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DOWNTOWN. chapter twenty-eight | take my hand.
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I sat on the top of the apartment building, dangling my feet off the edge. I sipped the coffee Taeyong prepared for me the morning of our departure, watching as him, Mark, and Jaemin pour the luggage into the back of Mark's car for our trip. Or, really, the race.
The impending doom bit me in the ass the moment I met Wooyoung, but I can't deny how much I realized I would regret going back to Busan. Being in Seoul granted me a new life, new people, and new opportunities. I didn't want to leave that. If I met Hyerin again, in the grave or in my nightmares, I'd ruin every chance I had of moving on. Even the thought of silver hair with a shaped face, with dark eyes and light colored lips, with nails colored and outfits colorful–the thought of seeing someone even a tiny bit resembling her... tore me to shreds.
I used to hope every day, from the day I lost Hyerin up until my father decided to leave Busan, that something would kill me without my body lifting a finger. If I did, I wondered if I'd be reborn, be put in the same space as her, or live in darkness. Hell, that would be better than living in a world where red and blue was the only thing you saw.
But at some point, the dots in my head connected that dying would be succumbing to their wishes. I'd be a failure, and as a sore loser, I'd hate it.
Meeting the Neos took away the thought of death, of Hyerin, of my bruises, of the bullies. I was happy to be in control, hands on the steering wheel, with eyes on me for once in my life.
And, oddly, I found someone who cared enough to listen to every word that ever left my mouth. Someone kind enough... to give me their hand.
"Beginning to regret your decision, Ji?" Donghyuck spoke, joining me on the ledge. I continued to watch Mark and Taeyong murmur, laughing momentarily, before I looked over at him. Instantly, he shoved a sandwich in front of my face, beckoning to him. I leaned back, giving him an odd look, but he placed it in my hands. "Don't think you're special. I bought one for everyone."
I looked through the muffin–eggs, bacon, small potatoes–and the eggs were scrambled. It's exactly how I have people cook my sandwiches. The moment I glance over at him, he's already staring, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. For his pride, I ignored it. "Mark and Taeyong don't have any, though."
