Wonwoo wakes up to the sound of a heart drumming, beating loudly. Hallway shadows have long receded, painting his cheek with the stripes of the night that has long gone. In its absence grows the lightness of the sun, flickering away the last remnants of his memories. It’s afternoon already, and he still hasn’t left. He hasn’t left since.
“Wonu-ya?” Jun’s voice peeks through the haze, hesitant and shaky in the silence like the last beacon of a low-leaded battery weakly dispersing the darkness. “It’s afternoon already, don’t you wanna head back?”
“How long have I been asleep?” It hurts Wonwoo to talk, parched throat scratching into the timbre of his voice.
Jun takes a look at his watch. “It’s 5:17.”
Wonwoo’s been out almost the whole day. He doesn’t remember the day before, only that a splitting headache is there to remind him of a hangover. He takes Junhui’s outstretched hand with a grimace more than a grateful grin.
Afternoon shadows glimmer on Junhui’s face. And whereas the afternoon light from half-open windows is carving him through like a dense paper cutout, the angles on Jun’s face are carved into the back of Wonwoo’s mind.
They are walking hand-in-hand, together out of the house, and into the waiting sunset. But Junhui pauses, hesitant, his hand suddenly leaving Wonwoo’s, disengaging. The lines on his face grow deep.
Wonwoo flickers him a look, perplexed.
“I-I don’t think I can do this,” Junhui mutters after a moment, seconds away from the sunlight, his eyes failing to meet the other man’s. The door is left ajar from the previous night, or was it?
From him to the door are shadows, multiple particles of shadows conglomerating like shrubs and vines and plants of a thick foray. Headlights of a nearby car are peeling away, boring holes into the wall of Wonwoo’s concentration. Junhui’s own shadow is becoming more and more like an apparition.
Junhui starts again before Wonwoo can think, shying away from the threshold where light can reach them. Half of his face remains hidden. “Stay with me,” the man almost pleads.
But there seems to be something more pressing, Wonwoo falters at the distance beginning to stretch between him and the starting engine of the car. Headlights peeling away.
“What?!” Wonwoo takes a hold of Jun’s hand more forcefully, but the man merely evades, shaking his head.
“Go, if you must. Go if you want. I’m staying here,” the deepness of Jun’s voice is starting to waver, almost like Wonwoo is peering through Junhui from down below, submerged in water.
The car belches smoke, wheels reeling sideways. Heart beating fast, drumming loudly. A sense of urgency grips Wonwoo, but he realizes Junhui has been holding him white-knuckled from their house into the world outside. And before Wonwoo can take a last look at his face, he feels himself being ripped apart.
—
Wonwoo wakes up to the sound of a heart drumming, beating loudly. “Junhui?” he mutters.
From beside him, a familiar face turns to look. Wonwoo’s voice scratches from beneath, “What time is it?”
“It’s 5:17,” Junhui smiles at him. “Wonwoo,” he says, slowly, as if tasting the words for the first time. “Wake up.”
5:17, the digital clock says. Wonwoo hasn’t left since.
the brain has corridors surpassing material place - wonwoo/junhui - alternate universe
“Wonu-ya?” Jun’s voice peeks through the haze, hesitant and shaky in the silence like the last beacon of a low-leaded battery weakly dispersing the darkness. “It’s afternoon already, don’t you wanna head back?”
“How long have I been asleep?” It hurts Wonwoo to talk, parched throat scratching into the timbre of his voice.
Jun takes a look at his watch. “It’s 5:17.”
Wonwoo’s been out almost the whole day. He doesn’t remember the day before, only that a splitting headache is there to remind him of a hangover. He takes Junhui’s outstretched hand with a grimace more than a grateful grin.
Afternoon shadows glimmer on Junhui’s face. And whereas the afternoon light from half-open windows is carving him through like a dense paper cutout, the angles on Jun’s face are carved into the back of Wonwoo’s mind.
They are walking hand-in-hand, together out of the house, and into the waiting sunset. But Junhui pauses, hesitant, his hand suddenly leaving Wonwoo’s, disengaging. The lines on his face grow deep.
Wonwoo flickers him a look, perplexed.
“I-I don’t think I can do this,” Junhui mutters after a moment, seconds away from the sunlight, his eyes failing to meet the other man’s. The door is left ajar from the previous night, or was it?
From him to the door are shadows, multiple particles of shadows conglomerating like shrubs and vines and plants of a thick foray. Headlights of a nearby car are peeling away, boring holes into the wall of Wonwoo’s concentration. Junhui’s own shadow is becoming more and more like an apparition.
Junhui starts again before Wonwoo can think, shying away from the threshold where light can reach them. Half of his face remains hidden. “Stay with me,” the man almost pleads.
But there seems to be something more pressing, Wonwoo falters at the distance beginning to stretch between him and the starting engine of the car. Headlights peeling away.
“What?!” Wonwoo takes a hold of Jun’s hand more forcefully, but the man merely evades, shaking his head.
“Go, if you must. Go if you want. I’m staying here,” the deepness of Jun’s voice is starting to waver, almost like Wonwoo is peering through Junhui from down below, submerged in water.
The car belches smoke, wheels reeling sideways. Heart beating fast, drumming loudly. A sense of urgency grips Wonwoo, but he realizes Junhui has been holding him white-knuckled from their house into the world outside. And before Wonwoo can take a last look at his face, he feels himself being ripped apart.
—
Wonwoo wakes up to the sound of a heart drumming, beating loudly. “Junhui?” he mutters.
From beside him, a familiar face turns to look. Wonwoo’s voice scratches from beneath, “What time is it?”
“It’s 5:17,” Junhui smiles at him. “Wonwoo,” he says, slowly, as if tasting the words for the first time. “Wake up.”
5:17, the digital clock says. Wonwoo hasn’t left since.