a message from rutilmenite / headcanon
the first sensation he wakes up to is disorientation. it’s the type of delirium that has him clawing against the floor — fingernails bend — and inhaling air that does nothing to soothe the ache in his chest. junghwa snatches the shattered helmet from his head, flings it across the room so violently his hands shake. he hears it land somewhere in the distance. glass bouncing off the walls. his body contorts and pivots in a way that’s far from pleasant. the inside of the spacesuit is burning hot. everything is agonizing. and he knows he’s reliving his last moments once more. it’s dying, again. without anything to contain him. at least, that’s what he recalls.
that’s what he thinks, but nothing brings clarity like he wants it to. a vision of fire, the sea, swollen nothingness, and the darkness that always followed. chasing him. there’s something wrong here. he’s the only one that made it back. there’s dead bodies pressed against closed eyelids.
his breathing is heavy and difficult, taking in gulps of air, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. dry like too much cotton. vision blurred. he’s rolling onto his side and dry heaving up nothing. the uneven distribution of halogen lights blur into white and steel, gunmetal gray.
it’s lonely. then it’s quiet until it’s not. he’s pressing every single emergency button he can reach behind panels and panels of wiring, entering in a sequence of codes for discharge (numbers after numbers, he can’t recall anything but the digits he needs to type in, 09493302… 1102… his fingers move in a repetitive pattern, pressurizing oxygen, stabilizing systems) and the room erupts in warning red.
but it’s nothing compared to the unsteady vibrations outside of the ship, the construction of unknown variables that he should not be able to hear, pulsing and screeching. he collapses against the display, body moving on autopilot. not functioning, his legs don’t seem to work as they should. he doesn’t turn around, even though he knows they’re there.
‘ how did you get in here — ’ he hears the fear, the guilt of a confession.
junghwa doesn’t answer, not even when he’s yanked onto his feet and shoved into something too small for his limbs, burning up and set on fire, dying, agonizing. this time, there’s nothing of his body left behind. he opens his eyes, inhaling on a shaky breath.
