[dear god, it's this one. the one he tries not to think about, with his sudden appearance and his ridiculous nicknames and looking like a love slave from ancient babylon.]
what are you wearing right now?
[it sounds sexy, but he's tired, it's been a long night, and he's not sure he can handle so much right now.]
[ And here he is, as promised, a minute later, kit in hand as he steps into the other attic room. He doesn't look back to see if Ten's here - he doesn't need the distraction, especially since he doesn't know how bad it is.
The room is dark, so Kwang steps around, turns on a light - he'll need it. ]
Hey. Alright, let's not beat around the bush. Show me.
[jiho appreciates kwang's approach, more than he can say. it's a little strange, stripping off his hoodie in front of someone for the first time, and then the white undershirt underneath it. One of the straps is stained with blood. he feels more naked than when he's completely naked.]
I would've handled this myself, but I'm left-handed.
[ Kwang leans in, looking at the cut. It's deep, but it's very, very clean. ]
How d'you get that?
[ He doesn't exactly expect an answer. He rummages through his kit for a second to get some disinfectant, even though he's already thoroughly washed his hands, and lathers it on before reaching out, touching the edges of the wound. ]
Does it feel like you've got any internal damage? Can you still move your arm?
[ is there a half naked demon appearing in your room with wet hair and a wild look in his eyes in a puff of ash and smoke? maybe there is.
no, there totally is. but hey, the upside to this is that he has at least put on pants, real pants, that were stolen from Myung but they aren't made of silk or chiffon or any other see through material that shows more than it hides. they might ride rather low on his hips though, but pants.
as soon as the demon sees Jiho, there are several emotions that pass across his face in rapid succession, the most prominent one being worry but it is quickly covered up.
maybe.
not really.]
What the-- what happened Jiho.
[ and the look on his face makes it clear that he wants the truth. ]
[there's a moment where jiho's startled. normally, he's the one who gets to be the ninja, there and then gone and then there again. rook's much better at it than he is. and...he wasn't expecting him to come at all. he wasn't expecting him to have that look on his face if he did.
he wasn't expecting him to be wearing clothes - well, half of him is wearing clothes.
but then jiho reclaims his chill, looks rook up an down before popping another segment of an orange into his mouth.]
You still have shampoo in your hair. [he gestures before looking into his eyes for another moment. he knows what that look is saying. he's deciding whether or not he's going to give it to him. he decides...what the hell. he's a better killer than liar anyway.] I wanted to come home, but I'm a broken, stubborn fuck, so I decided to see if your blade could hit the mark as true as you said it would.
[ Rook has has thousands of years to acquire powers in hell, but apparently schooling his face into something neutral was not one of those things. still, maybe that is a good thing. maybe it is what helps Jiho realize that he isn't just saying shit for the sake of it, maybe it makes him realize that Rook might kinda-sorta-maybe cares.
even if the demon still has no idea how to deal with that idea himself.
he doesn't move from where he is standing, water rolling down his neck and shoulders as he looks at Jiho, so nonchalant with his orange and-- fuck.
fuck. he really was worried about him.
Rook sighs, a heavy noise, but it seems to take the tension in his shoulders with him when he does. then, there is ash lingering where he once was and--]
You fucking idiot, I wouldn't give you a shitty weapon and send you off. Fuck.
[ yup, there is one demon shoving said shampoo filled hair into the crook of your neck while he hugs you. sorry there.]
there's something i need to tell you. it's selfish because i've been keeping it a secret and i'm still not ready for everyone to know, but i need to tell someone besides neve.
