we the cursed, nct dream ✔

part forty-one

⇉ the one with fresh air.

part forty-one

Chaos ensues.

Yet Juno hardly registers any of it. Her blank stare is fixed on the projection, those words so big and bold, it's almost as if they're mocking her. Her fists clench so tightly, they leave little red crescent moons on her palms.

Four down. Six to go!

The teachers are struggling to restore any semblance of structure, urging the students to return to their seats to calm down. But nobody's listening. Some people are peering into the casket, others have rushed to the bathrooms, and a few just stare in horror. On the sidelines, there are tears and screaming and just complete pandemonium.

It's sad to Juno that the scene is familiar.

Her friends beside her are saying words, but she doesn't hear anything. Blood rushes into her ears as she stands, unmoving. For all their talk, none of them have made any headway in this so-called investigation. And she's well aware that if they continue to be as unsuccessful as they are, ten people will have died by the conclusion of the school year. Ten entire lives lost.

And she is not naïve enough to believe that even those who remain will leave unscathed.

At this point in time, Juno doesn't care anymore about whatever the school is up to. They could be running an exorcism for all she cares. She just wants to get out of here.

And then the irrationality sets in: what if she's one of the remaining six? It wouldn't make sense, based on the motive theory they came up with long ago, but still. What if she'd accidentally pissed someone off? Or what if one of her friends had? Any of them could be dead tomorrow. Any of them. Panic seizes her throat.

"Breathe," a voice says into her ear. Juno doesn't have to glance up to know that it's Mark. He has an uncanny way of pinpointing the exact moments when she allows her thoughts to run away with her. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe."

She takes his advice, hardly registering that he's steering her forward and out of the hall, leaving the anarchy behind. And they don't stop until they're standing before the North entrance.

"Feeling better?" Mark inquires softly.

"Much, yes." Juno nods once, eyes holding his as she exhales a shaky breath. "So. Dano."

"Is it terrible that I don't necessarily even get upset anymore?" Mark gnaws on his bottom lip, gaze troubled. "Now I'm just like, oh, it happened again. There's another one to add to the list. I hate this, Ju. I hate it so fucking much."

Juno nods, lips pursing. "But you're not the only one. It's almost like we all get less and less upset as more die because we're growing used to it." Juno pauses. "How fucked up is that?"

Mark exhales. "I'm so tired of this."

"Me too."

"Because I want to mourn for Dano, I want to feel sad for him, I really do, but I just... I can't. I feel like such an asshole."

"You're not," Juno says.

"I knew what he was like. I know about all the things he did; I know that he was severely f*cked in the head. And maybe that wasn't entirely his fault. But while I'm not happy that he's dead, I can't be sad, either," Mark blurts, the words spilling from between his lips, uncontrolled. "I don't know. It's all just so fucked up."

"Mark." Juno takes his hand then, threading her fingers through his, making him look at her again. "You are not terrible. Whoever is killing these people, whether due to some perverse sense of justice or not, is the terrible one. Don't forget that."