BUT I CAN PRETEND.

stumbling up the narrow stairwell of the apartment complex, nam-gyu is acutely aware that this place lightly scented with damp and rot is the perfect set-up for a halloween horror flick. the sensor light flickers like an augural warning, humming faintly and casting his shadow in and out of existence between steps. the rest of the complex still and foreboding, yet the concoction of late night substances visualise the walls pulsing at his side, walls sweating between the cracks in the plaster and it has never been more clear to him than now: this god-forsaken city will eat him alive. but he's drunk enough to feel detached from it all, floating between ire and indifference, the march up to his apartment door just another sure thing that bisects one nothing-day from the next. boots scuff and tumble across the rug as it charts the way to his door, the wrestle with his keys an unnecessary struggle as he picks his way through the bunch, everything made difficult with the need to sleep pushing weight on his eyelids. numbers peel and curl against the doors but he pays them no mind, this journey is a mere one of triple-figures, one he could navigate with his eyes shut if he wanted to prove something.. wonders momentarily if his next-door-loser had left this cesspit for a night or had he piped obnoxious slasher flick soundboards through the wall just to piss him off, and nam-gyu almost chuckles at the hypothetical bait thrown to sea without a jaw to snap to it, and draws a visual of malcontent on his neighbour's face. he stubs the key into the lock with a childish grin, but frowns when it doesn't rotate. jiggles a few times, it was an old fucking building after all, and nothing? he curses to himself, checking the key and confirming the correct use, shoving the door once, twice, before lowering to an unsteady crouch to inspect the lock, ignorant to a growl that starts to filter its way beneath the door. ‘fuckin' landlord, piece of shit.’ muttered to himself, peering through the keyhole and attempting a second go at it, rattling around with an added noise that falls on drunk-deafened ears.

halloween. the only season that doesn't seem to cause nam-gyu complete misery and yet a frown hangs off his lips like a child scolded for their intake of candy. his eyes drift lazily over the crowd, a slow meander that does not catch on anything with remote interest except two devilish horns styled up to purple-washed exaggeration, pressing up into the personal space of a forgettable someone who just wants her five minutes of attention from someone half-famous. nam-gyu's jaw sets into a hard line as he watches their effortless ritual of low-grade conversation and unpleasant-to-watch dancing before it approaches a mediocre fuck. thanos the centre of fucking gravity it seemed had shown up painted and preened and still managed to somehow make everyone else look like they're trying too hard. their hips move in sync, her head tilted back and laughing a little too loudly, and nam-gyu feels that familiar twist of envy sour his stomach. falsely nonchalant, he tells himself he doesn't care, but still attempts to douse the fire in his belly with a long drink, which ends up feeling more like fuel. thanos and him had put together this little get-together, co-hosts and conspirators and yet nam-gyu finds himself wedged against the corner like a wall-flower, not wanting to join the party-goers but coming face-to-face with his own haplessness the longer he stays idle. but there's a shadow darkening his periphery and he can pick out the shape without looking, staying too still to appear natural, movements stiff and full of unanswered questions. nam-gyu can practically feel the creak of a red solo cup bending between min-su's anxious vice-grip, the sound reminiscent of a twig snapping beneath a deer's hoof and outing itself as a target. his attention is drawn like a vulture's, neck craning as he hones in on his prey something to bleed the tension into, or maybe out of. his body turns. slow, deliberate. ‘what did you come as sad and pathetic?’   the insult is cheap, but this is the warm up round, and he wonders if min-su is in any mood to play with him today, or whether he'll simply let his insults land without a sound returned. nam-gyu's eyes dance over him with an artificial disinterest, black pupils that gloss over the details as though he isn't drinking them in, patiently awaiting that small flicker of embarrassment or irritation to cross his features, and thus, silently sourcing the next pudgy bit of flesh to sink his teeth into.

he-