💭　↳ headcanons

the courtroom air was thick with wordless tension. jaeyi stood before the judge with a controlled fury in her eyes, and her voice resonated with suppressed emotions. the child’s mother, mrs. park, just sat there with her shoulders slumped as if the world was too heavy to be carried on her shoulders; a mix of despair and resistance was all written on the middle-aged woman; her outfit was still reeking of cheap alcohol, her hair was a chaotic jumble. while her child, byeol, was a fragile kid. she was with her grandparents, and terror was still evident in her doe eyes.

"your honor," jaeyi’s voice was sharp enough to cut through the oppressive stillness, "we are not here to debate the benefits of rehabilitation. we are here to protect a child. a child who has endured relentless beatings. beatings that came from the hands of her mother, who was supposed to have endless caring towards her child.”

jaeyi swallowed a lump in , her thumb pressed the remote to show the slide. the slide had evidences of the mother’s doing. she gestured to the evidences on the screen, the pictures of bruises that ruined byeol’s delicate skin. shreds of proof along with the police reports that consisted of other violent outbursts. pieces of plates all over the floor, specks of blood. only some people knew whose blood that was. 

“the defendant's lawyer insists that mrs. park is regretful,” jaeyi continued with a scoff.

“are you regretful? are you joking?” she asked mrs. park right there, but the judge himself gave jayi a warning look. she tried to regain her composure, not trying to be more emotional.

“what about byeol’s terror? the constant horror that she has been experiencing ever since her father’s accident. the innocent child that has nothing to do with, yet the mother refuses to believe it and keeps blaming the innocent child and beating the hell out of her.”

mrs. park lowered her head in shame. jaeyi did not care if the mother finally regretted it and shed tears. the defendant's lawyer shifted in his seat uncomfortably, knowing that there was nothing to debate. "your honor," the grey-haired lawyer intervened, "my client has acknowledged her struggles to control her emotions and is actively seeking help. so, she deserves a second chance—a second chance to repent of her actions.”

if jaeyi’s gaze was as sharp as a knife, she could gladly slice the shameless mother open. she narrowed her eyes at mrs. park. “a second chance, you said.” she scoffed, “how many chances has byeol given to her mother? the young child was no self-healing superhuman. she was just a kid, that endured the beating long enough and quietly, so that her mother won’t go to the prison because she has no one in the house. the house that used to be full of love and laughters. how many nightmares will she have to experience in the future?”

“this is not about second chances.” jaeyi’s voice lowered, yet the message carried more than any unnecessary shoutings. “this is about justice. about giving byeol back her normal childhood. her childhood that is supposed to be more than just receiving beatings from the mother.” she said all that with her eyes beaming with justifiable anger. 

jaeyi’s gaze skimmed over the courtroom, the judge’s neutral expression, the tensed defendant's lawyer, the remorseful face of the mother, and finally, her gaze stopped on byeol. jaeyi knew no matter what, she had to win this case for the sake of byeol’s. “your honor,” jaeyi concluded, her voice complete with firmness as she made the closing statement. “i implore you, for byeol’s sake. do not let her experience the same thing over and over again. please do not send her back to the darkness she didn’t ask for. please grant her the safety, the love she deserves.” the tension of the courtroom was evident. even byeol’s grandparents held each other’s hands and held their breath for the final result. byeol was there beside her grandma, hiding her face in the hug of her grandparents.

the silence continued. yet jaeyi stood there, her gaze fixated on the judge as the judge reviewed the papers and evidence. her hand on the back clenched hard. her manicured nails were digging into her palms. minutes in the courtroom felt like forever. she could even hear her heart beating so fast, until the judge finally cut the silence with a small clear throat, a small sign that he was ready to announce the result. 

“this court,” he started with full authority in his voice, “has listened to the arguments from both sides. the evidence was submitted, medical records, the child’s own statements without any force, the pictures of bottles of alcoholic beverages in the house, the neighbor’s statements.”

