- ̗̀   ◛₍₁₎    ̖́- ⇢ message from ss ! ༉‧₊

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

🍒

𝐒𝐀𝐍

He was like the ocean, he was a waterlogged spirit who longed to be free from it’s chains that bolted him to the depths of the  transatlantic waters. He was constantly in the push and pull, never commited for anyone and never really there.

He was unapproachable, despite the angelic pools of enchantress that used to shroud his very being in beauty. He orbited silence and avoided the harsh exposure to eyes like a masked beast – its ugliness sugarcoated by lucid lies and forged beauty. Maybe that was the case with him, after all, he was uncannily captivating. His face was tailored to perfection, and was likely to be found in a high end London tailor's shop, and yet he found himself in this simple diner at 3 am.

His eyes had a look of long yearned for mischief beneath heavily narrowed lids. Having nitid features, purified glow that beacons his cheeks in pure gold, his sallow lips tinted by the lightest touches of scarlet, desolate eyes narrowed with danger, eyebrows tilting together for the skin to meet and fold in the middle – he was ethereal. Dangerous, but ethereal. He had snatched people’s gaze and left it lingering until they couldn't look at anything else. His eyes were captivating, as he had the effect of a devil in the fleshed body of a man, his charm as welcoming as an angel, yet the blade protruded beneath.

He had a sheen of slightly permed black hair that was split down the middle, not allowing the mop of hair to shield the roughness and flaws of his face. There was a lock of wispy hair in the back of his head near his neck that was dyed a white color. He was a tall man, at a staggering 5’11.

He had walked with a slight stoop, yet moved swiftly over the black and white checkered tiles of the floor and into the marbled bar of the diner, ordering a smoothie. He greeted the stiff maitre d' with a curt nod, faltering somewhat when the greeter became mannequin-like instead of mirroring his joviality. His smile waned, when came a raucous cheer from his cell phone. The man hesitated a second before answering the call.

He sat at the diner, his finger’s drumming on the polished table and on the scalloped edge of the tall glass. The creamy, milky cherry milkshake that he ordered, filled the lines of his mouth as he struggled to swallow the overly bearing sweetness of the drink. He usually enjoyed bitter tasting beverages, but he wanted a change. Something sweet for once. His callused skin was oddly juxtaposed to the crispness of his shirt. He wore a black shirt that was buttoned up to his low collar bone. White lines ran vertical up and down the dress shirt  as the hem was tucked into his tight black jeans and belt.

“San!” An amplius voice filled San’s ear in an irritable nag. The caller’s voice was dipped in rage and fury as he spat out his fiery words of blame onto San’s shoulders. This was simply another ritual worthy call from his dearest older brother. San couldn’t help but smile at the annoyance in his brother’s voice. As much as he loved his brother, which was not a lot, San enjoyed him more like this.

“What do you want, Seonghwa?” San tilted his head back to avert his eyes from the glare of light on his rimmed glass. He checked his wrist that was adorned with one of the many Rolexes that was bought for his birthday. It was forged from the finest OysterSteel and yellow gold, the watch alone was well over 13 grand, but that was only a small factor of how wealthy the Choi’s were and how much they loved to splurge their money on their appearance. San watched the big hand who had crossed the 3:23 am mark. Time for him to leave.

“Where are you?” His dear older brother demanded he voice hoarse and brittle with hate. San didn’t answer as he flagged down a waiter to get his bill. He drank the rest of the smoothie and paid for his drink with his sleek black card. He tipped the waiter before he got up and left the small diner.

“Relax, Hwa. I’m coming home right now,” San muttered as he took the keys of his White Mercedes S550 Coupe out of his pocket. He pressed his car keys easily in one hand, as he beep from his car. He opened the driver’s seat, the lock sliding out of place smoothly with a metallic click, before he sat down onto the fine white leather of the interior of the car.

“Don’t call me that and get your home,”

“Love you too big Bro,” San said listlessly, Seonghwa hung up on him almost immediately afterwards. San was used to this type of behavior from his family. It was not something he was proud of, but he was used to it. San cataloged this phone call, among the many others phoned by his family, as a brief waste of his time. San whispered almost inaudibly cursed under his tongue as he used his hand on the steering wheel to back out of the parking lot. He twisted his firm abdomen around, his right shoulder touching the padded backseat as he backed out carefully and effortlessly.

As he drove through the dark streets of Seoul, his shirt’s sleeve rode up as he glanced at the tattoo that had been inked against his will on his right forearm. It was small, but ran in two lines and was quoted in typewriter font. It was his Soulmate Mark.

‘𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’

 Either his ‘soulmate’ was a revived Shakespeare or Ferdinand straight from The Tempest.

San had memorized the phrase that appeared on his arm 8 years ago. End to end and back to back. Back then he was so naive. He had remembered how he dived into his bed after switching the lights off, the night he had found out. Silken covers scrunching up with his movements and created pretty patterns on the bed, the comfortable duvet underneath giving him even more bliss. He had felt lovely. Like he was on cloud 9 as he vowed that he would kiss his soulmate’s face and neck every single day, telling them how much he loved them. He vowed to their hair and face, feeling satin in its purest form.

He had this false reality. A picture up in his mind that was full of a desire to love that floated between them. A scene where they would watch the fire crackle under a large marble hearth after getting married and vowing their love to one another. A scene where he and his soulmate were so deeply and madly in love that if they were seperated it would burn them. Hurt them. He had this scene where they would explore each other so well and so deeply. He would know what they hated, what they loved, what they wanted to be, because he wanted to know someone to that level of intimacy and trust. He had this scene like an old fashioned cassette tape. Where they unravel the tape back and forth, forever living those beautiful moments. Everything was perfect like a set for an old fashioned rom-com. That was what he wanted his love life to be.

What a load of bull.

His eyes used to hold the galaxy with its artificial sachets of the most transparent blues and hues of purple, the sweet wide seal eyes blooming with hints of intrinsic honeydew; the essence of nature and the glints of clarity that reflect gently. Where was that now? How they were dead. Downcast, as they fall melancholically into stained floors, the surface decorated with dried tears they had let fall, the edges scratched and dented with the many wretched things he had seen, tunnels burned into the clumsy material, diligently carved and designed to tell its own terrible story.

But he was so blinded by his false reality, that he had forgotten one thing. His life was not a movie. It was the furthest thing from it. He was so marked by his flaws and strung up by past mistakes, he couldn’t even love himself. He let his mistakes define himself. And bit by bit he realized what the world was truly like. It was nothing like what the movies he played up in his head. It was harsher, more real. He had let that beautiful scene drift away piece by piece as he let his entire embodiment become nothing more than a temple for the selfish monster that he created.