Realistic or Modern 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 ❍ °.

[yokai.]

nam jiyoon

got my finger on the detonator

At first, Jiyoon was puzzled by the idea of a night market residing in such a place. Though only once he toured through its maze-like, lantern-lit alleys, past stalls filled with unwanted wedding rings and fluttering lacquer-winged moths on display, did he realize just how closely heaven and hell resided together. Lethal steel blades gleamed at him from behind a pad-locked glass cabinet, hanging next to artisan-coveted oil paintings framed in gold. A carmine striped snake had wrapped its sleeping form around the neck of a mannequin dressed in military-grade body armour, one of many other slithering, brightly-coloured escapees from a nearby menagerie. Luxury oddities of Edwardian, Joseon, and art deco periods sat amidst sleek, modern instruments of violence in curated disorder, abandoned without a single thought. He could almost imagine the surly, tattooed kkangpae that once occupied this space, lounging with hanbok-clad ghosts under lazy, drifting clouds of opium.

Jiyoon's hands twisted gilded disks around the axis of a strange, intricate device, watching as its thin lens flashed brightly. He raised his face to the sky, staring at the projected map of stars which expanded above his head until it was as high and wide as the heavens, themselves. Such grandeur had appealed to him, once, and even now it was hard to reject the awe lining the breath caught in his chest as he slowly made his way to the center, where a godless sun shone, its rays blurring and annihilating all colour. Though, now, it was eclipsed by a despondent sort of longing for things that were now long gone, swallowed by an everlasting darkness. Who could have predicted that astronomy, of all things, would be a thing of the past?

Abruptly, his heart momentarily stumbled at the sound of footsteps coming from behind him, narrowed gaze trailing after the man passing him by once he realized whose voice had just rang through the air, dripping with smug disdain. Irritation quickly replaced half-baked relief.

”You should consider yourself lucky to even lay eyes on such things in your lifetime,” Jiyoon muttered, examining the label tied around the device’s base: Armillary Astrolabe, 19th century, it read. ”There are things in here that even I can’t afford, let alone have ever seen in person. That is, until now…” He trailed off, lips curving up ever so slightly in mischief. With a gentle twist of a hand, he extinguished the stars. ”Would be a shame to let it all go to waste.”

He turned to the other man, whose dark eyes were, surprisingly, glued to his cloth-wrapped neck with such intensity. It was like looking at a kitten that couldn’t get its head out of a tuna can, the way Minjae seemed to be at war with himself. Jiyoon would’ve pitied him if he hadn’t found the sight so amusing. Though the internal laughter inevitably died down once Minjae’s expression turned shit-eating, a roll of gauze in a goading hand, like one would tempt a caged lion with a slice of meat just out of reach.

”Of course, because you would have had to have a heart to even consider the thought that, I don't know, maybe I’d already earned your unconditional loyalty when I saved your ass, twice?” Jiyoon bit out as he rolled his eyes, unable to stamp out the rising indignation at the slightest possibility that Minjae was feeling sorry for him. Even the thought made his skin crawl. Wrath and anger, he can handle; they’re used to frustratedly tumbling around and shouting their grievances until the adrenaline melted it off, and they’re left as tattered messes on the floor. Being met with pity, when he was raised to rule from a throne, was not his forte. It cut deeper than the last, turning into a serrated knife that only Han Minjae could wield against him.

And for that, well. He had to play along, unwilling to accept a free handout even when it wasn't offered.

”Look at you, thinking you're hot shit just because you can disinfect the same wound you gave me,” He sneered, sidling up to the other man, who had drifted away to a nearby display. ”Fine, since you're feeling so charitable, I'll bite.”

Minjae had no use for mystery pills, and the map Jiyoon pocketed earlier was likely a hit or miss depending on where exactly it led. Either way, he was unwilling to part with any of his personal items, a flare of stubborn, possessive sentimentality overriding reason. That left…

”Here's the deal. I'll help you get a shiny new knife, just as long as you promise not to use the thing on me— again,” He added pointedly, untying the stained fabric against his throat to reveal an angry cut, fresher and deeper than the healed star-shaped brand beside it. ”And if you can control yourself so close to my neck, you'll put your pre-med skills to use. Sound fair?” Jiyoon stared him down, the faintest of smiles on his lips. "Or are those top student rankings of yours really just bullshit?"

health

sanity

hunger

日

 

[kunikuzushi]

HAN MINJAE

all the dead ends in my mind.

Minjae’s gaze hardened when he saw it. Not just the exposed slash on Jiyoon’s neck but the faded pink of a star burnt forever into his memories. Every unabashed display in Somyeol had worn on Minjae’s tolerance, but to have the damn scar almost shoved in his face was like a sunburn under his clothing. Simmering beneath the surface, longing to be soothed by the balm of something long lost. Fortunately, Jiyoon’s dramatics were enough to distract him from the past.

A sharp smirk verged on a scowl.

“You’re really something.” Minjae tsked. “Most people would leave the wound covered. Try to avoid– you know, more blood, infection.” But Nam Jiyoon was not most people.

