✈　❛ café

⎡ ᴊᴜɴɢ ʏᴇɪɴ's sᴄᴀᴠᴇɴɢᴇʀ ʜᴜɴᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘ.ɪ. | ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ 8/10, "sᴄʜᴇʀᴢᴏ." ⎦— café

it won’t take even one second for me to divert my attention to you. a warzone of fluttering emotions that scatter like bronze bullets dart across an azure sky. blotches of a monochrome world dripping with literature across cream, rustic pages bound together by leather shells threatening to crack at the spine. such stories upturn precious, roseate tiers. but when it comes to reality, will you—

to proceed, head on over to: where a dolled-up, frilled girl once burgeoned.

+ the letter is handwritten and taped against the front door of the café, a stem of polemonacaeae, “phlox,” taped to the backside.

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@❛ youngho seo。 stop. i'm already wanting to shower you with gifts as is. lustrous orbs scan over the gifted accessory and a sheepish laugh leaves amused lips, the apples of her cheeks tainted a dusky shade of carmine at the display of possessiveness.
"no excuse to take it off"? my, someone's possessive. put it on for me? leaning forward across the table does the girl tilt her chin up in delivering access to her bare neck, obviously delighted at the present. the tiny bell at the front of the black silk raises an inquisitive brow, though yein only stifles a bout of laughter. the thought of their amusing relationship in their frequent ups and downs causes a bittersweet smile to appear on her lips - how could she have not forgiven the male, after all this? she had already released such regrets a long time ago. i really am your pet, hm?

@❛ yein jung。 i know i didn’t have to. i did so because i wanted to. so shut up. the male explains as airy chuckles fill into the warm cozy atmosphere looming above, beginning to dig through the contents of his bag in desperate search of that one rather important gift which he’d hoped the girl could cherish for as long as possible. although their past fight had greatly escalated and both partook in some regrettable actions, that was long behind him now. already she was forgiven. perhaps she could forgive him too.
i nearly got this in yellow, but decided on black. black goes well with any outfit so you have no excuse to take it off. an assertive tone hums out as he finally retrieves a silk ribbon choker necklace and holds it out for the girl to observe.

@❛ youngho seo。 fervid tiers dance together in ardor and yein is left with a wide smile across her face upon parting, eliciting a hum of satisfaction. to think she’d miss out on these interactions for many days to come—a pout fills the canvas of her countenance at the mere thought, though she decides to merely focus on the present, where her beloved sits before her in his all too endearing frame.
do i? you look amazing, yourself. shy orbs flutter away for a short moment at the compliment as lithe digits toy with the pleats of her skirt.
oh—you’re getting it fixed for me? and you didn’t have to get me anything, you know... there’s a pang of guilt in yein’s chest, though roseate tiers are upturned into the faintest smile at the thought of just what the private eye had in mind.

@❛ yein jung。 for just a split second do his hazelnut eyes flutter open to peek at the gorgeous girl and admire her beauty, gaze uncontrollably meandering south towards the cute pleats of her skirt. before staring a little too long does he give one final eager smack against her lips with a mumbled hum that builds up into the faintest “mwah”. their liplock is short and messy just the way he likes it, leaning back into his seat with a smug expression.
you look.. nice. he comments reluctantly, gliding the edge of a velvety tongue across his plush lower lip to away some saliva that dripped from their previous encounter.
so your rose quartz pendant is in the shop getting repaired. in the meantime, i might have something else you can wear.

@❛ youngho seo。 taking a seat does yein give no time in delivering a kiss against those endearing tiers, faint gaze lingering against the lithe digits atop the countertop upon pulling away, to which she grasps his hand in hers, a sheepish smile etched across her visage.
sheesh, you know exactly how to wrap me around your finger... she mumbles, running the padding of her thumb over the male's adorned finger in pure adoration, to which it can be seen that she has never once taken off her ring as well.
i'm gonna miss you. lots.

