wingedvictor

[wingedvictor]

mingze

(...) mingze brushes the marble dust that his apron fails to catch and sets aside his point chisel. he doesn’t check the time but he knows everyone’s far into their working time. “here.” he slides over some basic sculpting items on top of a newer canvas apron. there’s nothing left to say then, especially with a deadline looming over all of them. it’s a small attempt at offering his condolences. some of the best relationships are the ones where the dynamic would challenge one another. it all feels odd to mingze, knowing what he knows and still choosing his silence above all. “do your best, i know it’s been different.”

there are two types of people minjun envies: 1) those that effortlessly win over others in everything they do. case in point: son jisoo. 2) those that don’t care about winning, they just go at their own pace and still excel at what they do. liu mingze happens to fall into this category.

he’s not sure which irks him more, the ability to get everything they want without having to try at all, or that air of superiority that comes with a person who doesn’t worry about anyone else exceeding them—as if they were too good to be surpassed, as if everyone else were too mediocre.

of course, that might not be what mingze really feels, but to someone like minjun who is so accustomed to the notion that he has to exceed his peers to be deemed good enough—that simply being good is not enough, he has to be better, to be the best—it’s hard to fathom a nonchalance like mingze’s.

their relationship, or lack thereof, is build on a rocky foundation of misconstrued beliefs and poorly made deductions based on the minuscule interactions they've shared in classes and meetings with the red and green club—mostly on minjun's end.

it didn't help that mingze possessed something, or someone, that minjun always thought of as his own (he held her like she belonged to him, kissed her like her lips were made for his, did everything but make her his); it was enough reason for minjun to decide that he didn't like this guy.

it could also be minjun's lack of empathy towards mingze's imprecise standard of the korean language, or just him finding an excuse to validate his hostile demeanour towards the other, jumping onto anything that made for good reason to dislike him, to make himself feel better about harbouring such negative feelings towards someone who had never done him wrong—quite the contrary, in fact.

maybe it was guilt. guilt for sleeping with his girlfriend, guilt for never offering him the slightest bit of kindness since his first day here (despite noticing him struggle with understanding their text at times, or finding his way around mugunghwa when he first got here), guilt for treating him as a competitor (for never telling him that he is a talented sculpture artist, or that he admires his art and everything it stands for), because all that nam minjun knows is competition.

or was it a void he needed to fill now that jisoo is gone? a void from the loss of a lifelong rival, competitor, and most of all, a friend. it seemed like mingze could easily fit into any one of these roles, even a friend. especially a friend. since he was a child, minjun was taught that all friendships came with competition. his parents with jisoo's parents. him with jisoo. could it be that he saw every potential friend as a competitor? could that be what mingze is to him—a potential friend?

minjun narrows his eyes at mingze's ambiguous response, allowing himself to interpret it as he wishes—whichever was easier to deal with. he pondered between 'is this his way of showing concern?' and 'was he patronising me?' before settling on the latter. it was easier that way.

he didn't need a reminder that he had been off his game lately, too distracted with all that was going on to work on his art. even turning up for class was a challenge of its own, much less be inspired enough to design a sculpture that would exceed his previous works, and more importantly, everyone else's.

he didn't need to be reminded that while he was grieving and navigating the changes in his life, other people were taking the time to work on their art, improving themselves and quite possibly, surpassing him. (even in death, jisoo was holding him back. even in death, it was easier to blame it on jisoo.)

"i've been busy." he retorts defensively. it's half true. schedule wise, he's had all the time he needed to read up on the professor's updates. mentally, it feels like he can't catch a break.

minjun says nothing, not even a word of thanks, and takes the materials in his hands. he was about to retreat into his own space and come up with something—an idea, concept, anything that shows he's still got what it takes—before their professor made it to his table, until mingze spoke again.

this time, it was harder to ignore. he raises a brow, contempt and disbelief encapsulated in a frown he paid no heed to hide. was that a threat? that he had to do his best or he'd outdo him? minjun scoffs, a snide remark finding its way past the tip of his tongue, slipping out before he could hold himself back. "don't get ahead of yourself. you're just an outsider."

#THREADS. #MINGZE: 001. #godhe4rt #mguacti #i'm sorry mingze... minjun is a dick #tried my best to steer this towards conflict but might've rambled a bit so don't worry about matching!

[wingedvictor]

siyeon

(...) time passes by like that for a bit, siyeon focusing on her own project at hand and assuming he’s doing the same. but there comes a point where things are no longer working the same way it did while she was in the studio. it’s as if pieces are falling apart, unable to stand up on their own, which would require a little extra work to hold it steady ⏤ a two person operation instead of one. absolutely not. her back remains to the only person that could help her at this time while she busies herself to work on it on her own, groaning each time the structure falls to the ground with a cling clang that rips through the serenity. by the third time of the same, she sighs. “i wouldn’t ask if i didn’t need this,” siyeon says, voice deadpan as she turns to face minjun, swallowing the lump of inconsistent emotions that comes with not working through a sudden break up, “could you just⏤ hold this for me while i put this together?”

