{[JOONGDOK/ORV]} Perpetual Madness

Chapter 2

Joonghyuk didn't complain when I followed him into his room that night, even going so far as to lift the covers to let me crawl into a spot next to him. There was little to no hesitation. 

I sigh, shakily reaching out to wrap my arms around his torso. 

I could tell that my eyes were red and puffy, the skin delicate and swollen as Joonghyuk gently swiped a loose tear with the pad of his thumb. I respond by burying my face into his chest, secretly making the most of the opportunity. It's soft, but firm and I can hear his heartbeat pounding against my ear.

I sigh, feeling my tense muscles melt into his form a moment later. Who knows if he'll ever let me get this close again? 
I can feel his hand as it threads through my hair, and I subconsciously lean into his touch. Come to think of it, this is the first time someone has comforted me since my mother was arrested for my crimes.. 

I shudder. 

Yoo Joonghyuk is surprisingly quiet, in a way different than usual. Rather than his cold, steely glare and occasional mutterings of threats and curses, it's more akin to that of a guardian angel, watching from afar. It feels... nice. 

Safe. Almost soft. 

I can't help but feel a little nervous, wondering how many of those little details he'd seen during the scenario. Had he seen how the other Joonghyuk had whispered to me, as though even in a place meant to crack open and reveal everything, those words had been meant only for me. 

And perhaps they were.

-  Yoo Joonghyuk PoV - 
 
It had definitely come as a shock, seeing the way that Kim Dokja, of all people- that slimy, cocky, self-destructive squid- crumbled under such a crippling number of fears. 

The crystal casting the illusions had begun to shake, humming with such a fierce energy it looked as though it might break, and Lee Gilyoung had started pounding against the glass, screaming and crying for it to "let his Ahjussi go!" 
 
Dokja was in tears, sobbing and gasping as the illusions thrashed into his mind, one after the other, and I'd be lying if I said my legs didn't start to shake when my face appeared among them. 

He was cold, calmly passing the knife into Dokja's trembling hands, staring smugly into my eyes as he murmured those words into his ear. My hand had slid towards the hilt of my sword, almost on instinct-  and I felt something in my expression break with Dokja's response. 

"...but your not even the real one." 

"And if I were? 
 
"....  .... ... now I'll just have to wait, until he ... me." 

 
That was enough. I'd attacked the glass immediately after. 

To think that this man, the one who I'd threatened time and time again, refusing to give even an ounce of trust until he went so far as to die for me, had already feared something about me before we'd even met- I felt my heart practically break at the thought. Had he become a prophet, even before the scenarios? Had he really been on that train during my previous two rounds, doomed to die each time until he made it into my third, purely by chance? Just because I started with an explosion, and led him to those damned grasshoppers? Had he really pushed through that fear, risked it all- his small, fragile chance- just to get close to me, despite all those risks? Even though I'd caused him to die twice already..? Or did his ability not inform him of such? 

I felt everything tumble into place as the glass shattered, the pieces decorating the floor as I rushed through and plunged straight into the thick, inky mass of illusions grabbing at Dokjas' form. 

I could barely see him, buried in all those fears like a child with a blanket hiding from a storm- like a man hiding himself from me-  but I reached through, calling his name nevertheless. 

He was in my arms before I had the time to think any better of it. He leaned into my touch, despite whatever it was that made him fear me so much- and I had felt just like the glass I'd broken through. I'd wanted to say sorry, to chant the damn word so many times that it lost all meaning, but it had caught in my throat and all I could do was hold him. 

Even now, as I hold him from under the sheets, watching the somber expression set over his delicate face, I can't find it in me to say a word. 

He's smaller than I originally thought. Not just mentally, but physically, too.
 
I knew he was shorter than me, sure- but it didn't compare to the delicate hands now clutching at my sides, or the soft little cheeks pressing into my chest. I can't help but fear that if I make one wrong move, he'll crack or fade away, all over again. I don't want to loose him again... but as I pull him further into my grasp, feeling that he really is here, I can't help but bury my face into the crook of his neck, barely withholding the urge to cry. 
He's really here, with me- even though he was so scared... 

I can feel him stirr, lightly feeling along my side as he blinks his droopy, tear-logged eyes open wide enough to peer through the curtain of his lashes and into my soul. His eyes are so clear, gaze almost crisp against the pale red of the skin surrounding them that I feel a shiver run down my spine.

Come to think of it, this is my first time really, truly, looking at him. Not a brief glance through the corner of my eye, or a glare in the middle of a fight- but one real, proper look. 

It's almost unnerving how pretty he is- as though all those years of constant loneliness and fear had pushed and pressured him until he took the form of a diamond, his ethereal beauty only flourishing amongst the stress of the apocalypse. His scars aren't thick or ugly like the ones littering all those pathetic beings in the streets, or those who had been thrown into the storms of probability upon the constellations' whims. The ones on his hands are long and thin- almost elegant- as though the only things that dared to cut his perfect skin were the very stars themselves. 

My hand finds its way to his cheek, softly feeling along a scar just under his eye, so shallow and small it was barely visible. He doesn't say a word of protest, simply closing his eyes and leaning into my touch, almost as though he expected more. 

And I wonder...

Are these truly the actions of a man encased in fear?