[ really, it was his dream job. maybe there were some who thought it silly, useless even, to want to be a curator for a museum. it was a building filled with the remnants of the dead, or with coloured pieces of paper that were hung on walls, but it was the job that Rook had always wanted. to him, there was something comforting to be surrounded by the pieces that had survived, the reminders that humans were somewhat the same, no matter how much time or how much space there might be between them, there was always a fascination with beauty, and with war, and death. they might be a place that were often filled with bones and echoes, but for Rook they were the most vibrant places.
he remembers the first time that his mother took him to a museum, a simple thing in their hometown, with only a handful of rooms and a few chunks of rock, but that place was the most interesting place in the world to the boy. they had a sandbox in a room where you could 'dig' for dinosaur bones, and once every few months, there would be a new piece of art on the walls in the one room, and whether it was from a famous artist or a local one, Rook always thought it was amazing. after his first visit, Rook visited every day after, becoming friends with the old lady who worked behind the desk covered in pamphlets and dust, and who would tell him stories from times before.
and maybe that is what he learned to love the most, the stories behind each artifact, each statue or painting, every piece of jewellery or the burial shrouds. there were stories. there were memories. love woven into every piece, a love of something so vibrant that it didn't fade over thousands of years.
so Rook studied history and anthropology, along with management, finances and relations to make sure that, no matter what, he was qualified to work in a museum. made sure that he was the top of his classes, top of the university, and so he spent the last year of his degree in the hot sands of northern Africa brushing off dust from pieces of pottery, and while it seemed boring enough, Rook loved it. he came home sunkissed and smiling, all the more in love with the past.
only a year later, he landed his first job as a junior curator at a small museum slash gallery in London.
the following year, he moved up. and not five years after his graduation, got his foot in the door at one of the most prestigious museums in Europe. there were those that whispered he got it because of his face, because he was often likened to the marble statues of the greek gods that lined the halls, but Rook likes to think that it was because he knew his stuff. that his love for the past, and for art, shone when you saw him speaks about what seemed to be nothing more than an old rock.
(it was never just some old rock, not if you asked Rook. there was the blood of a Roman emperor on it, the carvings from the hand of Achilles, a splatter of paint from Da Vinci. a story that was hidden just out of reach.)
Rook was also, thankfully, a people person. which meant that, once being hired at the museum, he was tasked with teaching the small tours that came in about different things, about answering questions and telling the stories that no one else saw. he was all the more suited for it with his mastery of multiple languages (his mother always told him that would be a benefit, he is so very glad he listened to her), so it wasn't unusuall to see him sitting on the floor in the middle of the Greek section speaking French and German and Korean to the children that gathered around.
all in all, Rook was in heaven.
which is why he comes in wrapped in his sweater and a scarf on this chilly winter morning, with tea in hand and a smile on his face. and maybe he is humming under his breath as he enters, typing in the passcode to grant him access to the darker backrooms of the museum, excited to see what was new, or rather what was old, for the day.
instead of statues and old papyrus though, Rook is met with a very new face in the backroom.
blinking, Rook pauses, scarf half unwrapped from around his neck, and cheeks flushed from the walk over, tea still clutched in hand.]
Oh, um. Are you-- new? Lost? Usually no one is back here when I come in. [ a huff, and a small smile. ] I mean, I'm not trying to be rude! Just, um-- yeah.
[jiho doesn't have a fascination with any of those things, death and war most notably. he is comfortable with them, in a way that should make him uncomfortable. he walks into the museum and sees a statue that makes him think of a mission in greece. he sees a painting that reminds him of one he watched turned to ash, because the artist's god didn't look like the arsonist's god. he sees the bones of creatures long gone, and the bones of those recently gone, hunted to extinction. the red in monet's flowers looks like the splattering of blood.
this building houses so much beauty. but most of it is lost on him.
it's been a year since he lost his brother. a year since it was "suggested" that he take some time off, which was a piss-poor attempt at sounding concerned and caring when he was really just being told that no one trusted him with a gun in his hand anymore. the bastards probably expected him to pick one up and turn it on himself, but jiho is a lot more stubborn than any of the shadowy higher-ups had given him credit for.
unfortunately, the electric company is pretty stubborn too, especially when it comes to their bill being paid on time. and jiho's severance pay is wearing a little thin, which has forced a man who has never known a normal life to maybe seek one out.
not a life, a job. that's all it is. he almost doesn't even acknowledge the man speaking to him - being a people person was thankfully not one of the qualifications, or jiho would never have passed the first round of interviews. but something about the nervous certainty in his voice makes jiho look up and-
huh. this museum actually does have something beautiful in it after all.
