[ofkngs]

Nightly Ritual

[ YUKWON ] : OUR PROTAGONIST FINDS HIMSELF BATTERED ON A ROOFTOP.

The stars are bright. 

There’s blood on his hands. The iridescent blue sheen drips off the tips of his fingers as he begins to think:

The stars are bright. 

A breeze blows through the dark waves of his hair to remind him to breathe. The crisp frozen air fills his lungs in a way that sends shivers over the graying overtones of his skin and he thinks:

The stars are bright. 

His eyes once so vibrant in pools of milk chocolate fight for a seat in his irises against the ink that spreads across the veins in his eyes. It threatens to seal away the humanity that clings to the water's surface - emotions welling. His tears mimic his blood and they drip off the edge of his jaw and onto the edge of concrete. Again, he thinks:

The stars are bright. 

Fear. Comfort. Illusion. He yearns for the twinkle of lights among the canvas of a black night. They remind him of her. That girl. Her name sat on the tip of his tongue the way he sat in her apartment so many years ago. Is that her? he wonders. Is that her? Because:

The stars are bright.

Blinding. A memory shifts to the forefront of his mind and he remembers the last time she stared at him. The last time she stood where he stood and he wonders if she thought the same thing. 

The stars are bright. 

It’s been so long. Would she remember him? 

The funny thing about death is that the world becomes brighter. 

The stars.

They’re so bright. 

[luckxmi]

"you can't be here," thick and putrid , its words are outlined in black.

it's envious of the starlight that splashes across the concrete. and when it inhales it swallows everything , greedy but languid in its being.

it just gulps and bellows around you little star, it knows it will envelope you too.

but everything worth something means nothing once all the light goes out.

it says it likes to suffocate its victims.

every person or thing knows everything that there is to know, but still, it is sneaky when it eats .

and well, the taste of existence becomes like a fever that clings desperately to it, after all they are one and the same.

destructive. lazy. intense.

it wants to hug you.

instead it seeps into the fiber of what makes you real.

but its the unsettling pleasure it gets to run right through you. it gets a longing for your tears that cascade seamlessly inside it.

"give in," gasoline trickles , then floods out a lead pipe. it threatens to burn you for being so bright.

"star."

[luckxmi]

Dark eyes stare at the blur his previous messages had become, waiting, as if they’d somehow process--like a photograph or a telescope, but the longer he looked at the text, the more he wanted to succumb to the static ebbing away at him, little by little. Minhyuk shook his new apartment keys in his hands, in hopes that the jingle was enough to deter rodents of the people kind, and the rat bird pigeon kind. But, one thing he knew, was that it didn’t take this long for a text to be answered, -- not when he needed him to answer--he could feel that right, Seungho could feel it, right? 

Minhyuk hugged his hands, shoving them between his armpits in attempts to warm the chill from the onslaught of rain pouring down. His phone rang as he called this time, neck craning, knees buckling as he searched again for something even remotely familiar, or in the very least the landmark he’d left behind.  “ I can’t find it,” his voice is clear as day, but the long sniffle after and the shudder that reaches even his ears makes his raspy voice waver. “I l-lost my car, ..I know exactly where I left it, exaaactly where it is , but where it is ... i can’t find it,..arhgk” the sound of the phone hitting the ground, and the sight of the dusty clouds in the sky, the fading neon lights far off in the distance and the sight of the grown man, fumbling to pick himself out of the asphalt heavy puddle he found himself in as well as his phone, red cheeks, pale blue lips, dark wavy hair plastered to his face he cusses. “rotten, fucking luck,” @ofkngs

[dlitefromheaven]

[chiqkihyun]

stunning

[luckxmi]

blue moon.

[luckxmi]

katanaxmi‌:

luckxmi‌:

Minhyuk reached into the truck, unlocking the door from the after squeezing his arm inside the half rolled window. Opening the van, immediately the smell of familiarity washes over him but he doesn’t stop there, grabbing the half drank water bottle from the holster and unscrewing the cap. “Here, let me see it,” he doesn’t wait for the other to give him his hand or his permission though, taking it in his own once he’s back outside that van after having disappeared inside momentarily. The hand he holds face up in his, he thinks hes always craved to touch them so simply, with ease, like right then, brushing the back of it gently as he pours water over the cut across his wrist.

