UH, OUCH!?
&;RANDOM SENTENCE STARTERS;
STATUS: NOT ACCEPTING.
10. Fall from a lifted surface (chair, table, counter top, etc).
tw: vomit, drugs, seizures.
“-yeah, and he refused to give me a refund,” he couldn’t help but to snort, eyes rolling as he fumbled with the plastic that wrapped around the small bottled cold brew coffee in his hand. “It’s a little suspect, since i mean, he stuck his thumb right into the ice cream –” Minhyuk sighs a bit under his breath as he looks a little closer, attempting to lift the perforated edge wedged underneath his fingernail. He wasn’t here for this, socializing, but one could hardly call his complaining enjoyable anyway. “It was tilted and everything, p much ruined,” finally, he gets all the wrapping off, searches around for a bin he could toss it in but in the end, giving up and letting the pieces fall into his lap and the desk that he perches on. The desk is mostly metal, high up and shaking, probably the wheels but it holds him and the papers around him with ease. He looks over Aeon to his left, all black fluff and strange quietness–usually, Minhyuk would have preferred a quick and easy interaction– and usually, everything would have been in order and ready before he even stepped past the threshold. But today, the room was disheveled, an unorganized mess he couldn’t recognize. He sips at his coffee, a hum in his throat. He understood moments like these, he was sure it was stress or lack of seeing the sun or whatever people like Aeon, those backwards geniuses, suffered through in only blinks, moments of time for Minhyuk.
“It’s like, yeah, drug dealers get hot just like legitimate business men, we want to beat the heat too,” Minhyuk loosens his collar, it’s still hot in here, maybe even hotter than outside and already the sweat at his brow seems unending. “He was definitely mad about the higher prices with half the sellers dead and the bottom feeders taking over, but Ae, the addiction to your batches are thrilling,” he pauses, clearing his throat once more, it burns and he drinks from the coffee again, but this time it doesn’t taste too good, the end of the note on his tongue muddy and sickly sweet. “I - Do people get shanked for that kind of thing though? I think it’s a shankable offense, i mean maybe if it weren’t so hot, - yeah…”
“if it weren’t so hot,” he begins, or finishes, Minhyuk wasn’t entirely sure, words slurring from between his teeth. Scrubbing an open palm over his face, only hoped to calm whatever it was he felt down. “if it-” the words barely make it past his lips, hanging in the air that’s suddenly molasses thick, instead he heaves, clutching onto the grey silken fabric at his sides, silver buttons snapping. He tries at first to correct himself, maybe even apologize for his body’s reaction, but he heaves again, this time the coffee coming up, acid and spittle drooling from his mouth and onto the floor. It upends him entirely however, when he reaches for purchase on that silver table and grabs nothing at all, palms full of air and false hope. It feels like the wind is being knocked out of him when he hits the floor, barely managing to break it with his elbow and forearm, smearing the spittle that just keeps coming when he gags again, all water. “Aeon,” his voice is crackling, all rasp and wet around the edges. “Wh- what .. you.” he tries wiping at his mouth with the back of his palm, and standing but his bones feel heavy, his body feels heavy. All he can see is that coffee, still spilling out onto the tile in front of him, the worn wheels of the metal table still squealing in his ears. Then it’s all white and he doesn’t think much at all.
Minhyuk can’t speak anymore, not now, not when his jaw’s wire tight, his gums throbbing with a pain he hasn’t felt since he stopped clenching his teeth at night in junior high, with a grit so unyielding his teeth rip into the soft flesh of his mouth and tongue with vengeance. He groans trying to breathe before it comes down on him, and he’s gasping, fluttery short breaths as his body convulses, muscles coiling and unfurling rapidly, shuddering like a bow after an arrow has just been released from its quiver. But his knuckles are reddening, balled into fists, his dim nails cutting into palms, eyes flitting back and forth as if seeking guidance through the burning heat delivered unto his flesh. He can only hear his heart, or maybe it’s Aeon speaking, but it feels rapid as if carnivorous and devouring a hole through his chest with a seething pain to accompany it. Minhyuk feels a lot of things. He feels falling, heavy and drowning as if a serpent were dragging him down under. He feels cold against his face as his chin rolls forward and then back again. He feels short, fleeting, horrible moments of pleasure, where his cock swells and drools and flutters like he’s leaking hot piss and maybe for a second he’s like candle light, gone and there again.
