｀、ヽ｀☂ヽ｀、ヽ ━━ beyond the window, the rain patters soothingly, torrential rainfall from earlier in the morning finally letting up to a slow and pretty cadence. his coat hangs by the door, his damp hair clings to his forehead from making his way in. the small, quaint homestead of a family loyal to the dragons that had been all relinquished for the night with compensation, on the outskirts of pyongju. he liked it here, quiet and homely. he glances around the room and his gaze loses focus as thoughts of what it would be like to have grown up in a welcoming family home like this, erodes his mood. he quickly shelves the thoughts to stretch out on the comfy sofa, tossing the bag he’s supposed to be trading to @joon-wy to the squat coffee table. it’s been months since they last met. it’s odd, he remembers a time when they met often, hazy and kaleidoscope-like memories, some of them tainted by disinterest and drugs, others he recalls fondly. the last time he was sober for instance, bridged by a relapse, he recalls those trades and thinks they went better than they had a right to. way better than the usual meetings with stuffy, corrupt politicians or selfish, strung out idols. of course, those idols were the worst part. the clumsier ones, younger ones, fucked up and almost got caught too often, too many times for comfort. egos and drugs are a bad combination, how many times did he have to show up the way he does to save the day? you’d think he’d get more money or praise for putting his ass on the line for them. after all; a dating scandal was far better than a drugs scandal. for everyone involved. his publicity took a hit but, then again, who wouldn’t believe that he was sleeping with anyone and everyone he met. jungmin would probably be along soon and sangyun wonders if things will be the same between them. it had been too long, he almost thought the other man had quit, maybe found another dealer but that was unlikely. he was almost proud, never as happy as he made it seem, to have customers to sell to. it might be. . . nice to see someone else permanently kick the habit; he’s personally invested in beat-the-odds tales and success stories. he had never cared for movies before he managed to get himself back on track again; sobriety had the bizarre side effect of bringing out all manner of pastimes he didn’t think he’d ever care for. in the past few months that he had managed to kick the drugs, he watched more movies than he ever did before. he was almost a connoisseur at this point, a veritable movie lover. he would laugh at himself, but it’s better than throwing himself down the rabbit hole again. if he wasn’t fighting or having sex, he was aching, itching to relapse. it was an always there haunt, a blimp at the edge of his thoughts he couldn’t rid himself of. even now, he actively fought to keep his eyes straight out the window, watching the rain pour with a distant, unseeing gaze, to keep his resolve from wandering. heaven forbid he glance at the goods on the table that might call his name; he doesn’t look at them more than necessary. he doesn’t know when his thoughts began to shift from thinking his peddling job was troublesome and unwanted, to being downright cruel and frightening at times.
