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f a r e ⠀
─── METAL TWISTS somewhere behind the boy hunched over a gas pump, probably due to the grasp of the chilling breeze as it whips around and causes objects to lose their shape; like a force formed only for the purpose of destruction. Fallen stars dance on his fingertips, galaxies breathe in his irises, and he is at ease in the darkness as it calms the anxieties of his chest.
His fingertips tremble somewhat against the cooling plastic nozzle, making it much harder to guide it into the car without spilling any of the thick liquid he's left so hurriedly to get. But he manages, a stuttered sigh becoming the spokesperson for his mood.
The dull melody of some random song plays through the one earphone in his ear as he taps his finger against the cold rim of his father's car window and watches the meter climb up to the amount of money he can afford to spend in this barren dump of a gas station, wherein even the main lights of the store flicker and refuse to succumb to the beat of anything but their own dying melody.
Jeon Jeongguk almost falls victim to their trap, regaining focus on the meter with his melted chocolate eyes just in time to pull the pump out of his car exactly as it hits £20.
It's with a soft sigh that he hooks the pump back up and walks towards the window where he's supposed to pay, clocking a man with hooded eyelids— and an obvious trace of drugs in his dilated pupils —as he nods towards the brunette, lips too slurred to form coherent words.
Jeongguk slides the money under the glass, a polite smile on his lips as he glances over at the clock behind the lilac haired worker's head. Three am, on the dot.
The world is so different at this time.
It seems that the planet rotates slower. The clouds shift like a finger through the thickest of treacle leaking and oozing over the night sky. It coats it in a sort of darkness that's almost tangible to Jeongguk's drowsy head.
"Safe trip," the worker manages to speak, dragging his words out habitually.
His mouth falls lazy on one side as he produces words, like how people speak with a cigarette between their lips. The phrase, although one of good nature, meets the youth's ears as a cautionary reminder. Naive, Jeongguk shrugs it off.
"You, too." Jeongguk doesn't seem to acknowledge the humour of his attempt at a friendly nicety, because as far as he knows, the boy behind the glass is going nowhere and it seems he'd be right in his assumption as the worker laughs with a huff, pulling shut the compartment for the money and reclining in his chair to light nothing other than a cigarette.
Jeongguk watches it pollute the space behind the glass like its own private planet where the air is thick with a sweet kind of poison. People can't live on a planet like that for long at all.
