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The man was handsome, and maybe about 25 years old. His clothing was drab, mundane: dark jeans, an oversized plaid button-down shirt, and a black baseball cap.
He would have perfectly blended into the background if it hadn't been for the jewelry.
He was covered in it.
Both of his wrists were adorned with a watch. His left wrist also carried a silver bangle, a gold cuff bracelet, a Tiffany link bracelet with a heart charm, a black and red chevron string bracelet, and a leather strap with rivets.
Hoops and studs ran up and down the shells of his ears and small starburst charms fell from his lobes.
And the necklaces! A piece of quartz attached to a worn, mahogany-colored leather cord. A heavy silver box chain. A fraying black satin choker. A blue glass bead woven into hemp. A Native-American style turquoise and lapis necklace bought in Arizona. A ruby that sat in the dip of his collarbones. Two sets of military dogtags from the Republic of Korea. A delicate gold chain with a pendant bearing intertwined names.
He had multiple silver rings on each finger and thumb, except for his left ring finger. There he bore two of the same gold and diamond band. One seemed a little big, but he had blocked it from falling off by placing the smaller on top of it.
It all served to make him look…deranged.
He couldn’t have cared less about how he looked.
He would look deranged until the world ended.
He had grown used to the weight of the jewelry, to the jangling and the clinking. Once upon a time he craved stillness. However, he had grown to hate the quiet. The silences reminded him of what he had lost. Now he couldn’t--wouldn't-- go without the noise it all made when he moved.
Stylish people always remarked on how beautifully kept his "vintage pieces" were and would try to convince him to sell a few.
“It’s just one earring.”
“No.”
"That silver bangle is stunning.”
“Not for sale.”
The most offensive of all: “50 Grand for the two gold rings.”
He wanted to spit in the man’s face.
He would never sell any of it. Ever.
Oh. Also.
The handsome young man wasn’t a handsome young man at all.
He was a heartbroken immortal. A vampire who had been attacked and turned at the age of 25…200 years ago.
An eternal being who had held the only person he had ever loved as he died 150 years ago.
He desperately missed his husband. A man so unlike himself. A man who loved art. A man who wasn’t scared of his fangs. A man who marked his own skin with the immortal’s initials a year before they married. A man who ornamented his body with earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and rings of all sorts. A man so colorful and warm and bright that he looked as if he were lit from the inside.
No, he would never sell the jewelry that once belonged to his husband. That would be the worst thing he could do--tantamount to telling Jae Young that his memory could be sold if the price were right.
Sang Woo would look deranged until the end of time.
leeknovv Sat 22 Jun 2024 09:40PM UTC
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