In an Instant

9: In which a reality check is needed, but murder is not (28-30)

SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!! I'M ALIVE!!!!!!!!

After half a thousand years, I am BACK BABIEEEEE!!!!To be honest my life was a mess, plus I got distracted by my BNHAxTCF fic (shameless advertisement *wink wink*) since I actually finished the next chapter of that bitch, then decided it was utter trash and currently still in process of rewriting (oops).

But, I'm proud to announce!! A new chapter!!!!! I think I did a good job, but what do I know.

Again, no beta. I'm afraid if I re-read this, I'll re-write it and I physically CANNOT AGAIN *scream in deadlines*

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08/17/22: Revised. Grammar check.

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......

"Young master Cale, do you know anything about this royal event?"

Cale looked toward Taylor. Taylor was fine compared to the priestess, who was struggling with her hangover. In fact, he was even better off than Cale. This weak-looking noble had the strongest alcohol tolerance out of the three of them.

-

Cale* raises an impressed eyebrow. As someone who has actively worked to improve his alcohol tolerance to an insane level over the years, Cale* knows intimately just how much he can go before he even reaches the drunken state.

Taylor Stan didn't look like he had even tried.

Interest suddenly perked, Cale* sits up straighter, ignoring the questioning looks Kim Rok Soo is shooting at him.

Instead, Cale*'s eyes rove over the room, trying to find Taylor's counterpart in his world. 'It's not like I'm challenging him to a drinking contest,' Cale* preemptively thinks, 'But the guy just seems a bit interes–'

His thought abruptly cuts off as his eyes catch on the lonely figure of the renowned Crazy Priestess.

His body goes numb all at once.

Cale* finally realizes something.

He won't be having that drinking contest, after all. He won't be having any kind of contest with Taylor Stan*, in fact.

Because Taylor Stan* is dead. Has been dead for years now.

For a moment, Cale* doesn't know what to think.

There's a lump in his throat and a heaviness to his heart that are all unpleasantly familiar. Cale* numbly stares as his hands white-knuckle themselves on the bottle in his grips, and feels...... hollow.

He isn't close to Taylor Stan*, Cale* inwardly defends himself.

He isn't even sure if they had ever talked to each other, prior to all of this.

(Prior to Taylor*'s murder, that is.)

(Venion*, something in him hisses.)

And yet–

There's something permanent about death that Cale* despises. Something about the gaping hole it leaves behind, about the ever-bleeding scar it has so casually carved into the world, something about the way it chains the ones left behind down and forces them to watch as everyone moves on.

Everyone but them.

(Mother, dying, dead, buried.)

(Red hair turns to dust.)

(Father's wedding to Violan*.)

(Cale*, reaching for people who he should have known will never be there again.)