lift your open hand, strike up the band,

[pastelresistance]

a.

( For as long as Dae-Jung can remember, he has always been a cuddly person. His mom used to joke he was part koala bear, because he was always hanging off of the nearest person, fingertips gripping just hard enough to snuggle in. His family had been affectionate regardless, and he'd never truly lost it - even in his awkward youth.

So when the war had come, and things like affection and care and love came few and far between, Dae had made a promise to himself not to let anything harden him. The people he had loved so freely may be gone, but his heart hadn't. Most days that works.

It's better now. The house is full of people he can gravitate towards, bouncing down stairs to throw an arm around someone's neck, or flinging himself into the lap of whoever's occupying the couch at the time. He knows not everyone in the house cares for the way he invades personal space - and he really does try to be mindful of that - but more often than not he's touching everyone at any opportunity. Hands pressed into backs, fingers laced together, a lazy sprawl against someone's shoulder.

Which is why when he stumbles into the kitchen in search of delicious, delicious coffee, he stops first to press a kiss to someone's cheek, squeezing them round the middle. He probably hasn't even opened his eyes yet. )

b.

( Some days being an empath fucking sucks. Dae may not be all that powerful, but he can still sense things. So when one of his housemates is having a very, very bad day it pricks at his skin until he can't keep away anymore. Wherever the afflicted person is, he'll eventually track them down like an emotional bloodhound, laden with snacks and ridiculous information. )

We should build a tree house some day. Those big cypress trees would be great. We could get lots of lights and blankets and make it super cosy.

( A hum as he offers drinks too. )

We could attach a slide!

c.

( Dae comes back in the evening, grinning ear to ear with his hair a victorious looking gold. It's been a successful day picking terrible people's pockets and he's pretty sure he can pawn the lot of it for enough to be able to treat themselves. Maybe they could have a party. He stashes his haul in the usual out of the way cupboard - because no way is he meeting up with the shady people he knows at night - and skips up the stairs to get changed.

When he comes down he's wearing sweatpants, feet bare, a pair of headphones hanging over his naked shoulders. They're not his. Neither's the iPhone he's got, but that's by the by. Scooting over to the nearest person, he offers up one of the buds. )

Wanna judge this person's music collection with me?