SIX --Ā
bleeding out at a moderate paceĀ with @hannutrix, late at hanbinās place
he shouldnāt go to his place, hanbinās. first, itās above his pay grade in a literal sense. the districts above his means. heās just waiting for the day they finally imprint them all with bar codes, so he can be denied right to enter in a proper political fashion. not that sol couldnāt worm his way inside if he was insistent enough, probably. but itās a bit harder when heās bleeding out. he has a hand pressed hard to his side, down near his hip. balled up fabric of his sweatshirt. itās black, so the blood doesn't show. but it squelches under his hand when he shifts,presses down too hard. waterlogged and weighed down.
itād explain how lightheaded sol feels. dizzy on his feet. but not too bad, that gash. but bad enough that heās not sure heāll wake up in the morning if he does what he usually does -- slaps down a wad of gauze and duct-tapes it into place. so heās here. unfamiliar territory on the way to a familiar person. heās not there though, when he staggers up and knocks. nobody is. does hanbin even have a room mate? sol canāt remember. heās not part of hanbinās life in that sort of way. he feels like a stain, relegated to the past. sometimes he half-wonders if hanbin would rather throw everything into the wash. crank it up and toss in some bleach. wash sol right out of his life.
but heās too scared to ask questions like that. so he never does. just keeps his mouth shut and lets himself be selfish.
he picks his way into hanbinās room while he waits. slow going with trembling hands. fights back the urge to dry heave, and when he gets inside borrows a towel. borrow might be the wrong word for it, because thatās jammed against his side next and he doesnāt think all the blood will ever come out.he sits with his back slotted against the wall until finally the door cracks. sol tenses, hand fit deep into his pocket, fingers coiled tight around the hilt of a knife. maybe he has a roommate. maybe solās paranoid. but all that tension melts away into exhaustion when the lightās flicked on and he makes out hanbinās face.
āhey there stranger.ā it slips out, sounds like itās scratched against sandpaper. the blood, at this point, is obvious against hanbinās towel.Ā āgot a needle?ā he thinks he needs stitches. lets his eyes flutter shut, head knocking back against the drywall.Ā āmaybe a stiff drink?ā he tacks on hopeful.