@❛ yein jung。 already sat at a small table near the window, natural sunshine beaming down upon him to illuminate his sharpest features, he doesn’t bother to stand. hearing such an ethereal voice ring out in earnest passion for him brings a certain satisfaction as roseate tiers tug into a faint smile.
what a good girl you are. thanks for not disappointing me.
as she takes the seat across the way he leans in with pursed lips for a kiss, fingertips tapping against the tabletop in their impatience. which brings attention to that silver band wrapped around his ring finger. he never took it off.

@❛ youngho seo。 patting down her plaid skirt does the girl's exuberant irises stained with ochre scan the bustling cafe until that endearing gaze comes across one familiar man.
youngho, youngho! my husbandddd!
her lips are pursed outward into a pout as she makes her way over to the occupied table, unable to control her feverish excitement.
i told you i'd come beg in person if need be, hmph.

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 there's elation clear in yein's features, and she can only recall how her chest is constantly filled with mirth in each meeting with others like herself - artists and musicians alike. but this - it was something remarkable in its own way, as if the atramentous canvas of her life had been dappled with effervescent stars, the most dazzling of them all. kenturaus, hercules, arcturus, cassiopeia, antares, m-23, spica... the alignment of twinkling stars quickly transitions into an exuberant duet under torrid stage lights that only fuel her aching vigor all the more.

"anyone who creates music is considered a musician to me." the timbre of a feathery voice is paired with that of a benign smile that laces plush, rose-stained tiers, an all too celestial look on her countenance differing from her usual timorous self; an evocative tone poem is written outward in blotchy charcoal. "oh - pardon my rudeness. i'm jung yein. hopefully we can see each other around sometime, fellow musician. again, thank you for the delightful music this evening." thin digits are intertwined in her own intricate, dusky tendrils as she briefly concludes their meeting. a slight bow of the head is given as the girl clutches her belongings and makes her way for the exit of the café first, grasping the rich and vivid emotions that had been set off within.

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 A momentum of guilt gnaws at Sana as a thin line preempts the etches of Wonwoo's mouth; she delves too further into her own gullibility without heeding much thought of how the other might interpret it. Her smile falters in her face as his avoidance exudes into the limbs of Wonwoo's body in such stiffness with him offering to take her orders despite the long queue. "Just the usual oreo frappe I always drink," she conjures in the ardor of tension belying the air. The object of his interest has not been shy from Sana's curiosity and knowledge ever since when Wonwoo beheld his birthday gift to Sana. The gift in question is etched onto a lacquer of cream pages, the of his drawing has taken a familiarity to her, burned deep into her irises. And mere days later, she stumbled upon the drawing under the guise of a Jeonu whose name is far too related to his own.

@❛ sana minatozaki。 The moment Wonwoo had finished erasing what he has typed prior to the rather awkward situation he had put the both of them into, he peeks at Sana who seemed to had her eyes fixed on his hands which were still moving their own accord as he tried to rephrase some of the sentences he had written earlier – not that they were plenty. When halted for a bit, Sana met his eyes and uttered a shaky reply to what he just had said earlier, a smile plastered on his face. There was guilt in his system, that is for sure, but the guilt subsides – it always does.

He repeats inside his head like a mantra that he was not hiding anything, he was not keeping a secret – in fact, he wanted it to be recognized, to be known, to have an increasing popularity. If this was not the case, he would have given up from the first, second and this present hiatus. What Wonwoo wanted was to rid himself and his work of the prejudice – they need not to know that it was his work. They need not to know that he was Jeonu and that Evening Dews was his craft. He believes that it will hinder them to see it as it is. Recalling the Gestalt principle—the whole is more than the sum of its parts—he clears his throat and shifts on his seat, “What brought you here? Did you want a drink? I could get you one…” He tilts his head to check if the line was long; it was. “…quickly. So you won’t have to line up anymore.” Wonwoo smiles a little as to show he was being courteous; another Gestalt principle: closure.

