#existheory

currently accepting.

text post sentence starters w// @existheory )

“do you think i can get service in here?”

haneul hasn’t come to an understanding with time today. it’s probably why he hasn’t fully realized his situation. he’s got a few things cluttering his mind, like the cup holder and everything he’s piled onto it. like the steaming coffee he has to deliver in fifteen minutes that he’s already ten minutes late on. because he woke up late, stayed up late last night until he could hear his teeth chatter under the covers and actually feel his eyelashes on his cheeks. or lids. whichever. he felt it and he slept late and he woke up to too many covers and too many alarms.

point is, he ran on snuffed fumes to get up and get to work. only to leave work and take a shortcut to get to the only coffee shop by the station. they were shooting by an old outlet mall today. kind of vintage. kind of his style if he could enjoy it. but his clock ticked and his time seemed to be endless.

like this elevator. endlessly shifting between two numbers. two floors. like how he’s shifting between being here and being there. being before his superior and getting chewed out with egg breath. being against an elevator floor that feels like it sinks with him and rises with him.

being inanimate and all too tangible.

he doesn’t understand time today. or the person next to him who’s been fidgeting in more ways than he can keep track of. but the elevator’s kind of like him so he thinks he can roll with it.

fuck sentence starters | closed.

( & july. )  it’s been an odd day since dusk, where everything seemed to be a little more offbeat than usual. the tall, gritty boy wakes up to one of his brethren almost setting their blankets on fire, as if any of them would expect anything less from someone who’s flicking at that damn lighter every second, 24 hours a day! when the rundown of their lives are, essentially, peril––––none can keep safety at bay. but the thing is, everything almost always happens according to july’s own, nifty plans, and that’s what sets him off the beaten path for the day. nothing has happened according to anything but satan’s divine will, yet july still finds hope through his doubt of the fate-of-day harbinger.

so here’s the game plan: first, make his way into the spiffy hostess bar, then shout ‘fire hazard!’ after busting into one of the VIP rooms so those crummy old men can scram. but of course, the only hazard they’ll be witnessing is the boy himself––––who’ll soon be taking care of all their fat wallets full of checks (checks made out of fraud and breach of trust: so who’s the real antihero here?) after sketching a mental blueprint, the boy makes a quick sprint around the corner. however, his foresight in action shatters when a line staggers him, putting his steps to a halt. for a second he thinks he’s hearing things, perhaps upset the wraiths with his roguery and ill intents and whatnot.

(...)

  Good, hyeri, that’s good, he thinks. Here’s the thing. “You shouldn’t,” He’s all teeth now, leaning on the table like a dead weight. “Some people find it scandalous, what I do. What’s to get out of being afraid of something so daily?” Moonsik’s half absentminded, hence why he’s talking of death like he’s explaining how he makes his coffee.

 “Or that’s how I’ve heard some people think like, at least. Including me, too, just recently.”

“nothing.” at least she's honest. “anything's scandalous if you think about it long enough.” it wouldn't be as hard to swallow down the truth without her fingerprints all over it. she's quiet, now, and he's staring at her like he knows. she flinches. moves backwards in a subtle push from the table, eyes wandering, nowhere to go. her fingers curl into her own lap.

“what are you afraid of?” ( anything? anything at all? ) she leans forward. elbows propped on hard wood. chin in her palms. eyes wandering, nowhere to go, nowhere to land.