art of the kill || chensung

neuf

"There was so much you could have achieved!"

Jisung flinched and hung his head, staring at the floor so hard that if his vision hadn't been shielded by a film of tears he would torn a whole through the wood and fallen through the world.

"Everyone that could possibly go wrong with you went wrong! How could you do that to us? Your own father and mother? You're too expensive! Far too ungrateful! All of you children these days!"

Everything that could possibly go wrong with you went wrong. Everything that could possibly —

Jisung was pushed aside by the door opening and closing. He lost his balance and fell onto the ground. His chest ached. How it ached. How he wanted to cry. The tears just wouldn't fall.

He was alone for the longest time. The water dried in his eyes and he watched the sun set. Again and again.

When he left the room, his vision was shaking. He went up to his room and packed his things. It was as settled as it would have been if they'd screamed it into his ear among the other things.

Get out.

—

Jisung shot awake, cold sweat lining his features and chest vibrating feverishly. He pressed his fingers to his mouth. The other hand reached for his gun. He wasn't meant to remember shit like that. It was in the past. What was more, it was his past — his past self didn't fucking matter.

He struggled upwards and got out of bed, supposing he could find some sleeping pills or something for a queasy stomach. His innards flipped at the thought of drinking water.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, rummaging through the apartment. He didn't have any medications in his possession and no one had thought of putting any his apartment.

(Everyone forgot Jisung was human. Even Jisung.)

He put on the single pair of jeans he owned and tugged a jacket over his threadbare shirt. He'd go and find some 24/7 pharmacy.

He walked down two streets before he heard the sound of laughter. What? It was two in the morning. Jisung meant to shake his head and continue his search for a pharmacy, but instead his feet took a step towards the gliding sound.

When he did nothing about it, his feet carried him through towards what was sounding more and more like a festival. He tried to think of festivals they'd be celebrating now, at night, but he hadn't thought to look over this. It was strange, he thought Sicheng might have told him of all the festivals in the Mandarin course. He must have figured Jisung would have no interest. He still didn't.

So why was he suddenly so damn interested? What was so alluring about this?

It was a sight to behold. He stood before the only open park for kilometres around. It was a little green space that grinned up at the moon along with all of its occupants. People flooded its plain, moon gazing, laughing, eating sweet round moon cakes, drinking cassia wine. Children chased each other around the grass with little light up animal toys that glowed red and blue, and a big group of elderly people told other kids stories in a circle of chairs.

There were lanterns everywhere — all the colours of autumn. A girl danced gracefully by herself, throwing up a burning red one and catching it with a finger. They were strung up on gold coloured strings, lighting up the field so much that it should have given Jisung a headache after walking in the dark for so long.

It was beautiful.

He shut his eyes hard, trying to squeeze the image out of his mind, but cementing it there instead.