“Hurts? Eh not really…” He gave his hand a hard shake in annoyance after withdrawing it from the box in the truck. The jagged cardboard edge had made a clean thin laceration that encircled his wrist nearly the full way around. Irritating certainly and would probably burn like the entirety of Hades later, but he’s had worse and definitely done worse to himself just living from one day to the next as he invariably did. 

At least the damn box fit in the truck now…

The surprise on his face was genuine, when Minhyuk reappeared with the water bottle in hand. He started to open his mouth in protest, but the other man already had his hand out and was pouring water that had gone warm from the heat of the van over his superficial wound. Resigned to the makeshift first-aid session for the moment by his impromptu nurse, he explained the futility anyway. “I’m fine really Lee-san. I mean I’ve done worse just teaching the kids at the center, so it’s no big deal. It’s just a paper cut honestly. Probably will close up all on it’s own by the time I’m on the road again. Thanks for the concern, but you really don’t gotta go through all the trouble, my skin’s made of pretty tough stuff.”

“Hey what’s this brand? I’ve never seen these before.” Already the cut on his wrist was half forgotten, and Kaisei reached with his other hand for the beer bottle the shop owner had perched on the van bed. It was definitely not any he’d had before. He set the bottle back with a smirk. “This is generous of you Lee-san, really—but to tell you the truth, I’ll probably just keep the beers, and take ‘em home. The community center is gonna have enough trouble as it is monitoring the wine consumption tonight.”

“Anyway…” He nodded thanks again for the water, before simply sticking both hands in his pockets casually. “You should come by tonight’s event. I’m sure the director at the center would be happy to thank you in person for supporting us. Bring your family too. I teach the self-defense for ladies and shinshin toitsudo for kids. You can sign-up your wife, sister even your mom and the kids, I promise they’ll be in good hands in my classes. No punched in boxes or nothing like that!”.  

When he said that it didn’t hurt, Minhyuk doesn't push it, capping the water bottle quickly soon after, though he would have rather kept his hands on him and continued to wash the cut until the water ran clear. Minhyuk, with both hands now on the half full bottle in his palms however was still enamored with weight of the wrist and how it felt to simply touch. “It’s too bad we don't keep first aid kits with us though,” he breathed out, shaking his left hand off the water that hadn’t immediately evaporated in the heat like he thought it should have with just how hot it was. “Bright side, you got everything inside the truck and you get free beer.” 

Minhyuk pushed the hair from his eyes, resting this time against the truck and hearing the boxes squeak slightly just from all the extra weight. He paid them no mind honestly, though the metal against his back was hot and burned all the way through his shirt. The feeling didn’t hurt much, the real ache was in his chest, and the turbulence that settled there and gradually increased like a school boy crush. It was something he’s only ever felt every once in a while--and only when his eyes found moments in time like gems he’d very much like to keep. “However-” he shifted slightly, feeling himself slip, shirt riding up uncomfortably until he moved to pick up one on his own. “I’d prefer it if you shared one with me,” he finds himself thumbing the label, the moon already starting to sweat to match to atmosphere. 

“ I don’t have---any of those. Siblings, children, wives or whatever, and it’s part of the reason why I volunteer here whenever I can,” the pout that draws on his lip as he speaks is the color of grapefruit, bitten a blossoming red from all the thoughts that flood him suddenly--hopefully enough ones to get at least a couple sips of beer in to slide from strangers to acquaintances in short time. “I can tell you about this beer, and you can keep me company for a few moments, though if you’re still inviting me without all those guests involved?” he paused,  “I’ll let you know I only accept invitations on dates with kisses, and if you’re still so kind and generous, we can compare my Taekwondo and your Aikido afterwards.” 

[timetominhyuk]

190808 MH TWITTER UPDATE

"난 오른쪽이좋지만 역시몬베베는 왼쪽?"

