nightstill-blog

[nightstill-blog]

( this account will remain archived, i’m moving elsewhere for personal reasons. thank you for appreciating me and this muse while i was active. ♡ )

[nightstill-blog]

oh, how a childhood fear can still linger after so many years. folding laundry, washing the dishes—even driving to work. the tiniest thought could trigger a hellish daydream that could last for days. weeks. maybe even a month if the thought holds enough negative impact to scar one’s emotions. and even so, you’re still expected to proceed with your daily routine as if everything’s alright.

“i never knew i’d meet eyes with satan himself again. look at you, how is life treating you?”

dooyoung is fueling with confidence, threatening without a second thought. fourteen years is quite a long time to think about what to spit back into the face of the man before him. dooyoung is currently fighting a grin. you’d expect dooyoung to react the complete opposite of how he’s presenting himself right in this moment, but to be truthful, his adrenaline is skyrocketing. despite it, his heart rate is practically going a million miles per hour. it’s a feeling he can’t necessarily describe even with all of the vocabulary possessed by the world.

the man doesn’t bat an eye. dooyoung can only guess he’s either enduring guilt or he doesn’t give a damn. it could be the latter. “you know… mom’s dead. did you know that after all? even after all of these years, do you even give even the slightest shit about the woman you loved, supposedly?” he pauses before narrowing his eyes, “maybe not, i forgot about all of those nasty whores you slept with. they gave into your bullshit. do you feel good about all that? huh? why aren’t you talking?” of course, this is far from what dooyoung would approach this subject. it’s the anger about his mother’s death resurfacing after so many years. why does it feel like her death only happened yesterday?

the moments of silence motivates dooyoung to harshly grasp the man by the throat, dragging them both down to the ground. the impact is strong; the man’s evidently choking, attempting to gasp for air. “why the fuck aren’t you talking?” dooyoung doesn’t waste any time conveying his intense emotions, “do you feel good right now? are you… comfortable? because to be quite honest, i haven’t been comfortable my entire fucking life. you tainted my heart in so many ways, i’ve lost count.”

a tear races down dooyoung’s cheek before it ends up falling on the man’s face.“…i don’t even want to acknowledge you as my father. i’m surprised you haven’t been rotting in hell yet, is god really giving you more chances than what you deserve? is that it, huh? are you tainting more lives by the day?”

the man is provoked beyond belief—without a word, dooyoung impales his father with the pocket knife kept in his right pocket. slowly, slowly, slowly. he can tell that the knife is working its magic as the man gasps as an initial reaction. it’s not long before he’s coughing up droplets of blood, soon turning into trails. “you lost your chance to speak up, but honestly, i’d rather not hear you speak. i did all of the listening before. you know, all of those words that annihilated my self esteem.” the grin he was fighting earlier—it’s now presenting itself very well.

“are you comfortable now?”

instantly, dooyoung pulls himself up out of the deepest sleep he’s had in ages. he’s gasping for air as the fear really impacted him, practically clinging to his bedsheets as a coping mechanism in the moment. his limbs—numb. dooyoung’s mind is completely flooded with both confusion and… passion, you could say. he could only wish that the nightmare was real, but at the same time, it’s better not to confront his ultimate fear. even after fourteen years, dooyoung is convinced that his life will remain as a lingering nightmare for the rest of his days. there’s no escape.

reliance is the epitome of the devil. relying on the bitter taste of vodka burning the enclosure of his throat, liquid confidence in a bottle just waiting to be finished. nothing mixed with it, the liquor would remain how it is. dooyoung would rather strike harder than the pain that’s deliberately gashing the valves of his forsaken heart. not only that, but relying on the bittersweet touch of another human body pressed against his own, intimacy becoming a comforting feeling under the sheets in pitch darkness. dooyoung would know their name to say at the least, so perhaps they’re an acquaintance. considering them a stranger would be a stretch but of course, it’s all the vodka fueling the thrill.

in the back of dooyoung’s head, he’s fully aware of the consequences. despite the adrenaline, despite the intoxication, despite the dying need to feel touched. reckless, idiotic. so unlike him. dooyoung knows that when he wakes up the next morning with an empty side on the bed, his heart will shatter into a countless amount of pieces. he’ll realize that this feeling of adequacy is only a momentary abstraction. nothing is meant to last. the other person utilizing him to fulfill their own desires? not that he needed another reason to vomit, but it definitely worsens the pain in his stomach. dooyoung would, once again, break down his security to someone meaningless. a toxic lifestyle dooyoung lives, but he’d rather live a moment of gratification than not at all.

rinse and repeat.

[nightstill-blog]

Hello. I really, really love the way you write and I was hoping if you could give me/us some tips on how to write or what helped you write better? Thank you!