@❛ yein jung。 His eyes lingered briefly, noting how the professedly displaced woman was presenting herself. He tried to catch her disposition but he could not. It was not that it was vague – it just seemed illusory; barely even the crust of an imperceptible core. The feeling of respite swelled from his chest as he released the breath he did not know he was holding as the woman has acknowledged her right answer. Her tone was almost jubilant yet hesitant. She repeated the title and in Wonwoo’s ear, there was a distant echo of the recognizable melody.

A recognizable melody – a discernible rhythm: this woman’s voice. Like a pup, he dug the surface of the mass inside his skull. He swore he has heard his voice before but he tells himself that it is common that he recognizes a lot of voices since he always pay attention to the chitter and chatter, even if it did not concern him – it gives him a special sort of calm and ease; and sometimes even a tiny scheme which he saves for later. It is not just the voices or the music. It is as if the Earth has a hidden layer besides what has been taught during General Science class. A layer that somehow gathers all the noise – then, little by little, it resonates and entraps you inside its bubble; fragile and fleeting.

And with the mention of his name, the bubble pops. Wonwoo has yet to react when the still unnamed acquaintance in front of him conveyed her interest about art and music – and the people who are versed in such venture. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond to such words but he manages to conjure out his baritone voice, “I am merely someone who knows how to play the piano – I would not call myself a musician.” Wonwoo was not trying to be humble. He was trying to be honest. All his life he has viewed his skills as mediocre and superb at the same time – like Schrödinger’s cat, both dead and alive. Dead in a sense that the more he knew, the more he loses his touch with his own persona. Yet also, the more he knew, the more he detaches himself from the pre-existing; creating his own.

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 Subjected under such skepticism, Sana finds herself grasping at anything to open another set of topics to interest them two as she doesn't want to undergo another series of awkward tension. A web of shame breeds her heart with ardor once the moment has passed them in such a dichotomy of false smiles and fake laughter; however, her eyes cannot seem to stop from darting to his laptop and the tapping noises the keyboard creates as he indulges himself in such work. "T-that's what I meant," a stoic smile imprints on her face, her lashes fluttering to yet another peek of his laptop which he so ardently tries to cover from her prying eyes, his hands proceeding with such caution. Sana's desire to confront him has been siring deep into her whims, an influx of questions washing her curiosity down with its silence. Why do you keep such things from me? she almost says.

@❛ sana minatozaki。 He kept his gaze soft with a little bit of skepticism – due to a surge of a mix of pleasant and uneasy feeling ran on his internal circuits. Wonwoo felt like a robot, like he was merely an extension of the technology in front of him but his hands gave it away: there were cold and damp – the laptop was warm and dry. his lips, he began to type away his thoughts; ‘Sana? Inspiration? New character?’. As he was about to encode another word, the lady in front of her spoke; and the words were molded in a ball, presently stuck in his throat.

Wonwoo studied Sana’s façade – she did not seem uneasy or even nervous; until a rosy patch emerged from her cheeks. The male managed to slip out a reserved laugh, trying to feel the muscles in his face – making sure he did not gave anything away. “What – you mean my scribbles? You know I like to draw a lot, Sana.” He made sure that his eyes were aligned with his company’s – which somehow glistened with pride and clarity; that made him drop his gaze and re-read the thoughts he has typed earlier: backspaced.

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 the viscous organ residing within yein's chest pounds ever so fervently - there's tension pulsing in her veins as her recollection concerning old friends and the ardor for music within that black-hearted self becomes an amorphous mass. and oh, those grievous years of her childhood and adolescence in which her parents practically tied her down to studies and extracurricular activities - it burned holes in her mind so deep, it was if she had a sort of meandering trypophobia regarding her own trauma. meddlesome thoughts that momentarily rob her of oxygen impede the poor girl and, for a short-lived moment, she practically forgets that she even exists, but a speck of minuscule dust in an ethereal realm she considered too transcendent for her to co-exist within. fragments of epiphanic sonder emblazon a trifling sense of self and overrides her thought processes before she manages to awaken from that oh so haunting, indelible world all too harrowing for her to simply forget.