[timetominhyuk]

190808 @ JIMMY KIMMEL SHOW

© VITAMIN

[luckxmi]

nearbymi‌:

[ FIGHTER : ] no i liek women thers a diffenrece [ FIGHTER : ] no he doesnt . my ass feel fine 

Near makes a face at the last text and grunts with a hand over his face. He had been laying in the grass for the last 20 minutes trying to figure out whether or not he could make it home or eat more bread. Unfortunately, he had laid out the rest of his bread on the grass and was no longer interested in eating it. When he raises the phone up, the world seemed dizzy and his attempts to facetime were going from screen to screen until he was finally able to do it without deleting his number. 

“Hyung…”

His voice was slightly high pitched and his face was flushed. He felt as if his eyes were blinking slowly and so he furrowed his brows and let out a soft whine that could have only been heard between them. 

“Where’s my skateboard?”

Minhyuk hummed, crossing his legs over the other as he stared at the messages that flickered over his phone screen, before it went dark --fading to black, and asked for the password when he tapped it once more out of habit. He entered it quickly, before standing up from his desk and locking the drawer he’d previously had open, it clicks into place.  It’s right away that the face time call comes in, and he’s surprised with the lack of fight over it.

“H-” he began, but when Seungho’s face floods in through the glow of cellphone light and just barely he can see the flushed cheeks of his face, and the dark glimmer of his eyes. He visibly falters, dropping the screen from his face momentarily to nervously scrub at the waves in his hair. “How’d you get there if you don’t have it?” he made sure to roll his eyes at the screen, making it over to where he’d left his car keys, his coat for all that rainy, cold night time weather. “We’ll find it, but look behind you first, --you’re on the ground, you probably fell off,”  Seungho was a hopeless, but never without his skateboard. That’d be the last thing he’d lose, he clung to the thing even after being mobbed so rain, or alcohol, he’d be damned to think otherwise. Minhyuk does think he could smell grass already and he’s barely made it out the door of his apartment, that weather must’ve done a number outside.   “Are you cold?” 

[luckxmi]

[ FIGHTER: ] u fite lik a bietch [ FIGHTER: ] i h8 ur fa ce [ FIGHTER: ] cumme git em [ FIGHTER: ] *me

[ ✐ : FIRECRACKER ] ; that's ok you like bitches, don’t lie 

[ ✐ : FIRECRACKER ] ; you like my face , this owner of this face beats your ass everyday

[ ✐ : FIRECRACKER ] ; I’ll only come get you if you face-time me.

[be-joo]

we have different personalities, but in a harmonious way, i’d say. anyway, we were booked to play at the festival as a duo; and we decided we wouldn’t have any rehearsal.                                                                                            - benny green

{{ @luckxmi​ & @hyunmixmi

[luckxmi]

blue moon.

@katanaxmi​ from here.

“How much do we owe you?” Kaisei asked Minhyuk, as he loaded the community center’s utility van with the last wine box from a pile in the shop. The box didn’t exactly fit, but he didn’t care, he wasn’t making two trips. He never did approve of the community center using booze to lure in parents for open houses to sign up their kids. This was only a bit of cheap wine, still in his experience some parents could get drunk off rubbing alcohol fumes. Most of the time the open houses usually resulted in some kind of fight between booze hounds in the parking lot. The kids didn’t need to see that. Still this was Korea, land of Soju and public intoxication so he didn’t really have a say in it. Alcohol brought in bigger numbers and more parents meant more kids at least having a safe place to go that wasn’t around the gangs.

The little van didn’t have much space, so with a frustrated growl, he gave the box a good punch to make the box fix. His fist went clean through the weakened cardboard and sliced into his wrist with the jagged edges formed by the hole made by his hand.

Crap.

