Joji (
jojibear.livejournal.com) wrote in
writetomyheart2015-04-16 09:29 pm
Entry tags:
[Team One] Inside looking out
uH
IDK what this is either, sorry Jay u_u
You're up next,
slashedsilver~!
IDK what this is either, sorry Jay u_u
Windows, for some reason, had always bothered Hakyeon.
For as long as he could remember, he had always despised those panes of glass set into rectangular frames on his wall. Maybe it was the way it would only allow him to see beyond them but not allow him to touch and feel; maybe it was the way that no matter what the weather was like outside, the glass always felt cold beneath his fingertips when all he wanted was to feel what the bright, golden rays of sunshine was like on the pads of his fingers.
Whatever it was, something about windows made him feel uneasy.
In contrast, he liked doors.
He always delighted in pushing down on the cool metal of the handle with the knowledge that sometimes — if his timing was right — the large piece of carved wood it was attached to would swing open. He would be allowed beyond the confines of his room then, into corridors painted a white so bright his hand — his entire body, even — popped out in comparison.
He used to roam those halls a lot, back when he was younger, cat ears twitching with excitement at the thought of what he could find on his adventures. Maybe he'd find a matronly warden knitting away, colourful balls of yarn piled up inside a wicker basket; maybe he'd find a new toy someone had left lying around.
He loved those days, when everything was so much more simple. Nowadays, he could only sit in his room and ponder on the things he was supposed to do in order to be a good pet to some human, if he met the good fortune of being adopted.
More often than not, he wondered if anyone would even want to adopt him.
For as long as he could remember, he had always despised those panes of glass set into rectangular frames on his wall. Maybe it was the way it would only allow him to see beyond them but not allow him to touch and feel; maybe it was the way that no matter what the weather was like outside, the glass always felt cold beneath his fingertips when all he wanted was to feel what the bright, golden rays of sunshine was like on the pads of his fingers.
Whatever it was, something about windows made him feel uneasy.
In contrast, he liked doors.
He always delighted in pushing down on the cool metal of the handle with the knowledge that sometimes — if his timing was right — the large piece of carved wood it was attached to would swing open. He would be allowed beyond the confines of his room then, into corridors painted a white so bright his hand — his entire body, even — popped out in comparison.
He used to roam those halls a lot, back when he was younger, cat ears twitching with excitement at the thought of what he could find on his adventures. Maybe he'd find a matronly warden knitting away, colourful balls of yarn piled up inside a wicker basket; maybe he'd find a new toy someone had left lying around.
He loved those days, when everything was so much more simple. Nowadays, he could only sit in his room and ponder on the things he was supposed to do in order to be a good pet to some human, if he met the good fortune of being adopted.
More often than not, he wondered if anyone would even want to adopt him.
You're up next,