“the court also acknowledged mrs. park’s own struggles and her desire to go to the rehabilitation center.” the judge’s gaze met park’s face across the room. “therefore, this court grants kim byeol’s custody to her paternal grandparents. they can provide a stable and loving home for byeol. furthermore, this court orders that mrs. park’s visitation rights be suspended until she no longer threatens byeol’s physical and emotional well-being. the hearing is now concluded.” the judge declared with finality. 

the room was filled with relieved sighs, and jaeyi let out a breath that she didn’t even realize she was holding. the grandparents were relieved. yet byeol was there, sobbing, her little shoulders moved up and down with a grief that was too large for that tiny body of hers. they looked at byeol with pity, yet fierce determination was there in their eyes as they vowed to keep byeol safe and give the love that she deserved until the mother was fit. jaeyi knew in her heart that the little girl was free from her nightmares and finally have the love she was deprived before.

jaeyi and all the occupants in the courtroom bowed respectfully at the judge as he made his leave. then, she approached byeol and her grandparents. the grandmother embraced the lawyer tightly as she whispered, her voice choked with tears. " thank you so much. thank you for giving byeol back her freedom, her childhood.” 

jaeyi stood there and gently patted the grandma, “it was my pleasure.” her gaze set on the innocent young girl, slowly she removed herself from the embrace and bent down to meet the child’s eyes. her gaze was warm, and a soft smile came into the sight, “you’re going to be okay. you’re one brave girl, byeol-ah.” byeol, the previously scared young girl, wrapped her small arms around jaeyi and muttered, “thank you, unnie.” she pulled away with a small smile. jaeyi noticed the uncertainty in that small frame. 

she was fatherless, her mother went away for rehab. she was a dependent child, she would be under the grandparents’ care. jaeyi glanced at the grandparents once again, they looked at the child with warmth and loving. she knew the child would be alright. watching the grandparents left with the child, she let out another heavy sigh—just another day. 

until the phone rang. a caller id that she made her feel like home. mom. she answered it with a smile yet that smile didn’t last long. a distressed voice from her mother that made her stunned. her twin sister needed her help. 

‹ Coming Home; TW: Mention of Death ›

The road to Wineport stretched ahead, winding through rolling hills and vineyards that seemed to dance in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Joon drove in silence, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on the wooden box beside him containing the urn that carried his father’s ashes.

Growing up, Joon had heard endless stories about this town. His adoptive father used to speak of Wineport with a quiet fondness, painting vivid pictures of a place where time moved slower, where the sea kissed the land, and where the community once bustled with life. He had always said he would return “When the time was right.” but that time never seemed to come. The weight of old wounds had kept him away. And then, just like that, it was too late.

Now, it was Joon who was making the journey, fulfilling the last wish of the man who had given him everything. "Bring me home." Those were his father's words before parting this world.

The small town unfolded before him, rustic and familiar, even though he had never set foot here before. It was strange how much it already felt like a memory, a place he had somehow always known. He found the old cemetery perched on a hill overlooking the vineyards, the very spot his father had described so many times. With careful hands, Joon laid him to rest beneath the sprawling oak tree that had stood there for generations. And as he stood there, the breeze carrying the scent of the ocean and earth, he realized he couldn’t go back. The city, with its noise and chaos, its demands and expectations wasn’t home. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

Maybe this was the sign he had been waiting for.

For the first time in a long time, Joon allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to live for himself. To build something lasting with his own two hands, just like his father once had. Maybe here, in the town his father had loved but never returned to, Joon could finally start over.

A cold winter night. 01:08AM.

Sleep had never been easy for the girl— for as long as she remembered it, she’d always struggled to shut her mind off, to rest or even, in a twisted sense of the term, find peace. So there she lay, in a cold bed that lacked indefinite warmth, tossing and turning, trying to find that one position before it too got uncomfortable, beginning a cycle of what was uneasy fidgeting.

She turned to the side, body curled into itself, gaze flitting from the candle in the corner that was so close to being put out to the curtains that billowed with the summer breeze, the windows wide open to let in what she wanted to believe were good things. A gust of wind blew again, soothing to the skin, wafting the sweet scents of sweet persimmons— almost a lull to sleep had it not been for what caught her eye between the spaces of the silk fabric. Light streamed in, from what was in itself the universe’s biggest mystery.

It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wane, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. But the moon remained silent; it told no stories. All it did was embrace the heavy past with a cool, measured detachment. On the moon, there was neither air nor wind. Its vacuum was perfect for preserving memories unscathed. No one could unlock the heart of the moon.

Juliette raised her hand to the moon, fingers curling as if to catch and hold onto the moonlight and asked, “Have you gone to bed with someone in your arms lately?”

The moon did not answer.

“Do you have any friends?” she asked.

The moon did not answer.

“Don’t you get tired of always playing it cool?”

