#*a.

however  in  ling’s  body,  monogamy  vs  polygamy  isn’t  something  he  thinks  about.

that’s how you get DEATHLESS. walk the same tale over & over, until you wear a GROOVE in the world, until even if you VANISHED, the tale would keep turning, keep PLAYING, like a phonograph, and you’d have to get up again, even with a BULLET through your eye, to play your part and say your lines.

“Ah, fuck. I think so..,” He says, answering the other’s question with both honesty and uncertainty. It’s obvious, he’s practically using the walls for support before crouching down, both arms locking on the back of his head. A small groan escaping his mouth at the familiar intense feeling already surging in, nerves growing sensitive with alcohol running deep, his head already buzzing and he’s aware that he’s already drunk. “I’m not going to throw up, don’t worry—” He mutters once more, as if there’s a need to clarify that he’s not that drunk. Knowing his limit, he scratches his head while scrunching up his nose and inhaling a breath. “God, this is embarrassing. I’m okay, really.” The stranger’s expression showing sign of worry. He feels bad enough for actually ended up taking too many shots carelessly then managed to tell his friends that he’s fine walking home alone and here he is, crouching down by the side of the road. “I’m really good.” he replies out loud with head hanging low and one hand waving her off. “I just need to cool down for a bit.”

Rather than look affronted, he scrambles into the soft chair, laughing and typing in his password as the phone screen loaded. “If I’m a bitch then what are you—?” He asks with a sideways grin, brows rising before slapping him lightly on the arm. They’re not exactly close in the first place, Jongin is Nixon’s friend which means they would hang occasionally together (mostly when his boyfriend asked him to) playing video games or just talking about unimportant stupid stuff even sharing a few porns. Casual insults here and there would be expected also and he knows despite the lack of manners and how the other seem to develop a habit of saying the first thing that cross his mind, he doesn’t mean any harm. Getting up from the chair when there’s a notification popping up from his boyfriend, he twists a smile and types a fast reply while tugging the ends of his ridden shirt lazily. “He’s buying us some food, what would you like? Nothing expensive or I’ll punch you in the throat.” While waiting his answer, he drags his legs towards the open kitchen in search of his usual snacks, a pack of Honey Stars.

It feels like home, being in his arms, hearing his laugh, seeing his smile. The fingers that intertwined with his somehow causing a wan smile making its way across his features, effortless, so effortless as he witnesses the way Nixon’s grin leading his heart to race rapidly even after all this time watching the familiar scene. He sighs, highlighting the entire verse with a grimace. Despite having lack of inspiration, Ruvik tries not to think so much and enjoys the view of  his lover laying on his stomach with a pillow tucked underneath as their hands remain laced together. It’s comforting, the lack of words and the silence that fill the small room of his apartment but there’s nothing more he wanted than this. Using the ends of his pen, he gives his own forehead a small tap, another sigh could be heard while he concentrates once more, beginning to hum out the tune inside his head. Then upon hearing the younger’s word, he pauses for a moment. “I love you”— I love you, he starts writing down those words on the paper with a question mark at the end before then pulling another smile and writing another I love you after. “I love you too,” he muses with a calm collected voice, somehow not surprised that he would be able to help him without showing much effort, Again, effortless, every little thing he does.

Jostling his glasses up his nose, he lets his hands drop to his lap while looking back at the male beside him. With digits reaching up once more only to press against his closed eyes, he relishes in that soft burns that alleviates quickly. He’s exhausted, body worn and as much as he’d like to think that spending time with him after a long day of work will be a good idea, he knows it won’t. His mouth feels so dry and his fluffy, alcohol-tainted tongue keep sticking to the roof of it. He’s about to head home, get up and possibly grab a shower once he’s back in his apartment, when his words lead to his movements on halt. Just a soft loll of his head and Stan’s eyes already red, features showing the lack of emotion but only tears collected on the corners of his lid. He remains quiet for a few intervals—obviously aware at the current state the other’s in. The thing is, he could easily tell the other something’s up and probably already on his way home by now but the fact that the silence is deafening stop him from doing so. Now, he’s stuck with his mind reeling, obviously curious as to why the other’s expression darkens. “What’s wrong ?” he asks, displaying furrowed brows and lips curling into a thin line. “Did something happen?”