❝ path to you — yr&sg.
⟨ ⋯ ⟩
she stands at the same pathway today, this very second—right now. the dark scares her, but the familiarity of this pathway wins over the fear by a tenfold ( and then some ) that before she knows it, she’s already rushing down the dirt path in search for him. she doesn’t care that she’s sometimes clumsy on her feet, that they like to trip her every once in a while when she runs; she just wants to see him.
she wants to see sunggyu.
sleep had never been all that kind to him. sunggyu fidgets and fusses and turns over in his bed enough times that he’s soon tangled up in a mess of blanket and covers, a sheen of sweat masking the back of his neck and forehead from the exertion. counting sheep only works for so long until they begin to manifest with different faces; from gloomy mythical masks to the realistic flesh and bone of those who live in his building. he seeks out the help of music next, but he doesn’t have many songs that will be able to lull him to sleep—and the ones that are, he knows them well enough that the familiarity of the melody is enough to keep him awake instead of the opposite.
reading is his next method of choice, and it works well enough up until he’s stuck on one line and his eyes graze over the sentence again and again, lingering, unable to decipher any of it. he’s propped up against a few pillows with the book resting on his lap, the uneven distribution of several pages yet to be read making it all too easy for the book to topple over and fall closed beside him. he drifts off like this, crouched into a sitting position while the rest of his bed lay vacant, consciousness draining from him like the constant dripping of a broken faucet.
sleep had never been all that kind to him, but it is his rarely functional memory that keeps him up at night.
it isn’t his bedroom that he opens his eyes to, but it’s equally as dark as what he was expecting to find. he can’t find his feet, can’t bring himself to stand with the surreal weight of the book on his lap, anchoring him to the park bench that he can’t remember sitting down on. none of this is familiar, not upon first glance, but it all starts to feel like the tale of a movie, each scene that passes adding to his conviction that he’s seen it all before.
the inconsistent flickering of the dim lighting that surrounds him ( ominously stemming out from the distance instead of the tall lamp posts that stretch across the horizon ) is what changes first. it gets bright in a matter of seconds like the sun had risen faster than a shooting star, but he raises his head and lifts his eyes, and it’s not sunlight he sees.
ahyoung?
he pushes up off his feet once again, but he’s bound to the seat like he’s glued, like he’s only permitted to the one spot, forced to wait there for something.
“yu.. yura?”
