continued with @wonsikko from . . . ;
《 ※ 》 AND HE SWEARS IN that moment he’s sober. Those last few glasses of whiskey on the rocks suddenly disappeared or was soaked up completely by his liver. poor liver . Dark optics narrow, studying his friend’s features for a moment, taking note of anything peculiar in the way his mouth may have formed or the way those orbs would shift. Yet, nothing that would signal to him of foul play or in this case, a lie. Did this conversation really take place ? Sangcheol was never the type to so carelessly utter of that ( particular ) talent of his. He’s managed to catch himself. Or it would be tucked away deep enough where the thought itself wouldn’t surface, even when the imagery is clear. ❝ I made a joke about that ? ❞ The inquiry is slow, careful. His voice is almost HUSHED, drowned out even more by the bar music and the side dialogue between the other patrons that frequent the bar.
Now this can go in any direction. Either he can just laugh about it, slap his knee and pretend that the presumed joke was just a joke. Or take a full turn and being absolutely serious. ❝ Dude, we were probably drunk off our asses to make that sort of joke. Probably didn’t know what I was saying half the time that night. ❞ It was a partial truth, clearly he didn’t know what he was saying that night to the point where he’d blurt out something that significant. Seeing dead people. It’s a part of him that he wants to forget, but he can’t. Even when he closes his eyes and goes to sleep, he’ll wake up to it. An unending cycle of life and death happening before his eyes. And on top of that, actually seeing dead people.
Nervously, slender fingers curl around the glass, it’s almost empty, but he take sit down like a shot despite that fact. ❝ You didn’t believe me, did you ? ❞ he asks, the question oozing with curiosity.











