She nodded, “Yes, he did. But, he didn’t love himself. He saw himself as a bad guy, a guy who destroyed the good and ruined everything in his path. So, he forced himself to do just that. To ruin us, destroy what we had.’
‘Would you go back?’
'Yes.’ Because as sick as it was, even if he chose to break her again, she would do anything to have him one more time.
Though people say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, she finds that Jihyun’s hands are sometimes closer to a true reflection of who he is.
She has seen them, folded across his chest and trembling as he lay with his head on her lap and his eyes closed, body wracking with the effects of the poison coursing through his veins. They have clutched at bedsheets in the hidden cabin, knuckles white and shaking, and pressed against his stomach, fingers staining a horrible dark crimson.
She has felt them, cool and nearly lifeless in her own, almost as pale as the hospital sheets, as she desperately waited and hoped for him to awaken.
But these days, they are often colorful, dappled with paint or smeared with charcoal, just as much of a masterpiece as his paintings and sketches, if not moreso for the evidence of the effort he puts into each and every one of his creations. She loves catching him unawares in his studio, watching as slender, elegant fingers bring life to a simple illustration, weaving a story of brilliant colors into his canvas or, on rare occasions, onto those blank puzzle pieces that he has painstakingly assembled. He works magic, then, breathing life into stillness and highlighting remarkableness in the mundane.
She learns that the same skilled hands work magic in the kitchen. Too often, when she is home, she finds herself having to drag him out of his studio for food, and part of her worries whether he eats at all when she is in class and he simply loses track of time, as he is all too wont to do. But still, those rare moments when she finds him standing before the stove of his own volition, the ridiculously flowery apron gifted by Seven wrapping around his thin frame, are a treat, and she is never disappointed.
That those days are often when she is the most stressed, when she snaps at everything and scarcely has the energy to drag herself to her bed, let alone the kitchen, only makes them all the more meaningful.
She has felt them on her, gentle and loving, at first hesitant but then with growing confidence and dexterity, leaving sparks in their wake. Hands cradle her face, warm and right, and she leans into his touch. Fingertips trace her body, as though he is memorizing her curves, mapping her figure to his mind’s eye. They trail against her skin, soft and attentative and slowly setting her ablaze.
Jihyun is a quick student, teaches himself, from quiet moans and sharp gasps, to play her as he does his instrument, with love and soul, until she is completely open, writhing and at the mercy of his clever hands and endlessly gentle reverence. Until she burns with desire, his name tumbling from her lips.
Until everything else fades and there is only him.
She reaches for him, pulling him into her arms, his head pillowed on her chest, and feels him smile as she presses a kiss to his forehead.
His fingers trace gentle, calming circles on her waist as she falls asleep.
‘You have to let me in.’ Her hands ran up his arms. 'I want this. I want you, but I won’t let you shut me out. If you do, we don’t stand a chance of surviving.’
He tried to turn his head away, 'I’m a monster, why can’t you see that?’
'Because you have never been a monster to me. You have always been a man. A man that has taken care of me and always made sure I was safe.’ His body was tensing up and she was afraid she had pushed too far. She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close to him.
'I love you.’ He whispered into her hair, breathing in her scent and letting it calm him.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Rory and Jess’ most iconic moments, and I’ve been struck by the feeling that one of the reasons their relationship is so special is very difficult to put into words. It’s like - every single moment between them feels important, no matter how insignificant it may be in the long run. Every scene they share is dripping with tension, whether it’s good, bad or somewhere in between.
I think this can partially be attributed to the actors’ chemistry and the fact that compared to Rory’s other relationships, very little was shown and so what was shown was often pretty ‘major’. It never got to the point of being worn out - they’d always leave things slightly unresolved, never quite achieving closure.
But I think beyond that, it has something to do with the fact that even from the beginning the writers had a much bigger arc planned for Jess than what Milo was available for/willing to do. This meant every scene he was in felt very deliberate - they never held back with his character.
It’s interesting when you compare it to Rory’s relationships with Dean and Logan. No matter how you feel about Dean in the early seasons, there’s really no debating that by season 5 his character had long overstayed his welcome and was no longer particularly engaging or important to the story.
With Logan, it felt like they had a decent amount of interesting things planned for him at the beginning but at some point that began to wane and he was just there (whether his role was significant or not) because they didn’t want to waste an actor they were paying to be there full time. There were so many moments in Rory’s relationships with Dean and Logan (particularly later on) where it felt like it was more about honoring acting contracts than having interesting plots for them to be involved with.
But with Jess it was exactly the opposite - even when he was a regular on the show his scenes (particularly with Rory) were somewhat sporadic - it’s like the writers realized early on that there was this beautiful energy he exuded and tension he created that could only be maintained if they were frugal with how they used him - in a way, with Rory and Jess, less was more.
‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’
It was less of a question than it was an affirmation.
She didn’t blame him.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
With a slow nod of his head, a sob escaped her trembling lips.
‘Do me a favor? Stay one more night. Let me fall asleep with our legs tangled together and my head on your chest.’
It would make everything so much worse for them tomorrow, but in reality, they both secretly enjoyed the pain.
Muse A and Muse B are friends. A is a very good writer of poetry, although this is unknown to B. One day B starts finding beautifully written poems being left in places for B to find (written by A), but A refers to him/herself by his/her pen name in the poems, so B has to go searching around for who their mysterious poem-writer is.