( oh my gosh, it’s super early in the morning and i’m full of glee reading this ask! before i answer your question, i’d want to thank you for being sweet and asking me for tips. i’m legit probably gonna go about my day thinking about this compliment for a solid week #bye.

first, i remember it took me a long time to stop comparing my writing to others’ pieces of work. of course i grew older and realized that everyone’s just here to enjoy themselves writing plots that could practically substitute as novels. if you really think about it, the partners you come across will have their own writing colors that aren’t even comparable in the first place. you know, maybe in a thread you have to describe what an apple looks like. it’s individualistic on how you want to approach it. it may take months or even years until you’re finally comfortable describing the apple’s features.

i remember when i left anime rp to join krp years ago and i was the one struggling to find the right “big words” to squeeze into my writing. first of all: that only strains yourself and two: where’s the fun in that? i think the major key points that i’m trying to convey is that… you should take time to practice your writing. time is precious and so are your rp partners. observe how they write and it’s possible you can learn along the way, too. the other key point is not to compare. at all. you’re your own person, accept that it may take time to find your true writing color. for me? it took a good five years but that’s just how it went down.

just keep practicing dear. observe others in the process and see how they approach their own way of describing an apple, you know what i mean? i believe in you anon. if you want some more tips from me i would be more than happy to help you gain some confidence and strength. ❤️ )

[nightstill-blog]

opacous‌:

...

the taller watches dooyoung stumble into the bed and oh man, suddenly muscles burn in tiredness as if they would give in any second .   a mental note is written to not forget to take more painkillers tomorrow or else he’d be in the position of another explanation .   his conversation with jiwon deferred to until later when dooyoung is gone .   maybe he should just follow his friend home to avoid the interrogation .  it’s not far fetched when he would lie and say he needed space from his cousin and well, even if seongil doesn’t agree … in dooyoung’s eyes it’s possible the mentioned believes he does owe seongil after this night .

it has been the second time this week where the younger has to handle dooyoung drunk.    is he supposed to worry already ?   back in high school, they used to go out even more but with time and age certain habits naturally change .   at least seongil has observed quite a few changes with some of his friends during the recent years which have passed .  however aren’t such expectations the reason to have these habits always return .   your age measured against the majority .    why aren’t you married ?!  at your age i (…) you should act with more responsibility ! when i was your age i  (…)  yada yada .  what is wrong about being the odd one out ?  for that most people worry you’re sick instead of thinking you’re happy where you are .

his heart tingles with calmness at the other’s cloying sentimentality  ─  while seongil grabs dooyoung’s ankles and turns him around so he’d be laying properly in bed   » if you don’t stop apologising i feel like i’ve burdened you by taking you in .  instead of being supportive and a good friend . «   a turn on his heels has the remote within reach, which seongil drops next to the older before switching the tv on .  all the interior’s design comes from jiwon’s taste .  a couple of years ago they lived in his parents’ mansion but this place is at the other end of seoul .   they rarely visit them and vice versa .  although his own room is the single area seongil has been allowed to design himself .   » relax, younggie .  i’ll fetch you nice and comfy clothes .  in the meantime enjoy yourself and drink water. i will sleep, when you’re ready ─ promise . «

approximately 5 minutes does it take him and he returns, a sweatpants and oversized shirt dangles down his arm .   seongil has changed his clothes too, one step closer to stealing his way into dooyoung’s bed . and throws the chosen fabrics on the sommelier’s face after which he joins him in a jump and sits down on the blanket  » hurry and get your clothes off ─ or do you need me to lend you a hand ?! «  his tone is rascal at the end .  fingers dance along dooyoung’s shoulders and pinch the red of his cheek teasingly, finishing the mocking in a light snort .

for some reason, the heaviness of this moment suddenly feels... lifted. it’s late and of course, dooyoung will feel more sensitive considering the alcohol is slowly waring off. who doesn’t? seongil giving him subtle validation is a relief on its own. soft, deeper-toned giggled escape under the drunk’s breath once the other drags his entire body to lay him the proper way. he’s not sure if it’s because seongil wants to slide beside him or if he’s just messing around—either way, he won’t apologize under seongil’s word. his wish is his command. “mm... i’m sor— i mean,” he cracks a giggle at his own slip up, “okay, okay. i’ll shut up. you’re such a good fucking friend, are you kidding me?” each word is on the verge of slurs. dooyoung’s speech is improving slowly and it’s probably evident in seongil’s eyes.

“good friend. always have been, always will be.” now he’s practically slipping out random nonsense at this point. dooyoung shifts his entire body to where he’s laying on his side, facing his friend right on the bed, white sheets still pouring over his face. it’s not long before seongil offers a fresh spare of clean clothes for dooyoung to sleep in for the night. his head peeks up at the sight and he’s aware it’s his cue for him to force himself up so he can change. he fails miserably though—dooyoung only makes it... halfway. lazy moans and groans later, the sommelier is given the surprise that he was expecting. he jumps at the throw of clothes though. “yah, yah, this is how you treat your guests?” the drunk exclaims in a playful way. 

he’s playful because he knows he’s blessed right now. no one would dare do this much for dooyoung.

another impulsive chuckle is heard from the older male. “haha, what the hell seongil, what are you suggesting?” are his cheeks flushed due to the alcohol or the sudden wave of bashfulness? dooyoung can’t recognize what’s what anymore, there’s no point in questioning it. his shoulders perk up at the unexpected touch due to him feeling ticklish, followed by another flat chuckle. 