for someone so in tune with his emotions, minjun often struggles with deciphering them. it's a lifelong battle he's yet to vanquish—not when jisoo died, and not when he broke up with siyeon.

it was no different when his eyes scanned the layout sheet for the fall exhibit and realisation dawned on him that his exhibition was right next to siyeon's.

was he happy he had an excuse to be near her again, to witness up close that impassioned side of her he had fallen for in paris? the way her face lights up when she talks about her art, or the fervid look in her eyes when she gazes at artworks she admires; as if she isn't the prettiest thing in the room, as if she didn't already know that all his attention is on her and her only.

or was he worried about being in close proximity with her? the impending tension they'll share when they aren't showing anyone around their own exhibit, pretending to be fully absorbed in the repetitive lines they churn out for each visitor, as if talking about the same artwork for the hundredth time was more interesting than the presence of their ex within a close radius from them.

on some days, it's the former. like how he'd steal glances at her in sculpture classes—captivated by the way her hair hangs loosely in a messy bun whenever she was working on a sculpture, or the way her face scrunches up endearingly when she was focused on her work—he lets himself pretend that he wasn't the one that screwed their relationship over, that she was still his to love.

on other days, days he carries a dark cloud over himself, the latter sinks in. today happens to be one of those days. his avoidant nature takes front seat yet again and the best solution he could come up with was to set up his exhibition late at night, when he assumed the gallery would be empty because everyone else would've already set up in the day. the perfect plan to escape an ex he was not over—unless, she had the exact same thought process and was now setting up right next to him.

frankly, this situation is laughable, and he would, laugh, if the tension between them wasn't this unbearably heavy. perhaps it's because it's past midnight and they have the whole gallery to themselves, their sculptures being the only thing between them, every little sound in the room was amplified. every breath they took, every step against the creaking floor, every noisy clang of her sculpture pieces falling to the ground, followed by that exasperated groan he used to always tease her about. he can still picture the way her brows would furrow whenever she was frustrated, and how he'd smooth them out with his fingers, watching her frown turn upside down.

he'd emit a chuckle if he wasn't so painfully aware of the deafening silence between them, a silence that used to be so comfortable and safe. it was a reminder that things have changed between them, that they were no longer the minjun and siyeon that voyaged around paris in their rented vespa, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist—not to hold onto her dear life, but simply to hold onto him. it was them against the world, but now, it feels like they aren't even in the same world.

did they only exist in paris? did everything they share go up in flames when their fairytale ended and in its place, came reality, or as he knows it—mugunghwa. which version of him was the prince, the carefree, romantic soul that had no care in the world back in paris, or he who carries the weight of the crown he had stolen here in mugunghwa?

he goes back and forth between offering his help and leaving her be, unsure of which outcome she'd prefer. would she rather he ended her torture and stepped in to help with the sculpture she was struggling with or would speaking to him be an even greater torture? he fights back the urge to glance her way, pretending to pour every ounce of his attention into the sculpture he was putting up, mindlessly rearranging it just to look busy.

the familiar ring of her voice pierced the heavy silence between them and all the tension it held came crashing down. he finds himself relaxing as he turns to face her, a sense of relief washing over him now that he didn't have to pretend they weren't the only ones in the room, or that they hadn't shared the same mind and concocted a similar plan to avoid each other.

a nod was all he could muster, silently and carefully taking her sculpture in his hands, accidentally brushing his hand against hers in the process. he was struck with a familiar jolt of sparks, one he used to feel whenever he touched her. it felt like the sparks never left, and maybe, just maybe, they didn't.

he had to step a little closer for her to angle the sculpture better, their bodies closer than they had ever been in the last couple of months. it was a crippling familiarity that ached as much as it soothed, relieving a sore spot he didn't know he had all this time. could it be that he had missed her? did she miss him too?

"is this okay?" he meant the angle he was holding the sculpture at—not the way their bodies were pressing against each other, but even that he hoped she was okay with; that her heart was also pounding in her chest, just like his was.

#THREADS. #SIYEON: 001. #viragosoul #mguacti #i went overboard with this... please don't worry about matching length!

[wingedvictor]

minjun finds himself wrapped up in a game; a battle of tug of war, every push and pull as gratifying as the one before, but he's unsure if mina is the opponent he has to beat, or the prize at stake.

either way, he acknowledges that she had won this round, though there's still a long way to match point. with a tube of lipstick in hand, he finds himself outside her dorm room, taking bait to her attempt at reeling him in with traces of her and their little rendezvous the night before.

not that they did anything more than exchange sultry glances at each other, dilated eyes darting down to steal glimpses of each other's lips, looking away before the guilt seeps in, but lingering long enough to imagine what it'd be like to have the other's lips on theirs. it's how he even knew that lipstick stranded in his car belonged to mina—he'd recognise that shade of cherry red any day.

he knows she left it behind on purpose, he saw her checking her pockets before she left his car. was it to tell him that she had noticed him staring at her lips all night? or was it an illicit invitation to explore the forbidden? whatever it was, minjun is here to find out.

