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It's rainy outside, but not enough for me to skip work once again.
The raindrops splash against all the dirty windows with more and more force as time passes.
Unfortunately, it takes me some good minutes to get up, both because there's a whole human being squishing me and I'm too sleepy.
If I had to choose between being stuck in a black, empty space, all alone, and having to wake up for work, respectively school, I'd choose the first option undoubtedly.
The wind disrupts me.
Finally, I groggily get off the couch, rolling Jisung to lie down on his back. Although we were in bed in my dream (which I can barely remember), we never changed places in reality.
The brunette furrows his eyebrows, licking his lips in his sleep. I quickly look away to prevent myself from feeling.
Then, with slow but hurried steps, I go inside the bathroom and freshen up for the day.
As always, the man in the mirror looks skanky.
There's a small pool of my friend's dried DNA in the hole of my collarbone— I sigh and wash it away, rubbing at my skin until it becomes red.
I squint my eyes and realize that my rubbing couldn't have done that; why is there a red mark on my skin?
It's barely visible, so after inspecting it for a few seconds I shrug it off and consider it a mosquito bite.
Once the water starts running, I take off everything and go inside the shower, the water soaking my damaged body.
Since it's morning and I have no energy (despite the good rest I had), I quickly finish.
My hair is wet, water pouring down from it on the cold ground.
Hurriedly, I put some grey sweatpants on and then go for the shirt, just to realize that it's stained with what looks like chocolate. I internally groan and leave the steamy room topless.
Fortunately, the boy's still asleep, so after getting a t-shirt (which is Jisung's) I throw it over my head.
Then I go into the kitchen to prepare something for him to eat when he wakes up.
Omelette.
That's kind of all I can cook right now. I should go shopping soon.
As the mixed eggs get cooked, I hear a small noise coming from the living room. Like a groan, a moan. I go check.
There he is, his uncovered body slightly shaking. The pyjamas he's wearing are thin.
He's cold. No wonder why he's shivering. The room temperature is, indeed, low, unlike how it was in that dream.
Once he finds himself back into warmth, his eyes slowly open, but just for a second.
His hand reaches for my own and brings it up to his face, resting it against the softest cheek— the left one.
