✖「YOUNG GOD 」✖ Serial Killer!AU [COMPLETED]

5 | dispose of all evidence.

Somewhere, far, far away, someone was speaking. That much, Jisung knew. Maybe it was just another stray thought prickling at the back of his mind. Maybe it was the wind, nipping at the treetops above him. It was like he was underwater – sinking, sinking, sinking, the voice muffled and distorted.

"...kay over there?"

His breath was leaving him in rough, jagged puffs, chest tightened and heaving. His palms were hot and sticky with blood, the ground was spinning beneath his feet; all the surroundings were melting together into one, dark, incomprehensible mass.

"...can call an ambulance. What hap–"

Jisung reared around, eyes wild. For a split second, he caught sight of a face. A younger boy. Kind, crescent-shaped eyes, and a cherub's cheeks. He knew this boy. Somewhere, somehow. A memory tickled the back of his mind, a feeble warning.

Feeling worlds away, Jisung watched the boy fall to the ground, and black flooded Jisung's vision again.

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Jeongin felt his legs give way, eyes rolling up to the sky. Above him, the moon was a lopsided pearl. He felt his heartbeat in his head, throbbing, pounding, splitting; something wet and warm was trickling into his eyes and making them burn.

His eyes were shifting in and out of focus like a broken camera shutter, and when they focused again, the moon disappeared and was replaced by a face – just as pale, just as cold. Just as beautiful.

A voice in the back of Jeongin's head asked weakly if this was what an angel looked like.

But this boy's eyes were as wide and dark as craters, glassy and vacant as if he were staring straight through him. As if he couldn't really see Jeongin at all.

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A boy. It was a boy lying at his feet, blond hair matted with blood pouring from an open wound. A wound that, even though he had no recollection, Jisung knew he caused. Jisung's feet were rooted to the ground, frozen between the young boy and the mangled corpse. As if he were guarding the threshold between life and death.

Jisung wrenched his feet from their place and peered into the boy's widened eyes, and all of a sudden the world rushed into focus.

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Jeongin's eyelids were heavy, so, so heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to simply curl into a small ball on the cool leaves and fall into a deep, deep sleep.

He felt foreign hands fly to his chest, pulling at his sweater, touching his face. Through sluggish, half-closed eyes, he looked to see the same boy, this time eyes wild and frantic and human. A voice was speaking, as muffled as the mumbling of a broken record.

"Who–why? Why is it you? Why are you here?"

Jeongin wanted to say something, to tell the older boy not to cry, that it was okay, but his mouth wouldn't budge. As his eyes finally closed, Jeongin found himself faintly wondering who would feed the stray puppy when the morning came.

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This was wrong. This was not supposed to happen. This was not part of the plan.

Jisung's head spun, barely registering the pain when he dropped the bloodstained rock onto his foot, staring instead at the unconscious delivery boy before him.

Yang Jeongin was not supposed to get hurt.

His hands flew to the boy's neck and nostrils, feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt it – weak and wavering, but a heartbeat beneath the skin. Jisung's eyes darted from the forest to the playground.