wants to ask. The list of possibilities are endless, all uncertain, impersonal, meant to make either of them disposable down the line. It makes him take pause. This would be sacrilegious, too.  Instead, he continues to hold her knuckles to his lips, unmoving, for a revelation, any revelation to search him out through the dark. Only Gahye does, as she does every time, with her nearness, the weight of her gaze, the way she lies in wait. Strange, isn’t it? How the silence before a kill sinks the same as it would before lowering one’s defenses all together. 

“I’m not pretending.”

Not here. Not now. 

His breathing is steady beneath the flat of her palm, heartbeat a low thud. “It’s more than just the feeling.” Tenderness of this kind should be frightening, but there’s no stopping the way his body is drawn to it, moth to a quiet flame. 

“…Can it be real?” 

Even if it’s only for tonight.

GAHYE

Why, she wonders, does he say these things? When they met, her first impression had been that there was not a single soul out there more professional, more refined (like the sharpest edge of a blade in her arsenal), more restrained, than Taesik. She hadn't been happy with the pick; in actuality she had the bigger issue with the assignment, but she would sooner off herself than admit that out loud to their handlers. So she suppressed it. She practiced on emanating her newlywed glow, repeated her words over and over to get the American accent to coat her vowels a little smoother, and stared at Taesik until she could describe him in the greatest detail to even a blind man. For a good period of time, she truly believed that she had memorized everything about this man to the point that he would be utterly unable to surprise her.  

But she's at a loss for words. All it took was two sentences from him: I'm not pretending. Can it be real?

There's a certain kind of training they put young girls through in the middle years of the program. With the boys - they are beaten and broken until their bones can heal over harder, and they dole out a variation of this training to their girls, too. But there's a divergent path for the girls, as well. They are also broken in a different way and taught a specific skill set. Life has never been very fair to the fairer sex, but to these girls it makes them truly believe that a god doesn't exist; there's only a higher power in their government. So, listen to your handlers, don't you dare think of doing anything other than what's expected.

It's why Gahye pulls back, has barriers. It's why she is intrinsically afraid of this kind of touch. She's never felt it this way before: earnest, gentle, truly loving.

"I can make it feel real." she moves with her words, taking her hand away from his lips, shivering at the loss of his touch. Instead, she draws up on the bed and props herself up with an arm, her bottom half still under the covers with him. She's got the higher ground right now, and she looks at him - his face turning towards her to adjust to her new position, and Gahye's other hand gently nudges at his shoulder, pushing him onto his back. "I know how to make people think it's real." She moves quietly, the only sound the rustle of their covers as she slips a leg onto his other side, effectively straddling him, resting her weight gently near his hips. "But I don't want to do that with you." 

Instead, she keeps her eyes downcast as she pulls her hair back from the front, twisting it between two hands before tossing it behind her shoulder and letting it come undone, tickling her back. She moves with a certain deliberateness as she then seeks out Taesik's hands. Palms pressed together, Gahye coaxes them up near his ears and laces them together, content with the classic picture he makes beneath her. 

Dark eyes drink in the image, and still holding his hands where they are, her index finger traces a quick line against his jaw before -- finally, she leans down, molding her body to his. She rests their foreheads together, the sides of their noses barely brushing with how close they are. "I know that, sometimes...I feel like a ghost to you." Gahye swears that she feels him face tilt up; she feels the butterfly wing brush of his lips, but wonders if that's just her leaning down. "I want to be -- tangible, to you. Right now."

Will they, won't they? Something so full to the seams, that the stiches are starting to strain, to burst. "It's real for me." 

It's always been a push and pull, and for Gahye to feel comfortable enough to be this open, she needs to at least start off with the power, knowing that as soon as he starts kissing back, she'll lose herself completely. And, maybe this one time it's okay. She takes a shaky breath, and presses in to kiss him. There's no eyes around, they're not on an assignment...this is solely for them, and she could almost cry from how right it all feels.  

Here's to hoping he feels even a fraction of the same. 

She dives deep, and wonders if he'll dive in after her.

