Second Chance [SEOKSOO]

06: The Weight of Silence

The harsh light of morning sliced through the room, cutting into Joshua’s already fragile state. His head throbbed like a relentless drumbeat, a brutal reminder of the night before. He could feel the weight of it, the fog that clouded his mind, and yet, as his eyes fluttered open, something felt entirely off. The world seemed unnervingly still, too quiet, as though everything had paused, holding its breath.

And then he noticed it. The uncomfortable heat of Seokmin’s body beneath him. His heart skipped a beat, the shock of the situation crashing over him like cold water. Joshua’s eyes widened, his stomach dropping. He was lying on top of Seokmin. Both of them were bare-chested. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow, and his mind scrambled, struggling to piece together the fragmented images of the night before. What had happened? What had they done?

The memories came in flashes—broken, jagged, incomplete. He saw himself, felt himself, but there was a wall between them, as though he was trapped in someone else’s body. What had happened between them, and why couldn’t he remember enough to understand it?

His breath caught in his throat as his gaze swept over Seokmin’s body. Seokmin lay motionless, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was alive. And then Joshua saw it—bite marks. Dark, angry bruises marred Seokmin’s neck and shoulders, looking like remnants of a violent storm. Panic bloomed inside of him, seizing his chest and throat. Had he done that?

His hands moved instinctively to his own chest, the trembling fingers skimming over the warm skin as though trying to piece together some kind of explanation. His heart pounded against his ribs when he caught sight of the reflection of his own body in the body-sized mirror across the room. Scattered across his back were red, raw scratches—deep, angry lines that seemed to map out a path of destruction. Joshua’s mind reeled, the sight making him dizzy, the nausea rising in his throat.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have done this. His thoughts spiralled, out of control, as he stumbled away from the couch. Every instinct told him to run, to disappear, but where would he go? How could he escape the mess of his own making?

What had happened? What had he done? His chest tightened with guilt, confusion, and shame. The guilt clawed at him, an insistent gnawing feeling that refused to let go. He tried to remember, tried to piece together the puzzle, but the memories slid out of reach, just as soon as they appeared.

His pulse hammered in his ears as he stumbled backwards, his hands clutching the edge of the bed for support. He looked back at Seokmin, still unconscious, and the unease that gnawed at him turned into something sharper, something more dangerous. Did Seokmin remember? Could Seokmin remember? Did Joshua even want to know the answer to that question?

Suddenly, a rustling sound from the couch caught his attention. His heart nearly stopped as he watched Seokmin stir, his body moving slowly, cautiously, as if he was just as unsure of what had happened as Joshua was. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the harsh light of the morning, confusion evident in the way he fidgeted.

Seokmin winced as he sat up, his hand moving almost instinctively to his neck, brushing over the marks there. Joshua’s stomach turned, the sight of Seokmin’s discomfort an unbearable weight on his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, even as Seokmin grabbed his shirt from the floor, the motion slow and deliberate, like each movement carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

Each button of Seokmin’s shirt seemed to fall like a countdown. Click. Click. Click. The sound echoed in Joshua’s ears, dragging the tension between them into sharper focus. Every second stretched on for eternity, and the silence grew heavier, thicker. The stillness was suffocating, pressing in from all sides.