(doodles of kazaru's butler drawn by me <3)
Yes I said I'll post this chapter as a treat this Sunday but like,,, when did I have the restraint anyway.
Am I done with the characters? Absolutely not! :D
En ee ways, the book cover art is done, and I'll show it at the end of the chapter ^^
I'll replace the current book cover (a sketch rn) with the finished cover when I continue this story or post the 3rd chapter. It'll mean that it's officially ongoing with hopefully weekly updates o(-(
I could change it rn but...hmm my inner perfectionist wants everything to be done >_>
Especially the characters and who/when/how they'll interact with Choyoung/Kazaru
Mm pain yes.
Happy reading <33
•••
When Choyoung felt the start of his consciousness waking up, the first thing he felt was as if he was still drowning in water. His head was swimming, delirious and nearly impossible to think straight without feeling a painful throb shooting to his temple.
Except he was breathing.
He wanted to gasp up so badly, to repeatedly check that he was alive, no longer stuck in a tight space of heavy liquid squeezing every bit of air out of him and feel his limbs listen to his commands, no longer held back by cold numbness like a snake coiling around each arm and leg rendering him immobile.
But then the next thing he could feel was how unbearably hot it was.
He fluttered his eyes open, a pained, broken whine punched out of his gut at the sudden onslaught of light that he clenched his eyes shut again to ease the painful throb. He hissed weakly, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes and rolled over to bury himself further into the extremely soft pillow and blankets in a weak attempt at hiding away from the light. Was he... Was he in the hospital? But why did it reek of scented candles? And why was he so hot it's like it's physically scalding him?
He had so many questions, anxiety tugging his heartstrings because why weren't his parents and his noona here with him—but he couldn't think straight with so much cotton being stuffed in his head he felt like slamming his head against the nearest, solid surface in pitiful attempt at easing the pain. That might make it worse instead, actually. He forced himself to take deep breaths, it'd be useless if he started hyperventilating and making himself faint in the process.
Thankfully, it was working. Choyoung felt his heartbeat calming, still fast but not as painful as to burst out or bruise his ribcage, and though he was still uncomfortably hot and sweating all over, he could finally breathe again despite his stuffy nose. It was better. That's all he wanted.
He briefly wondered if this was the consequences of being crashed into and taking a dive into the cold river, he thought wryly.
He exhaled slowly, wincing at the nasally and stuttering sound (no doubt due to the sudden cold he seemed to have caught), and gently pushed himself up from the bed and turned over so he was sitting instead of kneeling. He pushed back against the headboard, letting his saliva gather in his scratchy and dry mouth, and slowly lifted his head up to observe his surroundings.
Only to freeze when instead of the usual white of a hospital, he was met with a room painted in pale beige and white. There was furniture he had only seen in fancy hotels or online when he had to research something about interior designs from rich people back in the eighteen-hundreds. The carpet was detailed so intricately of a flower made out of ice, there was a chandelier made out of crystals hanging up the ceiling, the windows were bordered gold, there was a mini living room a few feet away with a small couch and a coffee table with a flower vase holding a bouquet of—of blue crystalized roses what-
YOU ARE READING
When The Villain Can't Communicate
Fantasy"I-..." he stopped, the words dying in his throat when a sudden lump appeared, not giving him the time to form proper words. His breath hitched, rose orbs trembling and stuck staring at his untouched food, sweat beginning to form underneath his too...