TAESIK

It'd taken everything and then some: picked apart under the microscopic scrutiny of those above them for them to find, anything, everything that would pose as a liability. Name. History. Bloodline. One by one, an uprooting, a decimation of the self, until they had nothing more but the hollowness of his bones. An imitation body void save for the purpose to carry out their will. Only then did they say, at last. He was ready. 

For what, Taesik hadn't known. Not until the day that door to the General's office had opened up for a woman with a sharp, sharp gaze would walk through it, and he would feel his breath catch in the back of his throat. 

Later, he would look her dead in the eye and find himself thinking, Would it always be like this? To be this empty, this absent in feeling. Ever-present and drained. All deadwater. There hadn't been anything to trace back to—no point of reference, examples, nor a single memory to draw from.

But anywhere he'd look since then, she'd be there. At every turn. Punctuating every end of each thought, even in spaces where not a single word had been exchanged in between. Because he hadn't found anybody else. Because there wasn't anybody else to find. 

What had once been a startling revelation now couldn't be more grounding. 

There's no telling when it began to change. If things were meant to pan out differently. If consequences are imminent because they did.

And yet, Taesik looks her dead in the eye and it's all feeling. That he's ready for this. The thin shiver of thrill that runs down his spine as Gahye shifts, assumes form in a way he's only seen in minute flashes for all the times they've been together, but not ever like this. 

 Heat hums beneath his skin, electric in the way it builds, but he's quiet. He can't say a word, not when there are none to describe the way he feels held at a rapture. That there's something so unbelievably human to all of this, and how long it's been that they've been anything close to being just that.

Everything around them stills. What follows is all motion.

He mirrors her, touch for touch, his fingers tightening in the way they're laced together, lips brushing shy, then fully. Instinct takes over slow as he closes his eyes, indulges in how she overtakes his senses, dream-like. 

Moments pass before he pulls away. Tilts his face ever so slight to regard her. Even shrouded in half-shadow, she's a wonder.

Carefully, he pulls one of his hands free from her grasp, lets his thumb graze up gently to push away the hair that's fallen over her face. The clarity of it all burns, desire undeniable.

A beat, then two, and he pulls her down with him.

Their lips meet. He ignites. 

(This is as real as it gets.)

[FIN]

[riveires]

circuits

@twentysixdegrees​

JOOHYUK

it’s certainly an upgrade from freshman year. at least now he doesn’t have to worry about having the right ratio, or making sure to have anywhere from five to twenty dollars on his person to get into a party. the only downside is that he’s pretty sure that their friend group is expecting him to help host at the next major holiday-ish party, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that just yet. he…doesn’t even have an apartment off campus; he’s in the dorms with joonho, so that’ll be interesting to see how it all plays out–joohyuk is severely distracted.

he’s spacing out on this mildly interesting story about how steph had to walk home barefoot from her latest chem 3 exam because joonho’s getting hit on by a girl who’s like three degrees of separation from any of them. it’s just morally wrong. how can joohyuk leave his best friend and the only roommate he hasn’t scared off by his odd hours in the hands of a total stranger? 

so he thinks up a lie. believable enough to not arouse suspicion–

“i need you,” he states to joonho, looking him straight in the eye. all this after just walking away from steph and jake mid story. “beer pong duo upstairs getting too cocky after 2 wins in a row.” his smile to the girl is too easy to be truly fake. joohyuk is genuinely happy to steal joonho away. “sorry, he’ll catch up with you later. we’ve got a title to defend right now.”

he’s such a freaking liar.

there’s no guilt though. two beers, a cup of the seriously strong mixed juice, and three stupid dare shots in, and joohyuk doesn’t feel much. except for how warm joonho’s palm is in his. they’re holding hands, and he’s dragging him upstairs where the pong table actually is, but he directs them toward a sharp left, where the hallway is dimmer, and the little bay window overlooks the street in front of the house. “i lied.” he shrugs, letting go of joonho’s hand and sitting on the little seat that’s got a worn out cushion. “i’ll lie less in the new year or something, i don’t know.”

