#chrbhs

[sunanchr]

@chrbhs​ 

[ kkt - 수난이  SUNAN: 10:35:12AM ] ❤️ [ kkt - 수난이  SUNAN: 10:35:22AM ] i’m not mad at you. [ kkt - 수난이  SUNAN: 10:36:04AM ] i’m just glad it was you that told me, instead of a random instagram account i didn’t even know existed until last week [ kkt - 수난이  SUNAN: 10:36:21AM ] oh wait no it was that account that told me lol

[ 10:36A. HANSOL ]  »  ? [ 10:37A. HANSOL ]  »  there’s nothing to tell you or else i would’ve [ 10:37A. HANSOL ]  »  why does that even sound like something i’d do to you [ 10:38A. HANSOL ]  »  he was trying to talk to me about something important

[xchrhaseok]

$ hansol + 🎵

$: three last texts my muse sent

hansol / hey next time you work a double, maybe don't leave your nasty scrubs in my locker hansol / where are you? dr. jung won’t stop asking 🙄 hansol / if you're on your break, go get me an iced americano. i'm suffering

♫: what’s in my muse’s current playlist?

mood — 24kgoldn / luke hemmings — starting line / secrets — the weeknd / sabrina carpenter — skin / youngblood — 5sos / married in vegas — the vamps

[sunanchr]

The proverbial elephant in the room is as unpunctual as ever, though, no less blatant. Almost too obvious. The ‘elephant’ saunters in with a telltale stupor, an odorous glaze exuded with no requisite proximity. He’d intended it’d be something profitable, maybe even enjoyable, their get-together. A proper interlude prefacing his actual desire, this one more carnal, which he envisions now, twisting in an abysmal spiral until it’s squeezed by the hand of ideation, crumpled and wholly discarded. Leaving in its wake quite the appalling, numbing bitterness, though the pseudo pharmacist would remain undeterred, he’s sure.

“Hey.” His laughter is shaky, etiolated by an incredulity still soft as he wields it. Caution sets his movement apace smoothly, seat abandoned to intercept the other gently, abreast closely, arm an easy coil about his waist. He guides Hansol with firm direction he tries to obfuscate smilingly, huddled together as if he could conceal all of it. Him. “I actually thought you weren’t going to come.” Voice a low murmur, still audible, given his mouth’s position beside the other’s ear, chin dipped to settle at his shoulder, peer observantly, gaze an unremitting scrutiny. 

“You couldn’t wait, huh?” His smile is simple, unnecessary. Hansol seated with an aid Sunan enforces, reclaiming his own chair only then, acquiescence ceded amidst his sigh. He reclines himself partially, head at a cant, smile inciting a scintillating gleam in his eyes, though the light is foreboding. 

“I was going to tell you that this place has excellent mimosas. Maybe next time though, right?” A nod. “I think we want water this time around. Some bread. Do you think you can handle that?”

@chrbhs

[sunanchr]

DECEMBER, 2012.

He doesn’t love him yet. It’s the incipient passion, a rearing sensation coming newly with undeniable power, vividly with brilliance. What he does not speak: he knows that he, one day, will (love him). The anticipation rung as strongly as anything else, a sublime resonance somewhere in his heart. Certainty, that’s how he feels it. Like invigorated lightning, too; a spark he idealizes with each glance he’d take.

Sometimes it’s slowly, strung gently by palpable dream whose tenderness was such that he’d think himself still asleep. Sometimes it’s urgent, the figurative moon river pulling him and his tiny boat with a special violence. It’s always brutal, tugging hard enough to rip his oars aside. The oars were another metaphor, this time for caution. Alongside its brutality, the feeling was a tyrant. It didn’t leave him with the liberty to make any other choice. He had to look. That’s his excuse. 

Not that he needed one. Hansol never asked. Just in case he did, though. That’s what he would provide, put it coolly, believably. It was an oppressive, monstrous compulsion, dragging him absolutely kicking and screaming against all (nonexistent) defiance, making him stare. Making his hand inch closer on the desktop, pinky skirting its end against the edge of Hansol’s opposing hand. Making him wonder how the space between his fingers felt. Was it warm? He’s never actually held hands before. Could they maybe try? 

