𝒐𝒐𝒐. "I didn't write this to forget who I am as a person nor did I write it for money out of desperation. I wrote this because I know, one day, someone will find this story in the corner of a library, squeezed between forgotten stories with a dus...
Kim Hongjoong. January 1st, 1981. | Thursday, 2:56 AM.
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Quietly, Hongjoong pushes the front door open with a low yawn, toeing off his shoes as Wooyoung shakes off his coat. The stillness between the two never altered, slightly tense from their discussion at the skatepark, but weighed down by the exhaustion overtaking their bodies. Hongjoong staggers up the stairs through the dark hallway, Wooyoung follows behind without a problem and flinches every so often whenever the blonde bumps into the wall a bit too noisily.
"You're walking like you're drunk," Wooyoung utters, being the first words he said after the long night of staying shut. "Turn left, the door is right there."
"I know where my room is at," Hongjoong huffs, nudging his bedroom door open, and sighs in relaxation. His back ached just from peeking at the makeshift bed he's been sleeping on, his pillows and blankets littered across the floor in a big mess beside his actual bed neatly tucked and practically calling his name to come to lie down.
Wooyoung unbuckles his belt, planning to take a shower in the morning as his tired body wants nothing more than to rest. "Hm... Uh, do you want to talk about this in the morning—" He turns around to face the blonde, seeing he was lying face down on his bed, snoring into the fluffs of the white pillow. Wooyoung huffs, undressing from his clothes and into his pajamas before making his way towards the slumbering blonde.
Hongjoong's eyes were hardly opened, groaning in answer to Wooyoung's words that went through one ear and out the other. The black-haired male climbs over Hongjoong, yanking the blanket from underneath him before kicking him off of the bed and onto the makeshift one — where he belongs.
"Ouch—"
"Night." Wooyoung shuts off the lamp and tugs the covers over his shoulders. Hongjoong didn't make a commotion, already falling back asleep on the uncomfortable bed on the ground.
The next morning, Hongjoong moans in discomfort from the tingling sensation shooting up in his backbone. He sits up, kneading his head and squinting the sleepiness from his eyes. "Good morning." He turned his head, noticing Wooyoung was already awake with a magazine in his hand, flipping through the pages as he laid on his stomach. "I wonder where you got this magazine from? They don't usually sell half-naked gay men around here. Did Seonghwa—"
"Ah!" Hongjoong screams, snatching the magazine from Wooyoung's hands and hurling it underneath his bed. "Don't look at that!"
"Too late." Wooyoung flops onto his back, hands behind his head. "Do you wanna get breakfast or do you wanna start your sob story first? I think I can hold down the hunger for a little while."
