"i told you. humans go crazy when they think they've lost what they had."
( gaon doesn't know what to do with the way kang yohan looks at him. it's a physical thing, a weight, attention so focused it's knife slicing through the remnants of his defenses. he thinks he's left any parts of himself that he still recognizes as the old him in the dirt where that fire now rages and he feels scrubbed fresh, the old veneer sloughed off leaving him shiny and new and transformed. reborn. greater than the sum of his parts, eyes wide open.
and then yohan turns it away and gaon looks, too. to the house. to what's now a monument to greed and loss and distant resolution. success and failure tied up in one. he glances at yohan again and that's something, too. a guiding hand. a push in the right direction. a big step off a long drop. but he trusts it. he has to. he wants to. )
Kang Yohan. ( it's not reverential, it's not awed, it's not grateful but it's something wholly new, shot through with the heat of the fire itself, so big and consuming now they can feel it at this distance. it's coming from inside him now, maybe. it's too big to bear.
he moves without thinking, reaching. it's not much to close the space, to get his hands in the front of yohan's jacket to hold him steady as he crushes their mouths together in something that's half a kiss, half unbridled desperation. yohan smells like smoke and heat and promise and gaon can feel the adrenaline like a living thing, pressed to the seams of himself. something accomplished. something done. not justice, but something like it that makes it easier to breathe. to exist. was it right? was it fair and honest and just? it feels like it. after everything that's been taken from gaon, again and again, something has finally been done about it. and that has to mean something, right? )
I don't understand why he gets away with what is, effectively, some kind of evasive investing. It has to be. Places like this don't come cheap. In this neighbourhood? The real estate on the location alone is more than most people will ever, ever make in their entire lifetimes and he has the audacity to charge too much for a light pour on drinks?
( gaon shouldn't still be talking. there's just enough liquor in his system to loosen the locks on what's usually kept well-shored up behind his tongue and no sense of awareness left to shut him the fuck up. they're tucked into the corner of the VIP bar, gaon's back to the wooden partition that cordons it off from the rest of the room, and it's too full, too loud, too many bodies in a space that's meant to be for the upper echelon but it apparently doesn't take much to qualify for that now, either. hell, gaon is there, isn't he?
he gestures vaguely to the room with the drink in his hand, but his eyes are bright on the stranger who's cornered him here, encouraged the little tirade he's working himself up into. gaon should know better. he does. but the frustration of the night had hit a breaking point a couple of hours ago and he's so fucking sick of all these people and their money. )
They're all awful. Every last one of them. But him especially, for facilitating this shit. He could be doing fucking anything else with all the money he has and instead it's just all of this waste. Every night!
Edited (forgot to google how to spell) 2025-04-20 04:34 (UTC)
He has to glance at the rain despairingly for a quick second. It looks like there's very little chance of it letting up. Getting marginally damp in a quick dash it is. He at least pauses up the awning to right himself, blithely unaware that Gaon apparently can see him? How did he know otherwise? He figures it out pretty quickly enough once he steps inside, dark gaze sweeping and searching.
By the window. )
Aish.
( It's a busy little place, crowded. Yohan has to weave through the space with a little more care than usual, stopping at Gaon's right. ) Did you know I was there the whole time?
( he shouldn't have agreed to the date in the first place.
it's his own fault for thinking it might be a nice way to pass the time. to get at least one of the church's grandmothers off his back. see? he goes along with their demands sometimes. he's amenable. a nice boy. an excellent husband. they can't click their tongues at him every time they see him because he doesn't take their advice. he did it! he went on a date to appease them and all he got out of it was this old rage roiling in his chest and an earful from someone he doesn't actually know.
maybe it's payback, for agreeing to a date because it might upset father kang. and isn't that the worst part of it?
he's nowhere near drunk when he shoves the big front door of the church open. he'd been heading directly home, head ducked as he cut through the rain, trying to close himself away from the world with his upset. but then he'd seen the lights on in the church, at this hour? in this weather? and he'd changed direction before he'd even realized he'd made the decision. he doesn't know why or what the purpose is; wind and rain blow into the vestibule after him, a stormy echo of his mood, and he should be quiet, shouldn't he? respectful? it's a church, after all. god is watching.
he shoves through the doors into the main hall. )
Kang Yohan.( just short of a bellow, echoing up into the curves of the ceiling in the nave. he's dripping rainwater on the floor and doesn't have a hot fucking clue what he's yelling about. )
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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- gahrot
You say that like it's a negative. I'd quite like to see where the magic happens.
the best
i know i could have left it to the captcha gods but i like it
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- correlative
Ah, you're right. That's not my particular talent. Not like yours.