Minhyuk unfolds the yellow paper that he kept in the back pocket of his light blue denim jeans, mops away some of the sweat that wets his hairline, before he’s combing it back again moments later. “Uhh- something,  carry the two,..” he mumbles, doing a quick math in his head. They’re supposed to get half a crate of beer free for their bigger order this month. “This is about it for everything and-” he looks over the paper once more flicking at the number at the bottom and then he puts it back with a tired but accomplished expression. But something else simmers in the amber in his eyes as he bends down to grab the plastic crate off to their right side, bottles clinking, beers in tow. He doesn’t put them in the back, but instead in the grass by the passenger side door, leaning on the side of the truck as he pulls his keys from the loop on his belt. “These ten are on us, the other two, well-” he’s interrupted by the loud muffled smash of cardboard and the clink of wine, and amusement sparks at his fingertips, keys jingling mindlessly in his palms. “That hurt?” he hands over the beer anyway, setting it down between the messed up box and the other’s hand. “Hold tight,” he chortles a bit under his breath, -- of course Hideji would find some way to hurt himself, he seemed to Minhyuk, to rarely come out of a day completely unscathed.

Minhyuk reached into the truck, unlocking the door from the after squeezing his arm inside the half rolled window. Opening the van, immediately the smell of familiarity washes over him but he doesn’t stop there, grabbing the half drank water bottle from the holster and unscrewing the cap. “Here, let me see it,” he doesn’t wait for the other to give him his hand or his permission though, taking it in his own once he’s back outside that van after having disappeared inside momentarily. The hand he holds face up in his, he thinks hes always craved to touch them so simply, with ease, like right then, brushing the back of it gently as he pours water over the cut across his wrist.  

[fymonsta-x]

[luckxmi]

Whoop

&;RANDOM SENTENCE STARTERS;

STATUS:  NOT ACCEPTING.

13. Wake up in bed with your muse.

tw: mention of sex, ( dry, oral ), noncon etc.  

“I know why you’re here,” Minhyuk blinks slowly, - the left side of her face is engulfed by the darkness of his bedroom, the only light cast from the alarm clock to their right blinking 03:37 am in thick yellow numbers and a soft white glow. He could see her clearly however, he always saw right threw her like he was created to do so, like he had no other job but to make soft her barriers, and reach in, caress the most intimate; broken, ugly parts of her. “You want something from me,” he continued, voice a crackling fire under guise of understanding, tenderness that didn’t belong there. He rolled his palms along the inside of her thighs, shoulders melting down against the seam of his mattress as he relaxed. But there was always distaste in the way he touched her there, in the way he ripped at cheap nylons and like they’ve committed sins, tear them until his flesh found flesh and warmth instead of gritty synthetics; polyester blends, cheap easy turn offs. And when he does this, his hands are never kind. She never wore the stockings he’s sent her time and time again; not the ones dirtied with his semen, cashmere silk or the ones gone hard from her spit when he’d put them into her mouth, makeshift ball-gag style and fucked into her, classic horizon black seam. She failed to wear the crushed velvet , and even the nubian silk the exact color of her skin,  the ones he’d pushed inside of her leg by leg,until she was filled with them and he’d pull them out slowly, agonizingly slow, drenched in her sweetness, her nectar, her cum. She gave him nothing, and she also gave him just enough to make him sick of her.  “Something deep, personal about my clients, about Hydrus–or,” finally, he allows himself to breathe her in. Damn, how he loved the way she loved him, and how he hated him, and through her, Minhyuk could feel both hatred and love, and he could drink it in like fine wine on his tongue. He could let himself be intoxicated by her premise, and disgusted by her conclusion. She was everything, feeble connections, dirtied strings, shreds of want and lust and creativity, and she was nothing at all to him too, a means to an end, a flickering light bulb, replaced so quickly, so easily by someone he’d labeled fire. But naturally, Minhyuk always took until there was nothing left to take, until the marrow of his bones once run down and dry were saturated, satiated, and stronger.

