Meridian ◈ Seungjin

17 ◈ What Shadows are Made Of

"You haven't told me what your 'personal project' is."

Hyunjin's head thumped back against the firm side of the bottom bunk mattress as he mentioned the foresaid topic purely skirted around in the few times they managed to exchange words like decent human beings without it turning to a bicker fest of bitter words. Though he bit his tongue, and waited most of the sharp sentiments out, there was still that furiousness. That anger, a devouring wrath underneath his senseless gluttony, remaining in his chest and suffocating it because he would not be in this setting, in this dorm room, leaned against a bed, if not for the other student wandering around the room. It wasn't as if he would try anything despite that. That fighting will only tended to leave him with more issues built than solved. And at times, it was easier to relax into the grog settling in his legs and allow his eyelids to flutter shut with the pressure of the world weighting his heart against a feather.

I shouldn't even be in this room, much less this building, His head lulled to the side as he waited for a response.

By the doorway, he caught sight of a wooden baseball bat propped against the wall.

"I've never had a good or long enough chance to explain," Seungmin finally said as he focused on pressing the old  rag they stole from an unsuspecting janitor's closet against his wrist for the umpteenth time. The muted threads were already becoming stained. Turning from that musty gray to deep shades of scarlet, dried in a chemical bronze, unable to be washed from the tangled fibers no matter the effort exuded into removing the evidence. The clues. They existed everywhere. Neither could run from them. Even if they tried, it wouldn't be possible. Not as Seungmin carefully checked under the soggy filaments, eyes peeping under before he removed it from the bite mark and set the cloth atop the desk. For a few moments, he hesitated. His hand lingered, attached to the rag as his fingers tightened in the knotted cords before he pressed away from his spot with a sigh, "Though, I guess, with this there isn't much of a good time to explain."

The human sauntered to his bunk, his steps as arrogant and head held as high as ever. As if he could see no wrong, do no wrong, speak no wrong. An innocent flower that was perfectly blooming despite him careening into danger when the chance presented itself to him. That much was impressive; That incredible façade he kept of himself, one that everyone knew was untrue, even as he convinced himself no one would be able to guess the reason behind his tight lipped smile. Most of the time that was true. They knew he planned, Hyunjin knew he planned, he watched, and decided, at any cost, but his solution to the end was always unknown. That was hidden behind that smile. Which, surprisingly, he didn't present now. Although he usually accentuated his ego for the world to see and take note of, while he approached his half of the dorm room bunk beds, he didn't wear any of that condescension that made Hyunjin so fond of him.

So fond he wanted to strangle the younger. Hyunjin could feel himself scoff as he watched the other, Screw off.

Seungmin remained unaware to the current glare trained on his back, loathing his existence. Why would it loath him? The human was the only reason either of them was there. Admittedly, foolishly, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it. He crouched down by his mattress, lifting it slightly as his hand shot for a treasure hidden underneath. When he set the bed back on the frame, solid sheets of paper with a sheen to them were pressed into his palm. As the human came back to the other still sat on the floor, Hyunjin was able to catch a enough of a view to discern they were photographs. Of what was unknown. But if the sudden intensity was enough to go off, it wasn't anything good. Face down, Seungmin outstretched them to Hyunjin, "Here. Look at these. I stole them from my Dad's office before we came back from break."

The vampire trained a cautious gaze on the other. He raked over his form; Rigid, but composed. He scanned his face; Tense, but stoic. Every centimeter of him screaming the fact he would not tell, he would not break, and again, it told that this was another checkpoint. Another blockade he could chose to back away from. If he took it, this was another contract to be signed and this was the final passing point.