❝You’re made up of infinite potential.❞
[ six word story sentence starters... ]
“You’re right.”
Of course they are. They always are. He finds comfort in assuming things for the moment, even after spending all his time questioning everything. His mind settles on this. It has to. But his head is shaking in disagreement even as his hands wrap around the mug in front of himself. He has not taken one sip since arriving at their office and his skin is not warmed against cool glass. It is a normal motion he retreats to in order to relax in these unusual circumstances.
“This double homicide–there’s no leads, no suspects. No one is questioning it when it needs to be questioned. But I’ve stopped writing about this case. I’ve stopped writing, and it’s not just this one–I can’t write,” he corrects himself, dark eyes glancing over theirs before resting on hands again. They form to fists he presses above his knees. Searching to ground himself in his words, he chooses his statements with precision and nods slowly. “I can’t write anything substantial. Nothing worth reading about, nothing I can put myself completely into or speak about with conviction. In that aspect, can you really call my potential infinite if there is no latent ability within me to free from this world’s limitation in the first place?”
He exhales, and allows a slow smile to form on his face. Trying to forget he has not been able to sleep properly for weeks. That he checks his apartment locks even more than usual. The out of place grin shatters his momentary lapse of hesitation and he can find his usual enjoyment.
“Too serious?” He focuses on them instead, and leans back in his seat. One hand retreats to his coat pocket, thumb hovering over the record button absently. This would not be a conversation he would document to scribble into his notebooks later and lose sleep over. He has never had reason to suspect Haejin’s involvement in these deaths before and he does not now. Like everything eventually becomes, it is just a familiar motion.