“–or you think you’re strong enough to kill me, now. That you’ve got enough experiences with men like me, with afflictions like mine, that you think you can have an upper hand,”  and even though he’s fully dressed, all black denim, grayed zippers and skin tight tees– all remnants of a finished, successful hit, he grips down on her skirt and rolls right up against her pussy. He lets her feel his excitement, not all hers to savor,  against the seams of her existence, the only thing she could ever afford to offer him, the thing he’d stolen, the thing he no longer craved so desperately. He remembered watching her, finding infatuation in her tears when she’d cry over her problems, over the others that she’d let inside her and the money she’d never see, never smell so deeply that it’d heal her from the inside out if she got enough of it. He remembered the taste of her whimpers when he’d bite into her and draw blood every time and he would streak ruby kisses up her stomach, wonder if she’d have his babies, wonder if it’d destroy her if she did. He remembered how he would gladly fill her, lovingly mold her, muffle her moans with enough hits that she’d ask him, finally fucking grateful, not to stop, not to leave her, if he’d ask kindly enough, put enough sugar in his voice, or honey in his gaze.  “I’m sorry for hurting you back then. –”  he’d pause, lips red, broken from biting away memories that suffocate him. “Is that what you want to hear,”  his expression holds nothing familiar, apologetic at best for the pain he’s caused her, but never for what he’d done to her– he’d never let her have that, never let her take it away from him, it was his, his until he felt like he was done with her chapter, and even then, he would place it, delicately with white ribbons in the far corners of his mind. 

Minhyuk reaches up, thumb brushing over the span of her cheek, gentle and tender. Back and forth, he draws circles against her skin, brushes over ink painted lashes and smearing mascara. “You still trust me?” he purred , bringing her forward to rest on his chest, and he feels that heat that once intoxicated him deeply.  “You don’t do you. You feel safe? – comfortable.” he breathes out again, slowly, in fractions between her thighs. “Your heart is beating fast,..so fast, i can feel it all around me,”  right now, he thinks of putting his tongue inside her, of tasting her, and all the broken, vulnerable pieces.  “Do you think about us, on a rainy day. –When you do something wrong, do you still think about disappointing me.” he can hear the shifting of the digital clock next to his ears, the fluttery breaths she takes vibrating through her thighs.  “Do you still touch yourself,–” his lips purse, dark hair fanning over his pillow as he watches her carefully, eyes reading her expression. “Do you still touch yourself and cry, Hideji.” 

[myeongchokrp]

[luckxmi]

PROFILE LOADED • • • 《 LEE MINHYUK 》

“On the surface, LEE MINHYUK is a twenty-six-year-old WINE AND SPIRIT SHOP OWNER. Dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that he’s also a HITMAN andSALESMAN that goes by the alias LUCK. His allegiance lies with HYDRUS.”

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

“Who are you?,” her voice is soft, lacking the sort of incredulous tone that Minhyuk was accustomed to hearing on days where there was more than just venom laced on his tongue. Pool blue reflects off her dark brown eyes, her lashes inky and water heavy but he’s distracted by the way she tucks a section of her hair behind her ear.  “Minhyuk,” a smile paints itself on his lips, gentle and infallible as he tucks his arms further across her son’s chest and with a plop, plucks him out of the water, earning him a feathery light giggle from the two year old. “You’re Hideki’s mother?” he stifled his own laugh, it settles down, bubbling quickly in his chest, a soft, breathy chuckle and a question rhetorical in nature. “It’s a first,- you drop him off usually, did you finally get a Friday to yourself?“the toddler climbs his charcoal grey singlet to play in Minhyuk’s damp hair, yanking it into a long sprout to match his own, his feet pooled in the collar of it for more purchase Minhyuk’s own hands don’t offer. 

