“i was twelve.”

the cigarette burns between his fingers. he can see the way seunghwan’s eyeing it, disdainful, like he’d spit venom on the shine of his polished shoes. but he’d also come in one fine day to find an ashtray settled at the edge of his very-stained-and-expensive-greyson, brazilian mahogany desk, and that’s the most he figures he’ll get without seunghwan opening his mouth. he’ll take it, he supposes. beats going without, and, if he’s being honest, he’d just about rather have soomi bitch in his ear about something he more than likely gives zero shits about.

(no offense.)

seunghwan raises a brow and waits, of course he does. greyson’s always had this tendency to get lost in his own thoughts, in himself, but he doesn’t let his oh so patient companion wait for long; he settles back in the chair, and brings the joint up to his lips before he continues: “i was twelve, and he was kind of a shitty person. i’d gotten home late from… i’d gotten home, and was puttin’ shit away when father called me into their bedroom. he wanted to show me somethin’. somethin’ important.”

something he’d thought he’d like. he can still hear the way father had sounded as he’d called for him. excited, almost, but calm, like he’d been asking for the weather outside. crazy fucking bastard. a smile, wide and saccharine, stretches his lips. “he calls for me, so i go. i push open that door, and i walk in. and you know what i see? i see mom. she’s lyin’ there, looks just like a rag doll — y’know, the kind you probably bought for your daughter, the one she probably carries around like i do baggage. and, yeah, he has his hands around her throat, y’know? he says to me, ‘seungjae, look. didn’t i tell ya? she’s pretty like this, she’s beautiful, ain’t she?” like she was some beaten down piece of art to be shown off, and nothing more ‘an that.

“i was twelve, like i said, remember? and i didn’t do anything but watch while she looked at me, while he was chokin’ the life outta her, i couldn’t—” he pauses then, and it’s memories abound behind those eyes, all dark and glazed over. he gives seunghwan a look, asks, “have you ever looked into someone’s eyes, right before they died?” a shake of seunghwan’s head, a soft negative. greyson laughs and laughs, and it’s horrible, like nails on a chalkboard. sharp. unbridled, even to him, but it’s there, and he can’t stop it. “her face was almost purple. eyes all bugged out, lips blue. she didn’t even really look like mom. looked like a fuckin’ stranger, starin’ at me. but it was her. and i could tell how sorry she was. she only ever looked at me like that after i’d seen them before, like when he’d slapped her a good one in the middle of the grocery store this one time. but it was more, it was like—like she’d given up, right there. nothin’ she could do. sure as fuck couldn’t’ve saved me. and i’d like to think that she was sorry for that, too. that’s what i saw, anyway. right before the light in her eyes went out. apologizing, to me, like there was anything for her to be fuckin’ sorry for.

i vowed then that i’d make him regret ever touching her the way he did. twelve years old.”

another drag of the cigarette. it’s almost finished though, and they don’t have much time left, anyway. he snubs it out in that pretty ashtray. seunghwan’s biting at the inside of his cheek when greyson looks up, looks a little stricken, poor guy. he stays quiet for a while, and it’s not surprising when he looks as pale as a goddamn sheet. if he were anyone else, perhaps he’d feel bad.

as it is—

“he’s gone now,” he hears seunghwan say slowly, like he’s chewing something over in his mind, “did you—”

“no.” it’s immediate. greyson stands, tall and proud and there’s amusement shadowed in the corners of his lips, like they’re two friends sharing an inside joke, like it isn’t a quarter ‘til midnight and he hadn’t just offered up the rarest, rawest piece of himself to his fucking therapist. “i’m almost offended that you’d even think i’d be capable of such a thing. does it look like i’m capable of doing somethin’ so awful?” he grabs his jacket and slips it on, hum rolling around the smile in his mouth. looks seunghwan right in the eyes as long, pale fingers curl around the knob of the door.

“really, though. i can imagine that whoever did him in thought they were doin’ god’s work.

wouldn’t you agree?”

☒ nsfw's definitely a thing, but only in your dms. your eyes are safe, i promise.

☒ i'll rp just about anything, but i'm letting you know now that blood, gore, angst, or almost any nsfw plot you can think of is a-okay here.

☒ all interactions are ic unless stated otherwise! (more than likely with brackets or an ooc chat.)

☒ continuing the above, i don't tolerate ic/ooc blurring in any way, shape, or form. i've seen and dealt with it enough, and it causes so much unnecessary drama. remember that i am not my muse, nor is my muse me—far, far from it—nor do i condone most of the things he's done now, and in the past. i don't know you, you don't know me, so take that shit somewhere else if you're gonna start giving me hell about it.

☒ that said, if there's a problem at all, or you're seriously triggered by something that happens or something he says, please make sure to tell me so i can apologize, and then softblock me. i don't want anyone to be uncomfortable

☒ hella slow, i'm sorry about it, eep.

☒ otherwise, i'm excited to interact. hmu, let's do this.