[ it starts out as a seedling of an idea during his weekly facetime with his mother who mentions that is is almost festival season in their little island town, and she would really like to see him again sometimes soon. and that he should 'bring that boy you talk so much about, he makes you smile'. Rook pretends he doesn't turn pink at that and agrees if only so she doesn't ask too many more questions, diverting the topic instead to Toni's newest splash in the art world, and hopes that is enough of that.
it isn't. well it is, because his mother doesn't mention it again in that conversation, but rather sends him a message a few days later with a list of dates that she thinks would work for him to visit and a note saying that their cousins were still in Italy, so they could have their summer home for the two weeks or so that they were there. all he had to do was book of time from work.
and, you know, ask Jiho to go to Portugal with him for a little trip.
honestly, Rook can't help the surprise that flickers across his face when Jiho agrees with one of his blinding, beautiful smiles. and, well, that is that.
now they are sitting on a rocky, volcanic beach that is part of his cousin's property with their luggage left in their rooms, Rook's mother letting them take the rest of the night to destress and get some sleep after the long flight. which Rook appreciates really because, well, he loves his family, he does, but they can be a bit much when you are over tired and more than a little nervous about everything.
with a sigh, Rook sets the bottle of wine (welcoming gift) and two glasses down on the small table between them and shoots Jiho a smile.]
[his job at the museum comes with perks that jiho's just not used to - namely, two weeks paid vacation. most people look forward to things like that, but to jiho it means two weeks of not seeing. two weeks of worrying that one of those days is the day when the past comes looking for him and finds rook instead.
he'd started forming an idea, looking up places where rook's never been, or maybe has been and would love to return to. he checks the prices of flights and hotels. but all of that is the easy part.
jiho has two weeks vacation, and no idea how to ask rook to join him on it.
but then rook asks him, and it's unbelievable. jiho accepted so eagerly that it damn near put rook in shock. and just like that, his vacation did become something to look forward. jiho buys a new suitcase, a few new outfits.
and of course, a gift for rook's mother. being the smooth little motherfucker that he is.
it's been a long day, what with the flight and the introductions. but by the end of it, he's feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time.]
Tired? [he says it softly at rook's tired smile before reaching to pour the wine for them. the other man's question earns a little smile.] You said this was their summer home? Where do they live the rest of the year, Buckingham Palace?
text;
Date: 2018-08-27 02:35 pm (UTC)i have a present for you.
[ and no it isn't him wearing clothes for once, sorry. ]
text;
Date: 2018-08-27 02:45 pm (UTC)what are you wearing right now?
[it sounds sexy, but he's tired, it's been a long night, and he's not sure he can handle so much right now.]
text;
Date: 2018-08-27 02:49 pm (UTC)[ look here you, ancient babylon knew style and comfort okay.]
the usual minus a few chains. is that gonna be a distraction?
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From:just saying but this gif is rude????
Date: 2018-09-07 11:44 pm (UTC)in person, if possible, but idk if you're in the house
it's... important.
BRING BACK THE UNDERCUT
Date: 2018-09-08 12:26 am (UTC)what's wrong?
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Date: 2018-09-08 08:54 am (UTC)i had an.. epiphany. i have something to say to you, that's all. it's important, but it can wait until you're back.
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Date: 2018-09-19 06:50 pm (UTC)i love you
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Date: 2018-09-19 07:00 pm (UTC)[THIS ASSHOLE.]
i love you too. need me to come home?
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Date: 2018-09-19 07:03 pm (UTC)i always *want* you to come home, but if you're busy, it's fine
i've been trying to work anyway, you'd only distract me
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Date: 2018-09-26 04:15 pm (UTC)The room is dark, so Kwang steps around, turns on a light - he'll need it. ]
Hey. Alright, let's not beat around the bush. Show me.
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Date: 2018-09-26 04:25 pm (UTC)I would've handled this myself, but I'm left-handed.
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Date: 2018-09-26 04:34 pm (UTC)How d'you get that?
