don't go insane w. @andechoverie ( backdated )
two days. that's how long it's been since he last saw hwaseong. more specifically, it's been two days, six text messages, and three missed calls. what the fuck. is hwaseong ignoring him? him, as in lucas? as in his best mate and most favourite person in the whole wide world?
but hwaseong isn't the type to just ignore people. or at least, the type to ignore him. which brings him to the worst possible conclusion: hwaseong is dead. lucas laughs at that thought. hwaseong? dead? the guy's got nine lives. he's fine ... but what if this was his ninth life? what if this is it? and just like that, it's no longer a laughing matter.
"hwaseong!" lucas pounds on his door. "open up!" he tries the doorknob, curses at how cold it is to the touch. ( december night, snow on the radar; he ran out in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants because he needed to get to hwaseong, he needed to make sure that he was all right, unhurt, and alive. )
( he hates the cold. it reminds him of that day he came back late and found the taoist priest, his caretaker at the time, passed out in the snow in front of the temple. he shouldn't have been outside at that hour; they followed a strict schedule—inside by nine, bed by ten. it was midnight then. )
"i swear to god, if you don't open the damn door, i'm going to kick it down—" and trust, he won't be the one paying for it.
silence.
he's been existing in silence and darkness for--the hours bleed together, he isn't sure if its day or night right now. his phone died at some point hours ago and he hasn't moved to plug it in. it was like the moment he hit submit on the last assignment of the semester, his pencil sitting on the desk after his last final, his brain just clicked off. he's never felt so...
( -- detached, disconnected, not a real person, a liar, a fake a fake a fake. a fraud -- )
he shifts on the bed, shoulder feeling sort of numb from the position he had been laying in. he's still in the slacks and undershirt from the last day of classes, shoes lost somewhere between the bed and the door and not put away nicely. his slippers still by the door. a mess. his room is a mess, his head is a mess. hwaseong is certain he is going to just wither away here with his messy room, messy thoughts, and messy life. god how long has he been pretending. how long as he shoved these feelings and thoughts down and pretended they werent there.
a loud voice and a knock on the door causes him to jerk in surprise. for a moment he lays there, covers pulled to his eyes and staring blankly at the wall beside his bed. thinking if he ignores whoever it is they forget about him--they will go away and move on and hwaseong won't have to continue to pretend he is something he so obviously isn't. but then the voice registers in his foggy brain.
he's moving before he realizes what he's doing. shuffling from his bed to the door, shaky hands pulling the handle and drawing the door open to be greeted with the sight of his very obviously angry best friend. the tail end of what lucas is saying getting louder now that there isn't something between them. hwaseong doesn't say anything, he doesn't know what to say. he's sure he looks like a zombie in his wrinkled clothing, and the dark circles under his eyes.
but it's lucas, and as much as hwaseong wants to melt into oblivion, he can't turn lucas away. so he steps aside, holding the door open with his eyes downcast because he can't bare to look at his friend.