“but it was hot down there and i know how uncomfortable you get when there’s a lotta body heat.” nose scrunching, he can even call himself out on his bull (but he’s not sorry). joohyuk reaches behind him, fumbling with the latch on the window. he pushes it out so that it opens an inch or two, letting the cool winter air hit his back. he shivers. “sorry if you were really interested in her. didn’t mean to cockblock you.” opening his legs slightly, he leaves room for joonho to settles himself wherever he wants: against the railing of the stairs, up against the wall, or right in between his legs.

he’s laid the cards out on the table. it’s joonho’s turn now. 

JOONHO

Only two drinks in and Joonho finds himself slipping. Outside, the temperature is well into the negatives, making it the coldest night of the  month, yet his face is flushed, full in its hot tomato glow. Punch drunk Joonho is a sight to behold, blue moon rare. New Year’s Eve, after all, is only an annual occasion, one that he’s fully committed to getting properly smashed for. Except there’s one problem. Some friend of a friend of a friend by the name of Stacey remains as a firm obstacle between the refreshments table and wherever Joohyuk stands in vicinity. As it turns out, there’s some use to being this freakishly tall: he nods at the appropriate intervals of conversation, but his eyes continue to trail well above her shoulder, lingering shy and uncertain on a certain boy’s distinct side profile before sliding back to his companion. Somewhere in the midst of her sweet talk and the single hand that snakes up his chest, it suddenly becomes all too clear just exactly where she keeps pushing towards: neither the friendly game of Kings Cup in the nook nor the “dancing” in front of the T.V., but to the unoccupied bedroom at the end of the corridor. The thing is, Joonho might’ve said yes. She’s pretty enough, smokey-eyed and full-lipped to match, and he’s pliant to the touch. Fooling yourself is easy when there’s the warm burn of rum running through your veins: that this blood rush is for the way her gaze dips, for the swell of bare skin below her neckline. But like all other illusions, this one shatters just as quickly as it had been conjured. He’s whisked away before he knows it, the hand that folds into his centering him back down. It’s earth to Joonho again and he’s saved by the bell, all thanks to Joohyuk, no less. A fact that has his flustered expression shift into one of visible relief. Even more so, when it turns out that the destination his roommate has in mind is something a little more to his liking. Snowflakes fall in thin flurries, the sidewalk below a thin strip of white. The Christmas lights continue to flicker on the front porch. Placing one arm against the ledge, Joonho inhales sharp, then lets go in a slow stream. He feels cooler, better even, but judging by the lopsided grin still plastered on his mouth, not anywhere near sober. “I don’t mind.” He leans against the side of the window, all nonchalant, the hitch of a chuckle light in the baritone of his voice. In vino veritas, isn’t that what it is? Even in Joohyuk’s half-assed excuses, there’s a little bit of truth there, he reckons. Or he’s only buying into the damn thing because he’s quietly loving the way he looks at him like that as he says it. Or just how he looks. Like that. Washed over in the dim orange glow. Barely half an hour to midnight and subtlety has yet to check in at the door; an entirely new invitation present and ready and spreading itself out for him to take. But he won’t move that close, not right now, only marginally, to tap at his ankle with his foot. “Don’t tell me you were jealous, man.”

JOOHYUK

isn't it strange, that when you're fooling around, completely sober, in the middle of the day, you could be pressed skin to skin and yet think nothing of it? yet in a situation like this, where there's still a few inches between then, but there's alcohol involved at a time close to midnight--joohyuk is overthinking every little detail.

the confirmation from joonho about how he really feels about miss-too-close has him mirroring joonho's stupid face. the expression that, for the last few weeks, has made him feel all sorts of ways that he'd rather not think about. joohyuk does his best impression of that smile, but he knows that his version isn't nearly as megawatt beautiful as the original. "good. glad to know that if it were between me or her you'd pick me."

a casual sort of terror starts to creep through hims. he's never been nervous in front of joonho before, and he's rarely nervous in front of people in general but tonight? tonight he's nervous. he knows by the way blood rushes through his system, with the way he instinctively reaches out to settle his right hand onto joonho's hip. he's always been chased, never quite the one doing the chasing. "jealousy doesn't look good on anyone, not even me." his other hand rises to the level of joonho's waist, index finger threading through a beltloop and pulling him just a little closer. "would it have inflated your ego if i said yes?"

there's a need here. it rises in between them, and joohyuk wonders if he's going to break first. it's like that drinking game, where you just keeping adding splashes of soju into a glass full of beer. titanic, was the name of it if he remembered correctly.

damn, that shit really doesn't matter right now.