The demure expression she makes, perhaps embarrassed by her workload shows also in the way she fiddles with the shoulder of her one piece bathing suit and bobs further into the chlorine stained waters. ”I wanted to make time with him, he’s always trouble without his mother,“ Attractively so, he catches glimpse of a pair of beauty marks,– diagonal from each-other above the swell of her chest, rippling water distorting their edge. The Yeongi Community Center however, is bustling with noise and he barely hears her over the sound of the other children, some of which he glances over his shoulder to look out for, their adventurous habits too much for even their own parents, but not for an energetic Minhyuk. He speaks louder, his voice is only slightly lower in intonation when he slips into fading familiarity of Japanese, slightly out of practice from his more youthful years.   ”I volunteer, two days a week — the sessions are only an hour long, but it’s long enough to learn Hideki? He loves water more than snack time!“ she seems impressed, pressing her palms together in anticipation for more of that casual, social intimacy that she can relate.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

”How did you get here?“ she looks worried despite her acknowledgement of her son, her gaze aimless as she reaches out for him when Minhyuk winces from a particularly hard yank to his choppy bangs. ”A-aah, –“ he squints, water trickling down through his lashes, burning his left eye. ”Born n raised, you haven’t been here long huh?“ Minhyuk snorts, his brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkling as he dips under the water fully. Hideki’s soft plump belly smacking the water lightly above him and he slaps his tiny palms down on Minhyuk’s head in retaliation, excitement of the water reaching him once again. Hideki laps forward, and this time Minhyuk earns a well endowed kick to the chin when he resurfaces. He laughs, wiping the water from his face with an open palm. The toddler makes his way back into his mother’s arms, and floating does he cutely gurgle and blow spit bubbles at them both.

Minhyuk supports Hideki gently with his free hand before reaching to tighten the tiny loose sprout on top of his head, and the boy propels forward once again unprompted, his orange and yellow arm floaties squeaking as he kicks water up again this time into their faces. They laugh together this time, the sound of Minhyuk’s own laughter filling the busy pool with its resonance. His eyes are creasing, creating half moons in his face, her nose wrinkles softly, her cheeks reddening from sudden cold of the spray.  ”But, Hey, don’t be so afraid of the island, especially the center. “ she’s probably heard the news, listened to the broadcast on the radio during her commutes around town, Minhyuk reassures her. ”My father used to make me practice Taekwondo right outside here in the mud as a kid even though we had a private facility. Said, ’the earth, the wind, and the rain, the strongest of man it does create,’ but we planted lavender and baby’s breath in place of all the muck, Its probably grown up crazy since then–“ they’re being circled by both the laughter and energy of the slightly older children now, a bigger more enthusiastic splash Minhyuk has to shoulder catches them this time. ”Yah, careful, he’s still learning to keep up,“ he sputters, chin dripping, ears chilled. The child in line of fire, giggled coyly, yet moves on rather quickly to splash a older friend of his. Minhyuk, he knew the ambition of that kid. ”It was the community that yanked me up by my bootstraps, and told me things can grow too, just like how Hide enjoys swimming,“  and Hideki would also become a pro, with the same ambitions that seemed to fill the noisy community center on Friday mornings during the sweltering summers.

[timetominhyuk]

190502 MH TALK TOK UPDATE

[chaexmi-blog]

delighted distress.

[luckxmi]

chaexmi‌:

Individually, everything is doable — the throbbing bruises on his neck that Hyungwon desperately wants to ask about, the blood on his hands that looks and feels dried yet he keeps finding more in other places of his defeated state, and the absence of space awareness as he falls over the bed. Idiot. “Did you hurt your right arm, too?” He asks; clearly unimpressed with the turn of events. Straightening the patient is harder on him due to his lack of physical prowess, but the nurses have it covered. Looking around after he’s offered an inconspicuous tablet of relief to the bedded man, one of the nurses has completely left the curtained space before he came to the realization of it, having already cleaned the patient’s arms in his wake, and the other two are teetering on the edge, deciding whether to finish the job or go help the onslaught of wrecked bodies. Just go. He thinks with miffed features, borderline glaring, yet his thoughts seem to have voiced out as their backs become mere memories. 