she's pulled from that facet of deranged notions when the avant-garde reality of life coruscates around the entirety of a dim soul nearly too weighty for yein to bear - imploding speckles nearly have her /non compos mentis/. it's as if she's drowning in a hazy swarm of inebriating concepts, lithe digits coiled around her airway that has her pleading for the sweet release of carbon dioxide; an odious proclivity for agony and anguish. a domain that has appeared at best, in muted monochrome, spills forth with scintillating hues for once.

"ah, so it was satie after all." a sheepish chuckle is prompted from past plush, rosy lips as yein quickly pulls a note from her pocket to jot down the revealed piece - "satie's gymnopedie no. 1." there's elation crystal clear as can be on her features as doe eyes endearingly scan the inked words one last time before managing to register just how ignorant she had been of the outlandish greeting - heck, she doesn't even know the man before her. she had been so caught up in her fantasies of profound ideals, she could barely recall just how timid of a human being she is in actuality. distressed pupils blemished of dark coffee tinges falls over the fellow pianist's dark tendrils before slyly observing the faint features of his visage. she didn't recognize him - or did she? "hey... aren't you jeon wonwoo, from casia apartments? i believe i've seen you in the lounge once or twice." words from an opaque recollection flow like smooth, silky honey before yein firmly grasps her thoughts, confirming to herself that she indeed had seen the musician beforehand. "i didn't think we had many musicians in the complex. there are many painters and writers, but when it comes to music...the fine artistry shakes my heart."

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 Sana sits right in front of him, the cushion cool against her jean-cladded skin. The expanse of Wonwoo's body is outlined by the sunlight petering in through the building, her eyes absorbing his profile working diligently on his laptop as his fingers fly over the keyboard in a frenzy. A question tumbles out of as she folds her arms into the stature of her body, "For your web...toon?" Her eyes lie with vigor as she asks him, brown orbs reflexive of the fluorescent shine bouncing off the walls. Her question is an impetus of trust not given much thought. As the dawn of realization starts creeping in, a flush of color sires into the apples of her cheeks. She tries to save herself from the wiles of scrutiny he will undoubtedly put her under by saying without much conviction, "Oh you know.. I saw one of your works."

@❛ sana minatozaki。 As Sana beamed at her gently, he acknowledged it with one of his feeble but acquiescing smile. The echo of the tinkle in his ears has subsided yet he feels that he needed to say something rather than just to simply answer his friend’s probing. Still quite unsure of what it is he seemed urged to blurt out, he simply chose to respond to Sana’s question, “The usual…” He assesses his tone whether it was too unequivocal or waving too much. As much as he has much sureness with this company of his at the moment, he thinks it is not quite fitting yet to reveal what he actually was working on. “…putting my thoughts into words.”

It was a paradoxical lie. It was true because the document file was almost empty just like his mind but it was also a lie because they were not simply thoughts but rather aesthetic musings – or so he wants them to be; right now they are just sapless skeletons. It had no flesh, he needed an archetype: the Anima. Then it manifested, the chime was back again – this time in the form of Sana’s familiar voice.

@❛ yein jung。 It was not simply how his fingers delicately graze on the piano keys; it was how the callouses felt on his fingers – as if Wonwoo was in a meadow, grazing the grass. It was the beat of his heart: serene, conscious, responsiveness. It was the hums in his head that makes him flutter his eyes close, his sense of sight not quite as vital as his sense of hearing and sense of touch for such momentum. Yet he sees pictures of azure and argent – not quite the prettiest combination of colors but it represents a late afternoon sky with an early moon. He remembers it from when he was treading the sidewalks earlier today, on his way to deliver splendor to a facile place.