“i know, i know, i’m a mess but i can still change my clothes. i’m a big boy remember? please.” now, dooyoung faces his back towards seongil to prevent any sort of eye contact while changing. now that will cause him to blush a little bit. seongil’s quite brave staying in the room while he does this, anyway. moments later, dooyoung’s found pulling his top over his head, his back tattoo now exposed. he’s not necessarily thinking about his ink right at the moment, he’s clearly strict on keeping focused on each piece of clothing. one at a time. 

the shirt has a distinctive smell. between the laundry soap and seongil’s individual scent, dooyoung feels safe in it. it’s a weird sensation to describe. he won’t confess how much he likes it though.

about two minutes later and dooyoung’s changed completely. he’s sure that his thigh tattoo was exposed too but that’s not important too right now. the television is filling in the silence between the two. there wouldn’t be a doubt in dooyoung’s mind that seongil probably caught a glance once or twice. or thrice. folding his day clothes nicely next to the bed, dooyoung finally rests himself on the bed. the shirt chosen is quite oversized as well, exposing his collarbone ink just a little bit. not too much—unless seongil’s eyes were glued to his chest, they won’t be noticed easily. a sigh leaves dooyoung’s lips, downing the next water bottle offered to him. a few moments of silence is finally broken.

it’s quiet but warm. close and intimate, almost. the alcohol is definitely waring off.

“seongil... remember... when you said you noticed a lot of things about me... in the car? i don’t know, it was a passing remark... but... i want to hear about them.”

reckless

[nightstill-blog]

opacous‌:

...

soon they’d pull into seongil’s driveway, the lights in jiwon’s office are switched on .  » i’m not sure but weren’t you more chubby in high school ?   you lost some weight ─ wouldn’t say you’re fat anymore . as for the rest, it might be debatable . «    impassive is one of the ways to describe seongil’s voice, his mind certainly elsewhere but why ?   it’s not like jiwon would outright tell dooyoung : hey, did you know we’re killing people for a living ?!  and we’re not even questioning it, yay !  because this really would be ridiculous .    so the boys enter without any fair warning and of course jiwon wouldn’t be in his office anymore ─ he prefers to keep the lights on in a couple rooms when he’s alone .  but at one special desk he sits,  where his cousin’s able watch tv and the villa’s entrance comfortably in the exact same second .

» who’s this ? «  jiwon doesn’t even move his head, nose, eyebrow  ─  any sign of emotion .

» a friend from old days . «

» old days ? «

» nothing special . «

» hmm, what’s your name ? «   jiwon points at dooyoung with a half-eaten carrot . rather than popcorn, the man would choose to eat a bag of healthy snacks .

whether he actively heard dooyoung’s introduction or not, jiwon doesn’t display any pulled features to give them their answer, nor does he obviously feel obligated to return such formality . probably has to do with the whole idea of dooyoung invading his own home .  if he wanted to know, it’s on seongil to share names and other news .  the youngest however feels relieved he can skip the part for later .

» there’s still sweet chicken in the fridge, if you guys want to . «   and this is taken a reason to leave for the older .   finally finished with paper work, he yawns, strolling past them .    » gil, i won’t be here in the morning .   maybe you could make us some lunch . «

a few steps taken and jiwon pauses .  not turning on his heels but he obviously contemplates . thoughts rattle loudly, still seongil feels as if he’s alone in hearing them .   teeth bury further into sensitive lips, whilst fingers curl around the fabric of his sleeves .

» do me a favour and keep an eye on your phone, little cousin . «  expectably, an order drowsily rolls off the other’s tongue, before jiwon leaves them alone in closing .

teeth unclench, escaping seongil’s notice while they do .   he did not pay attention to their miserable position in his irritating tension .

» we should go upstairs .  follow my lead .  the room also has a mini fridge, it’s the only one to have plenty of water in store . «

“i wasn’t chubby... i think i was just... more.. m’thicker. i lost weight in college. it’s funny y’mention it.”

upon arriving, dooyoung can’t remember the last ten minutes of the ride home. it’s all blur thanks to his mind occupied in an endless battle with his own thoughts. he thankfully snaps out of it, and right now, he’s secretly hoping that those few moments of silence doesn’t burden how they’ll approach each other later. dooyoung’s a guest in his home after all—the last thing he wants is for seongil and himself to have nothing but an awkward tension in between them. blinks once, blinks twice, and suddenly a light turns on in one of the upstairs rooms. he’s too drunk to realize the fact that seongil doesn’t live alone after all. somehow, in his mind, there’s a conscious switch that flickers on. don’t act like a fool as a fucking guest, dooyoung.

in the midst of the jiwon’s abrupt introduction, the drunk remains silent the entire time as a pretending act to seem shy. as a matter of fact, he’s downed way too much alcohol tonight and he doesn’t want give the stranger that appalling impression. he bows once upon noticing jiwon to the split second the pair are alone again. seongil knows he’s saving him the embarrassment (but in reality, he’s preventing a disaster by speaking for dooyoung—just in case). thankfully the water bottle saved his damn life for now he’s feeling closer to sobriety each passing minute. 

