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지독한 고통 악몽뿐이지만; 오직 내 꿈은 너뿐야, love or die
Jae-eun's heart doesn't race; it thuds along, heavy against his ribs, sharp and hard as stone. The jagged edge of it claws at his throat, the siren ringing in his ears. Some time has passed since it went off, and he knows, logically, it's unlikely anyone is going to come to their apartment and cause trouble. They've locked and barred the door, and they're not on the first floor, readily accessible. People are more likely to target stores than homes, or at least to go to the wealthier parts of town than to come to an apartment complex. Chances are they're completely safe as long as they stay inside.
That doesn't make it too much better, really. Even if it's unlikely, it's not impossible that someone might come here. More than that, the very fact of this Purge scares him, skin prickling with anxiety and repulsion. Every now and then, shouts and the sounds of glass breaking or tires squealing cuts through the darkness and he flinches. He's done terrible things. Perhaps he has no right to judge. But he didn't enjoy them. He can't say that there wasn't a certain thrill in killing, sick though it makes him feel even to think it; but that was the point, really, if one ever existed, a way to jolt his creativity awake. It was cruel and meaningless, but he had a reason, however deluded it may have been. This... he can't say this does. This is just people taking pleasure in harming others for no reason other than because they can, and it makes him feel like his insides are trying to fight their way out through his skin. And to think that someone could go out on a night like this and hurt people and then go on with their lives like nothing happened — it upsets him on a fundamental level and it pisses him off, too. He can't imagine it. He can't even begin to imagine how anyone could walk away unscathed by having committed such violence. He carries it with him every fucking day, nearly every moment. He'll never be fully cleansed of it. How could anyone choose it so deliberately?
He sits in the living room curled against Sihyun's side, the lights out to avoid drawing attention to their home, his eyes shut tight. If he's quiet and still, maybe he can will peace into his body. Maybe he can keep himself breathing somewhat steadily. Maybe they should have gone out to the countryside; there was a nice woman at Pride who offered them refuge, but in the end, leaving this home had felt frightening too. Was that a mistake? But they're safe here probably. He doubts anything will hurt them here.
But tomorrow they have to go back into that world and not know which strangers they encounter will have done what terrible things. Maybe that's just. No one here knows what he's done, after all. He's not much better, whatever he wants to believe. It's wrong to try and cut himself some slack just because others do terrible things. People are no less dead at his hands just because others will die tonight at someone else's.
"I hate this," he murmurs into Sihyun's shoulder, so agitated he's already become exhausted. "Ah, what to do?" He doesn't want to just sit here for hours, paralyzed, but he doesn't know how to do anything else.
That doesn't make it too much better, really. Even if it's unlikely, it's not impossible that someone might come here. More than that, the very fact of this Purge scares him, skin prickling with anxiety and repulsion. Every now and then, shouts and the sounds of glass breaking or tires squealing cuts through the darkness and he flinches. He's done terrible things. Perhaps he has no right to judge. But he didn't enjoy them. He can't say that there wasn't a certain thrill in killing, sick though it makes him feel even to think it; but that was the point, really, if one ever existed, a way to jolt his creativity awake. It was cruel and meaningless, but he had a reason, however deluded it may have been. This... he can't say this does. This is just people taking pleasure in harming others for no reason other than because they can, and it makes him feel like his insides are trying to fight their way out through his skin. And to think that someone could go out on a night like this and hurt people and then go on with their lives like nothing happened — it upsets him on a fundamental level and it pisses him off, too. He can't imagine it. He can't even begin to imagine how anyone could walk away unscathed by having committed such violence. He carries it with him every fucking day, nearly every moment. He'll never be fully cleansed of it. How could anyone choose it so deliberately?
He sits in the living room curled against Sihyun's side, the lights out to avoid drawing attention to their home, his eyes shut tight. If he's quiet and still, maybe he can will peace into his body. Maybe he can keep himself breathing somewhat steadily. Maybe they should have gone out to the countryside; there was a nice woman at Pride who offered them refuge, but in the end, leaving this home had felt frightening too. Was that a mistake? But they're safe here probably. He doubts anything will hurt them here.
But tomorrow they have to go back into that world and not know which strangers they encounter will have done what terrible things. Maybe that's just. No one here knows what he's done, after all. He's not much better, whatever he wants to believe. It's wrong to try and cut himself some slack just because others do terrible things. People are no less dead at his hands just because others will die tonight at someone else's.
"I hate this," he murmurs into Sihyun's shoulder, so agitated he's already become exhausted. "Ah, what to do?" He doesn't want to just sit here for hours, paralyzed, but he doesn't know how to do anything else.
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"Maybe," he murmurs. There's almost no one he'd say he's close to, hardly anyone he'd call a friend, but his social circle has grown, certainly. The friends he does have are all the more precious for being so rare. "I don't think I need to call, just text maybe." He doesn't have the wherewithal for phone calls right now. He barely has it in him even to look for his phone.
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"It'll be a long night. We'll get through it more easily if we don't have to wonder where anyone is or if they're okay, I think."
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Tipping his head back, he presses a soft kiss to Sihyun's jaw before carefully getting to his feet. He's been so tucked in on himself that his leg is nearly asleep, and moving even a couple feet away from Sihyun makes him feel a spike of anxiety he knows is absurd. It does nothing to lessen the fact that he's painfully on edge. When people are out there doing terrible things, entirely in their right minds and reveling in the destruction, it's hard to stop thinking about himself, his past, wondering if maybe he's not quite as monstrous as they are, unnerved by those thoughts. Whether it's true or not, he doesn't know, but he can't let himself think like that.
"Do you have yours?" he asks. He has a small, haphazard stack of books — novels and notebooks mostly — on a side table he has to shuffle around in search of his phone, but it doesn't take long once he actually makes it there. If Sihyun doesn't have his, though, he'll grab that, too. "Anyone you should text?"