Burnout ⊗ Jeongchan

⑥④ Sinners

Minho leaned over, elbow propping up against the tables surface as he leaned towards his fellow racer, "They've unlocked their ultimate forms."

"What does that even mean?" Hyunjin's face scrunched, scrutinizing every little action and word the other said under shattering microscope inspecting the finest details in their minds. Even down to the molecules, building their very platforms of life, crumbling the last of their rationale. He followed the other's gaze, coming to find a familiar pair of people they would consider family relaxing by an all too familiar car decorated with different colors. After a few beats of inspecting them, he nodded to Minho and offered the agreement, "I see now."

Jeongin chose to ignore them as he combed fingers through silver hair. His own silver hair, once again picked out by the certain someone doing last minute checks on that imperial engine of unbeatable regal standards. He leaned against the drivers door, heel shoving itself into the ground as he impatiently waited for any sort of sign from the other, eyes choosing to take in the disheveled state of the shop attempting to move on from the news previously given. The days kept on, the hours went by, and the seconds were counting down. Their time was running short. It was obvious in the way the shop bent to their wills, and in the way that the clocks never slowed.

Well, by now, even if the clocks slowed it eventually would come. That inevitable moment. That inevitable goodbye. Some where hidden within Jeongin's chest, kept under the cold nip of the evening sun bleeding into a never-ending void they had called their homes, something ached. It wished, and it longed. It was that same recognizable feeling, when he wanted nothing more than for the slightest of an acknowledgement. From anyone. It was that same painful and consuming feeling. A sort of desire, but not one bred from the festering of repressed sins. Rather, it was a sorrowful one. A desire to stay as things were, and for change to never come.

Then again, if those changes never came he wouldn't be standing where he was; If he didn't have a desire for something different. That future, one where an acquisition for his inevitable doom marching to the edge, thinking about it would only bring tremors to his veins. A rapid beat to his heart. A shortness of breath.

It was a ruined future.

Oddly enough, despite that thought, Jeongin smiled to himself. He smiled as he watched Chan slam the bonnet of the car and the king rested hazardously against it, he smiled as he hopped up to sit on the hood next to that crumbling throne, he smiled as the other saw him and only him for that brief moment. There was always something strange about that look in Chan's eyes. It had always been challenging, an enigma of a call, a fire begging for freedom behind iron cells and cage doors. It had always been wistful, wanting another fire to ignite, maybe a spark like the combustion of his car's engine strong enough to give them both a purpose. A bet, and a promise, a gamble, those had all hidden behind his eyes.

But a sadness lurked there too. For what reason, for what purpose, no one would know. Jeongin wasn't much better about it either. It hadn't been that long ago, he was wishing to vanish, and at times it would be impossible to say those thoughts didn't pillage the innocent corners of his mind. As he leaned against the older, feeling the warm seeping his shoulder, he was sure there was more both of them had to uncover.

"There's patrols driving around this stretch of the city more frequently. It wouldn't surprise me if they were trying to scope the area out," Changbin set a spanner down on the table, nearly clocking Minho's finger as he did so. Similarly to the way the latter had done to Jeongin before. He turned back to his childhood friend, a pensiveness to his demeanor as he brought up the dreaded question, "When are you leaving?"

"In the morning, I'll go in the morning," Chan told. Next to him, Jeongin felt the way his shoulders tensed at the question. Although he easily brushed off his own advances searching for the answer to that simple question, 'Are you afraid?', he never was given a proper response. Not even an excuse of one. Thinking back on it, the other managed to completely dodge the question by bumping it towards the crew. But if the stiffness said anything, his rigidness, the spacing for thoughts letting him escape this reality, the answer became clear.