“oh my god... did i look like a fool? i feel like a fool—” dooyoung impulsively whispers in seongil’s direction after jiwon is long gone. he knows damn well he didn’t peep a single word (minus his name and a brief greeting). he remained polite, but due to jiwon’s intimidating behavior, he couldn’t help but ask the other. is this how people feel when they talk to me? jesus christ. 

upstairs? great. as if this venture up to where they need to be couldn’t get any more complicated. to be secure while taking each step, dooyoung lightly grips onto the fabric of seongil’s top, eyes glued to his feet the entire time. it feels like a matter of years before they finally reach to the guest room, and upon opening the door, eye widen immediately. of course, the entirety of the house is the epitome of modern art, but dooyoung couldn’t believe what he was seeing before him. he’s going to sleep in here? he’s too out of it to take it all in right now. in the mean time, all he can mutter under his breath is, “seongil... this... is so pretty. what the fuck.”

has dooyoung mentioned his potty mouth intensifies under the influence? seongil probably remembers. some things never change.

the drunk immediately marks his territory by sitting on the surface of the bed firstly, then seconds later, he slowly drops his entire body without second thought. now laying down completely with legs and feed dangling off the edge, dooyoung can only release a prolonged sigh. “seongil...” he admits, speech not so slurred anymore, “did you... hear me when i thanked you earlier?” god, he sounds like a broken record at this point, but he truly feels like an idiot still. it’s nearly 2 am, seongil just brought in a random stranger (well, to jiwon) inside his home at this ungodly hour—quite frankly, this night could’ve gone worse. way worse than how it progressed. instead of thinking about the negatives, dooyoung shakes his head, drowning his face in the sea of white covers. a muffled yet groggy voice begins to speak once more.

“i hope you’re not mad. or tired. fuck, i really fucked up. i’m really sorry i called you so late.”

another sigh.

“you know, you could’ve declined my call. i could’ve gotten a motel room somewhere, or you know, just fuckin’ walked. i’m an big boy, i swear.” not overthinking about the negatives? success... not. the drunk avoids eye contact this entire time he’s confessing his guilt. “you could’ve been sleeping right now or doing something productive.” 

reckless

[nightstill-blog]

““…and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, That was fine. And your life is a long line of fine.”

— Gillian Flynn,  Gone Girl

[nightstill-blog]

opacous‌:

...

perhaps the older feels uncomfortable but both should know, they’ve seen and experienced worse .  this situation is vanity compared to what used to be .    the days they’ve spent together following graduation are not worth counting yet .  currently, he can’t prepare himself for what could possibly hit a blow in the future .  maybe they can skip all their troubles with surprising facility .  until then however, seongil will naively tag along, like anyone would upon acquiring their source of happiness .

all which his left for later contemplation . . while the younger clicks his tongue in disagreement .  only shortly after realising dooyoung’s doubts .  » ah, don’t call it that .  you’re a friend, doo .  not a burden .  if anything ─ a pleasure to have around no matter your state . «   being dropped by his company tonight, encouraging words couldn’t cause any further harm .   a subtle yet genuine message for pushing spirits .

» you mean keeping you at my side is more troublesome than having you call and send messages all night long ? «    of course he could turn is phone on mute and ignore the other’s attempts of communicating and meme sharing .   but what if playfulness suddenly turns into an emergency ?  a fatal thought .

» we have enough guest rooms .   one’s right next to me .   a double bed all for yourself . «   an impish grin tugs at his lips . although seongil might behold the secret wish of sharing a bed and talking each other into sleep. nonetheless wants to respect dooyoung’s privacy .

-

at this low moment of night, he sighs into the darkness granting dooyoung’s strained mind time to consider his limited options. let their shadows hide behind the street lights, views in gradient greys behind them. where a lonesome old man is strolling through the alley. full of passion he sings his song from heart .  an echo to take every passerby into a past which never belonged to them . 

-

» c’mon. let me heave you into my new car. «  seongil stresses “new” on purpose though, sure the hint will reach his drunk friend .  if not, he won’t be scared to teach dooyoung a lesson despite their age difference .  and while dooyoung’s still fumbling with the belt, seongil already starts the engine .

seongil reassures him every chance given—if only dooyoung’s concentration wasn’t so blurred at the moment, or else he’d throw them back in return. for now though, dooyoung responds with a slight smirk in attempts to hide it with his water bottle, now half-finished, rim on the edge of his lips. they always say that for every glass of alcohol consumed, you’ll crave twice as much water. they’re fucking right. “mm... okay... only if you say s’...” dooyoung accepts the chewing gum, not opening his mouth to say much else. he’s already feeling it. between the guilt and the heavy weight of discomfort settling in once and for all. he’s forever grateful that the younger willingly brought a water bottle to begin with. perhaps he’ll pester him for more once they arrive to seongil’s home.

after quite some time to process what seongil’s willing to offer, dooyoung sighs to himself due to his stubborn behavior. seongil, at 1 am, promptly gets into his car just to pick up a drunkard that he considers his good friend. he shakes his head at his thought process and the sudden realization that he’s declining help. would dooyoung rather start walking in the bitter cold weather at night? it’s unsafe and unbearable. just fucking take it. “mm... okay. okay. i’ll shut up n’go with you.” 

wait. new? dooyoung’s puzzled suddenly. “that ain’new... seongil? are you trying to trick me? you know i’m not that dumb.” he slurs once more, stepping foot into the vehicle. belt is buckled, mowgli is settled in the back, everything is going somewhat smooth. he’s gotten this far and no damage has been done. an accomplishment, right? dooyoung’s eyes are immediately glued to the raindrops tracing down the window—how each and every drop is painted with vibrant colors of the streetlights. each passing minute, it’s a different color. red, yellow, baby blue, everything that could possible be thought of; neon lights reflect nothing but beauty to dooyoung. he’s secretly hoping seongil isn’t getting the impression that he’s ignoring him, dooyoung’s fogged mind is clearing up even though it isn’t evident on the outside. he still feels guilty though. the sudden quietness gives him the chance to open his mouth and admit whatever’s on his mind right now.

