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He swipes his pointer over the smudge to get rid of it, but the flesh gives easily, the pad of his finger dipping shallowly into it.
Not a spot or a mark. Not a blemish.
A hole.
His eyes travel from the hole to his face, studying his features, his unshaven chin and upper lip, his heavy eyes, the dark circles. A stray eyelash sticks to his cheek. He glances back down and runs his finger over the spot again, feeling it give, feeling it twitch.
Jisung wakes up with a hole in his chest. It may or may not have something to do with the desire he has for his roommate.
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Bookmark Notes:
body horror as a means for exploring shame and lust and religious guilt and desire yes please
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lovely.
very rich. writing smooth but scary like if you made a glass of red wine a little thicker than it should be
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Beautifully introspective work (religious themes are the loml)
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He presses his own fingers above Changbin’s arm, balling his fist and pushing it inside. He feels so full, so disgustingly full, like he could crack like an egg and all the yolk of his insides would gush out. “Close.”
“Your nose—it’s bleeding,” he says, voice stilted.
At that, Jisung finally feels the warm blood settle thickly above his top lip before it spills over, crimson liquid dripping down his lips in wet trails. He licks at it, the taste metallic, salty, oily, all wrong, and all he can say is “Keep going.”
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No time to think about the queer divot burrowed right beneath his neck.
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