0112.

viii.

note: terribly sorry for not updating for 97 years. i know, i suck. but i think i finally know what i want to do with this book (yay).

viii.

"Do you like to write, Jongin?"

Jongin's eyes suddenly opened. His whole body tensed at the question. He kept his head resting on his palms as he hunched over the desk to finish writing his novel. His eyes burn every time he blinks. He has been working on his novel for months. It's only a matter of time before his body stops taking orders. Jongin let his eyes close for a few moments before he hears the bed creak from the added weight. He lifts his head to look over his shoulders and sees the brunette sitting on the edge of the bed, a book in his hands. The spine was cracked and the pages are yellowed by the edges. He was staring at the window, like his thoughts were so far away. "I'm a writer."

He looks at Jongin at that moment, his pale chapped lips stretching into a small smile. Jongin suddenly felt bare under his stare. There was something in his gaze that somehow made him look much older than he actually is. He has the eyes of a soldier, a person who had been through so much in a short period of time. He wonders if he has nightmares too, wonders if he was navigating the same dark space that Jongin has been walking through for the last few years. Kyungsoo has been looking paler as days pass by and for some reason, he felt uncomfortable seeing him like this. He looked so vulnerable. Somehow he looked so lost. "I don't think you answered correctly."

Jongin twists his whole body to face him. Something flashes in his eyes. He's been writing for so long. It was his passion, his strength, his drive. But no one ever asked him if he wanted this. No one ever wondered if he was just writing because he had so much pain inside him. No one asked why Jongin couldn't come up with another story. "Of course I like to write. That's why I'm a writer, Kyungsoo."

So he writes, until there's nothing left of him.

"If that's your way of thinking," He replies. There is a hint of sadness in his voice that made Jongin lean forward from his seat. He watches as Kyungsoo flips through the pages of his book mindlessly before meeting his gaze. "Why do you think I'm dying?"

It was a simple question yet the younger male berated himself for being offended somehow. It didn't even sound like he was mocking him. Jongin stares at him for a few moments before returning back to his work. He ignores the way his chest ached and muttered, "That's not fair."

He hears a small laugh before the bed creaks again as Kyungsoo leans back. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of paper being crumpled into little balls. Jongin's breath was shaky as he starts packing his things. He wasn't even sure why he was suddenly so angry at everything. His mind was clouded with questions. Just why, why did he have to ask that question?