he lands a couple of knocks on her room door, fiddling with her lipstick in his free hand, the usual lousy excuse they use whenever they meet unprompted at the very tip of his tongue. the door opens, and with it, reveals a face he was not expecting to see. instead of being greeted with one of mina's coquettish smiles, he meets eyes with an unwelcome face, one he was conditioned to turn and walk in the opposite direction whenever his gaze falls onto her.

fukumura seina.

or the self-proclaimed campus cupid, of whom he had fallen victim to in his early semesters at mugunghwa. a good amount of time had passed since then, he is no longer a clueless freshman exploring a new medium of art, he now knows the hallways of mugunghwa like the back of his hand. still, her bothersome antics were etched deeply in his mind. after all, it’s not everyday you get a complete stranger pestering you to go on a date with another stranger.

just as she had spent weeks attempting to match him up with a girl that had implored her matchmaking services, he had spent equal amounts of time avoiding her, escaping the hallways she roamed. minjun was never one to concern himself with other people's business—not until it involved him, or threatened to destroy his peace, both of which seina managed to do.

his eyebrows creased—an evident perplexity that shows whenever he is in her presence—as he fights back a disgruntled sigh, forgetting for a brief moment that mina and seina are roommates. not that it surprised him, he really didn’t know enough about mina—it’s exactly what draws him to her.

“is mina in?” he asks, straight to the point. there was no need for pleasantries with her.

CLEAR THE AIR ft. @dulcetcure

#THREADS. #SEINA: 001. #dulcetcure

[wingedvictor]

JAEHYUN ♡ Ay-Yo

#VISAGE. #sorry for the slow activity! i've been pretty busy lately but i'll get to the messages and replies i owe soon

[wingedvictor]

minhyuk

(...) the crawling, slow realisation that he can't hate his cousin is bitter. but realising his cousin can't hate him either is arguably even worse. he's still found himself avoiding minjun like the black plague for the last two years, words clipped because he knows speaking too much means spilling too much. because he knows that if he catches minjun's eye across the library, neither of them will acknowledge it. because he knows that the best solution is to act like the familial relation everybody else acknowledges has flown over their heads. he can't ignore it now. "i don't understand. what do you want from me? did somebody hurt you?" when there's no response, his voice comes out sharper than he wants it to, sick with worry. "minjun!ㅡ answer me.

it felt like the whole world stopped when he was pounding on that door. praying, no, begging, the heavens to keep his cousin safe. everything went by in slow motion, every thump of his fist against the door, every flicker of the lamp lighting the porch.

the door clicked open and he found his own trembling orbs staring into a pair of distinctively familiar yet weary eyes; eyes he could not bear to look at for too long, for fear of finding even a tinge of hatred within them.

like someone at the brink of drowning, desperately scrambling to the water's surface, eager to take in another breath of air, minjun chokes out a breath. a breath he didn't know he was holding the whole time he pounded on minhyuk's door; a breath of relief.

thank god you're safe.

he feels himself lean forward weakly, body going limp as a sea of relief washes over him. beads of perspiration dripped from his chin, his hoodie soaked like he had just played a game of soccer, but it's okay, because it was a game he had won.

he heaves, trying to catch his breath. the silence between them deafening, if not for his loud pants filling it. he knows he'll have to break the silence, offer him an explanation for why he showed up at his door like a madman, in the wee hours of the night at that. or why he was here after all those years of acting like he didn't exist to him.

"i—" he tries, interrupted with another breathless pant, or a convenient excuse to not divulge his deepest sentiments just yet. "i heard about the fire," it was a good start. "and that it was near the school library." an admittance that he knew minhyuk was back, that he knew he was working at the school library.

unsurprising, considering all the rueful glances they exchange whenever they caught sight of each other on campus. granted, those glances were quick and ended before either party could even blink, but there was no way they didn't notice them. they might not have spoken in years, but their eyes did all the talking, from 'i hate you' to 'i hope you're eating well', sometimes even 'i'm sorry'.

"were you caught in it?" he questions, each word dripping with concern. his gaze falls onto minhyuk's fresh bandages, of which he can only assume are for the injuries he had sustained earlier tonight—which answers his earlier question. he was caught in the fire.

minjun doesn't know what to say, neither does he know what to feel. to think that he had almost lost him before he could ever apologise for everything that had happened, before he could make amendments for the hurt he had inflicted on him. not that any of that would make a difference to minhyuk, who had to fend for himself all those years ago. if anything, he probably wants nothing to do with him now.

how does he tell him that he was not hurt, but instead, was worried that he would be? how does he admit that he's here because he was worried about him, because he was afraid he would lose him for good? would minhyuk even want to hear those words?

and so, minjun doesn't say a thing. instead, he focuses his attention on wiping his face with the back of his hand, willing his skin to soak up his perspiration. "i'm not the one that is hurt." he rebuts, nodding in the direction of minhyuk's bandages. "are they from the fire?"

