#hpjwen

He wants to believe that this was pure coincidence.

He’s led to the same sidewalk through the same double doors and into the same suite, all without hesitation. It’s a case of déjà vu on a literal level, ripped free from the past. 

Even the minute details remain present. The ‘405’ embellished in gold right beneath the peephole. The skyline view. The telephone line on the nightstand. All signs of oblivion that he had left behind swept away. Yet he still finds himself going down on one knee by the window, hand roaming over the texture of the rug. The glass splinters are no longer there. What had been a cut in his foot has faded into a thin scar. Somehow the memory still feels fresh, like an open wound.

The elevator door closes behind him with a groan, and then there’s silence. His steps end slow, muted to muffled as he makes his way across tile flooring to plush carpet. He finds the front desk occupied. A different face this time, a little young, working the graveyard shift. Save for the desk boy, the lobby is exceptionally empty—given the time, as it should be. There’s a couch in the opposite corner he eyes from a distance, but he hovers for just a mere second, then thinks. 

This is better. Better than the enclosed space of the hotel room, better than the state of mind he’d been in a year prior. 

And that’s all that matters. 

Time begins to lapse into fragments. 

Hour one: he’s a page in, what’s supposed to be a draft of a letter is nothing but a pattern of crossing things out, then filling them in. The minimum requirement at the very least has been reached: starting, after all, is just half the battle. 

Hour two: a second blank page stares back at him. His eyes are at the doors, untouched. Not a single guest has decided to walk in. The night suddenly feels far too long for its own good. 

Hour three: he’s cautious at first, side-stepping around, all tip-toes. He’s never liked breaking the silence, let alone be the type to start avid conversation. 

( kkt – 바보 ) hey! ( kkt – 바보 ) come meet me at this art store ( kkt – 바보 ) im about to send you the address

tae sent out the text to his friend that he’d been knowing since he came to hapjeong. junhui was someone that tae met first when he first arrived, and seeing at the time that jun had a bit an accent when he spoke tae could tell right off the back that the other would be no much help to him upon his arrival. somehow, even with the lack of help the other offered they still manage to be close enough for tae to consider him his best friend in hapjeong. so, he could consider himself lucky ( which is what tae wanted to say to the other ).

( kkt – 바보 ) DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE LAST TIME EITHER JUN

he messaged the other once more. he refused for the other to blow off this meet up like he did before. tae had been upset the last time that it took a few day ( close to a week ) to even reply back to the other’s text. so, after sending the younger male the address to the store, tae began to look around seeing what he could find since he was running low on supplies. it wasn’t as if he was going to stay in the store when the other arrived, it was more like a ‘meet me here, and lets go somewhere else’ type of situation or at least tae thought so.

after finding all the supplies he needed, he went up to the cashier and paid for his items heading outside to wait for his friend.

send  ♠ for a drunk text

( kkt – 바보 ) JUUUUUNNNNNN( kkt – 바보 ) JUUUUUNNNNNNN( kkt – 바보 ) JUUUUUUUNNNNNN( kkt – 바보 ) YAH DNT INGNORE ME!( kkt – 바보 ) I THNK I AM DNRUNGK COE GET ME PLEASE( kkt – 바보 ) 제발!!!!!!!!!!!( kkt – 바보 ) WAIIT TT U SPEAK KROREAN RIGHT???

send ♔ for an angry text

( kkt – 바보 ) listen here you lil shit( kkt – 바보 ) the next time you say something about my height ill drag your face all over the concrete ( kkt – 바보 ) IM STILL OLDER THAN YOU! 😤😤😤😤😤😤

send ☠ for a misguided advice text

The stagnancy of a normal routine unnerves her. There’s something eerie about it, in the same way bitterness lingers on the tip of her tongue even after she’s long swallowed the pill. Because why should something that doesn’t exist — that has no space, nothing to take it up — make her want to crawl out of her own skin?

But the answer is something she doesn’t care (doesn’t dare) to know, so instead, she resists. Never stays too long in one particular place or form; leaves before the morning from a bed that’s almost home to seek newness, difference. Routines never last. Never the ones close to the heart, anyway. She’s a girl with no roots to gnaw on, and that’s just the way it is.

And yet here she is for the third time this week, sitting beside this boy that looks at her with kind eyes, and she figures that maybe some habits are just too hard to break. That maybe the mundane doesn’t have to be bitter. That maybe she can start to settle down.

Being beside Junhui entails the following: elbows tight against the ribcage, so that she doesn’t jostle him with her clumsy arms. Closed mouth. Attentiveness. She knows better than to disturb a work in progress — until, that is, she sees his fingers slacken and his eyes dim, because then she’s free to talk. “New chapter not going so well?” she asks, peering overtop gold frames curiously. “Want a distraction?”

(maybe She hasn’t been able to grasp routine quite yet.)