unfortunate

「WORKOUT SESSION」

One thing that Bang Taejun was not good at was taking care of himself, especially his physical condition. When he had a deadline upcoming, Taejun would go days without eating or drinking. Then there were other days when he couldn’t stop eating. It’s like his mind was playing with him and his cravings. In a school like theirs, being fit and healthy is important.

It had been some time since Taejun’s last workout session and so he had asked @hpkshin​ for his help. The other male was athletic and took care of himself well and honestly, Taejun needed all the help he could get. Plus it helped when his trainer was as attractive as Shin was.

❛ Shin hyung! ❜ He called as he waved at the older male. ❛ I’m ready to get back into shape, ❜ he chuckled.

     with each passing day, the mundane routine of being imprisoned in this not-so-bad school became more and more of a reality. he was running out of things to do and with this at pace, it would not be a surprise if he were to raise a knife to someone’s neck, just to find new things to do. oddity raptures him with thoughts so heinous that he admits the image of his mother into his mind, guidance is spoken through her gentle words as he regains what little sanity he has left.

     now, he spends most of his time working out, perhaps too obsessively that it would show signs of fatigue... so one would think. he has been trying to keep in the best shape and health that he could possibly be in, at most, if someone were to try and slit his throat he would be able to defend himself. a morbid thing to consider, but surely not a strange one. 

     water. a mere sustenance retained for survival, an easy feat for any individual who lives on energy drinks and cans upon cans of red bull. the thought alone, turns his stomach into an intricate maze of excitement, vexed by the suggestion that he may be limited to only a few cans a day. apparently death was threat that labelled itself onto the can, if you had engulfed two or more. perhaps then... six is far beyond the threshold of healthy. 

     and he has only seen one other person who indulges in canned drinks perhaps more than he does, ( @hpkbrendon​ ). the self proclaimed ultimate hacker, rather obvious with that one time when shin had caught the other sprawled across the hallway, consumed by the cans of his own indulgence. an obnoxious attempt to frame himself within that hacker stereotype, or perhaps it was all just an act. ahh... how cunning. 

     mundane mediocrity no longer consuming his existence, but rather now the warped perception of a confined life dazzles him, and before his eyes, the life he had before this was dangling on a strand of peculiarity. deviating from the norm and he feels reinvigorated by the sudden incapacitation of his freewill. ahh, but what difference does this make now then when he was still an adolescent? odd... that he doesn’t seem to remember the specific details of anything post-academy. it’s not everyday that you can get captured by some freak bear cornering you to commit murder. something... not so far off from what he would’ve done if it weren’t for his mother’s guidance. 

     fisted knuckles knocking against the steel panels that encase few of the windows, the sound echoes and reminds him of a time, trapped within the confines of prison walls and his own reverie. a state not to be envied but rather, pitiful to the likes of him. he knocks again, solid steel, huh... somewhat impressed. as of the last few days, he has managed to figure out that he’s trapped. a profound revolutionary theory that receives a subtle shrug of his shoulders, somewhat not stunned by the whole conspiracy of it all. vexed by the thoughts of his destitute mother and younger sister left at home to rot. ahh, these pessimistic ideas that cloud his reverie, as his therapist would say good riddance, but with both hands, he holds onto them, tight enough to consume his own breath.

     ❝ I thought someone should tell you that your mother has died. ❞ words, no one ever wanted to hear but he remembers it as if it were yesterday. the plastered features of neutrality pasted so tightly onto ( @hpkbelle​ )‘s  features, that perhaps, even she, had forgotten how to cry. he was there with her for most of it, and she too, was there when her own mother passed away. he could not offer her much but a simple pat on her back, his hand resting on her shoulder for a moment before withdrawing. words were not enough to express the grief he wish he was capable of sharing with her. 

     but alas, deep emotional connection was not something he did very well. deprived from compassion and affection, he survived on the threshold of impartiality. perhaps a part of him leaned towards the warped senses of his morality.