It’s late, he is tired and the fact that he has to walk home because no buses run at that hour just kills him. Maybe he should have accepted his friend’s invitation to sleep over but it’s not like this is not Ilhoon’s nightly predicament (at least on the nights he djs at Allure). This is how people die, he thinks to himself almost comically, much like the drama king that he is. As if he never walked up and down shadier streets (Itaewon suddenly comes to mind).
He adjusts his hoodie, pulled all the way up because the nights are still chilly and he sucks at enduring cold. In the middle of cursing about the cold and wishing he had a long sleeved shirt underneath, he stops. Maybe taking that detour was a bad idea, he thinks once he spots someone. Honestly, he considers turning around and go around the block again;What if that’s like those horror houses in amusement parks where people just jump out when one least expects? He makes up all kinds of scenarios except those that lead to the possibility him dying a gruesome death. He stops in his tracks when he sees someone else pass by and he recoils, hiding behind a cold brick wall.
It sounds like a fight is breaking out, there are insults thrown left and right, threats that don’t sound empty at all especially when the tone that is used sounds anything but amicable. It’s so him to be caught in the middle of it all. He doesn’t want to become a hidden witness, but that’s what he is, trapped there, with no way to move through without being spotted. Things do escalate quickly, and from the corner where he is hiding, he sees the fight -- partially at least -- he sees fists being thrown and bones being crushed. There is blood, anger and a little bit of excitement in one of them, but that isn’t enough to compete against the cold blade of a knife.
Ilhoon gasps against the palm of his hand; he’s about to witness a murder and he can’t help but think that if only he was given another five minutes, he would have made it home and that problem would be someone else's’ problem instead.
A bloody body is going to mean a lot of explaining and that means police and questions. Lots of questions. He’s gone through that once, he doesn’t want to do it again, so he shakes his head looking at the phone he has in his hand, ‘911′ being the number glaring at him on the screen. He wipes it out; goes to his ringtones instead. He presses the third option and a siren starts blaring.
