lucid dream.
@idsanha, san’s apartment, late evening
sometimes it seems like all san really does in his apartment is sleep and drink. it’s probably indicative of a wildly unhealthy lifestyle. but does anyone expect an idol’s life to be healthy? especially when they’re signed under midas. and here he is again, with bottles scattered across a too-expensive, bland looking coffee table. here he is again, a chopstick in hand as he messily mixes together a large glass of beer and some soju before pushing it across the table toward sanha. here he is again, doing it for himself, swallowing it all down until he feels lightheaded, like his body might not be carved from lead. here he is again, before he’s ripped away from scraps of rest and sent out to promote once more.
he’s angry, the aircon’s cranked high, and he’s tucked himself away in a too-large sweatshirt. the hood’s pulled up to hide his hair. a soft colored lavender they’d just seeped into it so they could roll into music video filming for kokobop, teaser pictures. san hates it. he usually hates it, but at least the blonde’s easier to accept. he drains a good third of the glass before he sets it back down on the table from his seat on the floor. one elbow propped on the wooden surface, the other arm busied as san moves to swipe the edge of his sleeve across his lips.
“there’s more beer in the fridge.” san notes, drops his chin to his forearm and looks through the cup at sanha. he’s warped behind the glass, and stained yellow near the edges from the concoction that’s obscuring him. san’s voice it slurred, he’s already implemented his tried and true strategy of drinking as much as he can handle in the shortest time-frame possible. he drinks a lot, but he’s not built big. it usually hits him fast enough for san to find it comforting.
he slides a leg under the table, knocks their feet together before he prods his toes at sanha’s shin. idle movements. maybe a bid for closeness. san’s sometimes bad at asking for that sort of thing. he eventually sighs, flops himself sideways to lay down on the carpet, cheek pressed to the floor near sanha’s thigh. “what’ve you been up to lately anyway, more fun than me?” he wonders out, fingers curling around the string of his hood, tugs it tight to crinkle at fabric, pulls it taught until it covers most of his hair. “or maybe i don’t want to know.” he laughs this part out, spirals imbalanced off his tongue, tinged in something just a little bitter. sighs again, knocks his forehead against the side of sanha’s thigh, lets his eyes slip shut. “drink more,” he finally decides, pinches at the underside of the other’s knee as he says it like a prompt.
