#yum angst

[rottencarrotttt]

[queeniesaewblog]

Hey what if Will comes back and throws hangman’s towel in out of love because he’s scared for hangman.

Yeah think of that angst with me

[fycoren]

random doodle of this wet cat of a cookie

[sandeul-stretto]

Zelo’s only sixteen.

Sandeul’s only twenty, but that four year difference gave him time to forget how fast a kid that age can fall asleep. And now Zelo’s flopped on the couch all bundled up and snoring before Sandeul has a chance to pay Yongguk forward and insist the boy take Sandeul’s bed.

Which is a shame, because he’d been looking forward to that part, since it feels like a debt, of sorts.

(He entertains the idea of waking Zelo up for about a second before he’s reminded how…violently most people that age wake up, notes Zelo’s height and wingspan, and decides that’s a bad idea.

There’s also absolutely no way that he’d be able to carry the boy to his bed.)

So he promises himself tomorrow night, tries not to think about…anything. There’s no reason he should feel betrayed, no reason his thoughts should sting like they do, but they do; aching like a missing tooth, something he got used to far too quickly (like always).

He flops into his own bed, by himself, and tells himself (lies to himself) that the solitude feels good.

*

Three hours later, Sandeul’s still awake. The trees outside cast shifting Halloween shadows through his window, and the silence is thick, stifling. He’s spent the entire time staring at the ceiling and remembering strong arms, deep resonant breaths. The bed feels too big, too cold, too empty, and he scowls for a minute because he’s always been an easy crush…

But this is just ridiculous.

 When another half an hour passes and he still can’t sleep; when sighs fade into minutes and he still wants to hear snoring, to feel the mattress move, he gives up. He rolls out of the bed with a huff of annoyance, tears off the sheets and covers, and pads out to the living room. He’d left the light above the stove in the kitchen on, so the room’s bathed in a blue-white sheen, faint through the door that connects them. He maneuvers past the pile of neatly folded laundry, dumps the blankets on the floor and huddles down in them like they're a nest.  

Zelo’s still asleep, breathing regularly. It’s a relaxing sound after the solace of his bedroom, and Sandeul curls in on himself just a little bit more and tries so very, very hard not to sulk.

Because this?

This is not the same at all.