Case 143 🌹 Seungjin

1

The same nightmare over and over again. Getting torn away from something—someone—he could never remember; Hyunjin lived like that all his life. From the very day he could recall memories in his head he had dreamt of the same thing over and over and over. The repetition drove him mad. Not once had he caught a break.

It was always the strange depiction of an angel clad in white linen on the other side of a massive golden gate. He got a sense of whoever he was seeing the point of view through was on the side of no return. The inescapable void of darkness enwrapped him in a cage from which he could only sit and suffer. Although he could not feel the pain inside his dream, the never-ending bleeding of scars running up his arms from the tips of his fingers told him he was in pain.

He had burn marks as well, feet scorched, leaving only stains of crimson and dirt; maybe even other things, knowing how cruel the place was. In his dreams, he never got up. Not once had he gotten to his feet. He didn't know if he could. Besides that and his tattered brown garments, he never remembered anything. Not even the angel's face. Only that he had waves in his short brown hair and that they had some kind of connection to each other. Whatever and whoever he was in his sleep, he despised.

That was why he rarely slept—why he downed coffee cups one by one until noon when he couldn't take it anymore. He'd go to his apartment nearby, sleep until five, then be right back at work at six. Or, on the days he was sick of his head, he didn't sleep at all. He was having one of those days, lazily clicking around files on his desktop.

He moved folders around his home screen, creating stupid yet entertaining designs. Some say the less work the better. In a job that revolves around other people's pain and misfortune, the fewer calls the safer people are, right? The thought was nice, sure, but that wasn't how the world worked. There was no safe.

While Hyunjin was sitting in his seat, eyes reflecting on the illuminated black and white screen, someone was getting brutally tortured. Someone was dying or witnessing death. People were starving. When you sign up for a job to help people, you don't understand how little you can do until you sit down to listen to your superior explain you aren't Superman.

Law, law, law. Hyunjin hated how many laws kept him away from helping more people. Women and children especially. It sickened him. But what could he do? Money ran the world and he would never have enough to make a drastic change. All he was capable of was saving as many lives as possible in the time he worked in the force. He should try and be satisfied with who he does end up saving. In the back of his head, he can't help but criticize himself. Do more. It's not enough.

"You look like shit."

Hyunjin turned to see one of his co-workers, Wooyoung. He's a fit guy. Probably a little heavier on the weight scale because of toner muscle, but not that much bigger than Hyunjin. Anything Hyunjin lacked in comparison was made up within height. Which, again, was not much. Wooyoung's black hair was cut short just like every other guy in their department. And, of course, his white button-up uniform was neatly ironed. Almost to the point, you thought the man didn't move because of the lack of creases in his shirt.

Hyunjin glanced at the clock on the wall. It was five in the morning. "Yeah, well, when don't I?" he replied, gladly accepting the large paper cup filled with boiling black coffee. If there was one thing he loved about their office it was the never-ending amount of stimulating brew for his insomnia.

"When you attend formal gatherings," Wooyoung remarked with a cheeky grin. Hyunjin hated the look on his face. It was the expression of someone who was given orders.

Hyunjin released a sigh and stuck out his hand. Wooyoung pulled a folder out from behind his back and slapped it down in his palm. "Should have known you would be here for a reason. You never come early."