Gymnopedie No. 1, one of the first classical pieces he learned and did not dare to forget. Wonwoo played this piece for a performance – he just seemed to prefer its candid grandeur over the prominent complexity of pieces like Für Elise or Piano Sonata No. 16. To latch the taste of this tiered and algid yet tepid delicacy, one must have a numb palate – free from any other linger of flavor for it brings such mild sapor that you might miss on your first bite. That was how it was for the young pianist who was getting ready to wrap up his performance. He was not particularly interested in ending the night with an explosion but rather a whisper that seems to hang loosely; but before anyone realizes, they were actually tangled – it plays on the back of their minds.

To say that his job was exhausting could sound like a mock towards those who do some things that required more vigor, but really, for him, it was. It was exhausting because for so many times he had to pull himself back to the mundane. He had to feel the texture of the keys on his fingers and not the delicate clouds. He needed to come in contact with the piano pedals and not float. It was so easy to get lost in such an endeavor that when a transient call from a stranger startles him, the pictures of blue and gray turned bistre.

Turning his attention to the feminine figure who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, he tries to recall words she had just uttered – feeling distressed and hesitant. From the meager movement of her irises and the dilation of her pupils, it seemed that she was querying about the performance. Wonwoo was unsure though if she wanted to know his name or the name of the piece he just played. Briefly performing heads or tails in his head, he timidly verbalized, “Gymnopedie No. 1, Erik Satie.” It was vague but he hoped he responded precisely.

@❛ wonwoo jeon。 ambiguity settles itself into sana's mind as she traverses the interwoven streets of the town with the buildings staggering up into a dreary afternoon sky, the sun peeking in above the grey-capped clouds stitched into the sullenness. the expanse of her body shivers in the cold, her features drawn into the mist to be neutral as her eyes fasten from one dilapidated building to another; her footfalls silent and wary as the noise follows each calculated step. she finds herself nearing the café wonwoo frequents at this time of day, its silhouette rising up in the mist, tangled electrical wirings adorning the sides of the building in a mismatched pattern of black. eyes darting inside the cafe, she is met with the hunched frame of wonwoo who might be working in yet another one of his webtoons. with the bell chiming in as her footsteps alight inside, wonwoo's back snaps up in accord, having seen her. she sits right in front of him, a smile rises up into the apples of her cheekbones, asking, "what are you doing?"

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@❛ wonwoo jeon。 orbs of dark ochre are plastered upon cream pages filled with obsidian writing before the girl, a lithesome hand gracefully taking notes for her classes with ease. little by little does she consume her late-night caffeinated beverage in assisting her night of studying, though she hoped it’d also assuage any anxiety concerning deadlines - poco a poco diminuendo. a deep sigh elicits past roseate tiers as yein looks up from her notebook to thread thin digits through her own silky tresses of midnight, inquisitive irises of hazy dark chocolate gazing upon the window beside her table, to which she is met with a fine graphite night, that blanket of a dark, empyrean sky alluringly adorned with effervescent glitters of stars. the breathtaking sight of such a celestial sky has the woman struggling to discern between fantasy and such an endearing, picturesque reality, she barely snaps out of her state of worldly ardor and zeal when the light tonality of faint ivory keys on a piano passes through her ears, instantly grasping her attention. was this perhaps...an earlier work of chopin’s? it sounded nothing like his exquisite études. debussy? that could certainly be fitting for the somber timbre, but it couldn’t be... satie, is it not? though the title of the resplendent piece hangs from the tip of her tongue, unable to name the one song nearly everyone knew. her eyes of dark hazelnut fervently glimmer with passion, and as they scan over the café’s pianist, she thinks she might ask him later the very title of that enchanting piece.

the all-too familiar piece with a title so far, yet so close, comes to an end and is followed by a series of solemn artistry yein can’t help but tune into. charcoal eyelashes are fluttered shut for a moment as the girl hums along to the familiar pieces, forgetting of her worries and of the workload laying before her on the table. she could envision those inked blotches of black music notes traversing the expanse of the treble and bass clef, and she’s soon falling into the depths of a loving world of music that comforts her and brings serenity. the vehemence within her unrestrained heart is rekindled, and yein is pulled from that oh so saccharine realm when the subtle sound of the piano’s coal fall board is set down. just how long had she been occupied for? it seemed as if the pianist was finished for the evening, and so, clutching the feverish emotions within her heart, yein hastily packs her belongings and manages to catch the stranger’s attention before he leaves the café. “e-excuse me—would you mind telling me the title of the first piece you played tonight? satie, i believe the composer to be.”

