chanyeol hacks and coughs into his pillow like a choking cat trying to dislodge a hairball from the back of it’s throat. the damn thing just itches so, so much, as if some random, elusive piece of hair had decided to embed itself into his skin, refusing to let go. he’d rather take steel wool and scrub anything and everything away until the insides of his neck turn raw. 

“i’m dying,” chanyeol moans dramatically as jongin enters the room, butt propping open the door and arms laden with mountains of smuggled snack foods that will soon find their homes in various, miscellaneous corners throughout chanyeol’s, jongin’s, and kyungsoo’s shared room. 

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