jeogi
in
openpockets
in lieu
in lieu
hoya x dongwoo, romance, pg,
silly girl, pride kills more than aids.
a/n: inspired by meg and dia's going away.
howon rolls over in a feeble attempt to face the sun but instead he falls into a ditch of vacant air that faintly smells of dongwoo.
he opens his eyes.
i don't know, is the first thing howon says when sunggyu sits down on their rundown couch pushed roughly against their plywood wall. wild wednesday nights. "he just wasn't there."
sunggyu doesn't look all too pleased but he's the type of guy that generally dislikes anything. "did you get into a fight or something?" howon gives him a flat look. "well, you know him better than i do. he's sensitive."
true, howon thinks, but all they fight over is the ethical methods to opening cans of tuna, or which show to dvr for the night. which makes howon rub his nose in distress. sensitive.
"i should go," he says to no one in particular. sunggyu is past gone, watching a music show on the television screen. "don't burn my house down."
he's a pretty poor driver, he realizes, as he swerves this way and that to avoid the purple orange beams of sun that are so relentless on his back. seoul's way behind him and all he sees is airplane tracks and horses grazing on grass. howon's not even sure where he's going anymore. he gets a text message at five o four and he would've checked, but a slap of wind keeps his hands on the wheel and steers his car to the left, back down something that seems at least a bit more familiar.
life, howon concludes as he sifts through the bills and stampless letters in his hands, is fleeting.
he steps over the worn leather shoes, takes off his own.
and a bit too slow.
"and where were you?" dongwoo asks with such a look, as if howon had fled the earth for years without a word, that howon doesn't even return the question back, just settles down beside dongwoo on the couch that sunggyu must have fixed before he left. he closes his eyes.
"you look tired." howon hums in response. bit by bit his senses come together. first dongwoo's warmth, then dongwoo's voice, dongwoo's scent, his taste against pressed lips. he opens his eyes.
"did you get the cabbage?" he mutters into dongwoo's shirt, pressed and crisp and of sleep. "i'm hungry."
dongwoo rumbles. "yeah, let me get dinner ready then. don't fall asleep."
"thanks." howon closes his eyes, opens them when the smell of omelets and rice floats by and lands on his lips.
life is also, howon decides as he tugs playfully and swallows the small laugh of glee, savors it, a miracle.
"not yet," dongwoo whispers, welcomed heat.
the night rolls on, and ends with a bang.
what am i writing. someone stop me.
hoya x dongwoo, romance, pg,
silly girl, pride kills more than aids.
a/n: inspired by meg and dia's going away.
howon rolls over in a feeble attempt to face the sun but instead he falls into a ditch of vacant air that faintly smells of dongwoo.
he opens his eyes.
i don't know, is the first thing howon says when sunggyu sits down on their rundown couch pushed roughly against their plywood wall. wild wednesday nights. "he just wasn't there."
sunggyu doesn't look all too pleased but he's the type of guy that generally dislikes anything. "did you get into a fight or something?" howon gives him a flat look. "well, you know him better than i do. he's sensitive."
true, howon thinks, but all they fight over is the ethical methods to opening cans of tuna, or which show to dvr for the night. which makes howon rub his nose in distress. sensitive.
"i should go," he says to no one in particular. sunggyu is past gone, watching a music show on the television screen. "don't burn my house down."
he's a pretty poor driver, he realizes, as he swerves this way and that to avoid the purple orange beams of sun that are so relentless on his back. seoul's way behind him and all he sees is airplane tracks and horses grazing on grass. howon's not even sure where he's going anymore. he gets a text message at five o four and he would've checked, but a slap of wind keeps his hands on the wheel and steers his car to the left, back down something that seems at least a bit more familiar.
life, howon concludes as he sifts through the bills and stampless letters in his hands, is fleeting.
he steps over the worn leather shoes, takes off his own.
and a bit too slow.
"and where were you?" dongwoo asks with such a look, as if howon had fled the earth for years without a word, that howon doesn't even return the question back, just settles down beside dongwoo on the couch that sunggyu must have fixed before he left. he closes his eyes.
"you look tired." howon hums in response. bit by bit his senses come together. first dongwoo's warmth, then dongwoo's voice, dongwoo's scent, his taste against pressed lips. he opens his eyes.
"did you get the cabbage?" he mutters into dongwoo's shirt, pressed and crisp and of sleep. "i'm hungry."
dongwoo rumbles. "yeah, let me get dinner ready then. don't fall asleep."
"thanks." howon closes his eyes, opens them when the smell of omelets and rice floats by and lands on his lips.
life is also, howon decides as he tugs playfully and swallows the small laugh of glee, savors it, a miracle.
"not yet," dongwoo whispers, welcomed heat.
the night rolls on, and ends with a bang.
what am i writing. someone stop me.