kanappi
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Hakka was everywhere. The password to his voicemail, 0421. His wallpaper, his extra face ID, his number on speed dial and his emergency contact, housed in every waking thought. His name lived in the space under his tongue, always waiting for its chance to jump out. If he went out alone with friends, he’d inevitably be pulled home, unable to stay away. It’s just a fact of life. To survive, a healthy Flayon needs 4 things: food, water, shelter, and Hakka.
Flayon was certain that if you could mill through his brain, if you could unshelf his book of life, it would naturally fall open to the page containing Hakka, spine creased and cut open from permanent revisitations, unable to turn the page.
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