surface level / @chrsab
familiarity is comforting.
perhaps even more so when it’s sabrina. if he’s being honest, one look at her is enough to forgot the dull ache that slaves away at the back of his mind whenever he thinks about anything, the muted irritation quickly replaced by the faint taste of mint chapstick and a bright peal of laughter followed by a “what?!”. exhaustion kills, maybe, but there’s really no point complaining about how fucking tired you are to anyone else other than an equally weary med student.
weary med student meaning her, of course — not some other snobby intern that’ll actually try to give him reasonable advice instead of immediately cracking out the wine and cussing out every name under the moon. call what they do a routine, or call it flat out bitchy, but he’d much rather be tipsy and peeved with her than sober and peeved alone.
the silence outside her apartment is shattered by his interruption as the keys jangle when he takes them out of his pocket, swearing under his breath when they clank against the soju bottles haphazardly thrown into the plastic bag hanging off his other wrist. the doorknob turns easily once he shoves the key into the compartment, and the familiar jingle as the door unlocks is all the warning she gets before he intrudes into the space with the panache and confidence of its owner.
“listen,” he calls out immediately when he steps foot inside, nudging his shoes off. he’s met with silence for once, and it’s unnerving to the point where he pauses briefly to gauge whether she’s even home in the first place. he continues anyways. “i was going to buy some bordeaux chateau but i realised halfway that i’m not breaking into my ₩50,000 notes for an uncivilised drinking session on a random weekday.”
the other shoes catch his attention next, a starkly distinct design that he knows he wouldn’t be caught dead in. he scoffs, making his way to her room, the words ‘have you finally lost it?’ on the tip of his tongue as he swings her door open.
“wow, that’s great, sab,” he deadpans, mouth pressed in a thin line. he doesn’t recognise the other person — but kicking them out is step two. step one is expressing disappointment, and he thinks he’s doing a damn good job, if he says so himself. “not even an invite.”