[ He doesn't exactly expect an answer. He rummages through his kit for a second to get some disinfectant, even though he's already thoroughly washed his hands, and lathers it on before reaching out, touching the edges of the wound. ]
Does it feel like you've got any internal damage? Can you still move your arm?
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Date: 2018-09-27 03:41 pm (UTC)no, there totally is. but hey, the upside to this is that he has at least put on pants, real pants, that were stolen from Myung but they aren't made of silk or chiffon or any other see through material that shows more than it hides. they might ride rather low on his hips though, but pants.
as soon as the demon sees Jiho, there are several emotions that pass across his face in rapid succession, the most prominent one being worry but it is quickly covered up.
maybe.
not really.]
What the-- what happened Jiho.
[ and the look on his face makes it clear that he wants the truth. ]
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Date: 2018-09-27 03:59 pm (UTC)he wasn't expecting him to be wearing clothes - well, half of him is wearing clothes.
but then jiho reclaims his chill, looks rook up an down before popping another segment of an orange into his mouth.]
You still have shampoo in your hair. [he gestures before looking into his eyes for another moment. he knows what that look is saying. he's deciding whether or not he's going to give it to him. he decides...what the hell. he's a better killer than liar anyway.] I wanted to come home, but I'm a broken, stubborn fuck, so I decided to see if your blade could hit the mark as true as you said it would.
[another bite of fruit.]
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Date: 2018-09-27 06:26 pm (UTC)even if the demon still has no idea how to deal with that idea himself.
he doesn't move from where he is standing, water rolling down his neck and shoulders as he looks at Jiho, so nonchalant with his orange and-- fuck.
fuck. he really was worried about him.
Rook sighs, a heavy noise, but it seems to take the tension in his shoulders with him when he does. then, there is ash lingering where he once was and--]
You fucking idiot, I wouldn't give you a shitty weapon and send you off. Fuck.
[ yup, there is one demon shoving said shampoo filled hair into the crook of your neck while he hugs you. sorry there.]
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Date: 2018-12-10 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-10 12:23 pm (UTC)not that it matters, but is there a reason why you want to go now.
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Date: 2018-12-10 01:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2019-01-27 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-27 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-28 03:42 am (UTC)i felt like you might understand.
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From:exhibit b; soft sweaters and marble statues
Date: 2019-02-13 08:15 pm (UTC)he remembers the first time that his mother took him to a museum, a simple thing in their hometown, with only a handful of rooms and a few chunks of rock, but that place was the most interesting place in the world to the boy. they had a sandbox in a room where you could 'dig' for dinosaur bones, and once every few months, there would be a new piece of art on the walls in the one room, and whether it was from a famous artist or a local one, Rook always thought it was amazing. after his first visit, Rook visited every day after, becoming friends with the old lady who worked behind the desk covered in pamphlets and dust, and who would tell him stories from times before.
and maybe that is what he learned to love the most, the stories behind each artifact, each statue or painting, every piece of jewellery or the burial shrouds. there were stories. there were memories. love woven into every piece, a love of something so vibrant that it didn't fade over thousands of years.
so Rook studied history and anthropology, along with management, finances and relations to make sure that, no matter what, he was qualified to work in a museum. made sure that he was the top of his classes, top of the university, and so he spent the last year of his degree in the hot sands of northern Africa brushing off dust from pieces of pottery, and while it seemed boring enough, Rook loved it. he came home sunkissed and smiling, all the more in love with the past.
only a year later, he landed his first job as a junior curator at a small museum slash gallery in London.
the following year, he moved up. and not five years after his graduation, got his foot in the door at one of the most prestigious museums in Europe. there were those that whispered he got it because of his face, because he was often likened to the marble statues of the greek gods that lined the halls, but Rook likes to think that it was because he knew his stuff. that his love for the past, and for art, shone when you saw him speaks about what seemed to be nothing more than an old rock.
(it was never just some old rock, not if you asked Rook. there was the blood of a Roman emperor on it, the carvings from the hand of Achilles, a splatter of paint from Da Vinci. a story that was hidden just out of reach.)