“s'ngil...” he sighs, in the midst of pausing. dooyoung is found fiddling with his fingers, eyes still locked onto the raindrops falling in a rhythm. why is life so unexpected? so tragic? his intentions of staying at a bar tonight was nothing that actually occurred. he didn’t plan on his friends ditching him for random women, he didn’t plan on wasting his hard-earned money he could’ve saved with a bottle of rum back at home, he didn’t plan on staring at the clock hopelessly like his life depended on it. there was no chance that dooyoung could’ve actually made it home tonight. since his home was far from here in walking distance, he considered paying for a cheap 30,000 won motel room instead to sober up and sleep his pain away. his life has come down to this. now he’s in the passenger seat of his friend’s car, unknown of what his life is turning into.

it’s still quiet. dooyoung has delved deep into his thoughts to the point where he could cry, but he won’t. he doesn’t want to worry seongil more than what he has already. seongil still doesn’t even know why he lingered around the bar until the hour of the night. “i just... wanted to say m’sorry. and thank you. i’ll... go with you. home... your home.”

his heart hurts now. overthinking is poisonous.

“i hope you weren’t sleeping... i mean... i don’t know... you didn’t sound t’sleepy on the phone but i could be wrong.” he chuckles under his breath, “i don’t care what you say. m’still a big fat idiot right now.”

reckless

[nightstill-blog]

@gallaxians

The mug clutched between her fingers warms her palms. Her hazel eyes had been trained on the stars hanging above, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere and hitting her like a tonne of bricks. She takes a long sip of her tea, flickering her gaze over to Dooyoung. “Well uh… I…” She trails off for a moment to collect her thoughts. Ones that didn’t rest on the accident that happened many years ago, the one that took her parents and left her alone.

A tiny smile seeps onto her lips, maybe this was wishful thinking and a bit naive. “I don’t know about heaven or hell, I never really went to church.” Nari reverts her gaze back upwards, humming under her breath. “I think maybe we return to the stars. Life down here is only one journey, there’s plenty more waiting for us. I think our souls continue on. I don’t know, maybe it’s reincarnation or maybe earth is just one of the stops in this giant universe. What do you think?”

dooyoung’s merely focused on nari’s concentration. it’s amazing how one simple question would differ from person to person. experiences are the basic foundation to craft one’s views, and of course, dooyoung’s experienced way too damn much ever since he was young. to relieve her somewhat, he initiates with a soft mutter, “no answer is wrong... i’m just curious.” it’s true though. belief is just a personal matter. individualistic.

“i never went to church either. you’re fine.” in deeper conversations such as this, it’s important to reassure and also be clearly cautious about your next word. in the midst of listening to her speak, dooyoung’s mind is already stirring with things to say in response. his eyes are hoisted to look at the same stars nari’s eyes are fixated on. “you really think so? ah... it’s crazy how people come up with these conspiracies about the afterlife. returning to the stars—that’s a really nice way to put it. to be honest, i’ve delved deeper into spirituality recently, and i really think that after we die... we’re lifted into some kind of spiritualistic world. where our spirits come to rest from this bridge that’s connected to the physical world. er, our world, i guess. can you tell i watch too many ghost shows?” dooyoung chuckles for relief. “i’ve also heard about reincarnation. are you sure you want me to ramble about that too? look what you started.”

[nightstill-blog]

opacous‌:

...

it has already been late but at 12:32 am jiwon bids seongil good night .   surely, he won’t go to bed .  with today’s mission there’s still a lot of paper work to finish for capulet’s tough leader.  though alone, seongil stays outside, breathing in the chilly air and waits for mowgli to join him on the bench .   his furry friend has sneaked outside in the moment where jiwon got back inside .   the two cuddle up and watch some hilarious dog videos as the young hit man takes in another cigarette .

at 1 am seongil promises mowgli this will be their last compilation .  the dog has already fallen asleep whatsoever and hasn’t heard any of it as a familiar name engulfs the entire phone screen.

his heart jumps at the sound of dooyoung’s voice .  on the way outside and mowgli on leash, they continue to talk through mobile .   at least as much as possible for the older .   to be honest he really can’t make out all of the words which the other rolls off his drunken tongue .   plus, under this condition dooyoung’s korean rings funny sometimes .   but it’s all easily forgiven after seongil rounds a corner and allows mowgli to tackle the older, dwelling in his miserable state, by surprise .