"joonho, it's really close to midnight. if you're gonna try and find a new year's kiss you better go prowl the floor now." is joonho shuffling in or is he pulling him closer? either way, joohyuk leans in, lips brushing against joonho's jaw.

it barely comes out. it's more of a vibration of sounds against skin, but it's loud enough. "otherwise it might just be me." 

JOONHO

The course of this evening has been something of a losing battle. Composure slips beneath him slow, fine sand through the pinch of an hourglass. With it escapes the number of excuses Joonho could possibly come up with, out by the glass. He's on the high-end of some type of mood, molten amber, liquid smooth. A single touch shouldn't unravel him so completely. Doesn't. But instead, there's the flush that blooms right underneath where Joohyuk's hand presses ever so light.

Spoken envy: in the daylight, it might have looked out of place—jarring under the exposure, perhaps quick to be brushed off as a joke. Here it takes on a whole other pretense, the warmth in his breath palpable, voice a low rumble in the dark. It's enough to send a shiver down his back. 

"That right?" Teasingly, he tilts his head. "I don't know. You haven't really given me an answer." Downstairs, the murmuring grows louder. Pop, then the hiss of champagne flowing free to fill to the brim. Someone dials up the volume of the television, and the announcer's booms are muffled by the walls. A little over three hours away, Times Square hums with anticipation. From a bird's eye view, the sprawl of city lights would look like a dizzying blur of stars, bright against the thin, nocturnal chill. 

All that, and through the thick haze of his inebriated state, sinks the realization, we’re alone now. His lips are the closest they’ve been, light against the line of his jaw. His heartbeat echoes loud in his ears. 

“The floor’s too far.” 

Slowly, Joonho’s hands trail up to cup his cheek, the full weight of his stare unmoving. 

Downstairs, the countdown begins. Ten, Nine, Eight. 

Half moon eyes, full mouth. The room begins to fade out. 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

JOOHYUK

what is it about this time of year? the weather? the holiday magic? the restlessness of having too much to do but not enough to finish, all at the same time? earlier in the day he couldn't possibly stay still, but now he can barely remember to breathe.

Seven. Six.

"guess you'll never get a proper answer." a question without a resolution, a night that feels too long, a countdown that's steadily ending. it's like he's just been completely submerged in water. everything is muffled--the sound of party-goers probably stampeding to crowd around the tv, the names of absent friends being called frantically--he thinks he might have heard theirs at some point, too.

"there's more important things to worry about." joohyuk feels sluggish, his heart's pounding but his limbs almost seem locked into place. is he losing his courage? his cool? maybe he shouldn't have offered in the first place if he wasn't ready for each and every potential response.

'the floor's too far.'

Five. Four.

but then--clarity. with joonho fully settles in between his thighs, his legs wrap around, heels tugging him close. close enough until there's no room left to separate them. "you're so close." he murmurs it while melting into joonho's palm cupping his cheek. "you're better than anyone downstairs, wouldn't want it any other way." he always did talk too much. "happy early new year, babe." a stuttering exhale, and he surges up to meet joonho halfway.

joohyuk wonders if joonho can taste the smile on his lips.

JOONHO

Up until now, he's held it all in. Every pipe dream, every what if, every hint of wishful thinking that surfaces in the wakeful hours closed away, out of sight, out of mind.

But his imagination has never come anywhere close to this. He almost doesn't believe it—this proximity, the feel of Joohyuk's skin, and this possibility that unfurls between them, nocturnal and blooming slow under moonglow and the warmth of their breaths.