The moon did not answer. But it played the perfect companion, to the aloof woman at least. Her eyes fluttered close, her mind beginning to drift off as she allowed the moon to wrap her in a cocoon of dulcet and longing sleep. She welcomed it with arms wide open, wanting to give herself to the nothingness of her mind but she spoke too soon. The horrors began the moment she surrendered to the abyss.

But unlike every dream—supposedly, nightmares—she'd ever had, this began differently; the monsters often came out right away but this one, in it’s odd peculiarity, was hauntingly painful. Only because she didn’t know what was coming.

______________

She cried one last time before she jolted awake in her bed, a drenched mess of sweat and bile rising in . The woman held her hand to as she got up, scrambling and almost tumbling to the ground due to the sheets that were entangled between her legs and rushed to the bathroom. She could not hold it back further. opened the moment she faced the toilet bowl, retching everything from last night’s dinner and her empty guts into it. She was shaking, strands of hair sticking to her damp skin as she caved, emptying her stomach until it was nothing but dry heaving. Exhausted, she laid her cheek against the cool surface, her bloodshot gaze set emptily onto the little clock that sat on the wall of the bathroom.

04:44AM.

Juliette did not know how long she stayed like that, huddled and folded onto her own body, clutching the toilet seat with all the feeble strength she could muster and watching the moonlight continuously stream in as if mocking her but it did change gradually into much more warm light as time went on. For what felt like eons, that same dream haunted her, ripping apart wounds that had just begun to heal over and over again until she was left with nothing. It was the nightmare that had started everything—the same kind that predicted a lot of what was to come.

2018┆the silent scream of regret.

the night his mother died, yunseo felt nothing.

no grief, no rage—just a vast, suffocating emptiness swallowing him whole. the hospital room smelled like antiseptic and death, the machines around her bed already silent. he stood there, frozen, as if time itself had stopped along with her last breath. the woman who had held him through every scraped knee, every fever, every heartbreak—gone. just like that and yet, the world outside kept turning, indifferent, cruel.

his father was there, standing at the foot of the bed like a man observing a closed business deal. not a single tear, not a tremor in his voice. just a stiff nod at the doctors before turning away. yunseo wanted to scream at him, shake him, make him feel something but instead, he just walked out.

“you’re not even going to say goodbye?” yunseo’s voice broke the silence. his eyes burned, but no tears came. just frustration. his father didn’t even bother to look back. “she’s dead, seongmin. aren’t you going to say something?”

his father’s footsteps echoed down the hall. “its over. there’s nothing to say.”

the silence followed him home, wrapped around his throat like a noose. he didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t answer his phone. he grabbed a bottle of whatever was strongest, smoked until his lungs burned, drank until the room spun, but nothing—not the liquor, not the nicotine, not even the sharp sting of his nails digging into his palm—could make him feel anything real.

he stumbled out into the night, the city lights a blur of red and yellow as he walked aimlessly. his heart was heavy, but no tears came. the words he needed to scream clawed at his throat but wouldn’t leave. he finally dropped to his knees, fists slamming into the cold pavement, the skin of his palms tearing, as the rage boiled over.

"i should have been there." his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “i should have told you… i’m sorry. i love you.”

the wind swept through the empty streets, carrying only the weight of his silence. his mother was gone, and it was all his fault.

[post deleted by owner]

ㅤ　　【　₊˚⊹　】┆彡　　diary entry # 144. dated 020125.

i woke up to a gloomy sky today—my delusional self likes to think that it decided to reflect just how much i detest this date. i remember when we were younger, yijung once told me that i had this uncanny ability to match the weather, be it with my clothes or my mood; i called him dumb back then, but honestly? my ten year-old brain was fascinated. then again, he had always been the more eloquent and smarter one between us two. god forbid just how leagues ahead of me he is if he was still here.

it's been a solid decade since he was taken away from me; i'm pretty sure that even if more of these years pass, the memory of losing him will now serve as my constant, instead of his actual presence. for the past few months, i have spent many of my moments lost in the void that his absence has left me, and i know that many future instances will be consumed by that same emptiness as well. it's gotten somewhat better, but i'm not quite there yet, i'm afraid—i still wake up to nightmares of that day, sometimes, and though i wish that he was still just a bed away from me and that he'd hold my hand like the old times, i'm well aware that it's no longer a possibility.

