For a second, he was unaware as whether it was sarcasm or a genuine compliment that left the lips of the female. He watched her actions from the corner of his eyes before letting a soft laugh fall from his tongue as he gave her a slight bow of his head in return. “What a wonderful way to catch someone’s attention,” His usual overly bright grin plastered across his features as his eyes scanned her own facial expression. “I can’t necessarily say that yours are any less nice than mine are, in fact, they’re definitely nicer than my own, miss. Do you have a name or should I continue calling you the sweet-talking beauty?”
Ahri almost let out an obnoxious snort when the stranger cooed back with some equally sweet words. Yet, she reminded herself that it wouldn't be so lady alike to do so, while it might also ruin the first impression image that man could possibly have on her. "Hm, I don't know you, but I like you already for playing back the sweet talk game with me. Plus one for you." Laughing softly, her facial expression beamed up once again as she answered back his question. "If you ever call me that, I think I would have to find some cheesy nickname for you such as 'a prince charming in a shiny armor', but that wouldn't be so original, would it?" She paused to bow her head politely. "The name's Ahri and it's a pleasure to meet you."
'I don't know, you tell me.' His words lacked even the slightest bit of emotion, neither did his facial expression betray any of his true feelings. Just a moment ago, the stranger seemed to have found his amusement in provoking one of the many gang members that roamed around the streets in this part of the city, causing Sehun to shake his head in disapproval. He should count himself lucky the other guy had to leave so quickly; but even then this person seemed to be unimpressed when he was told that he was messing with the wrong kind of people.
He knew his kind all too well. Thought they were better, thought they could handle everything, when in fact he could've been dead by the end of the day if he continued going like this. It wasn't really any of Sehun's concern, but the words just triggered him to put him back into place again. 'You look like you'd be blown over by a little breeze, don't get too full of yourself. Better head back home, hm? Wouldn't want that pretty face of yours to get some bruises.'
Steps along the concrete pavement were formed, a darker shade of gray was planted on the surface; imprinted with the design under her shoes. Visiting Gwangju once again to visit family members who were around town. Deciding to take a walk, enjoy the fresh air and the city lights that were plastered on the corners.
"Either you speak--"
There's a scent of tobacco that tickles her nose once in a while. It's vile and her nose scrunches in distaste when it reaches her lungs with each breath. Fingers fiddled with loose change inside of her pockets, she glances at the street signs, memorizing the names to make sure she's going the correct direction instead of heading down the wrong path.
"Or I'll make you."
Knots formed in the pit of her stomach when she hears someone approaching. It's a faint sound almost as if they were preparing to sneak behind her. Out of instinct she takes a step back and away from the stranger. Wanting to ask what he was doing during this time of day but then -- why was she here as well? This area. It's familiar, it's close to the school she attended years ago but she doesn't recall those memories anymore. "I must be in your way, forgive me." She takes a step to the left, giving the other proper space to continue on to walk. Though the distance between them wasn't far off, it's close. A little too much for her own liking, it's uncomfortable but it doesn't show within her features.
I am sorry for my absence and the replies sitting in my drafts. But I made a promise to myself to get it done this weekend. I apologize again for not getting to them since I am busy with my own life that I don't have time for myself. I hope you all understand.
Mourn — I’ll write a drabble of my character mourning yours.
Given that he had been the last person to leave then. The last person to arrive, and now the last person to leave. The casket in which the male was now held the corpse of the male that he had known. Bitter clung to his lungs, the desire for nicotine to infiltrate his system then. How much longer did time feel as it stretched then — the span of minutes felt more as if eternities themselves had passed then. Hands gripped the pews that was before him; dark tresses that hung limply upon his gaunt features. Strained by the familiar sadness that he held his tongue.
Pride.
How stupid was he, to hold his tongue — to not beat his chest in the visible sadness that clouded once dark luminescent orbs then. Cheeks that were sunken much deeper than they had been before. “You stupid ass — punk ass — whore."Curse words which were so familiarly etched upon a tongue that failed to understand and utter compassion and sympathy. But there was no way, to comfort him for his own foolishness.
An unfamiliar stinging of his own hues, yet there were no tears then. Simply, the chokehold of his own heart. He was —- it was his fault. Where was he? He could have prevented such a ridiculous outcome. He could have stopped the gun fire.