Hyungwon can take care of a sorry-looking patient just fine on his own; all dead weight adrenaline and slurred words. But with the sound picking up around the emergency room — demands for help, groaning, tables-on-wheels passing, needle inserts, and the yelling of nurses over it all in attempt to communicate effectively — he feels like he should be somewhere else, with someone else, and not absentmindedly trying to relax his current patient by massaging his shoulder and left arm, but that’s what Hyungwon’s hands automatically played into, as soon as he heard arm and attack in the same cursed sentence, since civilians prefer not to hurt, and he equally prefers not to hear more screams ringing in his ear drums at the moment; especially not mere inches away. He has other methods for dealing with a popped off arm, the limb that hangs uselessly at the side that he’s seen and taken care of far too many times in his albeit short career — hippocratic or eskimo techniques would work just fine, but he needs another person here, spaso, but this man isn’t going to stay still as far as he can tell, then there’s always kocher’s method, the oldest trick in the book with the highest success rate and equally as painful.

Despite his wonderful options for administering pain in the guise of healing, he instructs the patient to breathe with him in calm, soothing motions, and away from the distractions of his shoulder with talks of what Hyungwon’s going to do about his wounds; heal them, of course, but he takes him through the tedious process and soon enough pops his joint back in place in one, painless motion before fishing out a sterile bandage from his lab coat to start properly treating the man’s wretched arm. “Mind telling me what you did to get that purple around your neck?” He enthused, because knowing how these things occur is more of a joy for him than trying to patch it. “Be a doll and don’t spare the details,” he smiles for the first time that day; no matter how strange it might be in the circumstances.

If Minhyuk is honest with himself, he feels like absolute shit. He should have drank a six pack or bought something less messy and more like seeing clouds of smoke and feeling nothing but niggling awareness and maybe wanting doughnuts--and getting those fucking doughnuts instead of whatever crack pipe show this was. There’s probably spit or blood on his face, he’s not sure, and looking around the small makeshift enclosed space there’s no mirror for him to look at either.  He wondered if it were always like that, never a glimpse to see just how fucked you are, more surprise for when you get home with all the gauze and cotton they patch you up with. The idea is unsettling in theory, it’s not a kind thing to do to patients, -- hysteria is best dealt with under watchful eyes he knew,  but maybe they want to fill the shit hole with patients going through mental breaks too. More money to line their pockets with at least, -- more pills to pump, anesthetics and needles to buy, beds to fill.  He thinks he feels sick, and maybe it’s the thought of the doughnuts, but the sweet idea of them and the smell of bleach churned his stomach sour, despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten since the other day. So maybe, it’s the ethics -- or the way arms and wire thin fingers pull him from his marble grave and help him stumble back onto that bed,  metal bars up. But he doesn’t care about ethics, or patients or corrupt facilities-- but he cares about getting in, and getting out,  people minding their fucking business, people not touching him all at once, with emptiness in their palms and disdain in their voices. 

“Leave,” there’s not a grateful syllable in the way he speaks and, pushes the nurses away from him with his free --only usable hand, and had it not been for his fucked up shoulder, he would have gladly done it with two. He was in no mood, at least, not any more for games--for going over more information that was already easily accessible via the internet or data systems. Yes he smoked occasionally, no he didn’t do drugs, Yes he was allergic to stupidity, no he didn’t have a history of high blood pressure, but if he had it now, it was because of them, and this, and the entire situation. He was tired, he was hurting, he didn’t want to be here, they didn’t want to be here, so if that was the case, they could leave him alone with the only person capable of offering him anything else but truth be told, he didn’t want him touching him either. The nurses barely move, --they stumble back a bit, maybe in fear of being hit, one shielding herself with the other, but it makes him more angry. More of those flashes beneath his eyelids, more of that pounding incessant noise in his ears. He wanted it to end, and shaking pills at him was not helping, the actual fuck was tylenol going to do, nothing,  not a damn thing. “You know what would be great, oxy, percs, hell even vicodin, you have any of that?” 

