one step at a time. his physique is blessed with long, light legs yet he is cursed with an infection that is eating the sanity of his mind away. this fucking insane infection is making him mental, his mind throbbing -- it’s irritating, his sensitive and volatile mind being breached by this virus.
sehun is sick of running, sick of the cold sweat on his warm body, he wants to ram his fist into the plaster wall and then his head, just over and over again till he’s bleeding profusely and his erratic nonsense heartbeat goes faint and dead slow.
but when his side faces a calamity and it’s harshness is against this shoulder and hip. the rush from his speed and the jam in his side forcefully spurs his mind. the physical contact making his mind whirr. instead of punching plaster, he’d be well sedated with a good punch against a fleshy body.
a vulgar“what the fuck?” spits from his lips and his gritted teeth, his head snapping immediately to the culprit. “luhan?” his eyes narrow, a coursing burn in their collision only makes him curl his hands into fists. the desire to break a tooth and/or nose drives him mad. oh sehun doesn’t care for much control, now when under such an overwhelming freeing influence.
the ‘freeing’ part is rather worrying.
“you fucking daft idiot.” his blood is rushing, the fire in his body is pumping through his veins too quickly, and his heart beat drums loudly against his ears. his mind hazy with rage. “what’s the fucking point luhan? you can teleport your sorry ass out of here as the rest of us have to suffer and you’re here handing my death over.” he makes sure his voice is merciless and spitting. he wants to rile luhan up as well, give him a better reason to place a punch to his jaw.
he’s desperate for the violence, as you can tell.
he’s always had a height advantage over luhan. he usually plays it off as a joke, but in the empty, desolate evils of the hospital it’s a predator’s advantage.
