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symbol startersaccepting
when he sniffs the air in a state of semi-consciousness, it comes out as a half breath and half snore, the puff catching somewhere in his throat with a weird sound muffled by--something. a mattress? pillow? somebody’s arm he drooled all over in his sleep? fuck if he knows. where is he anyway? his thoughts are far from coherent, running in circles inside of his head and his eyes are nowhere near ready to open up, move and assess the situation, and so isn’t his body.
so he just lies there. breathes. smells something sweet and nice, too strong to be natural, but not artificial enough to be unpleasant. his arm extends just barely, blindly feeling for--anything, and all he really gets is more of the softness and warmth and occassional bits of cold, like metal or plastic or whatever. when he pulls on one of those, twisting and tearing, it eventually loosens up and as rolling it in his fingers gives him nothing, he peeks at it with one eye (it’s fucking dark in here; is it still nighttime?) to finally recognize it as some... button beading thing. what the fuck?
he thinks he’s still drunk when he deduces that he’s lying in a pile of clothes, clothes that definitely don’t belong to a man, if the overwhelming sweet scent and decorative buttons and something that feels like lace imprinting itself on his cheek is anything to go by. but the more and more he thinks about it, the more probably the idea seems to be, and while he might be dumbly hungover, he’s definitely not drunk anymore.
hojun ponders over finally, finally, crawling out of there, but in all honesty, it feels kinda nice. he doesn’t care about the garments’ decorations or about the laces (holy shit though, what if he’s lying in a bunch of underwear?), but the flock of materials feels comfy, good against his body, cushioning it well enough to not ache from sleeping technically on the floor. he has no idea what was going through his drunk mind when he decided to rest in there, but he kinda wants to pat his drunk self on the back right now. good job, hojun.
when he moves, really only wanting to shift around and fix his position, muscles slightly stiff and needing a relief, his leg kicks against the door accidentally. it opens, just a little bit, with a brief creak, and his limb - from toes to somewhere around knee - suddenly feels much colder and less comfortable than the rest of his body. briefly, he wonders just how creepy this must look from the other side: a mostly unmoving heap of body all of a sudden pouring out of the closet’s door, and the thought makes him snicker in amusement.