» o fair maiden, your escort team has finally arrived . «   seongil announces with a smile .  » drink some of this ── «  and hands dooyoung a bottle full water .  » this really is an odd way, you know ?! you can simply ask when you want to crash at my place, don’t have to do all this . «   a grin now grows even wider and more mischievous, while he drops himself next to his friend, nudging doo’s side .  even the cold stones beneath seongil turn comfortable at an instant and after every breath the world turns slower .

their conversation feels as if it’s years long. dooyoung isn’t sure if seongil is talking to him just to accompany the drunk while he’s outside alone in the bitter cold, but to be honest, he's not in the right position to complain. this is practically making up for the loss of socialization back there in the bar. the conversation’s filled with somewhat small talk and dooyoung switching between sloppy korean and english. could seongil understand a thing? he should be used to it now—as a matter of fact, he was the one to see dooyoung drunk when it was just the two of them. as young, dumb kids. time ticks by and there’s no sight of dooyoung’s groggy voice clearing up anytime soon.

once seongil pulls up into a parking spot, dooyoung can’t stop himself from hiding the tiniest grin. it progressively widens at the sight of the canine glomping into the drunk’s embrace. nothing is better than this. absolutely nothing. “oh god... haha...heh...” his obnoxious habit of giggling under his breath commences once more, “escort team... more like...” he’s suddenly cut off by the younger’s offer. seongil knew how to shut him up immediately. small sips are taken, and in the midst, eyebrows hoist as his eyes look up to engage eye contact with the other. “odd? god, i just... fuckin’... asked for a ride... what’s odd ‘bout it, seongil? huh?” it’s a mystery how dooyoung could maintain his ‘role model image’ at this point. but then again, has he ever maintained said image in the first place?

more sips are taken. “i can go home... i... i promise... i’m fine...” he mutters under his breath, “what do you mean by ‘all this’? you better explain yourself... or else... damn...” truthfully, the fact that seongil reserved time out of his night to attend to dooyoung’s troubles really shows his true colors, but in this state of mind, dooyoung can’t help but overthink the guilt sinking in due to this entirety. “i feel like the biggest fuckin’ idiot in the world, you kn... know that? taking a ride with friends... and they ended up ditchin’ me... what the fuck...” another sip taken.

“i don’ want to burden you anymore than this... sleeping at your place? that’s... asking for trouble. seongil.”

his breath reeks from the consumed alcohol. dooyoung’s shocked that seongil isn’t stepping away to prevent from whiffing that. a quick thing of mouthwash and a pillow? with those basic desires, dooyoung would call it a night after that. even though this night was the epitome of a disaster, he’d be more than willing to confess how it’s turned immediately upside down because of seongil’s company. if only his mind wasn’t so flooded.

dooyoung’s watch reads 1:28 am. he’s somewhat content where he is right now, but if seongil suggested to hop into the car, he would. seongil’s nudge has him cracking a small grin, chuckling to himself. he then whispers, “i’m a fuckin’ idiot, seongil.”

reckless

[nightstill-blog]

[nightstill-blog]

reckless

with @opacous

he blinks once, twenty minutes pass by. another blink and it’s suddenly an hour later. a half-empty glass of rum is keeping him company by his side, and tragically enough, his friends aren’t anywhere to be found in his god forsaken bar. from what dooyoung can remember, he believes he heard his friend shout at him, “i’m going, would you be able to get home too?” in the midst of stumbling out the door with a younger woman glued to him. to be honest, it was difficult as hell to hear over the deafening music, but dooyoung nodded despite the immediate challenge to find a way home. if he didn’t down several shots of... whatever he had, and this glass of rum, he’d be more than glad to drive home on this own. unfortunately dooyoung rode with the friend who left.

“let’s go out tonight,” he said, “i’ll take us both. it’ll be a treat after this shitty week, right?” dooyoung didn’t have the heart to decline due to the fact that he’s been to the local nightclub once this week already. going out on a weeknight? that’s when you know you’ve hit rock bottom; dooyoung’s been down there for quite some time now. the hangover the next morning practically made dooyoung want to shoot himself in the forehead because of the numbing migraine. he called in sick, there was no way he was going to tackle a whole 12 hour shift in the condition he was in. under some circumstances, dooyoung asked for it in the first place.

at least he doesn’t feel so hallow with alcohol swelled in his bloodstream. the best way to go about one’s troubles, right?

two hours later, dooyoung's convinced himself multiple times that he’ll find a ride home. he’s fucking sure of it. once the clock read ten minutes until midnight, his heart sank due to the sudden realization that most transportation systems are closed for the night. the bar was crowded still despite closing in about an hour, and within minutes, dooyoung noticed his other pair of friends strolling through the front door—just when he thought they left hours ago. at this point, he’s not really sure if his presence was needed tonight or perhaps it just an excuse to come drinking and pick up women. not that he’s complaining... except for the fact that he didn’t manage to succeed with the latter. maybe next time. 

at this point, dooyoung is slowly beginning to convince himself that perhaps walking home would be most convenient option. he was left by his “friends” for dead, drunk at the front counter. thirty minutes until closing and he’s found sitting by himself (minus a few other drunks) scrolling through social media like a damned loner. i should start walking. obeying the voice in the back of his head, dooyoung doesn’t hesitate to get out of the bar seat to step outside—it’s wet and beyond cold due to the rain. he’s convinced that this leather jacket isn’t enough for this shitty weather.

despite the will to start walking home, he still hasn’t left the parking lot. his eyes remain glued to his phone screen. there’s a reason why though, and thankfully, this reason might save his ass a few thousand steps. there’s a smirk suddenly widening on dooyoung’s face. he abruptly turns the opposite way to sit himself on the edge of the bar’s front walkway. it’s wet, he forgot about that fact, but he doesn’t give a damn at this point. he’s giggling to himself because damn, this is a terrible idea considering it’s nearly 1 am.

he’s dialing seongil’s number. dooyoung’s voice is deep and groggy as if he just woke up; alcohol has that terrible effect on him. the phone is ringing and ringing. it feels like forever and he has his doubts that seongil will answer but it’s worth a try.

