#!open.

younghoon’s shoulder is throbbing, a continuous and constant twinge as he drags his feet across the ground. he grimaces as he tries to roll it– the muscles shrieking in protest as he lets out a quiet curse as he staggers out of the way of someone. ignores the strange look his haggard appearance is given as he tucks himself close to the wall– braces himself before he lets his body drop to the ground in a crouch. 

he pays no mind to the occasional stranger that crosses his path– doesn’t even flinch at the stares they give him, whatever they are. sympathy, curiosity, disgust– he’s seen it all. doesn’t bother him anymore– not like it used to. as long as they keep quiet.

rubbing at the spot on his shoulder– right where he was slammed into the corner from the recoil of a small homemade bomb. it’s scrap metal now, a failure to match the other bunch of test subjects that tried and couldn’t quite get it. younghoon will have to start again, but it’s fine. learned behavior; now don’t stay too close– add a few more meters of distance. it’s all about trial and error. sure, he’s sporting probably a bruised shoulder and a few more cuts on his face, a scrape on his elbow, but that’s monumentally better than some other experimental tries with his explosives. 

grunting, he slips a finger under the edge of his eye patch and scratches, tugging his finger away to see dirt swiped onto his finger; whether it’s from his skin under his eye or already on his hand, he doesn’t know. the sight of it makes him grumble, wiping it on his pant leg as he tilts his head back with a long suffering sigh. shuts his eyes for a moment, then wills the pain to lessen. just a bit. just so he can make it back to his apartment without wanting to yell and kick something every four feet. 

he idles for a bit, lets the cool air brush over his cheeks and his nose. he shudders from a breeze and tucks his jacket around him closer; he needs a new one– the padding inside is beginning to tear from use; it’s losing warmth gradually, and it’s far too cold lately for that. getting sick would be the worst– he hates the sniffles. 

with a long groan, he shuts his eyes and stretches his legs out– feeling the tell tale tension near his knee and a cramp beginning to come. it’s…not the best idea, because younghoon doesn’t look. and the timing of his leg stretching out matches the same time another body moves to step past him– and he kicks into them, by accident this time, he swears.

                    He’d be fine. He had that damn  i n h e r i t a n c e, after all, & MERLIN only knew just how far in the Potters’ DEBT he could  s t a n d  being.

                    Glancing down to the trunk he’d be  l u g g i n g  around with him, to the pigeon  ( the result of a rather ‘unfortunate’ transfiguration ‘accident’ )  cooped up within its steel cage, Sirius pursed his lips, thinking he’d perhaps be better off with the Potters after all...

                    ❛ ——Y’don’t know if there’s anywhere I can put all this SHITE, d’ya? ❜