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3ʀᴅ ᴘᴏᴠ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✎...
The warmth that enveloped Hongjoong's skin stirred a longing within him, a longing that surpassed mere desire. It was a sensation he yearned for, reminiscent of the comforting embrace of his mother from his childhood, or the tender touch of a romantic partner. It evoked memories of carefree moments, moments when everything seemed right with the world, and the reassuring presence of another reminding him that he was not alone. However, the warmth he felt in this moment was far from comforting. Instead of bringing solace, it only served to exacerbate his discomfort. It was a stifling heat, suffocating in its intensity, opposite of the comforting embrace that a good hug would provide.
A storm of conflicting emotions poured through Hongjoong, each striving for control of his consciousness. One voice clamored loudly, urging him to succumb to the sadistic urges that lurked beneath the surface, while the other, a faint whisper, pleaded for restraint, begging him to snap out of his descent into evil. As he glanced down at his blood-stained hands and the crimson-soaked shoes that betrayed his gruesome deeds, a wave of revulsion washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The urge to scream and shed tears of remorse clawed at him relentlessly, threatening to consume him entirely. Yet, instead of succumbing to the overwhelming anguish, an unsettling itch of perverse satisfaction bubbled up from within him. Despite his inner turmoil, a sinister chuckle escaped his lips, a chilling testament to the dark forces that tugged at his soul.
The globs of scarlet liquid burnt against his partially bare flesh. Sullying his shirt, his hands, and, well, his own spirit once more with guilt . The pungent smell of iron fill his nose as the warm blood seeped between his fingers like a glove coating his once-clear, palms. He can feel the droplets of blood collecting on his thighs, coloring the black fabric of his shirt. Though he is aware that it is not his, it might as well have been.... He felt as though another piece of him was passing away with each quivering heartbeat that echoed in his body.
"oh my god...Hongjoong..." The familiar voice, a beacon amid the tumultuous seas of Hongjoong's mind, never failed to draw him back from the precipice of dark thoughts and violent urges. As his gaze swept across the room, the once playful chuckle dissolved into a mournful sob, piercing the air with its raw anguish. Turning on his heel, he locked eyes with his brother, witnessing a chilling intensity etched into his features, a mirror reflecting his own inner turmoil.
"M...Min.." Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself engulfed in the comforting embrace of his taller sibling's arms, the warmth seeping into every fiber of his being. His body trembled uncontrollably, each sob wrenching from him with escalating intensity. The object he had been clutching slipped from his grasp, its clatter against the floor echoing in the hushed atmosphere. All semblance of composure evaporated as he poured out his anguish, fingers tightening their grip on Mingi's shirt as if clinging to an anchor in a stormy sea. Fear gripped him—fear of letting go, of watching Mingi retreat and vanish from his life forever, yet simultaneously he understood if Mingi were to run from him.