#THREADS. #MINHYUK: 001. #96ymh

[wingedvictor]

mina

(...) “minjun,” she greets, knowing very well that every word that leaves her lips is an entrapment for him to plummet into, a treacherous dance that they’ve both entangled themselves into. neither of them are ever truthful with each other, shades of gray amidst the black and white letters, a language only they can decipher. “thanks for making the time for me, i know you must be busy.” looks up at him through fluttering lashes, bloodshot eyes, her gaze lingering a second too long.

everything son jisoo has is shinier, prettier.

his trophies. his car. his shoes. his girlfriend.

everything son jisoo has, nam minjun wants. it's become a way of life, something minjun has grudgingly gotten used to. does he want those things because he actually desires them? or does he only want them because he can't help but wonder, what's so good about them that jisoo has to have them? that son jisoo, who can have everything and anything he wants, wants them?

that's what he thinks when he looks at kim mina. she's pretty, naturally. jisoo only likes pretty things. he'd know, because everything he's wanted to snatch from him were all pretty. it makes it easier to lie to himself that he actually wants those things too; that his every wish and want didn't pathetically revolve around jisoo.

except, he didn't want her in the way he wanted jisoo's prized possessions. he didn't want to snatch her from him, to mark her up like a child with a crayon, messily scrawling their name all over their treasured toys.

he was curious about her. about how her eyes always seemed to draw him in; every gaze they exchange saying so much yet nothing at all. why does she look at him like that? like she'd rather be kissing him than jisoo? why does it make him wonder what it'll be like to kiss her too?

like a piece of art delicately hung up in a gallery—you can look, but you can't touch, or you'd risk destroying it and all the magic it holds—minjun finds himself captivated by her, eyes involuntarily wandering off to her whenever they were in the same room, even when jisoo was in that very room.

it's the way he'd find her already looking at him whenever his eyes searched the room for hers that fuels him to step a little closer each time; to prod at the sleeping dragon to see how far he can go before it awakens and burns him alive. does he want to save the imprisoned princess, locked inside the highest tower of the castle, or is he just curious about why she was even worthy of being locked up?

and so, he finds himself venturing into dangerous terrains time and time again, each time, getting closer yet never once crossing a line he shouldn't cross. on the outside, it seemed normal enough—two of jisoo's closest people offering each other support at a difficult time like this. it made sense, no one outside his family would've known jisoo as well as they did, right? it's what he tells himself whenever he shows up before her, fully aware of the unusual tension in the air between them.

today was no different. jisoo was, yet again, used as an excuse for them to meet, a lie they tell themselves to feel better about their secret rendezvous, one that shouldn't make them feel like they were committing a sin. after all, he was just bringing her some old paintbrushes lying around in his room, doing her a favour like jisoo would've wanted him to.

he finds the classroom she texted him about, an insouciant smile lacing his lips as he hands her the paintbrushes she asked for. "don't worry about it, i don't have classes for the rest of the day." or would he have still made it, if he had a class that afternoon? it's a question he'd rather leave unanswered. "besides, i'm just glad someone will be putting them to good use now."

the classroom was empty, if not for the easels and canvases messily strewn around the room. still, it looked a lot bigger than his sculpture classrooms, with the sculptures having taken up a good amount of space. he could've sat anywhere in the room and still be heard by her, but he chose the stool right next to her, dragging it a little too close to her side.

"what are you painting?" he asks, peering over at her easel, breath ghosting on her skin with how close their bodies were. too close for comfort, but that was exactly what he liked about her.

#THREADS. #MINA: 001. #plctwists

[wingedvictor]

jiyeon

(...) a whisper of a smile unfurls on her lips as she invites minjun to take a seat in the space next to her. “you forgot the fourth step creaks.” a sad realization, a reminder that they all change and forget and grow and become the adults they said they never would.  “i missed you,” i miss being a child, i wish i had done things differently; why must this be the life i live? “how was your summer?”

children often fear the same things.

monsters under their beds. sinister clowns. a subpar report card. (or their parents' reaction to it, really.)

little minjun feared those things too. though at some point, fictional beasts did not feel as scary; did not feel as real—his fear lies within the fortress of the son residence. it always stood so tall and mighty, like a castle, and within it, lives a formidable family you'd mistake to be royalty, one his own parents felt equal amounts envy and admiration towards.

the drive to and fro the sons' were always a silent torment. on the drive there, he'd worry about which of jisoo's framed achievements would catch his parents' attention. he knows that look on his mother's face, the way her eyes would harden while her smile grows a little wider, a little stiffer, a lousy attempt at masking her jealousy and disappointment in her own son.

the ride back was worse. he'd hear the words they held back from saying while they had company. what are you doing with your life? are you going to keep letting jisoo exceed you? we spend so much money on you and you still lose out to him. do you know how embarrassing it is? this is why we can't invite them over to our house, you don't have as many achievements as he does.

if only you were more like jisoo.

that one stayed in his mind. seared into his memory like a scar he'd never be able to get rid of; tattooed into permanence, a reminder that he's nothing if not better than jisoo. (and now, he'll really be nothing, because jisoo, too, is nothing.)

it shows, the uncharacteristic emptiness of the sons' home. it used to be so dazzling, so glorious, every corner of their home decorated with an expensive decor piece, sometimes even jisoo's own painting. it used to boast of their children's every achievement, like they were their greatest treasures, and not these expensive artworks.

