his therapist tells him he should be more of an active listener.
hyojun's gaze didn't meet hers then, the same way he doesn't meet the relentlessly judging gaze of rakwon's, eyes cast on the glass in his hand, half-empty with simple iced water, brows knit tight across his face. it's lingering, his presence, something which haunts, too alive to be declared a ghost, occupying the space on rakwon's leather sofa (rather shamelessly after he has practically invited himself in) like air, the type that's heavy on the lungs and impossible to ignore. a reminder, with each breath, of the rotten that burrows deep into flesh and finds a home there, parasitic. just enough to acknowledge him when you catch a glimpse of protuberance in the corner of your eye before it fades into the background of your mind.
his therapist tells him it would make his friends like him more. hyojun tries, at the very least. even when the room sways and he finds himself in the epicenter of it, not really caring.
"what did you say again?" he flits, trying to hold his gaze steady, despite the discomfort that comes with being watched ㅡ acknowledging you are being watched, his voice a flat tone. his hand twitches. "the arrangement between you and ㅡ whoever?"
@fromlittlewaves