"I won't push for one, then." 

 Three, 

The chanting grows, the anticipation building beneath their feet. Outside, the spectators step into the street, one by one, eyes to the sky in wait. The first few whistles are set off in the distance, but none of the matters. Not when they're like this, right here, right now.

Joonho leans in close.

Two,

"So are you." 

Their lips touch. 

One. 

All around, it erupts into celebration, cheer and pure jubilation in a ring of echoes. The fireworks go off singing, bursting into blue and gold against the endless sky.

Angling his head, Joonho presses closer, closer than close, reveling in the pulse of it all for what it's worth. He feels the grin on Joohyuk's lips and smiles back, in sheer delight. His heart soars. 

Happy New Year's. 

[FIN]

[riveires]

the pros and cons of breathing

@twentysixdegrees

JOOHYUK

the sheets are too scratchy, his pillow is too hard. maybe he should have heeded his older sister’s advice about investing in high quality sleep materials. or, maybe it’s because joonho’s desk light had still been on until about thirty minutes ago? but that’d never really been a problem before. joohyuk could really sleep anywhere if he was tired enough–so maybe he simply wasn’t tired enough. if that’s the case, then he finds himself going stir crazy in his bed and he turns on his side towards joonho.

“hhhhhey. joooooonho.” blinking a few times, he frowns when his roommate doesn’t respond right away. “i know you’re not asleep yet–no way you’re asleep yet–” and he’s soon rewarded with a small, acknowledging, sound.

with that in mind, joohyuk flings his covers off of his body, tugging one of the sheet corners out of his basketball shorts (how’d that even happen?). joohyuk pads over to joonho quietly, the gap between their beds easily covered in about 4 steps.

“my mattress is slumpy.” sitting down on the very edge of joonho’s bed, joohyuk finds himself quickly losing his courage. “i’ll put in a maintenance request tomorrow but can i just…?”

my bed isn’t comfortable without you.

JOONHO

Statistically speaking, how the next morning will go splits down 50-50 by the outcomes: will or won’tㅡpassing this goddamn test that is. On one hand, the painfully borderline B- should provide enough willpower to push for the odds to turn in his favor. But an hour in, the digits flipping to a late 11:30 see to eyes glazed over and a head bobbing barely inches above high water, swamped by formulas Joonho’s long given up on. The switch clicks off. Here’s to another day done, at lastㅡ

Until it isn’t

He thinks Joohyuk would beg to differㅡthat technically, it’s never really over until it has to be, like it’s some intangible notion out of human reach, and day isn’t quite day when the sun’s long sunk below the waves for full moon glory. That the night is still young. And yet it’s just thatㅡan assumption. There’s no telling what goes on in his head for sure.

But what he does know is this: the thoughts that bloom bright in the back of his own mind all hummingbird-frenzy, the palpable nearness of Joohyuk even when he’s not there, and the faint thud deep in the swell of his chest when he is. With his heart in his throat, he’s careful to not make a sound. Not right now, anyway. And thenㅡ

“What…?” Joonho shifts to glance at him over his shoulder, a slow show of “act natural.” Thud. Thud. He’s suddenly thankful for the dark, where the other boy can’t see him considering two sides of the coin.

50-50. Will, or won’t.

A sigh. Quiet surrender. “Fine.” Reluctance is a hesitant motion, where he gives just the tiniest bit of space, a third of the second pillow,  and then finally half of the whole bed. He lifts up the blanket. Thud, thud, thud.

“Get in here.” 

