SIX --
bleeding out at a moderate pace with @hannutrix, late at hanbin’s place
he shouldn’t go to his place, hanbin’s. first, it’s above his pay grade in a literal sense. the districts above his means. he’s just waiting for the day they finally imprint them all with bar codes, so he can be denied right to enter in a proper political fashion. not that sol couldn’t worm his way inside if he was insistent enough, probably. but it’s a bit harder when he’s bleeding out. he has a hand pressed hard to his side, down near his hip. balled up fabric of his sweatshirt. it’s black, so the blood doesn't show. but it squelches under his hand when he shifts,presses down too hard. waterlogged and weighed down.
it’d explain how lightheaded sol feels. dizzy on his feet. but not too bad, that gash. but bad enough that he’s not sure he’ll wake up in the morning if he does what he usually does -- slaps down a wad of gauze and duct-tapes it into place. so he’s here. unfamiliar territory on the way to a familiar person. he’s not there though, when he staggers up and knocks. nobody is. does hanbin even have a room mate? sol can’t remember. he’s not part of hanbin’s life in that sort of way. he feels like a stain, relegated to the past. sometimes he half-wonders if hanbin would rather throw everything into the wash. crank it up and toss in some bleach. wash sol right out of his life.
but he’s too scared to ask questions like that. so he never does. just keeps his mouth shut and lets himself be selfish.
he picks his way into hanbin’s room while he waits. slow going with trembling hands. fights back the urge to dry heave, and when he gets inside borrows a towel. borrow might be the wrong word for it, because that’s jammed against his side next and he doesn’t think all the blood will ever come out.he sits with his back slotted against the wall until finally the door cracks. sol tenses, hand fit deep into his pocket, fingers coiled tight around the hilt of a knife. maybe he has a roommate. maybe sol’s paranoid. but all that tension melts away into exhaustion when the light’s flicked on and he makes out hanbin’s face.
“hey there stranger.” it slips out, sounds like it’s scratched against sandpaper. the blood, at this point, is obvious against hanbin’s towel. “got a needle?” he thinks he needs stitches. lets his eyes flutter shut, head knocking back against the drywall. “maybe a stiff drink?” he tacks on hopeful.