“haheheh... s—seongil... i got a favor to ask... y’wanna hear it?” words are slurred and delayed, “i... haheh... i am at this bar. you know, the one by where you live? yeah, yeah that one... ha. it’s so funny, i’ve been here for... for... i think like three hours or something... whew. could you pick me up? pleaaaase... i'm a fucking idiot for riding with someone who ditched me...”

[nightstill-blog]

profcnd‌:

‘ why are you covered in blood ?? ’ minjae had his eyes grown wide in complete surprise upon seeing the male sitting up on the floor in his bathroom, his clothes were all soaking wet ( perhaps it was because of the shower since he noticed it wasn’t turned off properly. dooyoung could’ve been showering while keeping his clothes on beforehand ) but the question that concerned the shadowhunter was did he harm himself ? or did somebody else break into the house  &  harm him ? ‘ do you want me to bring you to the hospital ? ’ / @esprtnoir

“oh god... no... why the hell are you here?” dooyoung exclaims, humiliation slowly sinking in. it’s evident in his face—he’s shielding himself as if it’s helping him disappear into a bleak void. in attempts of turning off the shower faucet, he’s failing miserably due to the weakness in his movements. no matter how much he’s trying, he’s not getting anywhere. might as well surrender. “i... i...  don’t know what i got myself into... i don’t know what i was doing... i was bleeding a lot and i suddenly felt the need to cleanse myself off? jesus fucking christ,” it’s clear that he’s stuttering since nervousness is choking him. he can’t breathe. as a matter of fact, dooyoung fell into a dark relapse after having a terrorizing nightmare; slitting his thighs felt like the adequate solution to this temporary pain. “don’t call anyone... please... i can’t have anyone look at this...”

[nightstill-blog]

artificial happiness

with @eterneli​

some say that attending a private academy is considered a privilege. unfortunately, dooyoung would beg to differ. the expectation to aspire high, to be perfect in every aspect in the program. there’s so much underneath the surface that is absolutely damaging to the core. not to say that the entire concept is rewarding most times, but the majority of the time, dooyoung sits alone in his cheap apartment alone contemplating his choices in life. he constantly battles himself with questions such as, “is this really the path i want to take? is this what i desire, or is this what’s expected from my grandmother? to reach for the stars only to help her in life support?” it’s a tragedy within itself. contemplating every other day. if he could earn a dollar for every doubt, he’d probably be a millionaire at this point.

alcohol isn’t enough to fill this void.

dooyoung can’t stop thinking about those damn cigarettes. the ones he used to cherish before—marlboro, to be specific. the bitterness of the disgusting aftertaste is something dooyoung can’t wipe his mind off of. it’s funny, he considers it artificial happiness. an addiction. dooyoung’s been clean for a solid year now because of his grandmother, but tragically, there was never a day when he didn’t think about stepping into the nearest convenience store to buy a pack. they’re so small, so cheap, so easy to hide. it’s as if he configures new excuses to buy them, it’s absolutely disgusting behavior. can dooyoung admit it? of course he can, he’s only a dumb twenty-something year old that has lost all hope in life. a poisoned heart with a progressively poisoned body. there’s no going back.

the clock reads 4:36 am. dooyoung is found on the balcony of his apartment that looks out beyond the grape vineyards and tranquil lakes, battling between himself and the pack of cigarettes he just purchased at the nearest 7-11. at this point, he is and forever will be grateful for 24 hour gas stations. after a constant battle, dooyoung curiously opens the package, suddenly feeling his limbs growing numb. he know he can’t do this. once pulls out a cigarette and his cheap lighter, he’s painfully aware of the circumstances that will follow. there seems to a small voice in the back of his head screaming the most torturous things to antagonize him, “artificial happiness,” the voice reminds him. “your life won’t differ no matter what decision you make. at least fill this void in your damn heart, you bought the fucking pack. don’t waste it.” at this point, this is fucking humiliating. after a year, he was sure to become clean without any tempting thoughts. life is just a ticking bomb, anyway.

it’s not too long before dooyoung lights the cigarette. he takes his first puff. he can feel the guilt sinking in like an entire weight is pushed onto his chest. it’s overwhelming, but at the same time, he feels good. it’s a sensation he can’t describe with words. in the midst of taking another puff, dooyoung feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. a text message from an unexpected... person. a friend.

would it be too weird to consider him a friend, still?

