#venousdrip

what were best friends for? for that laugh they needed in inappropriate situations: in the middle of class when a professor was explaining something, on a rainy day where the liquid soaked into their socks, to make bets about jasper’s placing during the illegal street races. how two souls had mustered up the courage to find each other unintentionally -- a pharmacy student versus an upcoming neurosurgeon, how the two had bonded over music and everything reckless in their lives. school was one of the most stable things, they’d end up with arms wrapped around their waists during a game of ping pong, a subtle wink here and there, finger guns to end off the stupid pick up lines they exchanged. it was a nice feeling, to be comfortable where she could express herself wholeheartedly without having to worry about their relationship.

that’s why she eggs him on, she teases him about a kiss on the cheek if he were to win this race. “can’t cheat either, i’ll be in the passenger seat as always.” she smirks, nudging the other with her elbow. she had promised him, made another dumb bet (out of 1234567) that he’d have to win to receive his present. it was exhilarating to be in the car with him, windows down as it rushes through the thin spaces between her hair. how it felt against her skin, usually the moon was looking down at them with disappointment but who cares? they were wild spirits, begging for a chance in the world. “make it tonight, or else the offer will expire.” she teases, tossing him a wink as her hand slips into the back pocket of his pants. it was their thing, chuckling whenever people questioned if they were actually dating. her response:

hours spent inside the quaint bookstore are often fleeting. the sense of subjectivity is often apropos of the predilection towards letting the time pass him by. it is effortless when he’s surrounded by the captive thoughts that clatter in his mind; the husk is made of the crisscrossing insignificance, the cocoon of trails leaving him with no one’s memory. that’s how he likes it, sans reminders of his anomalies. when the echoes no longer fill the hollow of his cranium with drilling mementos, specifically when they belong to the ones he’s accidentally touched, he feels at peace the most. the presence of the books, arranged alphabetically, proffers solace like nothing else, and that sense of peace of what is ruptured when he realises someone enters the vicinity, stepping into the bookstore. not that shinhyuk is against anyone purchasing books—nor is he holding anything against jasper.

still, jasper is one of the many phantoms in his mind. shinhyuk finds him rather unsettling, not in the bad ways... well, at least not at all times. there are etched worries and concerns, lining shinhyuk’s psyche, knowing just how reckless jasper is. and he doesn’t know what to expect from the echoes of all the trepidation when he’s no one for jasper, and vice versa. maybe he’s let jasper trickle into his being, maybe a tad too much as well. for that, he thinks in the clause of black and white, now. his eyes try not to follow jasper’s every move around his proximity to no avail. there’s always this sense of residual attention that redirects itself back to the other and for that, shinhyuk curses himself internally. a boy like him cannot afford this kind of attention, affection. for that, when jasper draws near to his station behind the cashier, he immediately gets onto his feet, discarding the book he’s been reading himself. “hello,” he says, and a part of him wonders why jasper arrived so close to the closing hour. “just these books for you, hyung?”