feat. @maracmm

when it comes to curfew, wonsik has always been an expert at ignoring it. ( or any set of rules really. ) the garden near the school is his go-to place late at night, mostly because he figured out how to sneak out without getting caught ( with a little help from a senior years ago ) and knowing the schedule of the prefects’ patrolling hours definitely gave him an upper hand in times like these. 

walking down the familiar path, he takes in the scenery as much as possible, knowing that next day he would be surrounded with people, once again going through another round of boring classes. at least now, there’s no one to bother his train of thoughts ( that’s been scrambled as of late ) and it’s always somewhat comforting to be alone in a place so exposed to the world yet still safely hidden by the concealment charm.

he finds himself sitting in his usual spot when he shivers, the cold breeze making the hair on his neck and arms stand, he was sure of it. he’d forgotten to bring his jacket before leaving his dorm, cursing himself for letting it slip out of his mind. if mara was here—

                                                                                          — for @maracmm

     he doesn’t recall how this norm came to be. how nights went from studying, gaming, the works to minutes, hours, spent on the field. often alone, usually not. but, daehyun supposes in the grand scheme of things, that itself is normal. how close he dances to the tipping point, then—sought for a means of venting, now. 

     makes sense, right? to let off steam before he blows his lid. reaches the point of a mental break. before the weight of falsities and fabricated smiles and i’m okay’s and that’s fine’s effectively barrels him over. etcetera, etcetera. you know the story. 

     ( you’ll hear this often. because he’ll use it often. this very excuse, cover, reason after another to justify the means of his actions. which is what? you wonder. i wonder. ) 

     his back rests comfortably against cool marble, fingers running through dripping locks while his eyes fixate on the mobile in his hands, occasionally taking an absent note as minutes pass by and the time changes from 9:54 to 10:02. 

     great. his eyes roll. she would.  

     sad, but that’s the repercussions of losing the bet tonight. 19 saves to 21 goals. maybe he was having more of an off day than he would have liked to admit it. “finally.” his eyes lift with the creak of the door, sweeping over the sharp of mara’s jaw. he steps forward then, moves with practiced ease of someone too used to the arrangement (the bet, i’m talking about the bet) when he reaches out, lifting the strap of her bag off thin shoulders to sling it over his. 

     “did you find narnia in there?” his brow arches, nudging them toward the exit. “or at least—an idea as to what you want to eat tonight.”