Sinner: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (7/7)

Regret: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (6/7)

Charm: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (5/7)

Cherry: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (4/7)

Rising: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (3/7)

Silent Night: A Coalesce Short

Headquarters

Seattle, WA

December 2017

8:12 PM

It's late.

Aether peeks at the time on the upper corner of her laptop screen. She needs to go home. The rest of her time had gone an hour back (with Tad trying to convince her to come with him), and the rest of the office followed. At this time, Aether expects that she's pretty much the last one there. It's Christmas Eve, after all; hardly anyone would pass up the chance to go home and sleep (Tad), or party and hook up with someone (Peters), or curl up in bed and binge something on Netflix (Mack). But she doesn't. Soon, maybe. She knows Theo's waiting back at home, but she needs to get this report done and emailed.

“What are you doing here?”

Aether yelps. One of the folders in her hands falls to the floor and she jumps, looking up and looking for the source of the voice. Audra gives a small chuckle and Aether flushes in embarrassment. She didn't know Audra was still there, still working just like she was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Gesturing to Aether’s work, “But I’m curious, Agent. What are you doing here? It’s late.”

It takes a moment for Aether’s heart rate to return to its normal pace. She stares at Audra for a moment before managing to collect herself, balling her hands into fists in attempt to calm herself down and stop the trembling. “Ma’am--I--I was busy coming up with another report for the Kim case,” she explains. Audra blinks and Aether continues, “My other teammates were busy tonight and I wanted to get the report done as soon as possible so that it wouldn’t interfere with tomorrow.”

Manage: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (2/7)

Fatal: A Coalesce Christmas Graphic (1/7)

Need: On Kang Jin-ho

Seattle, WA

November 2013

8:23 PM

“You really need to control yourself.” 

“I control myself just fine.” Jin-ho twists open the bottle with a pop and pours a small amount into his glass. “And it’s an after-work treat, Tony.” 

“I know.” The other man keeps a watchful eye on Jin-ho as he takes a small sip, “But I’m just reminding you that you need to control how much you drink.” Tony frowns upon seeing Jin-ho pour more into his glass, “Jin-ho.” 

“I’m telling you that it’s okay.” And it is. Jin-ho knows that it’s okay. He’s not a daily drinker, no; the last drink he had was only a few days ago and it was the same amount as he was drinking in the present. A glass or two of whiskey couldn’t hurt anybody, and it wasn’t as if he was going to leave he condo unit anyway. “I’m not leaving, not driving, not really doing anything except staying here and watching something until I fall asleep. It’s fine.” 

Tony presses his lips together. He believes in Jin-ho. “…if you say so.” 

Memory: On [redacted.]

Stop trying to remember.

What’s in the past should remain there. Events are unchangeable. Actions can no longer be reversed. What has been said can no longer be taken back. It’s too late, too far gone, too broken down to do anything about what has already happened.

Stop it.

It’s your fault for believing in someone who seemed infallible.

Why did you do it?

You knew that it wouldn’t last for her. You knew that her dreams were high and lofty; knew that she had a tendency to claw her way to the top. She didn’t care about the blood underneath her nails so as long as it got her where she wanted to be.

You could have stopped her.

You could have done something about it.

But you know what you’ve done. There’s nothing you can do to take it all back. All you can do is tend to the wounds; tend to the bruises on your wrist, the scratches on your arm. See the marks that she left. Wonder if it was all worth it to begin with.

Was it worth it?

...

It doesn’t matter anymore.

She made her choice. This is you making yours.

(Stop remembering, stop, stop, stop—)

Summer: On Lysette Cross

Winchester, England

July 2008

11:31 AM

“You know what I want to do?”

“Mm?”

“After graduating or during the summers or something. I don’t know.” Lysette peeks at Aether from behind her canvas, paint brush tucked behind her ear. “I’ve been giving it some thought recently and maybe...maybe this is something I can do when I have the time.”

Aether quirks a brow, setting a book down on the bed. Lysette catches the worn-out cover and the yellowing pages in the light and thinks of telling Aether to get herself a new copy. “And what do you want to do, Lys?”

