#sooncerely

“I tried to change the duvet and I got stuck inside.”

It takes Bada a moment before he registers what his friend has just said.  When it does finally click though, he has to fight back the laughter with a taut smile.  “Soo...”  The man’s words are very precise as he does his best not to ridicule the other.  Kyungsoo doesn’t deserve anything other than a light ribbing, but there are times with Bada cannot hold back, and if he doesn’t pace himself, this might be one of them.

...

cue the loud, overplayed music that made her ears bleed but she couldn’t anything about it because she wasn’t the dj. spill the alcohol into her shot glass, consume it, and let it sink in. this was the process she went through, downing alcohol shot by shot. a content “ah.” escapes her lips, breath reeking of all (and somewhat feeling bad as to whoever got stuck talking to her.) usually, she’s go to the bar alone because she’d want to get away from everybody she knew. she’d meet new people, get to know them better, and then leave to go to another bar if they became more than acquaintances.

she furrows her eyebrows at the male, would she go on a date? the date only steals money that could go for more necessary uses-- such as grocery shopping for the food that she needed to survive. sure, it was a gentleman thing for the guy to pay, but sometimes she had to pay too if she were to go on one. plus, she hadn’t been on one since her last date (which actually was her first official date, ever.)

LATELY, JUNSEO HASN’T BEEN AWAKE before one in the afternoon, but today, he wakes up at the crack of eleven to the grumbling of his stomach. He rolls in bed with a groan, balling his fist and pressing it into his abdomen. The cramping of hunger clamps his muscles until he caves and slugs out of bed. Emotionally, and mentally, Junseo isn’t ready to take on the day in the slightest. Physically, however, his appetite begs to differ. Usually, he would light a cigarette and pour himself a cup of hot tea and he would be fine. Unfortunately, he is trying to quit. 

One hand threads dark hair, the other still clutching his side; he migrates from bedroom to bathroom in slow, quiet steps. And shortly, these steps cause an echo of smaller, added footsteps as both of his dogs hit the ground running in pursuit of their owner. They, too, are eager for a meal. He mumbles his greeting and shuts the door behind him before being pummeled by excited dogs. 

While reminding himself to feed the dogs after he uses the restroom, the thought of what he wanted to eat crosses his mind. Immediately, the juicy burger and frothy shake from that 50′s diner down the street has him watering at the mouth. But he doesn’t want to go alone. His phone on the sink from four in the morning tells him that he doesn’t have to. He opens the chat and types Kyungsoo’s name and waits for it to load before typing:

hey. wanna grab lunch? :) 

his last thought is of jaehyun, smiling at him.

( i. ) My lover, the deep voice in his mind repeated. Jaehyun stared at his companion in silence, waiting for her to say more -- anything -- but all that existed between them was silence. And just like that, he felt the warmth of his tears as they blurred his vision, then spilled over his skin. Despite not knowing him - despite not being able to recall a single second of their life together - a certain feeling seemed to linger. It weighed him down as he stared, the deep breath he released shortly after, triggering more tears. Face lowered, he bit into his quivering lip. Tried to process everything, struggled to recall anything. But in his heart, he knew there was only one thing that he could do--that he should do. “Take me to him, Sunhwa. Do you know where he lives?” “Yes, sir. You two live together now.”

( ii. ) The route to his supposed home with the man - Kyungsoo - is completely different from what he's used to taking. It isn’t too far from his old home, neither is it near. For now, he doesn’t exactly know what to expect, but he wishes he isn’t too late. Too late for what?, he thinks; he could be too late for anything.

They soon stop in front of an apartment complex. Homes stood side-by-side, possibly merely a wall separating each one. The artist remains in silence for a while, does nothing but stare at the structure beyond the car window. He feels something inside. A spark? A flame? Does he all of a sudden remember everything now? Even he doesn’t know. But the air that hits his face the very second he steps out of the car is what does it for him; the first strokes of paint over a completely blank canvas he might soon find himself finishing. 

He’s given a key, after declining the offer to be assisted inside. He can walk, anyway. All that’s left of the accident are a few stitches, and bruises, and of course, the tight embrace of amnesia. On his way up, and towards the door, he begins to feel nervous again. So he counts his steps - five, twenty, fifty - and feels that ever-present urge to turn the total into an even number. He ends up with sixty-three, and the sixty-fourth is what leads him into the apartment. “Hello?”  Door shut behind his figure, he remains stood there in place, somewhat hesitant to walk further in. His eyes try to scan the quiet, dimmed apartment, but the lack of a response after a couple of minutes is what urges him to go ahead and switch on the lights. He turns back around and what he sees... What he sees overwhelms him.

It’s as if he’s been pushed over the edge of a cliff, or hit by a speeding bullet train, the very moment reminiscent of the sudden violent, yet melodic war of strings amidst the prelude to Richard Wagner’s ‘Tristan und Isolde’. He’s grown weak on the knees due to the unforeseen recollection of memories, wide eyes staring at his works hung up all over the walls of the place alongside film posters. Ultimately, he falls to the floor and breaks out into a sob, head later hung low, arm coming to wipe his face. He remembers it all now -- the home, the cats, the dog, Colmar, Kyungsoo.. He weeps loud whilst getting back up on his feet, then drags himself across the room, calling out for his lover with the pain of regret in his chest. How could he have forgotten him? Of all memories? Why did it have to be him? 

Forever with you sounds like a relief. Because I can’t live without you.

( iii. ) Red. All he sees is red. Deep red flows from the male’s chest, a knife lying in his open palm. In that moment, all he can hear is the loud panging of his heart, shock paralyzing him in place as he falls to his knees for a second time. His world is falling apart; his world has already fallen apart. He doesn’t hear himself sob - doesn’t hear his own screams of anguish as he crawls over to his unconscious lover swimming in his own blood. Soon as he reaches him, he brings him into his hold, hands and entire body trembling in panic. He tries to see if he’s still alive. His face is wet with tears, and he, too, is covered in red. It’s all his fault. All of this is his fault. “Kyungsoo... Kyungsoo... please wake up... It’s me, please... Kyungsoo..” 

Catch my muse ( ✍️ - Drawing something with so much focus they don’t even notice your muse walking in )➤ accepting

Yongguk is not a visual artist at all. When his pens and pencils touch the paper pages, it’s not an expression of artistry, a conscious movement to create what other people, upon seeing it, would call art. It’s rather an expression of thought, a way to deal with too many things going on at once inside of his head, a chaotic testimony to his existence. Whether he wrote music, words, drew pictures or abstract lines and smudges, it was always the reflection of him, of things he couldn’t tell anyone, didn’t want to or had no idea how. Whatever ended up on the page, whether physical or digital, it was a proof of a turbulent process, driven by emotions, created under an impulse; raw and honest.

He very often tended to lose himself in the midst of that creative movement, the world disappearing and closing itself in the small space between his mind, eyes, hand and the canvas.

get to know the rper ( x )