JOOHYUK

people measure their time in minutes or seconds, or even in heartbeats if you’re feeling romantic, but right now the only way he manages to measure is by the slow rise of blood to his face. it flushed around his collarbones when he made the decision to get out of bed. it rose up to his neck when he asked, and in that almost immeasurable time between his last syllable and joonho’s answer, the blush has risen almost to his ears. next time don’t even take the chance, he scolds inside his head before the “fine” reaches him properly. he’s almost ready to flee the scene, to jokingly complain about joonho’s own mattress (’maybe we both should file for new ones–’) until the weight of his answer fully settles.

he feels joonho shifting before he turns around to see. and then he’s relaxing his muscles–the ones that freeze up when you’re in situation as close to fight or flight as you can get in in a shared dorm room with one of your oldest friends.

yeah, it sounds just as ridiculous to him, too.

but it’s what he’s working with, and joohyuk is incredibly conscious of this when he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and starts to shuffle his way into the already warm covers, facing joonho (because he’s feeling ballsy). joohyuk pulls the covers up above his shoulders, shifting closer to joonho in the process. he’s incredibly aware of the fact that they’re two fully-sized college students shoved into a bed meant for one.

“can’t believe you almost left me in the cold.” he injects a tinge of drama into his voice. he wears the shield well, and it’s never failed him before. “in the cold with a lumpy mattress.” but he’s not a heathen–joohyuk keeps his voice low so as to not offend the tranquility of the night. “thanks though. i hope i wasn’t too distracting while you were studying i…just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.”

he continues to work the angle of the malformed mattress because the tossing and turning was definitely due to those reasons. they certainly didn’t have anything to do with the missing equation of a familiar body, or the slow crescendo of longing that starts somewhere close to his head and ends in his head. “is tonight a sleep immediately night or a talk then drift night?” apparently, those factors were strong enough to prompt a rebellion; logic against some sappy, whiny, need. and joohyuk was always shit with his impulse control. “cause if it’s a talk and drift, why didn’t you go out on that second date with…what’s her face?”

case and point.

JOONHO

“I know."

It’s an answer meant to match him, exasperated and droll to Joohyuk’s overdone means to appear moving. Double entendre for: can’t believe I hadn’t, sitting at the tip of his tongue, as he lays still, arms crossed. Minutes to midnight with the lights off, and no easing into the swell of slumber. Instead, this feels more like he’s dreaming with his eyes wide open. Low brows, the high slope of his nose, mouth softenedㅡall the makings of a boy that he’s known for more than half his life.

One that doesn’t seem ready to fall asleep either.

"Well,” begins with a huff, and it’s probably the most amused he’s sounded all evening, but stops short. It’s a turn he hadn’t seen coming.

“You mean Shirin?”

Canton born and raised, Yale-bound for a future Ph.D in economics. Or something. Something like that. Shirin. He fills the blanks in memory with details that had made for a better impression. In the span of a 90 minutes, she’d revealed a knack for storytellingㅡthe backwoods of some  obscure Midwest suburb to downtown London in a span of breaths, to the garlic-and-lemon-splashed sauté on their plates, to all the lessons to be learned from everything and nothing. At one point, he’d even glanced at her hands, then folding the napkin into a triangle, had become fully convinced right there she could make entire mountains out of the damn thing if she wanted to.

But more than that,  Joonho had been compelled to envy. Envious of how she takes to language so effortlessly, lets it tail her rather than the other way around. For the longest time, he thought he could do without—until then. When every tangent over lunch sent him back to the receding form of another through the doorway earlier that morning. Until now, on his side, close but not close enough to break the even distance. A dip in the bed makes for a small valley. Words fail to float, follow free. Little rivers to nowhere.

“I…got busy, I guess. Dunno.” A shrug, as if he’s finally come around to the admission. (But to what?) His cheek lifts to rest against the bend of his own elbow. There’s something different about the way he speaks now, tinged careful. “What about you and that other girl?”

JOOHYUK

Joohyuk’s always been a needy sort of person, ever since they were young. It was cute as a little kid, over-excited and bad at keeping his mouth shut. Looking back on it, he doesn’t understand how Joonho stuck it out with him, all the way up until he’d moved. He’s leveled out considerably, but he knows some people s still find him to be a little much.

Sometimes he feels a little bad, even now. It feels like Joohyuk’s always asking favors from Joonho. He’s been comforting since they were young, and Joohyuk’s always found him almost magnetic.

Comforting, magnetic. They’re some of the reasons why he always ends up so close.

It takes him a second. “Huh?” His first reaction is confusion, until he thinks back on his most recent date. His face morphs, mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape as he realizes. “Ángel.”

