“go back to your grandma’s now,” he cuts you off. you raise an eyebrow. dude, that’s very much brand new of him. but whatever, you get up, agreeing with it and him.
in sunghoon’s favorably messed-up mind, both of you walk back together. right there, he's imagining things far from reality, far from purest and purity: like, you riding him, grinding on top of him, his thoughts spiraling into sinful fantasies. if only you knew. really. but you're clueless as dead meat. he may be like thinking this and that while he walks beside you in his neat office clothes with his suitcase in hand. you’d never guess, would you?
“how’s office work?” you ask, breaking the silence. you always do that kind of first move with your friends and anyone closed on your heart, checking on them to show you care.
"just like the first day, normal."
oh girl, if that’s what he claimed of, then damn, he’s the biggest liar alive. his mind? himself? chaotic. twisted. he’s not normal, never was. a fool willing to defy heaven just to break you, bit by bit.
fuck lucifers and the hell he came from, if they only knew how much he's hurting, dying deep inside, desperate to bury himself deep, so deep within you, to see if you're fitting well on his dick.
the walk continues, minutes turning into half an hour before you both finally reach your destination. you eagerly wave good-bye at him as you open the gate to your grandma’s house. sunghoon, standing at a distance, just nods, his key in one hand and suitcase bag in the other. he watches as you disappear inside before heading to his own place, clicking the lock behind him with a finality.
upon entering, he climbs the stairs and glances toward his window, your window. but you're not there yet. the window's closed. he lets it be, changing into something more comfortable after a long workday.
time ticks by, the room growing quieter and heavier as ever. bored and stoned, he grabs a pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips and lighting it up. inhale, exhale, the room fills with the toxic haze of smoke as his gaze drifts back toward your window. still no sign of you.
"damn fucking it, fuck." he puffs out the last drag of the cigarette before flicking it carelessly across the room, letting it land wherever. frustrated, he rakes his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth.
his usual 24/7 mean look? there's no mask for it now, he looks visibly upset. he needs to see you. he needs you. and it's fucking killing him.
12 of midnight, and he seems to be losing it all. before that time came, he tried to twist and loosen the window on your home, but it was no use against his limiting strength. "for real?" he paused. "did she lock it from the inside? shit." he muttered, still trying his luck.
defeated, he couldn’t even go through the gate, because if he did, he’d definitely be caught off guard. that window was his only way in. well, speaking of losing of it all, he just left his house. not for a wind of thoughts, but for a drug, let’s say... specifically, cocaine. how long had it been since he last did drugs? one month? no, fucking three months. and he really needed it right now as way of coping with thoughts of you.
he spent the rest of the night getting high, inhaling deeply from it all. it seemed to hit him well, though. once finished, he passed out from the overdose hazed, but his body had built a tolerance over the months, so it was fine.
as for you, you decided to sleep next to your grandma, the strange events from the previous days still bothering your mind. maybe, by doing this, you thought it would prevent same things from happening again. surely, you believed that? oh, only, you had placed yourself in the worst kind of danger, hadn’t you? you didn’t want to wake up to that menacing look from sunghoon in the morning, did you? but, of course, that’s exactly what you would be facing.
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