or maybe they were regarded the same. both their artworks and children were pretty, shiny objects used to flaunt their wealth and power, decorative pieces to show the world that they were above everyone else. it was the same for the nams. sometimes minjun wishes his mother would regard him with as much gentleness as she does with the artworks in their house.

he didn't fear the drive to the sons' today. he's unsure how to feel about that. things have been this way since jisoo left, a constant teeter between relief and grief, then comes the sudden bursts of anger. it's overwhelming, but he knows it can't be any better for the sons. it's why his family is here today, a gift basket—the most expensive in store—in hand, faces ladened with sorrow and concern as they offer them their condolences.

just like when they were younger, minjun leaves the adults to themselves, jogging up the flight of stairs to jisoo's bedroom. he'd usually be at his desk, or sprawled out across his bed. either way, he'd always greet him with the widest of grins. it's weird to think that he wouldn't be waiting for him when he gets there this time. instead, he'd be greeted with a foreign sight, an empty room without jisoo's large stature filling it.

he was surprised to see that jisoo's room was not empty, though it still carried an emptiness in it, even more so with jiyeon curled up on his bed, with an expression so lost; an expression of loss. she looked nothing like the warrior he'd always thought her out to be. it's what he expected, but it still ached to see like her this. he carefully steps into the room, feeling like he's intruding, into jisoo's space, into her despair—into forbidden territory. it was always jiyeon climbing the walls he built up, now it was his turn.

a sad smile unfolds upon the reminder of a childhood memory. "i did." it came out like a whisper. "it's been so long." he looks around. jisoo's bedroom was exactly as he left it. still adorned with all those achievements that pained him to look at, but there were also artefacts of their friendship. that soccer ball minjun got him for his thirteenth birthday kicked into a corner. that bottle opener they used to open their first bottle of wine when jisoo's parents were away. pictures of them from their childhood, some of which had jiyeon in them.

"i missed you too." he meant it. he often wondered how she was doing. was the grieving process simple for her? or did it also have all these layers that his had? "it was..." he pauses, trying to find the right word. his summer was too many things to condense into a single word. "it was okay." so, he lies instead.

he doesn't return the question. he already knows her answer. it was written all over her face, like it was on her parents' faces when they answered the door. how else would it be, if not the worst summer of their lives? instead, he settles with an easier question, "what did you do when you were away?"

#THREADS. #JIYEON: 001. #4ntemortem #i'm sorry this got so long... please don't feel the need to match!

[wingedvictor]

Rita Dove, from Playlist for the Apocalypse: Poems; "Ghettoland: Exeunt"

[Text ID: You stop to gaze at the softening sky / because there is nowhere else to look / without remembering pity and contempt, / without harboring rage.]

#MUSINGS. #i promise i'll get to replying messages soon!

[wingedvictor]

hayoung

(...) “you realize that’s school property right?” it sounds funny coming out of her lips, considering she’s been doing the exact same thing, but once she realized who she was speaking to, she can’t help but assume that he’s out here trying to just be silly.

minjun is not one to have many friends.

aside from jisoo, whom he's unsure if he even has the right to call a friend, there weren't many others that fit the bill. he doesn't open up a lot, neither does he feel comfortable leaning on others. even jisoo didn't know of half the thoughts that filled his mind.

most people were just acquaintances at best, people he exchanges polite smiles (or semblances of one) and niceties with, the occasional small talk with feigned concerned. he doesn't care about how exhausting their morning class was, nor do they really care about whether he's eaten.

still, every functioning human being needs a friend; an outlet for all the emotions they bottle up—much less one dealing with the passing of their only friend.

you'd think he'd find one in class, perhaps a seatmate, or someone he's had to work on a sculpture with. maybe even someone from the soccer team—locker room talk with the boys seemed normal enough, no? he would, if it wasn't painfully uncharacteristic of him to reach out and ask for a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on.

nam minjun never lets his guard down. not before jisoo—whose presence so big it acted like an armour of protection—had left his side, and definitely not after he's gone. if anything, his walls were build up higher and stronger than before. no one should know about what a shitty friend he was, and god forbid they learn of the horrible things that came to his mind when he learnt of jisoo's death. nobody should have a friend like him.

and so, he takes comfort in a stranger. one he knows nothing about, one that simply exists between the lines of smudged ink scribbled atop an old table. vandalism—not the best way to make a friend. still, it was better than having his thoughts eat him alive, like the famished monster it was.

written with ink that had faded with time, the faintest of words that covered the table top read, "i hate this place". it was what started the exchange that went on for weeks. harsh, but it encapsulated minjun's every sentiment at that point in time. maybe even now.

if he had not angrily scrawled those words across this very table, in messy penmanship only a select few could decipher, he might've still been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. no, he might've already crumbled, from the weight he never had the strength to carry.

he only knows one thing about his fellow vandal, that is, they have nicer penmanship than he does. probably someone a lot more put together than he is—on the inside, at least. his exterior could fool just about anyone, as he has, for the past decade of his life.

a voice resonates not too far from his table and he looks up, gaze following its owner. he finds himself staring back at an unfamiliar face, lips parting in defence of what she had caught him doing. "i, uh," it came out like a stutter, like he was guilty (and maybe he should be). he tries again, with more conviction this time. "and?" was what he managed to come up with.