The former roommate of his current teammate, and unfortunately it was one of those instances of ‘Oh I have a friend who’s gay. I can set you up with him?’ By now Joohyuk is used to these sort of things. They’re well-meaning, and they really do come from a good place, but it’s still rooted in stereotypes. He’s not attracted to anyone and everyone, but something had compelled him to say ‘sure.’

Ángel was that old money sort of rich. They had more similarities than Joohyuk thought originally possible, given how different their backgrounds were, but not enough to inspire any real connection. He’d been a good listener, but was the type that only listened so he could one-up you with his next sentence. The worst part was that he probably didn’t mean to do it; he was probably trying to just seem impressive, but Joohyuk wasn’t interested in any of that by the third date. That’s some first date bull. And don’t even get him started on how picturesque his life seemed. Big house, lots of land, his was a family that had a professional photographer come to their home to take posed family pictures. Can’t relate.

Joohyuk can feel the covers shift the slightest, each breath moving Joonho’s shoulders and by extension, the blankets. “He wanted someone who was…like, gonna look at him with stars in their eyes. Constantly. It was exhausting to smile and nod at him so often. He was draining.”

And then, “I’m cold.”

Something compels him to keep talking, even though he knows he should probably quit it now before his mouth got him in trouble. “Unlike you.”

JOONHO

“Oh.” Only the smallest sound of surprise. "That Ángel. I’m sorry, man.“ Disappointment by now has dulled into something ritualistic, having and not wanted, wanting and not had. How many more names until they’d land upon the right one?

Joohyuk. Joohyuk. It’s not just a name anymore. It’s something bigger, brighter. In each other’s rooms, July moon glow, curtains dancing slow-motion under the quiet whirring of the fan. Promises between peals of laughter: swear on it, okay, we’re gonna do it, okay dude, okay, we will. Somehow all that summer heat managed to follow them from then to here. Or maybe it’s just him, under the spell of nostalgia and nostalgia alone. Nothing in the vein of the abstract he knows—formulas, unit-bound constants, theories of matter, a total wash. So what now.

“This sucks.” He’s on his back now, eyes to the ceiling, no fan in sight. Then a breathless laugh: “Maybe we’re not cut out for the people here. They’re too…” What’s the word? He has it, then doesn’t. Going, going, gone. Don’t chase what you can’t get back. “I don’t think it’s good to be with them for anything more.”

Homesick? Joonho’s hardly the type to catch something like that, but one look at him has him thinkingㅡfeelingㅡnonetheless. All those years until it hadn’t been.

But he should know better than anyone: thinking doesn’t get anyone anywhere. Not when there’s your hands, your anticipation, the pause before your first move.

Hovering, his head and shoulders cast a shadow over the other as he changes position. His expression is along the lines of disbelief, brows furrowing deep. “You have more than half the bed, Joohyuk.” But even then, despite then, he pulls the blanket close, his own body closer. His heart skips a beat and he has to fight the impulse to bury his face under the covers goddamnit, goddamnit.

“Christ.“  

JOOHYUK 

“It’s fine.” His eyes open, staring at the hand that’s settled near his face on the pillow. He pointedly avoids looking at Joonho. “He’s just another one, right? Another fling in the string of them.” And why is it that neither of them have found anyone even remotely close to being compatible enough? Joohyuk knows his faults, he’s tried dating based on opposite, based on similarities, based off of something as silly as zodiac signs, even. Nothing’s worked.

The girl before Ángel had broken up with him because she’d accused him of choosing Joonho over her. But that’s unfair, right? Joonho’s been there since day one. He shouldn’t need to choose, but if had to, it’d be Joonho without fail, every time.

Always.

“Sometimes, being here makes me homesick.” The admission comes as a surprise to even himself. He can’t properly decipher his feelings, right now isn’t a good time for trying to do so. He’s too vulnerable, Joonho is too close, and the night is too comforting. Joohyuk can feel himself slipping, sliding, and he should be worried about falling too far down but he can’t seem to muster up the care. It’s easier to swim deeper; sometimes it’s easier to just give in. “But that’s stupid, right? Cause you’re here. And you’re home.”

