Every good intention he's ever been able to shore up means to leave it. The smouldering remains of their friendship left to cool and then blown away on the breeze, that's what they both need now. But Yohan pours himself a drink, and then another, and another, and those high arched ceilings start to weigh in on him. Because the problem isn't that he's unused to losing, it's that it has been a long time since anything was this deeply important to him. He hadn't been prepared for Kim Gaon, and his easy smiles, his quiet companionship. He hadn't known to defend himself against it. Yohan was pleasant, and he was charming, and he was open to people. But it was a careful act, a balance that he'd thought he had well advanced.
He didn't have friends. Maybe that's why it hurts so much.
It's his fault. He knows that. His smoke and mirrors, his spinning plates. He shouldn't expect a man like Gaon to understand them, least of all because Yohan makes no attempt at unveiling them. But in his strange crystalline panic, in the need to preserve what he did have, he'd shattered it completely. It leaves him angry, so angry. With himself for mistepping, with Gaon for having him feel in the first place, with Isaac for the shitty little promise he extracted from Yohan all those years ago. The gloom in the church feels claustrophobic, it feels cloying. He rips the collar from around his throat and throws it somewhere, his half empty bottle sloshing in his grip as he paces up and out. The night air is better, cool against feverish skin. He stands in the open entrance to the church and looks elsewhere, down the street. A light is on. Yohan is moving before he thinks about it.
His fist knocks against the door when he reaches it, shoulder pressed into the wall, too drunk to stop the word from swaying. The street is sleepy, and quiet. Yohan swallows more of the burning liquor, slams his fist against the wood again. )
Kim Gaon! ( Loud, angry, everything he usually hides away. ) Kim Gaon, I want to talk to you.
- gahrot
( He means to leave it.
Every good intention he's ever been able to shore up means to leave it. The smouldering remains of their friendship left to cool and then blown away on the breeze, that's what they both need now. But Yohan pours himself a drink, and then another, and another, and those high arched ceilings start to weigh in on him. Because the problem isn't that he's unused to losing, it's that it has been a long time since anything was this deeply important to him. He hadn't been prepared for Kim Gaon, and his easy smiles, his quiet companionship. He hadn't known to defend himself against it. Yohan was pleasant, and he was charming, and he was open to people. But it was a careful act, a balance that he'd thought he had well advanced.
He didn't have friends. Maybe that's why it hurts so much.
It's his fault. He knows that. His smoke and mirrors, his spinning plates. He shouldn't expect a man like Gaon to understand them, least of all because Yohan makes no attempt at unveiling them. But in his strange crystalline panic, in the need to preserve what he did have, he'd shattered it completely. It leaves him angry, so angry. With himself for mistepping, with Gaon for having him feel in the first place, with Isaac for the shitty little promise he extracted from Yohan all those years ago. The gloom in the church feels claustrophobic, it feels cloying. He rips the collar from around his throat and throws it somewhere, his half empty bottle sloshing in his grip as he paces up and out. The night air is better, cool against feverish skin. He stands in the open entrance to the church and looks elsewhere, down the street. A light is on. Yohan is moving before he thinks about it.
His fist knocks against the door when he reaches it, shoulder pressed into the wall, too drunk to stop the word from swaying. The street is sleepy, and quiet. Yohan swallows more of the burning liquor, slams his fist against the wood again. )
Kim Gaon! ( Loud, angry, everything he usually hides away. ) Kim Gaon, I want to talk to you.