#1072 words

[darth-does-stuff]

tw: uh food mention/food, seasonal depression, lethargism, feeling apathetic, frustration and anger mention, medicine mention, its roman and pat dealing with pattons seasonal depression basically

It was one of those days. The days when he didn’t feel like doing anything. Winter was already bad enough, considering his asthma, but when you stacked on his seasonal depression, it made it practically hell.

Patton laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly. He didn’t feel like getting up, or even sitting up for that matter. Some days, his seasonal depression wasn’t as bad. Those days he could move around more, maybe even exercise. He didn’t feel as sluggish. And then there were days when it hit full force. With these types of days, he didn’t feel like he could even move, much less talk. This was one of those.

He heard the door creak slightly as it was swung open, but he didn’t bother looking over, already knowing who it was.

“Hey, Pat,” Roman said softly, smiling lopsidedly. “I got you some salad. I know, not a breakfast food, but it should help. I also brought you your antidepressants.”

Patton just made a noise in the back of his throat as thanks, not having enough energy to talk. Roman sighed slightly, setting the pills and the bowl of salad down before crouching down to the bed height. 

“Can you sit up for me, Pat? You gotta eat.”

Patton managed to shake his head no. Roman looked at him before seeming to come to a decision. 

“Do you want me to help you sit up?” he asked gently. Patton considered it for a moment before nodding his head.

“Alright, here we go,” Roman slid his hand under Patton’s back and set one hand on his chest, propping him up into a sitting position. Patton just stared desolately at the floor, frustration welling up inside of him, yet unable to do anything to release it. It was just there, simmering right under the surface.

Patton held his hands out limply, Roman getting the message and placing the bowl and fork in his hands. He stabbed it weakly, staring at it before lifting the fork to his mouth and chewing it blankly. Roman watched him eat the salad, shoulders slumped slightly. It was going to be a long day for both of them.

                                          ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

Patton stared out the window, watching flakes of snow fall onto the ground. He remembered how he used to love winter when he was younger. He and his siblings loved playing in the snow, along with stuffing the snow down each other’s necks. Patton also remembered how they made snowmen that very much did not look like snowmen, more like goblins. A faint smile touched his face at that memory before fading just as quickly as it appeared.

He also remembered, quite vividly, the day when he first had seasonal depression. It was rather hard to forget after all. He was 17, waking up to a rather mundane morning. He just felt...sluggish. Lethargic. Apathetic, even. And he just sat there on his bed. The world wasn’t grey. It wasn’t black and white. It looked normal. But, he didn’t feel normal. The world wasn’t bleak, but he himself was.

His family was understandably concerned by this behavior. Or rather, the lack thereof. After a few hours to see if it would just...go away, they eventually took him to the doctor. The doctor eventually diagnosed him with depression. 

Except, the depression symptoms only happened around fall and winter. His family was more than a little puzzled, and very concerned. They took him to the same doctor again a year later, where the doctor then thought that it might be seasonal depression. They explained the whole spiel to Patton’s family, along with how to deal with it.

It was a shock for them. They were so uncertain about it, but they tried to deal with it. They always made Patton sit in the sunniest spots, made him exercise when he could, a good diet with leafy greens.

Not unlike now, Patton thought wryly. Patton’s inner monologue was interrupted by Roman opening the door and walking in. 

“How are you doing?” he asked, sitting down in a chair next to Patton. The latter opened his mouth to try and talk, but only succeeded in making a small noise, not having the energy. He felt that frustration welling up once more, but shoved it aside. He closed his mouth, instead opting for a shrug of his shoulders.

“So I’ll take that as not as bad as the morning, but still sucky?” Roman smiled slightly. Patton nodded, lips twitching upward.

“Well, it’s a start. Do you need anything?” Roman leaned forward, clasping his hands. Patton shook his head no, looking back outside, shoulders slumping. Roman sighed, moving to get up to do the household chores before a thought came to Pat. 

He swiveled in his chair to face Roman, lifting his arms up to sign something. 

Journal? he signed haltingly. Roman smiled and nodded, moving to Patton’s nightstand and grabbing it, along with a pencil. He set it on Patton’s desk. 

“There you go, Breezy.”

Patton rolled his eyes, making a slight shooing gesture to Roman. He snorted, bowing dramatically before walking out, quietly closing the door behind him. 

Patton turned back to the desk, grabbing the pencil and flipping open the journal. His therapist had recommended writing his thoughts in a journal or diary, specifically his negative emotions. He did this now, pressing the graphite hard into the paper as he wrote, releasing pent up frustration. There were slight gouges now in the paper, but he felt a bit better. A bit lighter.

                                             ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

Roman flicked off the light in Patton’s room, now immersed in total darkness. He managed to make out the lump on the bed that was Patton himself and a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

Dealing with this was hard. And it was hard for Roman to not be able to do much for his friend other than offer his support and help. It was an internal matter for Patton, one he couldn’t just fight and defeat physically. And he knew it was hard for Patton. To wake up and to feel lethargic. Not even having enough energy to get up. To have this bleak mindset.

But they could deal with it. They would deal with it. They picked each other up when they fell down and lifted the other up to soar high when they felt low. 

