₊ @kkeutolo┊͙  ❝ i feel like it,   [  JUNGNAM mumbles,  lying face-first in a pillow & very possibly wallowing in how miserable he feels.  he’d previously thought he had a /strong/ immune system—-  one that could stand up to most illnesses,  alongside all the vaccine shots he never forgot to make appointments for—-  but that’s gone MORE than out the window,  taking into account the full wastebasket within arm’s reach & his pathetic self splayed across the couch.  to top it off,  having a guest he’s failing to entertain is making him feel quite inadequate in the way of socializing as well.  ]   i’m sorry for this.   [  if he’s being completely honest,  it’s not that bad of a cold.  but there’s been compounding stress & he’s not great at managing that anymore;  despite JASMINE’S presence,  an almost-literal twinkle of starlight in the middle of the living room,  he can’t find it in himself to do much but drag his body upright & reach for another tissue.  ]   모르겠어요 (i don’t know)..  have you eaten?   [  the sick author asks,  grabbing another tissue as he focuses hard as he can on the woman in front of him.  ]   i’m sorry,  for..  for not—-  **씨발**, 나는 그것을 말하는 방법을 잊었다.   (**shit**,  i forgot how to say it.)   host?   being the host?   (..)   it sounds wrong.

✧₊ @killinvoid┊͙  ❝ mm.. ?   [  arms folded atop the bar,  JUNG NAM rests his cheek on one forearm,  looking absolutely pathetic as a heavy breath deflates him even further.  it’s been hell recently,  dealing with whatever side effects of stress he’s brought on himself.  not even the doctors could explain the soreness or fatigue—-  especially since he denied any underlying health issues,  which was a lie in itself as he’d nearly been /drained of his soul/ a month or so ago.  (..)  he’d expected the prospect of a drink,  maybe letting loose tonight,  would be beneficial.  instead,  he sits here half-asleep with not a drop of alcohol in his system,  sort of wishing he hadn’t come out.  that had,  admittedly,  been before the sweet bartender slid him whatever sits in his line of vision now.  he can’t even pull the excuse that it looks unappetizing,  because no matter how strong it is,  it looks bright & sweet enough for him to down without much struggle.  ]   /oh/.   this drink..  it’s cute.   & sweet,  ne?

ϟ     A POETTT,   ooooh  i love taht sm,   hyeo would ask about his poetry 24/7!! she’d love it    @bitterind 

@jaaeloun  *   thank you so much!!!  (if you’d like to know ;] cha jung nam is an author + poet who could definitely use friends)

eat  *

✧₊ @mallaithe┊͙  ❝ i’m—-  it’s fine.   i’m /fine./   [  JUNG NAM INSISTS UPON HIS DECENT STATE OF WELL-BEING,  though he’s anything but “doing fine,”  as his words are striving to make true.  bone shows through his knuckles,  gripping the kitchen counter like it can stop the room from its downward spiral—-  hell,  from /his/ downward spiral—-  & ground him instead of knocking him flat on his back.  he remembers last night vividly.  the way he’d woken from a feverish dream (NIGHTMARE?  HE CAN NEVER TELL;  HIS BRAIN DOESN’T PROCESS THEM CORRECTLY),  throat dry & eyes watering,  throwing all the sheets off like the middle of summer could suffocate him if he didn’t get up immediately.  the floor had been the only thing to greet him then.  he hadn’t even tripped—-  just toppled like a tower of cards,  too unstable to stand on his own.  the fall had been soft enough thanks to the carpet,  but he still has the bruises on his hip.  it might be the same case now,  he figures.  a safer inevitable collapse,  unless he angles wrong & cracks his head on the marble edge.  ]   dehydrated,  probably..  must be why everything’s spinning.   [  not that he meant to admit it.  when the extras slip out,  he always feels so /pathetic./  like DILLION knowing he’s fallible is a crime he can’t avoid committing,  even when he’s nauseous or dizzy or pale,  which he’s finally too aware of & /much/ too vocal about,  in his opinion.  ]   IT’LL GO AWAY.   (..)   i think.

*       all men do is lie.

✧₊ @mallaithe┊͙  ❝ YOU’RE RIGHT.   [  the concrete turns his feet so cold they might be blue alreadu;  JUNG NAM’S VOICE trembles so like the expanse of his body.  buried in the grave is a hundred things picked free of his withering tree:  fruits so overripe they’re nearly spoiled.  flowers flecked with dew & gray with smoke.  jars of light that smash to millions of pieces once he stretches out to reach,  glass like stardust in the fire burning all around them.  (I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.)  his heart writhes in agony,  wild & half-dead,  bleeding out in the snow.  dillion had his jaws clamped so tight around his throat,  & he mistook that for love.  or maybe that had been his way of loving,  brutal in its wake,  because he couldn’t tell then & it’s too late for them now.  there had been kissing.  caressing.  endearments.  his name had felt so beautiful in dillion’s mouth.  sharp,  at first,  then subtler,  rising to be met with a knife in his stomach that hurt more than being around his one vice ever could.  just standing out here while winter falls around them is a game of risk he’s finally brave enough to face.  he should feel powerful in what he wants to say,  but all that’s left behind is weakness.  ]   there’s NOTHING.   /nothing left,/  of US or ME or..   [  he trails off here,  shaking so hard his teeth start to chatter.  to rub at his arms produces only the slightest warmth.  like a traitor—-  LIKE A /FOOL/—-  he wants to be enclosed in those safe,  strong arms again.  ]   /dillion./   [  a barely-whispered prayer.  an emotional shortcoming.  a daisy fed on poison,  wilting in the sun.  as if beauty is something the worst people know,  because he must be judged & there is no one strong enough to condemn him.  ]   (—-?)   why me.. ?