[nightstill-blog]

forsaken

with @antemortis

these days, it’s not an unusual idea for dooyoung to be spotted in the corner of a local bar isolating his life away. unless he’s with one of his good friends, he wouldn’t dare to be in the center of the crowd. he’s not that kind of guy anyway. bars? the very last place he’d be found. the hesitance soon faded after befriending some... not very good influences. that’s why it’s not very odd for dooyoung to enter a local bar or nightclub without much thought. he’s willing to poison himself with the most expensive liquor, melting into the lounge seats as the night remains young. 

dooyoung is staying in the comfort of his own workplace tonight. after observing what seems like an endless variety of alcohol choices, he decides he can’t go wrong with a few glasses of scotch whiskey and perhaps a shot of vodka. of course, his area of work isn’t the bar, so why not try everything he can consume? there’s never a second thought before dooyoung mingles a bit with his coworker at the front bar, curious about the specials for tonight, all of that. fifteen minutes pass by and now he’s found stepping into a separate room just for lounging guests, a whiskey glass in hand. 

the lights are quite dim (perhaps too dim, dooyoung’s exhausted enough to take the tiniest snooze here). all he can tell himself is “damn, why haven’t i ventured into this area more frequently?” it’s a slap to the face considering how exquisite dooyoung can be. once seated, he observes his surroundings. dim lights sparkling on the ceiling, the floor’s carpet remaining too clean, the lounging sofas crafted with the finest velvet, not to mention the music heard on a subtle level. it’s a gateway for anyone seeking a luxury, exotic surrounding with the intentions of relaxation. dooyoung still hates himself for not taking time out of his nights to drink here. he’ll definitely change that.

another ten minutes pass by before he’s halfway done with his drink. he’s been occupied with his phone, scrolling through social media like the next lonesome freak. he couldn’t be bothered though. despite that, within the next few moments, dooyoung’s attention is caught by someone. a female in a slim dress—not that he can see clearly from where he’s sitting. dooyoung sits up, leaving his whiskey at the table to grab another drink. or, that’s what he intends to do. 

he now stands next to this woman at the bar front, refusing to steal a glance on purpose. “i’ll get some bacardi white rum, please.”

[nightstill-blog]

a body, hollowed out. a skeleton with loveless bones. waste of skin.

single muse ∙ literate ∙ plot-based ∙ read about

[nightstill-blog]

it’s astonishing how much someone’s life can be redefined in one year. some say that it’s the perfect timeframe meant for either improvement or complete destruction. they could fall in love and host a wedding coming straight out of a fairytale. on the other side, it could be an endless battle between them and their beloved razor. all hope could’ve been restored in the hands of faith. as for dooyoung—ever since he’s stepped away from toxicity that could’ve corrupted his sanity, he has noticed how fucking lonely life has become. he’s had his fair share of nightmare-inducing memories, and unfortunately, this entire year was meant for reflection. one year ago, dooyoung removed himself from a unhealthy relationship with someone that brainwashed him into thinking what they had was love. it was nothing but a tragedy—something that dooyoung would rather burn in hell rather than relive the agony. so short-lived.

every time dooyoung flashes back to those very moments, he can’t prevent his stomach from feeling as if it’s being twisted into the firmest knot. the pressure is fine, causing his mind to loop into an spiral of deathly thoughts. he asks himself, “why the fuck did i put myself through that?” but he gives himself a moment to answer his own heart-wrenching question. how could he forget how he was manipulated into thinking that he was worthy of love in the first place? and how after dooyoung opened himself up like a crow expanding their wings as far as they can go. initially, the freedom felt liberating but the hesitance was still present throughout the relationship. dooyoung convinced himself his issues weren’t as big as they were, but it was evident his partner couldn’t handle the idea of loving a damaged man. who knew a heart could be swelled with so much love yet be stroked with the blackest paint. his agenda was to fix dooyoung but he couldn’t. he gave up so easily. that was the initial moment where dooyoung knew he wasn’t worthy of anything at all, really.

one year ago, he left his relationship to focus on his mental health. one year ago, he also endured a period of self-confusion. he felt obligated to lie into bed with strangers, unveiling the side he hid the most in hopes that it would fulfill the greed in his heart. those few moments of dread turned into momentary pleasure. it only weakened his self-esteem. overcoming those evil habits was a challenge within itself, but despite the challenge, dooyoung was able to turn himself around with the help of his friends. nothing lasts forever though, not even friendships.

one year later, after constant reflection, all he can ask is: why is life so fucking lonely?

[nightstill-blog]

named kim dooyoung, the eight year old boy is sitting in the corner of the bathroom, curled into the tiniest form possible. he can hear the voices of his parents arguing once again; it’s a repetitive cycle. eat, sleep, pray. he doesn't even believe in a god. it’s not too long before he notices a moment of silence prior to what seems like a deafening slap to the face. what did his mother do this time? to prevent from enduring the same strike, the place he returns to in times of desperate need would be the bathroom floor—door locked, lights off, no one will suspect a thing.

another face slap. is mother trying to defend herself again? she should learn her lesson by now, the end result is never rewarding. of course, she can’t tell the difference between right and wrong, can she? the young one only wishes he had the courage to defend the person he loves the most. it’s two weaklings against one.

he finally hears the screams he was expecting. soon enough, the child will finally realize why his mother was screaming so loudly. within seconds, he hears the door being slammed. is this hell on earth?

dooyoung can only guess it’s his turn.