He clicked his tongue again in disappointment, as he crossed his arms in a show of disdain. Jiyoon was rash in a way that nagged, but Minjae wasn’t about to go feeling bad for a man that had terrorized him for the past few years. No way. Instead, he focused on the delight it brought him. The karmic retribution. A part of Minjae reveled in the impulsiveness he could so easily bring out in the other man. And what was that he said earlier about unconditional loyalty? Please, Minjae could’ve laughed. The only thing Jiyoon had earned was his unconditional loathing.

But he pushed back any thoughts of disputing Jiyoon’s, ahem, delusions of being his saviour twice. Let him think himself heroic for now; Minjae knew his true colors would be presented soon enough. And he would be prepared.

He hoped the cut stung.

Now, the pressing matter here was the fact that Jiyoon thought he could offer him a knife of all things. Minjae was not impressed.

“A knife,” he repeated. "You think that’s fair? This is clean gauze, not exactly something you can find lying around on the street." He waved the roll in front of Jiyoon’s face before tucking it back at his side. It was an awful deal; as if he hadn’t had a dozen of those come and go. Sneak into any residential area and he could find several in their kitchens, just waiting to be used.

A sigh—purposefully long and drawn out to show just how deep his distaste ran.

“My scores aren't just for show.” Unlike yours. “...But fine. I won’t attack you, so long as you behave yourself.” A temporary truce. He disliked being so quick about it, but better that than staring at that bloody line a second longer. Whatever. There had to be some decent weapons in this place. He jerked his head back towards the stalls to make Jiyoon show him the way. “But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.”

health

sanity

hunger

月

 

[yokai.]

nam jiyoon

got my finger on the detonator

Jiyoon hadn’t seriously expected Minjae to agree to his terms so quickly, sparing only words of apprehension and a barely-there warning. He frowned, suspicions rising while questions died on his tongue, instead opting to keep his eyes forward, rather than search for answers in the lingering gaze of the other man. He didn’t think he’d like what he’d find, not when the questions gave in to even more questions, which only threatened to unravel the contradictions that made up the fragile truce between them.

Off the hook, huh? With no further protest and less willingness to fill in silence, Jiyoon led the way with a wry, tired quirk of his mouth, hands coming up to re-tie the cloth around his neck, ”With you? Never.”

An honest statement disguised in honey-sweet sarcasm, one that rang especially true once they reached the padlocked glass of the armoury stall. Jiyoon cast a tired glance at the blades kept inside, hanging in neat, flashy arrangements, then an even wearier look at the man beside him.

”Do you even know how to wield these?” He asked doubtfully, hazarding his own guesses on how to handle such a vast array of knives, unsure exactly which ones were used for what purposes. Some of them seemed straightforward in their utility, typical fixed blade knives whose handles looked handcarved from deer antlers, yet others sported more complex designs, risky enough to slice their handler if held incorrectly. ”Just… don’t blame me if you end up hurting yourself on one of these things. A deal’s a deal, right?”

But again, he wasn’t quite off the hook yet, and though his first instinct was to leave Minjae to struggle with obtaining the knives himself on the basis of calling it even, something told him that that solution wouldn’t qualify as ‘behaving himself’ to the other man. Well, what was the harm in trying out plain old brute force? The plainest solution was often the most effective one, according to Occam and his razor, or whatever his first year philosophy professor said. And so, without thinking much of it, Jiyoon walked forward, grip tightening around the handle of his bat to swing it down hard onto the smooth glass surface, only for the well-worn wood to split in uneven cracks with the force of it.

He gaped at the splintered hunk of wood in his hands, its jagged cracks giving way to useless pieces falling to the ground beneath him in piles. Seriously? It was just his luck to waste a decent weapon on trying to break through bulletproof glass.

On second thought, maybe this whole ordeal would require a little more thinking than expected. An action that, unfortunately, required a clear, non-sleep-deprived head.

Giving one last forlorn look at his destroyed bat before throwing its remains off to the side, Jiyoon could only sigh with heavy resignation, refusing to so much as glance at whatever glee-filled expression the man beside him must be wearing, ”Fuck off, it was worth a try.”

Spurred on by bruised ego, he picked up the case’s padlock, turning it over in his hands as he studied the numbers etched into its gears and the keyhole at its base, its steel finely crafted and of the utmost quality, like all things in this place. Yet, no matter how costly or well-made, even the strongest metal would yield to fire—provided the flames burned hot enough.

”I have this,” Jiyoon admitted, pulling his—Yuna’s lighter out of his jeans’ pocket, flipping the chrome of its lid open. ”There has to be something in here that could turn it into a torch... Just to get it to burn hot enough to weaken the lock’s metal, at least. The next best thing would be to go on a wild goose chase for a key that might not even be here. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to waste hours on trying out every possible combination on this thing.”

Especially if all this trouble was for Minjae's benefit and not his own, though his aching neck might say otherwise.

health

sanity

hunger

日