“Volunteer.” It falls easily from her lips. Aether’s eyes widen a little in surprise. “Volunteer, come back here, all that stuff. I don’t know.” She shrugs, “I feel like I owe Xavier and everyone else at least that. He always mentions how some kids have come back to either work here or do some volunteer work for the kids. Remember the alumnus who helped you out with the piano? Or the guy who came here to give a weekend session on watercolor?” Aether nods, “I want to do something like that. Why not, right? I remember how happy I was after learning about it and getting critiqued.”

“That works.”

Coup de foudre: On Iris Hu

It happens the second Iris is old enough to start reading and understanding the newspaper.

It’s become a habit for her; each morning and night she’d find herself reading the news, the paper often a little too big for her to hold in her smaller hands. Iris’ parents often filtered the news and let her read the softer sort; news about entertainment, lifestyle, and the like. 

The older she got, however, the more interested she was in actual news and actual reports; she managed to convince her mom to let her start reading the front page news more, and the rest happened from there.

She was never the type to write fiction, definitely not. Iris didn’t think she was creative enough to come up with words and weave them into believable fictions. Novels were fine and she liked the sensation of exploring different worlds and stepping into the shoes of girls like her, but she often found that she liked her own pair of shoes the best.

Smile: On Im Seong-hui

i.

your smile is infectious. it always has been.

you smile as much as you can. you do it throughout your childhood until your pre-teens, then your pre-teens until your adulthood and whatcomes after.

you aren’t quite sure when smiling becomes a mask.

but it didn’t matter, did it? smiling was what you did best. your parents relied on you to keep your sisters happy, to shield them from harsh truths when needed. you smiled despite the odds. you put on a smile to perk them up when necessary. seong-won and seong-mi teased you for it constantly and mentioned that all the smiling made your dimples come out; teased that you would get laugh lines when you were older.

but they appreciated it, at least. you know this.

Errors: On Emil Leonhardt

Seattle, WA

November 200x

12:31 PM

“You’re real stubborn, you know that?”

“Wasn’t asking for a critique on my overall character, but yeah, I do know.” Min-seo rolls her eyes. Emil simply stabs at his carrot cake, “It was a small argument, Min. It’ll get resolved in no time. Kwon’s going to approach me because he needs something from me, and the entire thing will be forgotten. Water under the bridge.”

“Haneul.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “His name is Haneul, Emil. At least get it right.”

“But wouldn’t he rather be called by his surname—”

“Since when? Look,” she exhales, “Just...stop being stubborn and apologize. You made a mistake. You both did. But you need to be mature about it, too. And no,” she interrupts, “I don’t care who started the argument first. You need to apologize for it. Christ.” Min-seo sighs. She glances into her coffee cup and downs what remains. “Your stubbornness will be the death of you someday.”

Family: On Mack Thomas

Headquarters

Seattle, WA

June 2015

10:32 AM

Mack readjusts his sweater for the hundredth time that morning.

The place is nicer than he had expected. He had passed by the building numerous times on his way to his previous work; it had caught his attention, but never to the point of him being curious enough to peek inside and inquire at the front desk.

If he had to be honest, then Mack wasn’t even sure why he was giving the new place a go to begin with. The last job was stable, he was practicing what he studied, and the people he had worked with were as friendly as they could be. It paid well, too. Why exactly he had decided to switch jobs out of the blue was something rash and impulsive; Mack didn’t know if he would even last in a place like this new one.

Maybe it was because he found the man cute. Maybe that was it.

Just weeks ago he was talking to a man who introduced himself as “Tad”; they were talking about what Mack did, what Mack could do, and about what Mack wanted. When he had admitted to the stranger that he was already getting bored with his current job, a certain kind of smile climbed onto the other’s face. The expression had made him fiddle with his shirt.

Cut to the present, and Mack is still adjusting his damn sweater.

Pulse: On Audra Griffith

Sacred Heart

Seattle, WA

October 200x

11:34 PM

Audra finds herself unable to speak. 

The church is empty. It had finally ran empty after hours of visits as well as a mass to start the entire ordeal. The church is empty, the pews are empty (save for the one she was occupying at the moment), everything is empty and hollow and even the fucking casket in front remains empty. Audra didn’t even know why they had bothered to use a casket to begin with when they could have just used a single framed picture--

Either way, he was dead. 