"i've been doing this for weeks now. you're not going to tell on me, are you?"

#THREADS. #HAYOUNG: 001. #01cms

[wingedvictor]

where do you hide in a town so small, one where you'd find a familiar face in every nook and cranny?

where do you go when you want to run away, to a place where no one knows your name, and all the weight that comes with it?

for most, a flight out of town is the obvious answer. it's why he escapes to europe whenever mugunghwa feels a little too constrained; a little too suffocating. he can't, however, get on the plane whenever he wanted to—not with the new semester starting and all the responsibilities that came his way.

lucky for him, he's found an escape within the borders of mugunghwa, close enough to reach by foot, but far enough from his people—the rich, the privileged, the selfish—to never be found when he wants to hide.

largely disparate from the clean, polished neighbourhoods he and his circle of friends grew up in, this neighbourhood did not boast opulent mansions lined up in neat, perfect rows, much like the people living in them. instead, modest houses were scattered around the quaint neighbourhood.

it got relatively dark at night, with some lights out of order, others flickering, threatening to go out any moment now—unlike the brightly lit neighbourhood his family home was situated in, frequently maintained and upkept in tip-top condition, almost as if it was intentional, to deter the burglars eyeing the fancy mansions and their treasures kept within.

point is, you wouldn't think of finding nam minjun in a neighbourhood like this. not at the humble restaurant he's grown to love and frequent—where he had met her—nor this tiny convenience store tucked away into a quiet corner of the neighbourhood—where he was headed to, to find her.

he's never asked for her name—never had to. he sees it on her name tag every time she's working at the store, yet never had to use it. she knows whenever he's talking to her, because no one else would be around. it would be late at night, with the occasional customer popping by to get a late night snack or two, otherwise, it would just be them, alone, in their safe little bubble.

that's what she, her restaurant, and the convenience store, all meant to him—an escape. a place he could be himself, not nam minjun, or all that his name entails. he knew nothing of her, and her of him, besides the thoughts and ideas that filled their minds, some of which they're too afraid to share outside the safety of whatever their relationship was: a late night reverie, an unlikely friend, a soulmate.

the familiar chime of the doorbell brings a faint smile to his lips as he pushes past the glass door of the convenience store, eyes meeting the girl behind the counter. the store's fluorescent lights are a stark contrast to the dim streets outside, another reason for his visit to the store at this time—to walk her home, and prolong whatever conversation they'll have tonight, of which he already knows he'll enjoy.

"please tell me you've set aside one custard pudding for me. those always sell out so fast."

SECRET FOR TWO ft. @glassfilms

#THREADS. #YURI: 001. #glassfilms

[wingedvictor]

it feels like everything is charging towards him all at once, at full speed, like a train flying above its tracks. he should be running from it, but all he could do is stare at it like a deer in the headlights, going back and forth between 'i'm too young to die' and 'it's about damn time'.

his best friend is dead. he has an art exhibition to prepare for. he has to be around people he only wants to avoid.

he's barely had time to process jisoo's passing, still grappling with the loss (and gains) of it all. the void he left behind seemingly too great to fill, like his shoes always were to minjun—the kind he knew he'd stumble and fall if he tried walking in them.

despite the chaos of it all, he's still expected to throw himself into his art and put together an exhibition that not only proves he's still got what it takes, but that he is the best sculpture artist to grace the campus grounds of mugunghwa.

now is the time to show people that he's not just playing second fiddle to jisoo. he no longer wants to hide in his shadow—he wants the spotlight to himself this time. pressures are on, his immense need to prove himself and gain validation greater than ever, like how it was when jisoo was still around; like he never left.

that's what it feels like walking the hallways of mugunghwa after the incident. even when he was alone, it felt like jisoo's presence was ghosting around him. eyes were always on him, concerned faces turned his way, whispers of gossip, speculations of what really went on that night. even the walls felt like they were closing in on him, listening to his every thought.

he started showing up late for classes, to avoid the crowded hallways; to slip into class when everyone's attention was on the professor, too eager to exceed each other to pay heed to the latecomer entering from the back door. most of all, he'd be able to avoid the suffocating small talk, ostentatious condolences offered to him, and the constant reminder that people only think of jisoo when they see him.

just as he does for every class since the fall semester started, minjun tiptoed into class fifteen minutes late, scanning the back row for an empty seat before he realised today's class was a little different. students weren't hovered over their laptops and notebooks, taking notes or dozing off while a lecture went on—they were working on their sculptures for the upcoming exhibition.

some eyes were on him, but he ignores them all and meets the disapproving gaze of their professor, shaking his head as he glances at his wristwatch, before returning his attention to the student he was advising. minjun finds an empty seat by the corner of the class—not the best spot, considering who it was next to, but he had to make do and not draw even more attention to himself.

he contemplates, not in the mood to strike up a conversation, yet fully aware that their professor was making his way around the class and wouldn't be happy to know that he was not only late, but has no clue about what was going on. he swallows, both his pride and the lump in his throat, turning to mingze to whisper, "i thought we had a lecture today? why is everyone working on their sculptures?"

