I WON'T SAY IT

admin algaea actually had this drafted for the longest time and is releasing them right now as she comes back in a few days. remember the rule that if you reblog it from someone else, send them one back! 

“we need help.”

“you’re gonna be okay.”

“be careful.”

“i am the romantic type.”

“don’t leave me to turn.”

“it’s called luck—and it’s gonna run out.”

“are you still breathing?”

“we’re shitty people.”

“are you flirting with me?”

“what’s holding you back?”

“i’m not comfortable with this conversation.”

“will you /ever/ be comfortable with this conversation?”

“it’s not that easy, you know.”

“our luck had to run out sooner or later.”

“don’t touch me.”

“just fucking go.”

“does it sound like i know how to whistle?”

“i’m a pretty good shot with that thing.”

“let’s get the hell outta here.”

“goddammit—i’m clean!”

( ✄ … )

it’s no coincidence that they run into each other and cat’s shoulder oh so accidentally bumps into hook’s - an action he should have thought about twice, considering the difference in their bodies and how cat ends up being the one affected by the momentum. he should have learnt, he should know better than to start shit outside and he should definitely know better than to attempt picking unnecessary battles. should. somehow hook’s mere presence turns him thoughtless with irritation. ⟪ watch where you’re going, you oaf. ⟫

the rational part of the man said whatever this was between him and cat was stupid. the amount of energy and attention that he cast forth on the other nothing but wasted. maybe his conscious was right, but yet he paid it no mind. 

perhaps this was his first mistake.

if it would’ve been anyone else, hook would’ve ignored it - there were plenty of assholes in this game, too many unworthy of his attention. but the bastard knew how to get under his skin, how to yank a reaction from him no matter the situation. a little shoulder bump was nothing ( well, at least for him ) but the fact that cat just so happened to the offender - now that was a different story.

hook pauses, watching cat’s body rack with force from the bump. he can’t help the smug grin that graces his lips nor the tiny snicker that bubbles from his throat at the sight - raising his eyebrows before cocking his head.

( ✄ … )

hook moves over and saint hesitantly climbs in, long limbs conforming to fit in the smaller ball the younger usually slept in. a hand comes up to wipe at his face. he sniffles in the darkness of the room as he rubs at the tear stains on his cheeks, foolishly hoping to wipe them away even as more fall from his eyes. his legs curl in tighter to his body. saint is careful not to touch hook, afraid of the other already being irritated enough with his presence. he wants calm. he wants warmth. saints restrains the want to reach out and focuses on simmering down enough to answer hook. his tongue feels heavy, mouth like cotton.

“homesick..” it’s the smallest truth he could have told. it’s so much more than homesickness. it’s so much more than just one thing. this place has made a liar out of him already.

the bed groans under the weight of another body, rustling sheets breaking the eerie silence of early morning. tucking an arm beneath his head, hook shifts his weight to face the other - lids burdened by sleep but kept wide in curiosity. in all of his years living here this was certainly a first.

saint was a breath of fresh air, a relief to find in the world they had been thrown into. an unlikely pair these two had become. the boy who was just as pretty inside as he was on the out and then there was him, a scary face with a strong fist ( although hook credited himself in being much more than that ). this game had no room for the weak hearted; it was survival of the fittest. attachment made you weak - it encouraged one to protect, to make dumb decisions. hook had done well so far but as he listened to those quiet sniffles, he feared saint might have broken him.

his hand extends in the darkness towards the dip in the mattress, blinding reaching to comfort in anyway he was able. the man’s hands brush past a knee to a tear soaked hand. his fingers curl around the fist in a firm grip and ignoring the nervous beating of his heart, he leaves it. hook didn’t want to upset him further so he remains on his side - their only connection being their hands and the tiny puffs of breath in the dark.

( ✄ ... )

fingers anchor into the comforter and tug, soft, trying to get the other’s attention between even quieter hiccups. “hook- hook, can i sleep with you?” this place may torment him without even trying, but he always feels calmer by the older’s side. he rests easy. hook looks scary, but he’s so much the opposite. maybe that’s what’s so disarming. maybe that’s what drew saint to him within the two weeks the younger has been with the collective. he’s just so scared. he needs someone to hold onto or he’s afraid he might go crazy.

“hook, please..”

hook slept like a baby. uneasy breaths sent into one of a soundless slumber, the comfort of way too many blankets swallowing him whole before being kicked into the floor, the humid air kissing the bare skin of a man so deep in slumber he doesn’t even register the new arrival. perhaps it was alarming how soundly he slept, unbothered by the moving world just outside his door - how easy it would be for someone to sneak in and kill him in this state.

but sleep was his only escape, the only connection he had left to kang dongho other than the memories he tucked away. nightmares were rare. hook dreamt of the scent of his bed back home, the woman he held snuggly in his embrace, the soft breaths that no longer passed her lips. and peacefully next to her lie their child who had no doubt grown in recent years - dark curls covering her closed eyes and tiny hands enveloped in his larger ones. the feeling was bittersweet, almost heartbreaking. but he had come to accept this was all he’d get.

the man awakes only at the sound of another’s voice - way too slow hands moving to reach for anything to defend himself. hook rises fast but his eyes fail to open properly, weighed by sleep and the darkness coating the room. “w-what?” he croaks, vaguely registering the familiar sound of saint’s voice above his sleep induced confusion. he pauses for a moment as he tries to process exactly what the other is asking and he’s not here to kill him.