but in these ten years, i have learned how fleeting everything can be—that maybe, everything actually is. that this proverbial rug i'm standing on can be pulled right out from under me with no warning whatsoever, and me getting caught unawares is inevitable; it's taught me to appreciate every waking hour of my life more, to cherish the present instead of constantly thinking of the future. i have learned that i never really knew what to say to others in need; that sometimes, consolation and love can come in the form of a good meal and a warm hug, instead of empty words and promises. i have learned that resilience needs to be practiced, and that healing isn't linear; there are still days where i don't know how to ask for help (even when i feel like i'm drowning in my own thoughts), where even a tiny detail or occurrence in this town reminds me of my brother and i end up thinking of the what-ifs—times like these, it gets hard, but i know that the friends i've made in wineport have my back. that /yijung/ has my back, wherever he is. in a good place, i hope, with lots of snow as he's always liked.

i hope you're proud of my growth so far, jung-ah. keep on looking after me, okay?

missing you always,
yiyeon.

—ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ꜰɪꜰᴛᴇᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɢᴏ.

it had been an ordinary evening, the kind that settles into memory so softly you don’t realize its significance until it’s too late. the sky was painted in streaks of violet and gold, the waves lapping lazily against the shore, the scent of salt thick in the air. caspian had spent his whole life near the water—he knew its moods, its patterns, the way it whispered and roared, the way it could turn without warning. but that night, he let his guard down. that night, he forgot that the ocean owed them nothing.

“please, cas,” seung had begged, eyes wide with excitement, voice carrying that familiar, stubborn edge. “just a little longer. just a few more minutes.”

cas had relented. how could he not? seung had always been relentless, pulling at him like the tide itself, knowing exactly how to wear him down until he gave in. they had spent hours out there, drifting beneath the open sky, talking about nothing and everything all at once. seung had traced patterns in the water with his fingers, kicking his feet over the edge of the boat, humming some tune under his breath.

“one day,” seung had said, grinning, “i’m gonna sail around the whole world. go everywhere. see everything. and you’re coming with me, right?”

cas had laughed, shaking his head. “maybe. but someone’s gotta stay behind and make sure you actually come home.”

seung had rolled his eyes, splashing water at him. “i’m not a kid, cas.”

but he was. he was only thirteen. still too small, too young to fight against what was coming.

the storm rolled in fast. too fast.

the sky split open with a low, rumbling growl of thunder, clouds swallowing the last bits of fading sunlight. the waves, once gentle, grew restless, rocking their small boat with an unease that settled deep in caspian’s bones. he had been foolish. careless. he should have known better.

“we need to head back,” he had said, voice sharp with urgency. he reached for the oars, but the wind picked up, a violent gust ripping through the air, the sea beneath them suddenly alive in a way that filled him with a cold, gnawing fear.

seung had grabbed onto the edge of the boat, laughing breathlessly. “it’s just a little storm, cas! we’ve been out in worse.”

he hadn’t seen it coming. neither of them had.

the wave hit them hard, blindsiding them with a force that sent their boat tilting sharply to the side. caspian barely had time to react before he heard it—the sharp gasp, the slip of a foot, the dull thud of something hitting the side of the boat.

when he turned, seung was gone.

“seung!”

his name ripped from caspian’s throat, raw and desperate, but the ocean had already swallowed him whole.

without thinking, caspian dove in. the cold hit him like a blade, knocking the breath from his lungs, but he fought against it, kicking downward, hands reaching, searching, pleading.

he could barely see—darkness wrapped around him, thick and endless, waves pushing and pulling, dragging him in every direction at once. his fingers grasped at nothing but empty water. he called seung’s name again and again, but the sea did not answer.

when he finally broke the surface, gasping for air, he was alone.

“no, no, no—” he dove again, and again, and again, until his arms ached, until his lungs burned, until the cold seeped into his bones and threatened to pull him under, too.

but seung was gone.

they had to pull caspian back onto the boat, his body shaking, his lips turning blue, his hands still clawing at the water as if he could drag his brother back from its depths. they told him it was too late. they told him the currents were too strong, the waves too high, the water too deep.

he didn’t believe them. he refused to believe them.

for days, he searched. they called it a recovery mission, but caspian knew what that meant. they weren’t looking for seung anymore. they were looking for a body.

they never found one.

and the worst part? the part that haunts caspian more than anything?

sometimes, when the wind is still, when the sea is quiet, when he stands on the shore with the waves at his feet, he swears he can hear seung’s voice—soft, distant, calling his name.