oblivion.
@neosiwoo / subway car, phase 1.
they rocket through the vast tunnel with a speed that shouldn’t seem possible. but that they’ve all somehow grown accustomed too. in that way where the impossible morphs into the expected. jinsol keeps his eyes half-focused on the window. occasionally there are quick blurs of color. warped and blotchy. signs, maybe. or missed stops from the express car they’re currently occupying. him and siwoo. at the reminder of his presence jinsol drags himself from his daze and turns to face his cohort. is that what he should call him? they feel like friends, sometimes. siwoo offers him attention and offers himself up with a ready sort of neediness for what jinsol’s able to provide.
and jinsol eats it up.
predictable, but only if you know him well enough to spot the pattern. that’s his trick, most don’t. not that this is for pleasure, their rendezvous. work oriented, and they’ve been slinging secrets for money for a while now. jinsol’s an ardent supporter of the revolution, but mostly only when he’s in the same room as siwoo. fake as the holo-girls those desperate sort pay arm over fist to see. jinsol doesn’t find a problem with it.
he does find a problem with the way the lights flicker overhead. a quick snap of light-dark-light. that static pop-crackle of electricity that fizzles like imitation fire. and then the grinding drag of metal. a spine-shivering screech that burrows into his ears and has jinsol flinching. by the time the subway’s stopped, the cart is completely black. it’s silent, too. half because there’s nearly nobody on their cart, half out of what he assumes to be shock. he can hear the thud of his heart in his ears. amplified by panic and adrenaline. he tries not to let it show in his voice.
“what the fuck?” it’s a hoarse sort of whisper he hadn’t meant. wraps his fingers around siwoo’s wrist, if only to prove to himself that he’s still there and stuck with him while his eyes adjust to the lack of light. he doesn’t have a mod to help with that.