Out of all the things that he’s done today though, the most haunting of them all was how this doctor looked at him, surveyed him--it reminded him of , himself close to the end of the night, before everything started to bleed together, and before he ended up here spilling lies like a deck of cards over blackjack. It reminded him of how Minhyuk looked at her face, truly, for the first and last time in his life and he wondered, for a second if this man had killed someone just the same.  It feels so sudden when the doctor’s pressing his hands on him however, and he thinks he’s ready, Minhyuk thinks he’s ready, but panic rushes him like fire to oil and a scream he didn’t know was left in him rips from between his teeth, from between his words. “no, stop fucking , i’ll do it myself, shit your handS ARE COLD, i- get your fucking hands off,--  fucking bitch ass shit bitch--i’ll kill a-agRRAH,”  his shoulder pops in, and the sound is nasty in his ears, but it feels just worse than dislocating it in the first place. It’s not the worst pain, but its sudden, unforgivable pain that makes him delirious with hatred, with the same brutal violence that came and went hours ago back full force as he catches jugular in his grip, and pushes down with everything he has left in his tired body, squeezing tight, maybe until he hears the same crack like the one that reached his ears only moments ago. It all hurts, it really fucking hurts.

[be-joo]

❮ me to you

[luckxmi]

hyunmixmi‌:

“yeah, but mi-ah’s legs aren’t.“ she says with a small sigh and looks up at minhyuk just to prove their height difference. it was about a solid 10cm in her opinion, but they never really checked it, hyunmi wasn’t that petty. at his comment about the smell of sugar, she can’t help but smile and inhale, just to make sure he wasn’t making things up, and it was true. it smelled like hot chocolate, like vanilla, strawberry, it almost made her mouth water, because yes, she really liked this kind of thing. she couldn’t handle her liquor, neither did she like caffeine, so sugar was a good drug in her opinion. legal, and most of the time harmless.

“yes, oppa, i do. strawberry milkshake, with some chocolate cake? it’s amazing. “ hyunmi answers, going on her tip toes and trying to look over the line but failing, and quickly dropping her heels back to the ground. her hand still stays around his wrist, fingers a tad loose, but holding his hand there on her shoulder. “plus, you said we should come and visit this place, after all, you promised to treat me to something.“ she points out, giving his wrist a squeeze before finally letting it go and lifts her other hand, folding her arms over her chest as she smiles at minhyuk’s comment about carrying her. “it’s okay, you always carry me, i just have to ask politely.“ she teases, looking yet again at the male and leaning into his side teasingly, body pressed against his for a short second before leaning away from him and looking at the line as it starts to move “see, it’s moving quickly, no need to be sulky over waiting a bit.“

When Hyunmi looks at Minhyuk like she did right now,  he probably felt how jello felt when some six year old gives it a good, rambunctious shake and he often wondered if she knew what the soft browns of her eyes did to his knees, to his heart. Not many girls, -- women were like her, that made him feel childish enough to even want to pull her hair in retaliation to her charms, ( and maybe if she did sport those pigtails today he would have yanked out a rubber band or scrunchy and tie his own bangs up with it, knowing how difficult it would have been for her to get them so perfect the way she always did. ) “Well hurry up and have a growth spurt already and i won’t have to pull you along or piggy back you,”  he reaches down to try and tug on both of her ears,  because he could,  because they were there and he wanted to touch her too without her permission.  

“Scared-ee-cat wants strawberries and chocolate though? Should we give them to her or should she cry instead, i don’t know, i don’t know. ”  he pulls her by her face a couple steps forward, wide palms cupping her cheeks and chin. Minhyuk looks at the couple to the right of them, a quizzical expression on his face, eyebrows cocked as he asks. “What do you think, should we? I’m not sure she actually deserves it, -” his truth was he didn’t care what they thought-rhetorical, tone too serious hidden behind playful banter. “She doesn’t listen to and talks back to her oppa, what to do with such a bad girl? buy her cake and ice cream?”  he makes a questioning sound, sucking air between his teeth. “Too bad, maybe we’ll have to leave before we get in,” he stares right at her, blinking slowly, steadily, his lips pushing up into a pout of his own. “Will you, or won’t you be good for me,” and by good, he means bad, but he’s not asking any questions, there’s no rise in intonation in his voice this time, just the warmth in his palms and the sun beating down on them both. The line was coming to a end, but he only wanted her looking at him right now, hearing only what he had to say, not the people around them and maybe he wanted her to feel a little more like jello, but he wanted a lot of things he never said.