GREEN-EYED MONSTER ft. @godhe4rt

#THREADS. #MINGZE: 001. #godhe4rt #mguacti

[wingedvictor]

he's running.

propelling himself forward with all his might, going against the current of the midnight breeze. he doesn't know how long he has been running for, or when he started—didn't even wear the right shoes for it. all he remembers are those words, "a fire broke out near the school library".

maybe if he hadn't left his phone on silent mode, he would've been long awaken by the influx of texts on his phone. his inbox flooded with messages about the incident, about people getting hurt. about a rumoured death. names were carelessly thrown around, names he was familiar with, but it wasn't a name that had him dashing out the door with a pair of athletic slides on.

the school library.

one person immediately comes to mind when he thinks of the school library. the place he used to take refuge in, hiding amongst rows of towering bookshelves that seemed to drown out the noise of the world outside. the place he started avoiding when he came back. not because he didn't want to see him—he did, more than he should—but because he didn't know how to face him. he didn't know how to look into those eyes without seeing a reflection of his own demons.

please be okay.

his legs were taking him as far as they could, as fast as they could. he hadn't even stopped to think about where he was headed towards, or how to get there—he didn't need to. like muscle memory, his body moved ahead of his mind. all these years have passed but he still knew the way to this place by heart. every turn and corner, every tree and lamppost lining up to where he left his childhood behind.

his heart races, both from the running and the fear engulfing him—the fear of losing him for good. it didn't take long before he found himself stopping in front of a familiar door. he is no stranger to this place, having stood on this porch countless times before, in search of his favourite playmate; the hero to his sidekick. at some point, this hero was painted out to be a villain, but no one knew better than he did that no villain would have a heart like his.

now, he stands a lot taller than he did back then, tall enough to reach the doorbell with ease. still, habits die hard, or maybe it was the urgency to see the face seared into his mind the very moment he heard of the fire, and he finds himself pounding on that door like he used to as a child. only this time, it was not with the impatience of a child wanting to play, but the immense fear and dread of losing someone dear to him.

please open the door. please be safe. please don't leave me. he utters silently, desperately, like a prayer to the gods. he wants to cry out, to call out his name and have him respond to it like he always did, but nothing could leave his mouth. not a word or sound. he could only do what he always does best, silently moil until he's heard, to keep pounding until someone comes, or until he breaks the door down. he can't stop, and he won't stop. not until he knows he's okay.

he's already left him once, he can't have him leave again.

THICKER THAN WATER ft. @96ymh

#THREADS. #MINHYUK: 001. #96ymh

[wingedvictor]

JUNG JAEHYUN  23  CISMALE  HE/HIM — ; where do you get your inspiration, NAM MINJUN ? you’re so DRIVEN , i can’t help but think of MUSEUM DATES, OLD RECORDS AND SHATTERED STATUES when i hear your name. your friends tell me you can be EVASIVE sometimes. i guess it’s understandable given the circumstances. besides , i can’t even imagine how stressful SCULPTURE classes must be — not to mention you’re also in THE RED AND GREEN CLUB, HOWLITES (CAPTAIN) AND MISS TATE (BASS) ! you’re a LOCAL , right ? yeah, i thought so. either way , welcome to mugunghwa ! 

hey! it's dean here with nam minjun — a sculpture arts major, newly appointed captain of the male soccer team, and bassist of miss tate—though you might know him better as the one who always came second to son jisoo. he’s much like the misunderstood villain you’d read about in books, the kind you’d be drawn to if perfect golden boys (cough jisoo cough) are too boring for you. that, or you’re a masochist who romanticises pain. if you'd like to plot, give this post a like and i’ll drop you a message! i also have discord, if that’s what you prefer.

BACKGROUND:

born and bred in mugunghwa; he can't decide if he loves or hates this place.

put simply, he feels like a big fish in a small pond. on one hand, he likes being at the very top of the hierarchy, but on the other, he feels suffocated.

the only child to the nams. you’d think he’d be coddled and cherished like their finest treasure, but somehow, they still had a way to make him feel like he was never good enough.

he's known jisoo ever since they were kids (or babies, to be exact). their parents were always close (at least, on the surface) and have been rivals since they were younger.

naturally, this rivalry carried on to their children. all hell broke loose when they both gave birth to sons in the same year.

he can't remember a time in his life not being to compared to jisoo. everything, from their academics, artistic abilities, athleticism, height, to even the kind of girls they brought home, was a measure of their success.

he had always felt like a tool, used to extend his parents' sense of self-worth. they needed him to win, for them to win.

at some point, he grew to desire everything jisoo wanted, even if didn't really want it himself. growing up, it felt like everything jisoo had was what he needed to have too. if not, he would be inferior and god forbid he was anything but that.

