thursday boy

kim hwayoung // P s y c h e mobile nav

[dexhwayoung]

Hwayoung was startled as soon as he heard stirring, he had the vague intuition he should have called for a nurse, but he stood there still, wide eyes staring at the unknown man he just saved, he felt like smiling, but the harsh edge on the man’s tone had him guarded instead; his hands now rested on his lap, letting go of the blanket. He resisted looking down, an awful habit he had, clearing his throat before answering: “Hwayoung,” he smiled, a little strained, mostly unsure, due to the defensive stance the stranger had, he could sense the distress coming from the other, though, and that calmed him. 

Who wouldn’t be wary of a stranger who observed them in their unconscious state for hours long? Now that Hwayoung notes, that sounds creepy.

He feels like hiding his face somewhere and suffocating from the embarrassment, instead he remains neutral but just as nervos, he lets out a timid chuckle at the man’s comparison, shaking his head and fumbling with his fingers on his lap. 

“Well, here at least you have bigger chances of surviving.” 

The way the man behaves, it’s like this is already routine to him, and it feeds the growing curiosity he’s trying to will himself not to have. Don’t be impolite, don’t pry. He parted his lips, questions of his own brimming, instead he swallow those down, answering the stranger, “I don’t know. You ran into me, bleeding and already blacking out, I screamed.” He shrugs, there was more to the story, it wasn’t him who called the ambulance, he was in complete shock to do anything. His mind screamed with too many thoughts and feelings, there were so many people screaming and talking, and walking, and then there was pain, so much pain, the type that made his insides twist and spasm. It suddenly stopped, though, once he wasn’t touching the stranger anymore, but even as he watched the paramedics, he swears he could hear here and there, whispers, thoughts.

He broke out of his reverie with a blink of his eyes, feeling the hostility diminishing slowly, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a warm smile, “I thought it’d be better than waking up alone in a hospital bed.”

[dexhwayoung]

there’s a first time for everything

[dexhwayoung]

Don’t stare, he can almost hear his brother’s voice chiding him for glancing at the woman over and over, but he can’t stop. She’s different. It bothers him that she’s so strange, and he doesn’t know why. She’s just so... quiet... Distant. Unapproachable, and it isn’t because he doesn’t even know her name, it’s something else.

He blinks, straightening his composure and trying to ignore whatever this is, because it’s nothing, Nothing he should pay this much attention to. There’s just him, him alone. And that’s such a weird way to put it, alone, when there’s someone right beside him. He needs to stop staring, but she’s already noticed him, he looks at her with wide eyes and parted lips, and suddenly there is something; annoyance? curiosity? or is that him...? he doesn’t know, and that startles him, he avoids her eyes, looking up his front again, clearing his throat before replying; “no, you were just,” strange, “I thought you looked familiar,” he looks at her again with a flustered grin, looking apologetic, “I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

He tries distracting himself from how anxious he feels now by retrieving his notebook from his bag, and a pen, he focuses his gaze on the blank page, and the page only. He’s probably made a fool of himself already, he doesn’t want to make it any worse. 

The pen is pressed against the paper, he scurries his mind for a starter, for one single word, but all he can think is the woman beside him. He lets the pen glide over the paper in random patterns, instead, he registers the thought he actually wants to talk to her, and his lips work faster than his mind, “maybe it’s just the hair, but you reminded me of my high school crush,” he hums, trying to make sense of whatever his drawing is turning into, “but if it was her, I’m sure she’d have spit on me or something.”

The scribble is too ugly, he notes with a frown, turning to the next page, now trying to draw an eye. 

[dexhwayoung]

The blood was washed hours ago yet Hwayoung can still feel it. He’s never seen that much blood, but, being completely honest, the most blood the young man has seen were from small cuts and scraped knees from his childhood times.His jumpsuit is a little dirty too, he’s tried cleaning as much as he could in a hospital, with water and paper towels, but it just won’t come off. Now his jumpsuit has wet patches here and there, and the AC is in full blast, it’s a wonder he isn’t shivering.

At least the man who bled on his jumpsuit and hands is alive. With some stitches, which will be an ugly scar later, but at least he’s alive. Hwayoung realizes he saved a life, instead of happy, he’s still scared and this chilling cold won’t leave his bones. He’s sitting close to the bed where the man is lying now, still unconscious, with a quick look over the room he also notes hospitals aren’t that bad, or maybe it’s because he’s paying? The boy wouldn’t know, he’s never had to sleep in a hospital room. 

He sniffles, gazing at his fingers, idly playing with the hem of the blanket covering the stranger, it’s cold, so cold. He wants to go home, but he also feels compelled to stay, make company to the still unconscious man, besides, waking up all alone in a hospital bed seems slightly frightening, at least to him.

It’s been hours already; when he left his apartment, it was barely noon, now the sun has already gone down, 20:00pm, his digital watch reads, it’s been hours since he ate, but there’s no way he’d eat after this. He wants the man to wake up, please, he steals a glance at the stranger’s face; the man is handsome, but also... there’s something just off about him, it intensifies the cold Hwayoung feels, he can’t shake that feeling he shouldn’t be near the man. 

Most of all, why would such a handsome face have a knife deep gash on his gut? 

[fyeah-infinite]

151120 ICN → PVG © Hidoggie | Do not edit.

[dexhwayoung]

there’s a first time for everything

His apartment was far too lonely for his liking. Saturdays have no maids to clean the place around, his lunch and dinner are neatly packed and refrigerated. He’s alone, he feels cold. It takes him less than thirty minutes to get to his feet, wash up and leave, not before stuffing his messenger back with pens, a notebook and cereal bars. He forgets to lock the front door, maybe someone could come in, and, hopefully, stay. 

The wind messes his already disheveled hair, people walk to both directions with hurry, and suddenly he’s a little annoyed, a little anxious too, there’s a lot of urgency to do something, to go somewhere. It’s too warm now, he blames his choice of clothing; a pale green colored sweater and dark jeans. His apartment was cold, he figured it’d be cold outside as well, he always forgets to check the weather, oh well. He decides not to take his sweater off, though, he can bear with the heat.

His feet take him to the park closest to his apartment, his pace faster than usual, his hands are sweaty now, it’s a Saturday afternoon, there would be people there, and while he’s not sure if he’d talk to anyone, just to observe would be enough to sate his weird need for socializing, maybe he could get a paragraph or two written in the meanwhile. And later he could buy himself a milkshake, or a smoothie.

Maybe it’s because of the trees, the heat is now pleasant and bearable, diminishing with the distance he is from crowds. Most of the benches are full, sadly, with the exception for one with a lone girl, and usually he’d leave it be, she could probably want to be alone, but any dirt on his sweater would be painfully noticeable, so sitting on the grass is not an option. He approaches the bench with a small smile, sitting on it and trying to leave a comfortable distance between the two of them. 

There’s this funny feeling on his chest, as if something is missing, and he can’t pinpoint what. It feels empty, all of sudden, he steals glances at the girl, and there’s nothing. Nothing he can say, feel about her, beside that she’s stunningly beautiful, that is.

[unplagued]

all for you

a playlist for two lovers who found the light

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