@❛ sana minatozaki。 A ticking time bomb – that is how Wonwoo would summarize his state at the moment. His cellular phone in his hands, the comments on his work; all of these seemed to shorten the time he tries so hard not to think about. Wonwoo is slowly breaking his character: so much applications running on his phone, the words on his minimized document file were incoherent, browser tabs left open but unread. This chaos has been spanning for almost a month now – and his work had been on hold ever since. The new environment did help … but not too much. What Wonwoo needs right now a giant wave to engulf him and pull him down; he’s been staying way too long on the surface.

With a small sigh, he rereads the latest chapter he published. It was as if his own creation was foreign to him – as if Evening Dews was a rebellious teenager who cut and dyed her hair in an outrageous manner. It wanted to break free but Wonwoo was unsure how he could manage to open the capsule. It was locked and Wonwoo had lost his keys to it.

A low and long groan escapes his lips as he locked his phone, removed his glasses, dipping his head down to rest his forehead on his arms, his breathing suddenly becoming loud for his hearing. He abruptly lifts his head up, however, scanning the room – looking for something (or maybe someone); anything really. He finds himself staring at the newly left table to his left – he did not even realize that someone was seated there earlier nor did he see the person leave. The person left a little of the drink he had ordered making Wonwoo gulp – the taste of coffee seems to never leave his palette; after all he had been staying up late these days, even on nights where he did not even have work here in the cafè.

He was already accustomed to the chime of the bell everytime someone walks in the cafè that he does not even look up to see who would come in and who would exit. So, to Wonwoo’s surprise, he catches the gaze of a friend – then he hears a peculiar chime; and he is sure it was just him who heard it.

@❛ yerim kim。 Without guile the man itches his head as the two continue to reveal things about themselves they would've probably much preferred to be quiet about, yet there's an undeniable comfortability between the two that allows him to lay it out on the table. When she reveals to him just a crumb about her personal life, his heart rate almost slows to a normal pace, and he finds himself grappling from words to overcome the stark silence. "I agree too. Chivalry isn't dead, though it is dying. Perhaps that's why I'm writing about it in my books -- to preserve it." Offering an explanation and yet another window into his personal life, his shoulders lift sheepishly into a supposed shrug, though his warm eyes never budge away from her gaze.

"Mister Writer?" Taking a deep breath after these words, Kit lets out some bubbly laughter while shaking his head, the remaining fingers that are free from the menu scratch at his scruff pensively. "Please Yerim, call me Kit. We English, we're fond of our babes and loves too, if those are more comfortable. Whatever flows off your tongue easiest, love." Reassuring her with the shallow nod of his head and a subtle wink before he attempts to defend himself. "I just get too busy, I don't mean to suffer. But if you're like me and often stuck in a slump for weeks if not months, I don't take breaks when I get on a roll. It's not healthy, but I guess you can say I do it for my art." A soft chortle rolls off his tongue before his fingers grasp the cup before him, finger rings making an audible clang as he sips more casually at the water to ease his parched throat.

He then clears it before stating, "Bringing up a character in another set of expertly written fantasy books, brownie points for you." Then raising his glass, he lets things go silent after his praise to intently listen to the woman. Something about her intrigued him, and so he was left with ogling eyes and a sense that drew him to want to learn more. "You're kind of a jack of all trades then? More than I can say for myself, I'm kind of a one trick pony if you know what I mean. You must be a pretty strong girl I reckon, dealing with men in your personal and professional life can't be easy." Without his control his brows raise, sympathizing for whatever trouble comes her way while also respecting her that she could endure so much, enjoy it even. Though when it was his turn to say exactly what he needed, he froze up of sorts. It felt as though his throat has closed a little from being so parched despite just drinking, his fingers rattling against the table pitter-pattering out his nerves.

