#p;coexisting

For a long time Hansol’s apartment had been his means of escape. It was the one place Hansol knew he could go to to be alone, to think and hide away from the world. The blurred lies of all the time he’d spent there, reluctant to even leave for groceries, ended up forgotten, and Hansol was no longer able to remember just how long he’d kept himself closed off from the world. He’d memorised just how the crack in the paint on the ceiling of his bedroom curved round the light fixture, and the hum of the boiler starting up in the morning as he turned on the hot water for his shower. He’d immersed himself in the sounds of the city filtering in through the open window, along with a cool, night breeze which gently caressed Hansol’s cheeks and left him relaxed - something he was, in those months after he’d drowned beneath his own woe, finding it hard to recapture.

He liked living alone at first - he liked the silence, or the sound of his own music fluttering through the small apartment, uninterrupted by unwelcome voices, or unexpected music, unknowingly competing for the space to fill with its sound, with his own music. But after certain events it had left him feeling more alone than ever, the silence that had been so comforting before, after a house full of children younger than him and parents forever enthusiastic, the change of volume had been nice - but it consumed him and ate away at the weakest bits, penetrating his mind with its scaly fingers.

So setting up the spare room, which had been Hansol’s art studio slash library slash storage room, was beginning to become a task that Hansol couldn’t wait to finish. To banish the silence and the cold, hard edges of his apartment with the sounds of even another’s breath, especially Byungjoo’s, had Hansol hopeful, desperate and impatient. He carried boxes heavier than himself (or at least he claimed he had) and all through the strength gained from the excitement, he reassured Byungjoo that he wanted him there - that nothing would make him happier than living with Kim Byungjoo.

Every box now inside the apartment the progress slowed - figuring out where to put everything was their challenge ahead, but their smiles never left their faces, or not Hansol’s at least. He imagined the simple sound of footsteps from the other room, the breathing from across the room when everything was exceptionally quiet. He imagined the ‘good morning’s, and the ‘goodnight’s, his heart swelling with a sudden warmth that spread like wildfire to the apples of his cheeks.