ｅｓｐｒｉｔ ｉｎｑｕｉｅｔ
One time Daichi admitted that himself and Jung Taekwoon were two diferent people. One day he craved a mark on the wall of those confining walls, with something strangely similar to hope.
The marks he had craved with a broken piece of glass lying somewhere on the constricting and tiny space he occupated right now were past the number 100. 102, actually, a small part of his mind reminded him. Every single day counted, and that meant he was actually closer to his— much needed —freedom. Jail wasn't a good place for a man with slightly violent tendencies to be around.
Not like he had a word on that. He had been caught, and there was no way to deny whatever damage he had done to that man. How was he named, anyways? Something about Akira, or whatever. He didn't care, to be honest. What was done, was done. No time or place to regrets, having to deal with what the justice had marked him. After the two years are up, he'll be free to walk away. The only thing that had somehow— irked him, was seeing the tears spilling from who he assumed was the dead's mother's eyes. Such a strange gesture— Parents had always been a missing figure in his life.
628 days, he had calculated. 628 days where Daichi was sure some blood was going to be spilled near him, where the red haired was sure that he'll be offered things that shouldn't even be in jail. 628 days, he mumbled to himself as the guards started roaming the hallways, awakening prisoners oh their way.
He'd have to survive in the jungle. Jung Taekwoon had been ready for that since his seventh birthday party, the day when his parents suddenly dissapeared. Not like he needed them.
Jung Taekwoon didn't need people. Jung Taekwoon had no trouble in admiting murder. He had no filter whatsoever. He just didn't care.
But Daichi did.