your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse’s lap.
INTIMACY HAS NEVER BEEN AN ISSUE. her mother wasn’t able to take that away from her, thankfully, though she had done her deed in leaving her daughter broken; prompted walls of mourning ice around her heart and a disability to live life, as one would have it, normally. but park eunha had always been a hedonist, whether an urge suppressed or embraced through vast periods of her life, at some point, it always comes back to this: she likes touching.
it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex, rather she’s a creature that openly seeks living, breathing comfort she could hold against her pulse and boldly declare it her own for even just a night. comfort that she could mold into suppressing her own demons, the nasty things, picking and clawing till her insides feel raw.
as of late, the source had been jackson, the only type of human only tolerable in sporadic dosages. he’s too bright, her mind would say, never more self-conscious of her own plight, her own sin, than in the presence of a creature brighter than she’s ever been, he’ll put you to shame.
he does, in fact, but it’s never too hard to crush self-contempt between molars, to let it wither into nothingness and gather in the darks of her mind for another rainy day. eunha does it nearly every day with the aide of a pill or two.
so she’s INDULGENT — what wrong is there in that?
“eunha,” eyes closed, breathing soft, she barely registers the presence of one jackson wang nor the timbre of his voice. laughable, given the fact that she laid resting on his lap, his wrist rested beneath her ear, where the drumming of his pulse ( ranging from slow to erratic, as per assumed with his growing restlessness ) calms her weary, beaten mind.
yeah, she wants to tell him, attention divided between the palpitations of his heart and her slipping sanity, ( there, in the swirl of emotions and dreaming, eunha swears she hears his life story, the beating of his heart at his first kiss, his first fight, his first breakdown; truly a living worth living. a living that elicits envy in the dismal pits of her soul ), i hear you.
beat by beat, eunha wills herself rest, wills herself solace driven by the unwavering pulse of jackson wang; a steady drumming of contentment her mother had stolen from her.
homework will have to wait.