"I guess I'm just in need of a date for a celebratory dinner? And it's not like I've had the time or the.....mindset to find one how others would, you know. Prowling bars isn't a trope this fantasy writer likes to contribute to, if you know what I mean." Adjusting his position in the booth, he lets out a candid laugh while explaining, his gestures very animated so as to compensate for his lack of confidence. "We don't have to plan an elaborate backstory, I'm more so just looking for a partner for the night to hold their own with me as I talk to endless amounts of people, accept a mundane award or two, and perhaps nurse me back to health when I get bombarded with socialites trying to climb the social ladder errr---- something like that? Is that alright for you love?"

[ no no no obvi I'm late!! so sorry :) ]

@❛ kit harrington。 There is a glimpse of a personality hidden behind an exterior of nerves that, winking through with a sly little grin that has Yerim's eyebrow twitching upwards, her head tilting a tiny bit to the side as she regards him with a look of utter curiosity. It might feel a little bit too personal for him to mention his mother like he just did and yet Yerim doesn't mind. Not in the slightest, although it breaks one of her biggest rules when it comes to interaction with her customers. But something about him - the way he studies her face, how his entire face lights up with a genuine smile - has her relaxing in her seat, her fingers lacing together on the table.
"Your mom seems like a woman who knows how to raise a good man, then.", she admits softly, lips carefully shaping each little syllable so her voice comes out quiet and yet perfectly audible for him to hear, their conversation a lot more private with this single action. "These days it's rather seldom to find a man with good manners our age. I'm dealing with a lot of customers at the law firm who think they are better than me, just because I'm nothing more than an assistant."
She bites her lip then, gaze flickering off to the side at the detail she revealed about her private life without even meaning to. It suddenly feels dangerous, sitting here with this slightly frazzled looking writer, whose eyes are far more genuine than Yerim has ever seen a "client" look at her.

And then she laughs, her nerves eased by his slightly teasing words, her answers falling from between light, chiming chuckles. "Oh I'm perfectly fine with pizza, trust me. But Mister Writer do I have to scold you? One pizza for a couple of days? That's hardly a healthy diet. Are you one of those artists who suffer for their art?"

The young woman merely lifts an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching in amusement when he closes the menu for them both and decides on his order, her head inclining in a little nod. It's nice to see the tension melting from his body, his entire body language slowly but gradually becoming more and more relaxed and self-assured. A part of her thinks that she's doing her job right, but there is this small voice in the back of her head that tells her that, perhaps, they're entering even more dangerous territory now. Discussing the terms and conditions of their arrangement could go horribly wrong, if they are too tense in their approach after all.

"As Remus Lupin said: Eat, you'll feel better.", she smiles merrily, looking up at the waiter that steps towards their table to take their order. Once done, Yerim turns back to look at the writer seated across from her, her fingers folding together on the table. He's already looking back at her and Yerim nearly shies away from his eyes, drawing in a careful breath. "My job...", she starts, making sure her voice is low enough for only him to pick up her words. "Is pretty simple? I guess? So lets say you need someone to accompany you to a dinner, a family event or something of the likes. My customers normally tell me what exactly they need. A girlfriend, a little eye candy hanging off their arm or simply someone to spend time with during a boring evening. I become what they need. The girlfriend so their parents stop bugging them, the company as an excuse not to get involved in boring conversations at business dinners." She pauses, waiting for him to signal her to go on. Then she adds: "It... depends on what you need. There are limits, of course but I can only tell them what they are as soon as we both know we are on the same page. So." Her lips stretch in a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What do you need, Mister Writer? Eye candy or more?"

