bite god in the wrist

[ kkt to | 설리 ] don’t worry bout waiting in the lobby, i’ll let u know when i’m here ( read @ 10:45 )

( / 11:00 pm. there’s a wave of second-guessing going through his mind. it’s a vague thought, one that takes time to sit in his mind and become clearer, bringing a sense of hesitance in his steps. his sight is vaguely hazy, head lighter than usual despite having a pretty solid grasp of his senses. enough of a grasp that he’s not quite sure if he should back out and find another place to stay. but it’s the tiny voice inside his head that tells him to just go for it. it’s just a harmless night with his best friend. nothing has changed and there’s a stronger desire to just find a place to sleep on. be a comfy bed or couch. anything really. his steps feels lighter with that short resolve, a nonexistent load off his back as he walks into the lobby, lips automatically breaking into a wide smile before it even registered in his mind )

hope i didn’t keep you waiting too long

( / the words feel a bit heavy to say but he doesn’t slur as he looks over at her. there’s a feeling of warmth that he feels when he looks at her. but its the same warmth when he’s with jungkook. or with haejoon.

memory hovers, steady and anchored. six years ago: something he could never look right in the eye, unbearable. now: a different kind of breed entirely; more condensed, swallowed down with a dutiful sense of reluctance. like a pill. with the melon flavor in his mouth, melancholy lingering, childhood is bittersweet. even the ache is beginning to dull in the process.

she looks at the curve of his cheek again, absorbing the familiarity of his guarded demeanour, his disaffected tone of voice. at some point, he’d turned nonchalance into a second skin. haejoon doesn’t wear it as well as he thinks. seventeen and disillusioned. seventeen and not so unusual, but not unimportant either. 

when did he learn to look so tired?

she lets out a brief hum, frown worn soft. her eyes turn to the melting tip of her melona bar. fishing through the jar, she settles a matching green gummy bear into the imprint of teeth left behind. 

[ ... ]

“sorry it’s kind of a mess.” haejoon tosses her a melona bar as he walks in, his own sitting atop the jar of gummy bears held firm against his side. the boy doesn’t know it then, but his working desk a few years down the line will end up looking just like this one: the stack of papers, books. the key difference: a radio is there rather than a mini t.v. he pushes it all to the side, sets the container down on the table. there’s muffled laughter heard from the adjacent room.

she spoons in a mouthful of kkotgetang.

it’d be so easy to upset the table. so easy. it would take only one sentence to undo the knot in their tongues, if the shock didn’t seal their lips completely. she could be a mouthpiece to every secret he’s given and left for her to find. funny how no one pays heed to the way it’s filled their house up to the ankles.

she takes a sip of water.

it isn’t her wound to open.

there is a hole in the boy.

she has a clear memory of herself, eight years old and solemn, with a melona bar and a handful of gummy bears to fill in that hole. at no point does she grow tired of them over the years. she only ever has them with him.

she fumbles. the melona bar drops to the floor. she sighs, picking it up.

“could be a lot worse. like my oppa’s. close the door, would you?”

she rips the package open, glancing around from her vantage point, seated on the floor with her back against his bed. nothing’s changed since the last time she was here. same moderate mess.

sorry, are you alright?

( / a brief pause, brows knitting together as she makes sense of his familiar face. )

( / as if this could get any worse—psa: it can. )