The Touch of Jack Frost (Weak Hero)

Dongha (12-28-22)

"So that's the list I think, I probably didn't miss anyone," Dongha chattered with a fake smile tugging at his lips. "I still talk too much I think, enough for both of us." His fingers hugged the gravestone, "It's pretty much the same since you still don't answer, If I try hard enough, I can imagine the understanding face you'd make,"

Seongmok was all Dongha had. Sure, he was from a rich and careless family that would happily accept him back if he came home. They'd feed him and give him a better home to live in then the streets he'd been frequenting. They'd never show him cruelty, then again, they'd neglect compassion as well.

The life of a rich brat never fit Dongha. Or at least, he could never really imagine himself leaving his life of fighting for comfort. "Donald bit the dust too," He tried a deranged giggle like he'd often been heard doing, though it sounded fake. Too fake. "I guess that prick got what was coming for him," He paused, "Not that this was coming for you, you didn't deserve this man."

His chest ached, every word weighed heavier and heavier like a collection of stones accumulating in his rib cage. "I think I caught a little of what you caught."

In his mind, Seongmok's face twisted with worry. He always worried about Dongha. It was comforting to have someone so worried about your well being, that they'd show it. Seongmok was genuine, more genuine then anyone Dongha had ever met, in either of the lives he'd lived. Rich kid or delinquent. Pianist or smoker.

Dongha's eyes shut as he curled up on the soil, no grass had grown in yet. The soil was almost new. Maybe it was because of the cold, or because Dongha had meticulously tilled the soil atop his best friend's body nearly every day. "Don't worry about me though, worry about yourself! For once that is!"

The dirt beneath him was cold, but if he wanted to, he could pretend it was warm. 

He was cold, Seongmok was picking him up and carrying him home again. Seongmok's back was warm beneath Dongha's battered and small body, blood dripped onto the quieter's clothes but he didn't care. All that matter was that Dongha was there, on his back, safe, alive. "I'm not going to lie to you, I promised you that," His hands clutched at dirt, molding it in his hands like clay, "I think this is the end for me,"

An empty chuckle escaped his crumpled frame. For a moment, he contemplated going home and not being Ghost anymore. He could go home and be Dongha, son of a chairmen. His parents might be able to find something to save him. They'd pay way too much for a solution.

Dongha smiled at the thought of them wasting their money on him. He'd rather die than live because of them, "I don't want to go home so I think I'll stay here," Silence, "Don't give me that."

Maybe Seongmok would be able to speak when they met again, not that it would matter, "Would you still need me if you could talk?"

Silence.

"I know, stupid, but don't answer yet,"

He attempted a deep breath, too deep, his small frame shook violently. Inhale.

"Tell me in a minute."

He sighed out the words, Exhale.

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