[] oof sorry I'm not normally this late asgghhg This weekend kinda killed me

@❛ jimin park。 A melodious laugh falls from Yerim lips at the perfectly crafted scene they're both displaying for any curious onlooker's eyes - and to them it might have looked as if the young woman is amused at a lover's words, when in reality it is just pure incredulousness at how thickly he is laying it on today. It's not a cruel laugh per se, her eyes curving in utter and true humor when she looks at him with one raised eyebrow. "Did you really? How could I possibly not come when I finally get the chance to see you again after this horribly stressful week?"

She heaves a sigh, her shoulders sagging as she lets him take her hand, her fingers curling around his to conceal their actions, lips turning down at the corners while she replies: "You know how it is with me and work. They call in after hours and I have to rush to the office. I'm not overworked, don't worry."
The plastic feels oddly sticky in her palm with her own sweat as she carefully pulls her fingers out from between his, the little bag carelessly lying on her lap underneath her hand as she lifts her cup to take a sip, letting a drop of coffee cling to the corner of her lip. "Ah no, shoot!", she exclaims, her coffee cup clinking against the saucer, hands fumbling for her purse to get a tissue. The little bag disappears, replaced by a rolled up bill she prepared earlier, hidden away in the package of cotton wipes. It wanders into her left, while the other dabs at the corners of her glossed up lips.

"That sounds truly lovely.", she admits with a gentle, love-filled gaze his way and a part of her is impressed with herself at how smoothly her expressions can wary between emotions so seamlessly. Perhaps, if one would look closely, it would be obvious it's fake. And yet, to someone sitting at the cafe, their gaze merely sweeping over her and Jimin, it would look just like that. Young lovers, tenderly locking eyes. "Although.", she adds then with her teeth dragging over her bottom lip, fingers lacing over Jimin's to pass him the money expertly. "I have to admit that I started the Legend of Korra without you. Please don't be mad. But I can make it up to you by buying you a piece of cake right about now, hm?"

@❛ tzuyu chou。 Hm, is it possible I could see any of your other art pieces? Because I do want at least one piece for each room, and I'd probably just buy some that you already have up for sale.
/grabs the piece of paper with your number on it gratefully, taking a moment to input it into my phone as I know I'll probably lose it.
Hm? I'm in my first year of medical school. I just finished my bachelor's degree, and I had stayed on campus at the university.
But now I'm ready to be a little more independent, and plus, I'd like to have some privacy of my own for once.
The dorm room walls are so thin, you could hear every little thing in the rooms next to you. /makes a face, recalling the multiple awkward occasions.

@❛ baekhyun byun。 No worries, honestly I just felt bad for bringing up the topic.
/mirroring your own soft smile with my own before writing down a few more details about the piece that you wanted/
Sounds good-- if you do end up wanting more than one piece, just text me or call me.
Here's my number. I'm not a huge stickler for pricing because honestly art is my passion so we could probably talk about it once it's done?
/writes it down on a spare piece of paper I had with me and slides it over to you with a smile/
If you don't mind me asking, what brought you to move here?

@❛ jisoo kim。 /thanks the barista briefly as I take my coffee before taking out my metal straw out from its pack in my bag and sticking it into my drink aggressively, my mind halfway gone; some may think that I was being dramatic over the loss of my book, but I simply could not imagine what would happen if someone had gotten ahold of it.
It would simply be the end of my existence... /i mutter this quietly to myself as I think about the situation frustratingly in my head.
/blinks as I see a woman stand abruptly from her seat and scurrying out of the cafe, gripping her bag as though she had some secrets hidden away inside; makes my way over quickly, not wanting the spot to be taken whilst I waste my time thinking.
/takes a seat at the once occupied table, staring out the window as I watch the said woman walk down the sidewalk and away; returns my thoughts to the issue at hand, finally having a free day without school or work to wander the whereabouts of my book.
/attempts to retrace the steps from that day, when I had my book.