Metanoia [mch-ta-noy-ah] • Greek
(n.) the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life; spiritual conversion.
↱THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE↲
(More warnings will be added with Progressions)
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"Hyung, who's Seunghun?" San's voice cut through the air like a cold blade, the confusion clear in his tone.
The name echoed in Seonghwa's ears, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to tilt, as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as a wave of nausea crashed over him. Who's Seunghun? The question repeated in his mind, reverberating louder with each passing second, as though the universe itself had twisted reality into something unrecognizable.
Seonghwa swallowed hard, his eyes widening as he looked at San. How could he not know? Just hours ago, Seonghwa had defended Seunghun—stood up for him, cursed out his own cousin for Seunghun's sake, without hesitation, without question. And now, here San was, standing before him, wearing an expression so innocent, so genuinely confused, it made Seonghwa's stomach churn.
He glanced at Wooyoung and Yunho, searching their faces for any sign that they, at least, understood. For any flicker of recognition in their eyes. But all he saw were more blank stares, more confusion. Wooyoung's brow furrowed, while Yunho tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer. Not one of them had a clue who Seunghun was.
Seonghwa's heart pounded in his chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that echoed his rising panic. How could they not remember? Seunghun had been with them—he had been with them, hadn't he? Seonghwa felt his pulse in his throat, his skin crawling as fear coiled tight inside him like a snake, its venomous tendrils creeping up his spine.
This doesn't make sense... His thoughts raced, frantic and scattered. His vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly, trying to force the world back into focus. He darted his gaze from San to Wooyoung to Yunho again, desperate for someone—anyone—to break this twisted illusion, to acknowledge what had happened.
But instead, their confusion deepened with every second of silence that passed between them. Seonghwa could see it in their eyes—the concern, the uncertainty. They really don't know. They had no idea who Seunghun was.
Seonghwa's hands began to tremble, his breath quickening as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. His mind reeled, the dissonance between what he knew and what they were telling him crashing together like tidal waves. Seunghun was real. He had to be real.
So why did it feel like the walls were closing in on him? Why did it feel like his memories were slipping through his fingers like sand?
"Seonghwa?" Wooyoung's voice broke through the fog, gentle but probing. "Hyung... what's wrong? Who's Seunghun?"
Seonghwa's heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder and faster than the last, as if his body was trying to keep up with the chaos storming through his mind. His throat tightened, his pulse a wild rhythm that matched the disarray of his thoughts. His surroundings blurred—the room, his friends, all of it became distant, warped as though it were folding in on itself, trapping him in a suffocating bubble. The voices around him faded, mere echoes, while an overwhelming dread slithered through him.
