absolution.
@hyukid , hyuk’s new apartment
where do you turn when you’ve made a mess of your life? where do you go when you have your head in a knot? you go back to the familiar. to the comforting. on most days, that would be dahye, but that particular respite has rendered herself unavailable. san is preoccupied, making new friends and fighting their battles for them. sanha is wrapped up in work, in girls, in whatever else. so what does she have, tonight, when she’s falling apart? what does she have tonight, when she’s too exhausted to practice anymore, half way to tipsy, when the cleaning staff has kicked her out of the company practice room regardless.
so she’s at his apartment. that’s mistake number one. no, rewind. mistake number one is the first bottle of soju. mistake number two is the second, opened in her hand, half drunk. the third is being at his apartment, now. it’s new, still smells like paint when she steps inside, toes off her shoes and parts her lips on a heavy sigh. “hyukie,” she whines, lips pursing together, the tint she’s applied earlier in the night staining the center of her lips, an ombre drift outwards, kiss bitten or berry stained in effect. “sorry i’m late, hun.” she coos.
he’d invited her over that evening, to come see his new place, and she’d sent him something distant and distracted. sure, if i have time, or, i’m at practice right now. she can’t remember anymore. she’d known, though, that hyuk would wait. he always waits for her. he’s always there. with those eyes that turn on her and -
just like that, she softens. god, he looks at her like that and she can’t help but return to his side, now and again. it’s not healthy, not for him. probably not for her either. she wants it to be. it could be, if she let it, if she was another girl, who knew how to return the affection, the honey sticky sweet in his gaze when he looks at her. her shoulders slump. she feels like shit. she should have stayed away. there’s an acrid twist in the pit of her stomach. “it’s a nice place.” she tells him, but she’s not looking at the apartment, just at him. like she can drown herself in the affection there, and choke on the turmoil and pain, all of which sit with her at the source.
he deserves better than this.