Audra still can’t believe it. The shock has made a home in her system, seeping through her veins and making her unable to comprehend anything else. Gone. It tastes odd on her tongue; odd and unsuited, rather bitter the more she keeps it inside her mouth. Audra wants to spit it out. She wants to spit the word away. The last thing she needs is a reminder that he’s gone, that he isn’t there anymore, that the last time they had been together there had been a spiteful, vicious argument. Audra no longer remembers the specifics. 

(She doesn’t want to remember.)

Ways and Means: On Xavier Wright

Locals in the neighborhood knew about Xavier Wright’s orphanage.

It was impossible to miss, after all. The orphanage sat on a well-maintained lot around the town’s suburbs and had steadily grown in size throughout the many years of its existence. Originally starting out at a humble two storeys alongside a simple garden, Xavier had managed to improve the home throughout the years. Rumor has it that the lot had been his family’s; others whispered that he had simply struck luck during one of his many travels in the past.

Regardless, it was a good place handled by a well-meaning man. Its history wasn’t too long nor was it too convoluted; in the earlier years of their marriage, Xavier and his wife, Isobel, had been unable to bear children due to biological complications. The pair had decided to turn towards adoption. After observing the sorry state of most foster care facilities in the within the area, had come up with the ambitious dream to set up their own orphanage where they knew they could properly take care of children in need.

The process had been a long one. Despite both of their backgrounds as well as occupational capacity to set up their own center, it had taken years before the pair had finally been accredited and allowed to run the place.

No one was exactly sure how Xavier and Isobel had been able to collect the necessary funds to begin with, nor were they sure how they were even able to pull off their dream in the first place. All they knew was that the couple had a dream--and within years, they were finally able to see it come to fruition.

Things were perfect.

Addiction: On Aether Maxwell

i.

arabella likes holding you in her arms.

you still couldn’t believe that you were actually dating her. it had come off as a shock, really; you had thought that she was just being friendly with all the one-on-one tutorials at different coffee shops and restaurants. you had also thought that all her compliments and sweet words were meant in a friendly manner, but apparently not.

it’s not like you were complaining, though. arabella is pretty. arabella has long, red hair that falls straight down her back. arabella has freckles in her cheeks and her brown eyes are the prettiest ones you’ve seen. arabella is pretty, smug, and smart. arabella makes you feel warm on the inside and it’s almost as if you’re experiencing a crush for the first time all over again.

the only thing is that she actually likes you back this time.

you burrow yourself further into her chest. you didn’t know what time it was, and you didn’t actually want to know. never mind that both of you probably have early-morning lectures to attend or any extra-curricular duties you have to get to. all that matters is arabella, arabella’s arms around you, and the sound of her laughter when she sees you move closer for her warmth.

you like her. you like her a lot.

Ornaments: On Samuel Peters

Peters residence

Brooklyn, New York

November 2012

9:32 PM

Thanksgiving and Christmas had always been his favorite holidays.

Aside from the break he could catch on work on both events, it was always fun to see the house dressed up and decorated with an array of ribbons and baubles. His mother had always preferred to decorate the house pretty early; so much that it pretty much became habit for him at that point. Samuel can’t help but smile when he eyes the family pictures on the walls, each of which carefully laced with fairy lights his mother had gotten for cheap.

It’s a little unnecessary, not exactly having any ulterior purpose other than looking nice. But she liked it, and that’s that.

“As great as Seattle is, I missed it here.” He doesn’t have to turn around to tell that it’s his brother. Jake, who was four years older but also four inches shorter, holds two mugs of hot coffee in his hands. He offers one to Samuel. “Don’t really have the time to decorate the apartment down there.”

“Is your internship killing you that badly?” There’s snark in his voice, but surprise as well. Jacob had never missed out on decorating for the holidays, not even when he had lived with them before heading off to college. Samuel hears a small chuckle from his older brother as well as a sip of coffee. He takes a sip of his own.

“You’d be surprised. I’m thankful that I found a good hospital for my internship, but it’s about as hellish as I expected.” Jacob shrugs, “But that’s boring talk for you. How’s working at the station with dad going?”

The station. Right.

Expectation: On Tae Hyeon

Hyeon’s apartment

Seattle, WA

August 2015
2:32 AM

Hyeon tries not to expect too much from people. 