( There's enough information out there if you're willing to pay people off. )
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and it burns burns b urns
( gaon doesn't know what to do with the way kang yohan looks at him. it's a physical thing, a weight, attention so focused it's knife slicing through the remnants of his defenses. he thinks he's left any parts of himself that he still recognizes as the old him in the dirt where that fire now rages and he feels scrubbed fresh, the old veneer sloughed off leaving him shiny and new and transformed. reborn. greater than the sum of his parts, eyes wide open.
and then yohan turns it away and gaon looks, too. to the house. to what's now a monument to greed and loss and distant resolution. success and failure tied up in one. he glances at yohan again and that's something, too. a guiding hand. a push in the right direction. a big step off a long drop. but he trusts it. he has to. he wants to. )
Kang Yohan. ( it's not reverential, it's not awed, it's not grateful but it's something wholly new, shot through with the heat of the fire itself, so big and consuming now they can feel it at this distance. it's coming from inside him now, maybe. it's too big to bear.
he moves without thinking, reaching. it's not much to close the space, to get his hands in the front of yohan's jacket to hold him steady as he crushes their mouths together in something that's half a kiss, half unbridled desperation. yohan smells like smoke and heat and promise and gaon can feel the adrenaline like a living thing, pressed to the seams of himself. something accomplished. something done. not justice, but something like it that makes it easier to breathe. to exist. was it right? was it fair and honest and just? it feels like it. after everything that's been taken from gaon, again and again, something has finally been done about it. and that has to mean something, right? )
🔥🔥🔥🔥
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listennnnnnnnn 🎶
( gaon shouldn't still be talking. there's just enough liquor in his system to loosen the locks on what's usually kept well-shored up behind his tongue and no sense of awareness left to shut him the fuck up. they're tucked into the corner of the VIP bar, gaon's back to the wooden partition that cordons it off from the rest of the room, and it's too full, too loud, too many bodies in a space that's meant to be for the upper echelon but it apparently doesn't take much to qualify for that now, either. hell, gaon is there, isn't he?
he gestures vaguely to the room with the drink in his hand, but his eyes are bright on the stranger who's cornered him here, encouraged the little tirade he's working himself up into. gaon should know better. he does. but the frustration of the night had hit a breaking point a couple of hours ago and he's so fucking sick of all these people and their money. )
They're all awful. Every last one of them. But him especially, for facilitating this shit. He could be doing fucking anything else with all the money he has and instead it's just all of this waste. Every night!
🍸🍸🍸
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- gahrot
Oh? Probably, Judge Kim, that I am a kind and gracious person offering to teach you a lesson.
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- haenyeo
( Oppa. )
I'll concede that point.
All right, what are your evening plans? I'll make an informed decision.
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- temporicide
I don't think it is good. But then again, I'm a very bad catholic. I'd rather judgement I can see.
thank you! (when will our captcha return from the war)
😔 rip captcha. it took me too long today to realise the issue too aha.
i only found it bc of a failed 'lost username' bid. 😔 now we will never know
maybe it will come back 🙏
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- gahrot
( That's probably his cue.
He has to glance at the rain despairingly for a quick second. It looks like there's very little chance of it letting up. Getting marginally damp in a quick dash it is. He at least pauses up the awning to right himself, blithely unaware that Gaon apparently can see him? How did he know otherwise? He figures it out pretty quickly enough once he steps inside, dark gaze sweeping and searching.
By the window. )
Aish.
( It's a busy little place, crowded. Yohan has to weave through the space with a little more care than usual, stopping at Gaon's right. ) Did you know I was there the whole time?
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- gahrot
Kim Gaon, I will break your legs.
( Leave him and his poor social skills alone!!! )
<3
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🪩
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⛪
it's his own fault for thinking it might be a nice way to pass the time. to get at least one of the church's grandmothers off his back. see? he goes along with their demands sometimes. he's amenable. a nice boy. an excellent husband. they can't click their tongues at him every time they see him because he doesn't take their advice. he did it! he went on a date to appease them and all he got out of it was this old rage roiling in his chest and an earful from someone he doesn't actually know.
maybe it's payback, for agreeing to a date because it might upset father kang. and isn't that the worst part of it?
he's nowhere near drunk when he shoves the big front door of the church open. he'd been heading directly home, head ducked as he cut through the rain, trying to close himself away from the world with his upset. but then he'd seen the lights on in the church, at this hour? in this weather? and he'd changed direction before he'd even realized he'd made the decision. he doesn't know why or what the purpose is; wind and rain blow into the vestibule after him, a stormy echo of his mood, and he should be quiet, shouldn't he? respectful? it's a church, after all. god is watching.
he shoves through the doors into the main hall. )
Kang Yohan. ( just short of a bellow, echoing up into the curves of the ceiling in the nave. he's dripping rainwater on the floor and doesn't have a hot fucking clue what he's yelling about. )
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🪩🕺
( far earlier than he'd normally first text. he saw the news this morning. )
🎧
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- 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.
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🪩
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People?
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