Inhale.
He could have prevented it. He should have gone — he, Erik, had failed what he had promised. Though it Kyou’s own stupidity — for what type of a spy got killed so easily? Though of course, the other members own emotions had been exhibited so bluntly amidst the facade of carelessness. They all cared — or else none would have come to the pathetic boy’s funeral of seven.
The rest of these useless acquaintances would come another day, the death of the youngest was a different story. Erik rose from his seat, every footstep that was heard now echoed as he stepped out of the pew of the funeral home and down the aisle.
A Catholic-styled funeral home. How pathetic for Kyou was never a catholic. How much the organization cared for their own existence became evident then. Evident as he made his way closer to the casket.
Inhale.
Air filled his lungs once more, pressing oxygen that had been stored then, as his chest pressed foreword. Had he forgotten to breathe so quickly? What was the reason behind his current foolishness? In what point did he find himself making sense? Had he lost his mind with the loss of his roommate? This had brought so many more opportunities then. So many more opportunities — his own room, finally someone who wouldn’t trap him in his own room. To harass with stupid objects to — allegedly — satisfy his — alleged — sexual fortification. There was no reason to check every second of his existence with such a petty male in his life. Everything, would be perfect.
Inh—
Air spluttered. A vicious cough that clawed against his throat as he attempted to calm his thoughts. It had attacked him then, his lungs had expanded much too far — he needed a release.
Tears that cracked and slid down pale cheeks. Another spluttered cough before the back of his hands brushed against his face and attempted to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. His attempt to regain composure shook then. Every string that clung and latched his mind together now began to crumble — he was, losing his mind then.
How foolish and pathetic.
Shaking hands slipped into the pockets of his blazer, pulling out the blue box of Gitanes, popping the lid open and sliding out a slender cancer stick. The cancer stick in question was immediately propped into his lips, letting it hang against those tiers then before pulling out the lighter that had been allocated in the same compartment as his cigarette. The flame alit then before pressing it against the cigarette, lighting the end before inhaling it into those choking lungs. The grey smoke that now infiltrated the air as did the smell of rahmen did in their own room some days. The cigarette slipped from those lips, rested upon idle digits then. “You know Kyou. You fucked up real good this time. Real good.”
Was this the spell in which cigarettes themselves were known to do? Or would he pass out into oblivion once again?
[ *** ]
Time had ticked well past the choke hazard escapade. The house had returned to some normalcy — amidst the factor that the younger male was still vacant — and it hit every single of them as slowly as a drought did. Perhaps that was the reason behind the disorganization and dysfunction now. The loss of the maknae was, painful as it seemed. Erik sauntered off into his room, closing the door quietly before slipping inside. Ramen packages crinkled with every step — a quiet flinch as the crumbling sound of the dry ramen pieces met with his foot.
"Goddamn, Kyou — did you have a fucking rahmen party or some shit? Why is —-" Immediately barking as anger riveted along the length of his spine. Hands clenched and raised in preparation to block any move that may potentially be hit in his direction then. Yet his thoughts paused then, turning to see that the bed was no longer there. That the younger male’s belongings had been packed away and discarded rightfully in places which all members had seen fit.
"I —" His heart suddenly began to race before plummeting to the base of his chest. "I —" He silenced himself then, the repetitive sounds of his stuttering had ceased. His idiocy existent with every glance at the empty corner.
He’s not here anymore. He’s —-
"No." As stubborn as he was, he was defiant. And with his defiance, the unregistering acceptance that his own roommate was now highly nonexistent. He sighed then, as realization hit him. How long had it been truly? That these weeks had shifted into days that only represented the nights that had passed. When the bullet had penetrated his only companion in the moon's company that he --
Rahmen packages. So many of them that they had been maybe a month's worth and all of the same taste.
His favourite. --Kyou's favourite.
Immediately kicking the packages to one side before he slouched onto his bed. Kyou, was dead.
Kyou was..
The male stared at the empty space before him -- empty for there was no one else there, no one to distract him from putrid thoughts that suffocated him. No one, but himself. Suddenly his chest clenched painfully, his head throbbed in retaliation -- the sudden reminder of what he had been evident. What -- and whom he'd lost.
... dead.
How painstakingly obvious did it need to become until it came to this? How much more longer did he need to remember? Kyou was dead.
