Too much information at once. It overwhelms Kangho. He tries his best to take it in, but everything dissolves into his panicked grief. The most he can do is nod with a dazed look and attempt to swallow the wailing in his throat. Things are going to be different now. Everything is going to be different now.
At least Jae isn’t suffering anymore. Kangho looks down at him. Already he looks different, though it’s hard to pinpoint exactly how. Sharper lines, finer skin, a sleek lustre to his hair. He’s holding his jaw a little differently in his sleep. Kangho wonders if it’s to accommodate the new set of teeth, then wonders how he’d already know to do that, then feels sick to his stomach. He looks away, another surge of despair threatening to carry him off. Is Jae going to wake up, or will something else have taken his place? Minsu and Jiae both talk about Jun like he’s long dead, the monster he is now someone else, something else, a dark doppelganger—is that going to happen to Jaeseok, too?
There is a part of him that wants to hide away in the shared suite with the others. He’s afraid. He doesn’t want to know what happens next. But he can’t leave his best friend. If roles were reversed, Jae would stay, and he wouldn’t cry or look away or wish to be anywhere else.
You were right, Jae. I am selfish. And I’m a bad person, and if anybody deserved to hurt like that it’s me, not you, but me.
He holds tightly onto the lifeline of Jiae’s hand, but he can’t speak. His throat is sore from all the screaming, and what could he possibly say? He makes himself look at Jae again and he refuses to look anywhere else.
The darkness ebbs away slowly. It is comfortable in the deep nothing, and safe, and nothing hurts. But his senses itch to play. There is a scent unlike anything else above him. He must go toward it. If he’s closer to it, maybe he can place it, describe it. Taste it. He follows it up, and up, and up.
Finally, Jae opens his eyes.
Kangho jumps. Black glass where soft white and rich brown should be. He nearly falls off the bed, but something catches him—Jae, who sat up so quickly it couldn’t be perceived. Like reality skipped. Kangho goes ghost-white and tries not to shudder, staring helplessly at his friend, or what used to be his friend.
Jaeseok smiles. He looks like a shark, teeth meant for tearing, for killing. Kangho can’t look away. Jae is the one who turns his eyes away first, gaze darting wildly around the room before finally settling on Jiae.
“Woah,” he breathes, then dissolves into laughter.
It isn’t like he thought it would be. It isn’t like anyone said. He didn’t wake up someone else, and he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life. The lights in the room are blinding and beautiful. He can see everything, hear everything. Smell everything. It’s too much, it’s not enough. He wants to explore. He wants to dance, to make music. He wants to kiss and fuck and get high and run through a brick wall. He can do anything. He will do everything.
Jiae and Kangho are so beautiful. He can see every detail of their faces. And goddamn, they smell good. He's hungry. He's very, very hungry.
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