Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It's seven.
I sleepily make my way home, the migraine aggravating with each small step.
Because of thinking way too much about this recurring dream, or rather nightmare, what was left of my brain fried completely.
At least I got to a conclusion after connecting the dots: that could've been Myungho.
As they say, most of the time the victim becomes the aggressor.
Was he abused? that, I don't know. We never really visited his parents and they then passed away when I was pretty young, so I know little to nothing about them.
But that could explain the burn he has on his arm. Accidental? small chance.
All the things he did to us, me and mum, were the things he went through. Right?
That's all he knew, maybe. That's how he viewed love.
Did he try to unalive himself, though? was he ever suicidal? I don't know that either. He was very closed off, even with his wife.
At some times he was lovely, like when he'd buy her flowers and me toys. Or when he taught me how to play the guitar.
But then again, he'd hit us. And it wasn't that rare.
Mixed thoughts form a tornado inside my head. I don't know what to think about him anymore.
I'm an empath at times. I think Jisung somehow opened that side of me.
Will Jisung turn this way too?
He's strong, and he's not influenced by his vicious lifegivers anymore— perhaps, he should be okay. I hope.
Hyewon still hasn't told me the full dream. She left me with a burning curiosity, the answer yet to be found. I wonder what she wanted to tell me.
Tomorrow is another day.
Lazily, I take one more step and finally go inside my house, anticipating a certain someone to annoy me further.
That's his favourite activity, after all.
And letting him do whatever to me might be mine.
"Minho?" a sleepy voice calls out from the living room.
"I'm back."
"Minho!"
"Yeah?" I ask, walking inside (after throwing my bag on the ground and taking off my sneakers).
"I missed you." he pats the spot next to him on the couch, where he's lying. My feet instinctively move towards and I sit down.
"When do you not?"
"Hmph."
"What did you do today?" I hum, taking notice of the smell coming from him. It's familiar— my perfume.