He means actually try, by the way, because it’s different from when Hansol’s suddenly beside him, looping Sunan’s wrist in-between periods. Excited to see him, or maybe Sunan’s only imagining that but Hansol is laughing, diction a little softer than with the rest of their classmates (he’s even starting the conversation). Different from when he’s meeting him outside in the dead of night, too. Even if that starlit corpse was colder now with the emergence of winter, begging they pull each other as close as possible. That’s just hospice, human survival. That’s them being decent, treating each other decently. It’s different, isn’t it?

He’s in Hansol’s car before the sun comes up because it’s just the weekend. They’re not going anywhere because Hansol just hasn’t decided yet. They haven’t actually tried. His gaze flickers to the armrest separating them. The driver and the passenger seats —  not ‘them’, obviously. 

His heart is so loud.

“ — H-Hey.” As gentle and as evanescently audible as his cowardice usually bade he was. Hands rubbing over his own thighs, as if reminding himself of his own corporeal form, that he was alive. “Um ...  What are we ... ? —  What are we doing? I mean, you and I. Here? As an activity. Christmas is coming soon.” So stupidly, very aware of its lack of correlation. “I’m excited.” Giddy and killing his giddiness, instead shrugging forcibly. “It’s whatever, though. What about you?”

@chrbhs

[sunanchr]

The gift feels heavy in his hand. Another mainstay tethering him to their metaphorical boat. It’s always that in his mind’s refuge. The two of them stranded amidst water that’s only deepening. A very blue abysm, whose alienation he doesn’t quite grasp until he’s turned over his shoulder, seen what’s unrecoverable, nonretractable. The permanent things, all surging like a torrential current, shoving them out somewhere no one else could really reach. 

The gift is an anchor in that sense. Makeshift and deployed yearningly, a (maybe mutual) plea that they stop where they are. That’s enough, they go no further, they stay right here. It means, however, that he sleeps on the boat, wakes up on the boat, in the blistering sun and the pouring rain. No longer adrift at sea but no closer to any shore. 

They’re just there. 

It’s an unremitting cycle the gift keeps him apart of. How could he ever leave when he’s there at the apartment door? Tiffany link bracelet boxed so cutely, even engraved (Shakespeare’s thirteenth sonnet, first line), staring narrowly as if the door were some impassable object. It wasn’t. He recollects this as he fishes out a copied key.

“Hey.” His greeting is cautious, aware, louder only in that moment. It’s their special rigmarole, walking away into a few, scattered days of silence, coming back unannounced. He had cried last time though; his shakiness now was in account of that. “Sorry,” volume settling once he’s neared a familiar living space. “I know I should’ve texted you back but I didn’t know what to say or how to say it over text, you know? It’s hard.” His pause is deliberate, gaze dropped to monitor his shoes as he removes them, navigating inner trepidation. “It still is hard, honestly. I know I don’t say it often but I do really lo—”

Another pause, the same apprehension swirling tumultuously into a very violent asphyxiation, stabbing once and digging the blade deep. His stare is even somehow chokingly lost, his mouth agape, unspeaking. Hansol ...  and Sabrina. A cake between them.

“What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck is this? Are you — ?” Dumbfounded, his accusations split between them scathingly. “Me? You do this to me?”

@chrbhs @chrsab

[chrngmin]

truth: when was the last time you lied?

The question makes him laugh, a small chuckle impulsively leaving his lips, head ducking along. When was the last time you lied? "Never?" His face is cast with a shadow of mischief, the smirk seeming permanent and natural as he tries so hard not to burst out in laughter. He does a horrible job at it, bursting out in laughter as he holds an arm over his stomach, clapping his hands as he laughs. "Who knows? Maybe that moment is right now. Or the next minute. Or the next."

[chrmiran]

truth: what’s your favourite idiom?

truth or dare meme — status: CURRENTLY ACCEPTING  

개천에서 용 난다 (from the stream, a dragon rises) 

“the explanation is simple. i’m hoping to live out the rags to riches story. though, i’m not entirely sure it can be called rags to riches when you were born with all the money in the world and lose it because of one mistake. even if i don’t end up as rich as my parents, i just want to get out of the cycle of perpetual debt and just be comfortable. i’m tired of having to look after kids that didn’t even come out of my own body.” 

[chraera]

truth: what’s your worst habit?

"lying, probably.” spinning white lies, often thought to be harmless when they were far more than that was something aera does too often. there’s no good way to defend dishonesty and blatantly manipulating your words to sound nicer to another person so she refuses to justify her misdeeds. doesn’t matter the overused mantra of ‘the ends justify the means’. it was bullshit; she knows she’s terrible and sometimes that internal admission is just enough.