Rook was also, thankfully, a people person. which meant that, once being hired at the museum, he was tasked with teaching the small tours that came in about different things, about answering questions and telling the stories that no one else saw. he was all the more suited for it with his mastery of multiple languages (his mother always told him that would be a benefit, he is so very glad he listened to her), so it wasn't unusuall to see him sitting on the floor in the middle of the Greek section speaking French and German and Korean to the children that gathered around.
all in all, Rook was in heaven.
which is why he comes in wrapped in his sweater and a scarf on this chilly winter morning, with tea in hand and a smile on his face. and maybe he is humming under his breath as he enters, typing in the passcode to grant him access to the darker backrooms of the museum, excited to see what was new, or rather what was old, for the day.
instead of statues and old papyrus though, Rook is met with a very new face in the backroom.
blinking, Rook pauses, scarf half unwrapped from around his neck, and cheeks flushed from the walk over, tea still clutched in hand.]
Oh, um. Are you-- new? Lost? Usually no one is back here when I come in. [ a huff, and a small smile. ] I mean, I'm not trying to be rude! Just, um-- yeah.
no subject
Date: 2019-02-13 11:39 pm (UTC)this building houses so much beauty. but most of it is lost on him.
it's been a year since he lost his brother. a year since it was "suggested" that he take some time off, which was a piss-poor attempt at sounding concerned and caring when he was really just being told that no one trusted him with a gun in his hand anymore. the bastards probably expected him to pick one up and turn it on himself, but jiho is a lot more stubborn than any of the shadowy higher-ups had given him credit for.
unfortunately, the electric company is pretty stubborn too, especially when it comes to their bill being paid on time. and jiho's severance pay is wearing a little thin, which has forced a man who has never known a normal life to maybe seek one out.
not a life, a job. that's all it is. he almost doesn't even acknowledge the man speaking to him - being a people person was thankfully not one of the qualifications, or jiho would never have passed the first round of interviews. but something about the nervous certainty in his voice makes jiho look up and-
huh. this museum actually does have something beautiful in it after all.
jiho finishes tying his boot before standing up.]
I'm the new head of security.
[all five and a half feet of him.]
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Date: 2019-03-20 08:45 pm (UTC)it isn't. well it is, because his mother doesn't mention it again in that conversation, but rather sends him a message a few days later with a list of dates that she thinks would work for him to visit and a note saying that their cousins were still in Italy, so they could have their summer home for the two weeks or so that they were there. all he had to do was book of time from work.
and, you know, ask Jiho to go to Portugal with him for a little trip.
honestly, Rook can't help the surprise that flickers across his face when Jiho agrees with one of his blinding, beautiful smiles. and, well, that is that.
now they are sitting on a rocky, volcanic beach that is part of his cousin's property with their luggage left in their rooms, Rook's mother letting them take the rest of the night to destress and get some sleep after the long flight. which Rook appreciates really because, well, he loves his family, he does, but they can be a bit much when you are over tired and more than a little nervous about everything.
with a sigh, Rook sets the bottle of wine (welcoming gift) and two glasses down on the small table between them and shoots Jiho a smile.]
Well, do the accommodations work for you?
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Date: 2019-03-20 10:10 pm (UTC)he'd started forming an idea, looking up places where rook's never been, or maybe has been and would love to return to. he checks the prices of flights and hotels. but all of that is the easy part.
jiho has two weeks vacation, and no idea how to ask rook to join him on it.
but then rook asks him, and it's unbelievable. jiho accepted so eagerly that it damn near put rook in shock. and just like that, his vacation did become something to look forward. jiho buys a new suitcase, a few new outfits.
and of course, a gift for rook's mother. being the smooth little motherfucker that he is.
it's been a long day, what with the flight and the introductions. but by the end of it, he's feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time.]
Tired? [he says it softly at rook's tired smile before reaching to pour the wine for them. the other man's question earns a little smile.] You said this was their summer home? Where do they live the rest of the year, Buckingham Palace?
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From:how dare you with that icon
From:youre welcome. just for you
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