Nestling into the covers, he sighs, eyes closing to give himself a little extra push of courage. His hand snakes over Joonho’s waist, and they’re facing each other but he’s got his eyes closed. So this isn’t anything more than just mutual comfort. “Just because I have half the bed doesn’t mean I’m any warmer.” But he is. Where his arm touches the fabric of Joonho’s waist, it scorches. Where his hand curls, fingertips gently brushing against the small of Joonho’s back, he burns.

“But it’s okay, you’re warm. Why’re you so far away anyways? Quit acting like a stranger.”

Joohyuk makes the mistake of opening his eyes. His words are a lie. They’re entirely too close, nose almost brushing against Joonho’s. “We should date. You’re the only one that can handle my shit.” And I know how to make you happy.

He laughs quietly, nervously. Joonho looks so handsome under the filtered moonlight. “Kidding.”

JOONHO

Try, try again. If that isn’t the most common case of “been there, done that,” he can’t imagine what else could possibly compare.

But it doesn’t matter.

Where the other’s eyes open, his own close. Breathing in, counting out the pace of each exhale. The effect is calming, makes the fluttering in his stomach slow a little if not completely. Seoul is more vivid like this, painted with obvious care and affection. Childhood through the maze of alleyways. Memories of days longer than they are now. Or at least, they feel like that. Pure, unapologetic emotion, no matter which way he spins itㅡthe sprawl of the Atlantic on one side, the way Joohyuk reaches over to hold him on the other.

Shying away would’veㅡshould’veㅡbeen the first impulse. The instinctual panic. The racing of pulses. It had been like that, once. Now no longer. He moves to his touch, instead, the pull stemming not from the throws of gravity but from the center of his chest.

Proximity makes a good excuse for a change: that there’s nowhere else for his gaze to trail off to, but he keeps his constraint. Baby steps. Untilㅡ

“That’sㅡ” The first time anyone’s said that.

“The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

What had he been undone with? A single syllable, or a single possibility?

“Whatever.” Unfolding his arms, he draws the covers up to his nose. “I’m going to sleep.”

Turns out it’s neither. Behind it all is just a single boy. From the butterflies that stir in his wake to the careful hands that hold both halves of his heart. And he doesn’t know even know it.

But Joonho’s smiling anyway, ear to ear. Hope is funny like that, funnier in the kind that comes with floating on cloud nine. Kidding, he’d said. I know, he’d thought after. Everything else in the state of the unspoken, set adrift, waiting. Still waiting.

For another day, then.

“You should too.”

JOOHYUK

The pull of sleep is tempting his eyes closed, coaxing his breathing into deeper pulls, slower exhales. It’s that floaty, weightless, state in between awake and asleep, where you can feel everything around you but it seems like you’re watching from afar. Funny how he’d been absolutely unable to fall asleep before, but now all it takes is a few minutes of teasing fondness, sappy confessions, and meanings between words. Joohyuk doesn’t so much reply to Joonho’s accusations of limited intelligence, as he rumbles out an acknowledging sound. Sticks and stones, and whatchamacallits. Too many words to get out properly.

Still, he feebly fights against the sleep that bleeds closer to his core, trying to fall asleep after Joonho does. It’s not so much a dominance thing rather than a nervousness that he’s going to say something silly, take a thought too far, or perhaps be too honest out loud. “Whatever,” he barely manages to echo out, the word low and drawling, as if his brain is winding down before it shuts off completely. “I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep.” His voice shifts closer to a whine, tired of trying to stay awake, tired of holding back, and most of all, tired of being this close but being unable to do anything more than this.

Seven billion people in the world and he knows that soulmates don’t necessarily have to be lovers. They can be best friends too. But with Joonho this close, Joohyuk doesn’t know where best friend ends and lover begins.

He voices his drifting train of thought in the vaguest way possible.

“You still love me though.”

And that will just have to do, for now.

[FIN]