And they always would, no matter what.

 we love a supportive roman 😌 also yeah a bit of a cheesy ending but i couldnt think of anything else lmao

[helpmehilfiger]

Everyone has their own unique world inside of them. At the same time, they have the desire to express their inner selves outwards. Though there are numerous ways for such expression, fashion and music are probably the ones that are the coolest and the most apparent way. Those two fields are different from each other for sure. However, they create a synergy when they are fused together, just as Hilfiger had proven it himself. Furthermore, he tried to focus on a range of ‘genuine American fashion’ itself, starting from the classy prep-school looks to the sub-cultural looks such as hippies and hip-hop styles. The significance of his career is that he put diverse fields of culture altogether in a concordant way. 

[southamericanjinki]

stay awake (dreams only last for a night) || solo

Jinki was a sound sleeper. He rarely dreamed and when he did, he didn't remember the dreams, merely was left with a small reminder in the form of tented boxers or future lyrics. Tonight, though, something was different. This dream was far too real. He shifted in his sleep, turning over and emitting a soft snore as his subconscious warped the night's events into something despicably, strangely, filthily wonderful.

Goosebumps spread on his skin as she massaged slowly upward from the wounded ankle. Every caressing movement, every soft condolence she uttered went directly to the center of his brain responsible for sending blood southward. He clenched his fists into the sheets as she sighed admonishingly and pursed her lips, her warm breath entering his pores and making his skin tingle. His heart pounded millions of times harder than it had when she had set her head on his shoulder. It was a wonder he didn't die, and somehow it only got worse.

The delicate, unwavering Hwayoung scolded him sweetly for lying so stiff and laughed, bringing her hands to his chest and his shoulders and draping his arms around her waist. She lifted a long, graceful leg across his lap and pulled him to seated, locking their eyes. Hers were deep and mischievous -- Jinki could've sworn they were more innocent in reality, but he couldn't even tell if this was reality, so he dismissed the conviction -- and held all sorts of sweet temptation.

She didn't make him wait long before she kissed him, though, thankfully. Jinki's heart couldn't have taken much more of those glittering eyes. Her lips were silken and warm against him; the kiss was clean, unlike the sloppy drunken sort he was used to sharing with sloppy drunken boys. No, the key point of this kiss was its sharpness and simplicity. Even as Hwayoung deepened it, it was still clean and gentle, and yet the sparks remained. Hwayoung seemed to have an electric current running through her, frankly. Jinki was captivated.

Jinki had some latent pride, though, in love, and he called back on all of his subconscious seventeen-year-old memories to remember how to hold her. He was terrified of breaking the dream-spell of the moment but he was terrified of just sitting there rigid and stunned and so, slowly, carefully, he took his hands from her waist and pushed her hair from her forehead to kiss her properly. Her back arched slightly in response and he moved a trembling hand down to nervously cup her breast, tracing the shape with nervous fingers and slipping his thumb over the hardening nub of her nipple. 

It'd been four years since he'd touched a girl like this, and though he had been sure he'd lost the taste for their softness and sweetness, he was beginning to question himself. Hwayoung's hips gyrated against Jinki and his hands found themselves eager to wander the milky skin underneath the uniform, from the curve of her breasts to the thin apex of her waist to the soft hips, and Jinki was in no mood to deny himself satisfaction. His hands explored her warm, responsive body, unzipping the nurse's dress and admiring the small pinpricks of sweat on her naked chest.

She snaked her own hand downward to Jinki's growing erection, prompting perspiration across his brow and collarbones, and looked up with him with the most inviting grin he'd ever seen, her eyes wide and eager.

And then Jinki's phone alarm rang.

He woke with a start, the bright and feminine Hwayoung that had been in his bed moments before completely gone. He was sweating in his empty dorm room bed, sun streaming in the window, with a bucket of chicken bones next to him and a painfully obvious erection. He let out a soft groan and shivered at the thought of the obscenely real apparition that had fueled it just moments ago.

With a miserable sigh, he picked himself up off the bed and limped off to the bathroom on a mostly-healed ankle, running himself a cold shower and pumping himself to the brink with those glimmering eyes in his head before he even had a chance to think about what he'd done. Once he was clean, though, he was left shivering in the shower as a wave of despicable misery hit him. What had he done? Or rather, what had his subconscious made him do? He didn't even like girls, let alone Hwayoung. She was just a friend and, sure, she was nicer than any other girl had ever been to him, but he didn't... like her, did he?

The more the subject stewed in Jinki's head as he toweled himself dry, though, the more sure he became that he liked the shape of Hwayoung's breasts and the curve of her thighs, but when he thought about girls in general, he couldn't have cared less. He shivered in abject fear of his own emotions and hit his head against the wall behind him.

Hwayoung was so smart and talented and gentle and exemplified all of the superlatives Jinki never could in a million years. She was so kind and so sweet and somehow Jinki's warm view of her innocence wasn't marred at all by his dream. She was everything a man should want in a woman -- clever, loyal, effeminate, kind, and, as was suddenly scarily evident, sexually appealing. There was essentially no reason for Jinki not to like her like that, he realized.

And yet there were a million reasons for him not to. There was the thunder in his nerves when he even thought of Jonghyun, there was her obvious femininity, there was his still-broken heart, there were the habits Jinki had cultivated, all of which should have, theoretically, made her just a little bit less appealing. And yet somehow, those reasons were hardly holding their own in that moment.

Dreams were terrifyingly eye-opening things.