Nadir ◈ Seungjin

12 ◈ Rotten

Why am I doing this?

Seungmin scowled at the back of Jisung's head as he followed after him, the passing city sidewalks disappearing beneath their feet. Body rigid. Muscles aching. His head was pounding too, matching the rhythm of his heart, throbbing softly in his chest as he kept his gaze darting. Observing all around him; The passing citizens in the crowded shopping district, families walking outside in the midmorning sun past the various shops, oblivious to the horror of the friendly monster lurking by, smiling at them fondly; The bright lights from the shops shining wildly even in the obnoxious sunlight, the names of brands, restaurants, outlets, glaring back into his narrowed eyes; The uneven brick sidewalk meeting the soles of his shoes, the design meant to entertain those who looked down into where they stepped, the few that did.

In this lighting, the loud day illuminating Jisung, he looked as if he belonged in the sunlight. With his brunet hair, combed softly though it still puffed out in a playful way, how it bounced. His hands unoccupied, as he threw the box of pizza away in some trashcan along the way. The ripped jeans and high top converse, the baggy maroon sweater covering his torso up despite the heat of the day. He looked like anyone else. Like any wandering university student, shop worker, or older brother, cheerfully rolling along in steady marches. He looked so, incredibly, normal.

He looked like the innocent student at the art academy he was thought to be, navy blue blazer and gray trouser slacks as he shuffled quietly along the paths with his overly heavy book bag slung over his shoulder. Never bothering who didn't want to be bothered. A pleasant smile to whoever looked at him, though he often kept to himself beyond anything more. Staying up late in the dorm room with Seungmin, all the secrets they passed back and forth in those first few years together, the adventures they talked of, Jisung and his rants about the baseball team's drama, about his music courses, about Minho. How he hugged a pillow tight to his chest as they sat together on the bunkbed, a hopeless smile on his lips.

How it was all fake.

How none of the words he told were true.

Seungmin's fists tightened in his slack pockets. Nails digging deep into his palms.

I can't let my guard down around them.

The silver service revolver underneath his shirt chilled against his skin. Reassuring him, reminding him of it's presence in the case he needed to reach for it's protection. This time, he had no reason to hesitate. This time, he wouldn't.

He decided,

Listen to what they have to say, but don't trust it. Don't trust a single word. They're pathological liars and manipulators who know how to press the right buttons to get into people's minds.

He glanced down as he followed after, to the back of Jisung's waistband. His sweater was folded in an odd way, a slight intrusion interrupting the fabric when he stepped a certain way.

Before he could inspect it anymore, Jisung laced his hands behind his back, a quick smile sent over his shoulder as he turned toward one of the many buildings sitting along the street.

Seungmin glanced up to the sign, quickly reading the name of where Jisung led him. Then to the glass doors peering to the inside of the building, allowing them to peep through at the few wandering inside, the tables and porcelain cups sitting between couples an immediate shock to his frozen nerves and throbbing heart. He listened to their warnings as he stammered a weak, "A... A café?"

"Yeah," Jisung nodded, a gentle smile pulling his lips up as he bounced up the few concrete steps. He grabbed hold of the metal door handles, hesitating as he turned back to Seungmin, "You're more comfortable being around other people, right?"