he has a complicated relationship with jisoo. kind of like how he feels about mugunghwa—a love-hate relationship.

sometimes, he wishes jisoo never existed so he didn't have to compete with him, to feel like he’s not good enough all his life, but there are days when things are different.

on those days, he feels like jisoo is a brother he never had, days when he is actually relieved jisoo was around to make this town feel a little less lonely.

that's when he starts feeling bad for always competing with him, for never truly being happy for his accomplishments—for not being a good friend. because a good friend wouldn’t secretly wish you’ll fuck up, right?

but then jisoo beats him again and the cycle repeats, again and again.

just like how complex their friendship was, minjun’s reaction to jisoo’s passing is no different. some days he feels sad, then relieved, then angry, then everything all at once.

he's sad to lose a friend he's known since forever; a part of his identity he's never been allowed to break away from, but he's also relieved that jisoo was no longer in his way, that all those years of constant comparisons finally came to an end.

but most of all, he's angry, that even in death, he is still reminded of how he is second to jisoo, that none of the things he has now truly belongs to him—that he’ll never get to beat jisoo with his own merits.

jisoo’s death was not just a loss of a friend and competitor, but a sense of self; a benchmark he’s had his entire life.

PERSONALITY:

taciturn and elusive, but not forgettable.

the aloof boy that acts like a wallflower, but is really the kind you find yourself getting curious about.

hard to approach, probably not the friendliest face in the hallway.

doesn't really talk to people outside his circle. (though i’d really love for some unexpected connections!)

some might even think he’s stuck-up, that he thinks he’s better than others. (partially true. he actually doubts himself a lot, he’s just antisocial and doesn’t bother trying. also had a friend (jisoo) all his life so he never had to try either.)

very driven and hardworking. set on perfecting his craft.

maybe it’s because he tries so hard in art and sports that he seems nonchalant in every other aspect, like his social life.

is also frustratingly cryptic, an enigma that is hard to decipher even if you’ve known him all your life.

thinks a lot, which is both his vice and virtue.

romanticises a lot of things. particularly people. tends to fall in love with the idea of someone and not who they really are.

kind of toxic. he doesn’t like things (or people) that are easy to get, because he’s so accustomed to not getting what he wants with ease, to wanting the things that don’t belong to him.

has a lot of buried anger and resentment towards his parents and jisoo that is reflected in his art; is otherwise bad at expressing it.

inner child needs healing, tbh.

AT MUGUNGHWA:

sculpture arts major: wasn’t always a sculpture artist. when he was younger, he had also pursued painting alongside jisoo, just because his parents wanted him to. it wasn’t until he starting traveling around europe and got exposed to sculpture art did he realise it was something he enjoyed more. definitely helps that he’s also better at it and no longer has to live in jisoo’s shadow, at least for art.

part of the red and green club: truthfully, he likes that he is part of this club. he knows that it’s something his parents brag about, one of the few things he’s earned their validation for. his jewelled accessory is a pair of cufflinks.

took jisoo's place as captain of the howlites: frankly didn't even want to be captain that bad, he just wanted it because jisoo was running for it. and he has to have everything jisoo has. now that he has it, he's starting to realise that it wasn't as great as he made it out to be—not that he'd ever admit any of this.

plays the bass in miss tate: the one thing he has that was not tied to jisoo. his parents didn't like that he was in a rock band (they considered it uncouth and a waste of time) but it’s precisely why he pursued it, because he needed an escape from their constant comparisons. he needed a part of him entirely to himself, with no way of being compared to perfect little jisoo.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

someone jisoo liked but couldn’t have? maybe jisoo told him about his crush and complained about how hard it was to get their attention. (though we'd have to check with the admin if it interferes with the plot!) this could've sparked minjun’s interest and he ends up wanting them too, though he doesn’t know if he actually likes them or if he only wanted them because jisoo did. toxic, push and pull type of relationship where they can’t tell how he really feels about them. fwb/more than friends less than lovers type shit.

on the contrary, someone that likes him and is always there for him. probably one of the sweetest people in his life (someone who is actually good for him) but he’s a toxic mfer who wants what he can’t have. he knows he can have them so he doesn’t treasure them but he still sticks around because they make him feel wanted, like he’s good enough for once. one word: angst.

someone very different from him (probably someone who is free spirited and wants to leave mugunghwa). someone he actually likes talking to, whose opinions he wants to hear. he might not agree but he enjoys the discourse; a breath of fresh air in his suffocating environment.

escape in human form, someone that has no connection to the keepers/the red and green club, or the life he’s always known in mugunghwa, someone who he can forget everything around. preferably someone who didn’t know jisoo personally and never got to compare them.

male soccer team members who don’t think he’s worthy of the captain position, that he only got it because of his prestige, not because he’s a good leader (they’re probably right). they either think of jisoo as their only captain and doesn’t acknowledge minjun as one, or they hate that the position was always between them, because they’re keepers and come from influential families.

#mguintro

[wingedvictor]

#AESTHETICS.

[wingedvictor]

my lost heart is lonely, lonely

#VISAGE.