#rmkhb

––– summer, 2016.

(` he would’ve thought a whole year is enough preparation time to get more than just acquainted with his new roommate and the other’s various little habits, except the boy proves him terribly wrong. ) (` his second step is hesitant––could’ve sworn he smelt something––frown evident; something about the air is just different––stale. taking a closer whiff only has him coughing lightly, free hand lifted in hopes to dismiss the dust particles. goodness gracious––has it really been just a week? ) (` the suspected culprit for the state this room has been reduced to is somehow sound asleep in his bed––or rather what’s supposed to be a bed but is now a makeshift mini garage sale, possibly of unwashed laundry and emptied food packets. horrified is an understatement. this right here… this is way beyond anything ryou could’ve comprehended and imagined. ) (` extends the selfie stick he’s pulled out of his bag, poking an end at the boy on the bed––just to make sure he’s still alive and that this dreadful smell is not entirely him. ) 

@rmkhb

mideum is weary.  

not tired, not bleary eyed, but weary,  burdened with the kind of fatigue that made a home out of a person; that nestled itself close, cool and tight in between the gaps of their ribs and claimed the heart’s country as its own.  she can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel like this, nor could she find the kind of light that promised that this would end, only tugged on by the endless series of distractions that called itself living.

today’s distraction was a certain bae jungho -- the son of some person with money, slid in front of her in lieu of her new foster mother (who had ‘apologised’ with a text that simply read, “he had asked to meet you!  be grateful!”).  his eyes sat at a perpetual amused squint, the kind that made her feel like he was evaluating her, lips quirked in a grin that only disappeared with every nervous lick of his lips that he made (of which there were many).

to some, jungho would’ve been handsome, but mideum wasn’t some -- true charm, to her, was known by the name kim hanbin, though at times he felt more like a dream lost than her boyfriend.  if it weren’t for a text log two years long, her phone wallpaper and a plethora of more photos she’d collected with loving diligence, she’d have thought he was.  absentmindedly, her thumb tapped at her phone’s home button, stomach slowly rolling onto its back at absence of contact, something greeted with a rare and utterly visible furrow of her brow.

“mideum-ah-- i’m sorry, am i boring you?  i’ve been doing a lot of the talking--”

a laugh parted from her lips like the swansong of a punctured balloon, a polite, “oh no, it’s fine,” being the response of choice, rather than, “i didn’t know we were close enough to drop basic etiquette!”

“that’s good.  you know, the cakes here are really nice, try some,” jungho offered, licking his lips again as he dug into delicate mille-feuille he had bought for himself (but not without spending five minutes trying to convince her to get one of his own, his treat), lifting it to her lips. 

“i’m fine, thank you--”

“--no, come on--”

“--hones--”

an odd moment of courage led jungho to stuffing her mouth shut with a piece of pastry, grinning, catching her off guard entirely.  widened eyes leaving his face out of a flurry of annoyance and embarassment, she locked gazes with a sight that caused her to snort mille-feuille right up into her nostrils.