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

10 | dead end.

Han Jisung sat facing the windows of a cafe whose name he neither remembered nor cared for, absently stirring a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago.

From the moment he'd stepped out of your apartment, his feet hadn't stopped propelling him in the opposite direction, actively putting as much distance between him and you as possible. This coffee shop – the Third Eye, or something along those lines – was far enough on the other side of town for Jisung to walk in, order the first thing on the menu, and plant himself down by the window seats.

If only he could get you out of his mind.

Every time he blinked, he saw the silhouette of your fearful, blood-drained face burning into his eyelids – the warm laughter that had been stirred in his chest from making pancakes now felt like an ice burn, leaving his rib cage aching, raw, and cold.

Lies, lies, lies.

That's all they were, really: those tender, precious moments didn't belong to him, not really. No, he scowled – they were stolen, they belonged to who he was supposed to be. Who you thought he was, who you wanted him to be. After all, there was no way you would still love him if you knew who he really was. He saw it in your faltering smiles, the nervous laughter filling the cracks in your conversations; he heard it when you called him that night, voice impossibly small and begging him to stay safe from the – the killer.

To stay safe from himself.

Jisung let his head fall in his hands, fingers violently raking through his hair as he stared blankly through the window. How long was he going to keep this up? No – how long could he keep this up? He was on bought time, and every stupid slip-up he made was a sufficiently painful reminder of this bitter truth. The memory of the middle-aged man, his rough grey hands and milky-white pupils, made the hair at the back of Jisung's neck stand up. Somewhere, shambling through the streets of the town, his last victim was still alive.

And one living witness, Jisung thought, was one too much.

The cafe was fairly busy, but Jisung could still hear the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. It made his skin crawl. It was a constant reminder that his time with you was running out – and that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted his own facade to be real, it was too late.

Too much damage had already been done.

"Who'd you kill, Han Jisung?" Chan's familiar voice nearly sent Jisung falling from his chair, his flailing arms knocking the coffee cup precariously close to the edge of the table. He looked up at the stern-eyed detective in utter shock, mouth falling slack like a fish out of water. Kill? Chan couldn't know, could he? But then again, the lockdown–

Before Jisung could will his mouth to move again, the detective broke into his signature wide grin, clapping the younger boy on the back. "The look on your face, mate—you look like you've just murdered someone and can't figure out where to bury the body. Loosen up." Chan was laughing, and Jisung finally unfroze, a wave of relief making his entire body go weak. Chan held out a cup of something with a dollop of cream on top, motioning for Jisung to take it. It was warm in Jisung's hands, and when he sipped it shakily, the thick, sweet taste of caramel flooded onto his tongue. "What's this?"

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the cold cup of coffee Jisung had left untouched. "Caramel frappe. Since when have you drunk coffee? You've always had a bigger sweet tooth than most little kids." Coming from anyone else, the words might have sounded condescending, but the detective's tone was warm and fond — almost fatherlike. He took a swig of Jisung's bitter drink instead, studying the younger's expression with a look of concern. "What's bothering you?"