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It is way past midnight. The only sources of light are the tiny window on his wall, and the little space between his door and the floor. In the cramped, dark, and coffin-like bedroom of his, Yoon Jongwoo is struggling to sleep.
He has already lost count on how many days it’s been since the last time he had a good sleep. His head hurts, mind fuzzy. All his muscles sore, and his chest heavy. It's absurd that he can't fall asleep with how tired his body is. He is beyond exhausted–yet no matter how hard he tries to relax, the tightness inside his chest keeps bugging him. It feels like his heart has doubled in size, threatening to suffocate his lungs and tore his ribs open.
Not to mention all the nightmares that will come if he does fall asleep. Oh yes, those freaking nightmares. The screams inducing ones, the ones that always end up with him jerking himself awake. Panting, tears running down his face, bed wet with cold sweat.
He’s not even sure what those dreams are about. He used to be able to remember them, yes, especially with how vivid and real they feel. But then they keep getting longer, and his sleeps morbidly shorter. They start blurring with his memories, blend with realities to the point that he can’t tell which one is which. The more days he spends in this city, the more difficult it is for him to recall what they were actually about. All he manages to recollect is how lethally addictive and brutal they were. How his vision was filled with crimson red and ghostly pale skin, how bitter the taste of metal felt on his tongue and how sweet that man’s mouth felt against his own.
It’s not helping that the whole studio smells like blood itself.
Like raw meat, like fresh corpses.
Oh every minute and every second he spends his time in this studio is torturous. With how the rest of the residents treat him… with how they’re killing him. Because it's like he's slowly dying–both physically and mentally, both literally and figuratively. Like drowning, like burning.
He doesn't know what to do.
He doesn't even know what to think, how to think.
All he can do is try to survive.
Like when his older brother was diagnosed with an illness he couldn’t understand.
Like when his mother started depending on his too young self more and more each day.
Like when his college friends sneered every time they caught him staying the night in the club’s room.
Like when his senior in the military killed his kitten and ate its flesh raw in front of him.
Yes. Surviving.
At least he has been good at doing that.
Exhaling a deep sigh, Jongwoo mindlessly opens his eyelids.
The first mistake in his attempt of survival.
Because what he sees next, unexpectedly–irrationally–is another pair of dark irises staring right back at him.
Jongwoo freezes. Eyes still wide open, not able to look away from the person in front of him.
The expression that the older man wears is unreadable. His skin looks so pale and inhuman and so ethereally pretty under the dim moonlight. Both of his pupils are fully blown, making the already dark eyes appear impossibly more black. Their faces are so close to each other that Jongwoo can see each of the long and thick lashes framing the man’s eyes.
What is happening? Jongwoo doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t even dare to breathe. His mind still too clouded, heart still thumping too loudly against his ribcage, not allowing him to think clearly. Is this real? Or a dream…? A hallucination?
Because why else would his neighbor be here, kneeling beside his bed? What will be the better explanation for this, aside from that he is dreaming or hallucinating? Afterall, it would not be the first time he hallucinates about the man. And as much as Jongwoo hates to admit it, it would not be the first time the older man visits him in his dream either.
For a moment, they only stare at each other.
But then the taller man’s eyes soften, amusement and delight leaking from the veil they previously wore so well. The corners of his lips stretch into a tiny smile before being covered by one of his long fingers.
“Shh…”
Not louder than a whisper. Yet it effectively makes Jongwoo’s mind blank and petrifies him even further.
A wide and strong palm is placed on Jongwoo’s eyes, closing his lids gently. In the complete darkness, Jongwoo feels his body being pushed, being led to lie down once again on the comfort of his bed.
A creaking sound. A shift in his bed. A body against his own.
Jongwoo’s hand reaches the wrist before his face. His lips open in an attempt to start a protest, but there is not a single sound coming out from his mouth.
The tender voice hums.
"Go back to sleep, darling." It’s not more forceful than a plea, yet Jongwoo can’t find it in him to question it. The arms surrounding Jongwoo are strong and restricting, yet the only things Jongwoo finds in them are safety and relief.
Jongwoo can palpate the beat of the other’s pulse against his fingertips. Hear the other’s steady heart against his ear as the older man moves closer and closer to him.
“Shh shh shh…,” the older man coos against his hair, his limbs holding Jongwoo tighter. “It’s alright, darling, it’s alright. I’m right by your side.”
Against his will, Jongwoo’s heartbeat starts calming down. His previously short and swift breaths turn to deep and slow ones. His chest and throat no longer feel constricted despite the arms that are imprisoning his body.
And maybe it's the cool hand before his closed eyes.
Maybe it's the tuneless yet rhythmic lullaby whispered to his ears.
Or maybe it's the comforting weight of the other's body right beside his own.
He doesn't know what it is, and honestly, right now, he doesn't care.