He’s been disappointed one too many times. Friends failed to pull through sometimes. Past partners didn’t really live up to certain promises or commitments. Family’s let him down here and there. Hyeon hasn’t gone through anything particularly traumatizing, no, but after many disappointments lowering his expectations only seemed to make the most sense. After all, doing so seemed like the best way to prevent further hurt from coming his way. 

It seemed like a bandaid solution, but it was the best one he had. 

(And frankly, Hyeon was tired of the wounds.)

The only time he expects is when they let him help. Hyeon’s happy to help; he’s happy to advise, to assist, to manage. He’s more than glad to steer people in the right direction when he notices that something’s gone awry. He knows best, after all. He knows best and wants the best for others, wants them to do no wrong, wants to keep them from disappointing themselves (and him). 

Things worked better when he stepped in. Hyeon often looked at things from a cooler and logical perspective; he had always been the calm one, the rational one, the one with the most objective point of view. He tries not to pride himself too much. 

Candy: On Arabella Lennox

S. University, MTH-213

Seattle, WA

August 2010

10:53 AM

Arabella snaps her strawberry-flavored gum with a loud pop.

She’s always had a sweet tooth. The redhead had been stuffing her mouth with an assortment of candies since younger, and the result had been braces in her early teens alongside a few cavities here and there. Being teased ‘metal-mouth’ didn’t stop her, however. Even after getting the braces removed and going through the entire process of wearing and losing retainers, the penchant for sweets had remained. She couldn’t help it. Doting grandparents on both sides of the family easily meant candies every time they visited. As much as her parents disapproved (although her father sneaked some into his pockets when he could), she couldn’t exactly say no to gramma or grandpa.

Her mother had always warned her against eating too many of them. “You’ll get a toothache, sweetie,” she attempted once. Arabella sucked on a lolly she had purchased from the store nearby, and her mother shook her head in dismay, saying something about toothaches and another trip to the dentist. Arabella, naive and rebellious at her younger age, merely turned a deaf ear and finished the strawberry-flavored snack.

The door slams open. She, alongside a few other students, peek up, startled.

Twos: On Leo Vargas

Leo believed that good things came in twos.

(Or however the saying goes. A friend had corrected him once; Leo chose to remain ignorant.)

I.

When he was in his teens, it only took two rolls of film for him to believe that photography was something he was genuinely interested in. He had stolen his father’s camera during a family gathering and took pictures as he went. Relatives were caught by surprise, friends smiled goofily at the camera--all until his father had asked for it back, at least.

The results after developing said rolls weren’t exactly the best for a kid. Shots were blurry, people were caught in unflattering moments, certain things were out of frame, and a bunch of other mistakes that were forgivable at his age. Regardless, the sight of the pictures and the sentiment behind them was enough to convince Leo that it would be a passion he would invest in for the entirety of his life.

The pictures remain in a dusty, yellowing album until this very day.

Venomous: On Ezra Tully

META Offices

London, United Kingdom

January 2011

11:53 AM

Ezra finds himself at his workstation, hands covering his face. The lights are too bright and the room is spinning a little too quickly for his taste.

He tries to calm his breathing, tries to remember what his boyfriend had told him. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Over and over until the world felt stable enough, over and over until things felt some kind of okay. But since returning to London and receiving the news, “okay” became an unfamiliar, foreign term.

The investigation was called off a little over two months back. Investigators from Seattle deemed Iris Hu’s case as unsolvable and hopeless at that point. There was nothing that could lead them to a centimeter or inch closer to her; nothing that could give them some kind of peace of mind. He and Leo simply had to live with the possibilities. Multiple thoughts of how Iris could have met her end left multiple puncture bites all over his conscience and mind, filling them with gruesome images that kept him up for weeks on end.

The possibilities are venomous.

They kept Ezra up at night. Closing his eyes for more than an hour, maybe two if he was lucky, would almost always lead to seeing Iris dead. The previous night, he saw her with bullet wounds in her chest. The night before that, her body appeared mangled and bruised. The previous week had a bloated, greyed out image of her chasing him down, water pouring out of her mouth. Iris’ voice, soft and eager and sweet, had screamed and cursed and accused him of her death. It sounded garbled.