The warmth enveloping Hongjoong's skin was deceptive, cloaking him in an embrace that felt simultaneously inviting and unsettling. It was not the tender, reassuring warmth of a loving hug, like those he remembered from his childhood when his mother's arms had been his safe haven, nor the gentle caress of a romantic partner's touch that promised solace and connection. This warmth was more intense, more profound—a vivid reminder of the comfort he longed for, echoing the innocence of carefree days when the world seemed to stand still in perfect harmony.
Yet, this particular warmth was anything but soothing. It was a stark contrast to what should have been comforting; it was an oppressive, stifling heat that clung to him like a dense fog. This was not the gentle embrace he yearned for, but rather an overwhelming, suffocating heat that seemed to invade every pore, tightening around him with an almost malicious intent. The heat wrapped around him with a ferocity that only heightened his discomfort, as if it were determined to intensify his sense of unease rather than provide the solace he craved.
The irony of this warmth struck him with a harsh reality. How could something so enveloping and intense be the very antithesis of comfort when he was drenched in another person's blood? The heat seemed to mock him, amplifying his distress rather than easing it. It wrapped him in a cocoon of discomfort, a cruel twist of fate that left him choking on its intensity. The sensation of the warmth, juxtaposed against the gruesome evidence of his deeds, was a constant reminder of the disparity between what he wished for and what he was actually experiencing. The heat was not a balm for his troubled soul but a harsh, relentless force that pressed in on him, a stark reflection of the chaos that consumed him from within.
The warmth enveloping Hongjoong was more than a mere physical discomforting sensation; it was almost like a balm for the shattered fragments of his psyche. As the intense heat wrapped around him, it worked its way through the chaos of his thoughts, soothing the turbulent storm of conflicting emotions that raged within him. This warmth was not just comforting for the evil within—it was a reprieve from the inner battle that threatened to tear him apart.
Within his mind, a cacophony of voices competed for dominance. One voice roared with a harsh, demanding intensity, urging him to surrender to the sadistic desires lurking just beneath the surface. It was a voice that reveled in cruelty and darkness, coaxing him to embrace the evil that gnawed at his soul. In stark contrast, another voice, softer and more insidious, whispered frantically in the recesses of his consciousness. This voice pleaded for restraint, for him to pull back from the precipice of moral decay and regain his sense of self.
