#fcclhardy

it’s official.

the universe must officially have it out for jeon bomi.

she knows it’s official when she wakes up curled up against jihoon. exactly like how she woke up yesterday. only this time around, she doesn’t wake up screaming that oh my god, she died! been there, done that. unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to be done with her yet, nor do the people that harbour a secret loathing towards her — murder’s a little extreme. 

but look on the bright side, at least she isn’t the only one having to go through a seemingly never-ending cycle of dying. she’s got company. exactly like how she had company during her last year of college when she found herself stuck in a loop for the first time.

maybe the universe has it out for the both of them.

“it’s happening again...” she groans, an ache in her side from where she thinks she got stabbed yesterday — not yesterday, the first loop of july 6th. second day since they got to the cabins. rolling over so she’s looking at the ceiling, she glances at him. “my bet’s on the hitchhiker we didn’t give a lift to.”

he’s met death. no. too vague. he’s met her cohorts. brushed shoulders with pain. shared drinks with bitter and sorrow. welcomed rot into his arms. slow trickle of definitive moments throughout the last five years that has him here now; mouthful of dead birds—splintered bits of who he used to be. god-fearing? no. though being unfeeling isn’t any better.

of the group, he’s the last to head in. forlorn eyes staring down the path of the stairs, bone chill that greets him. weary that settles in rotten bits. inchul is slow to step down, fingers pressing two little white pills to the back of his throat while he walks. precursor for the pain. as if he hasn’t been medicated since that morning. 

the basement itself is poorly lit. an assortment of trinkets (treasures? trophies?) sat across the shelf. the air is damp, and inchul struggles the slightest to breathe past the whiff of dust, unidentified fragrance, wet smell of death. tucked away from the murmurs of his friends, his eyes take interest almost immediately to the head, corner of his lips lifted in mimic.

another “definitive moment”. catalyst for yet another unmaking: inchul swipes the head off the shelf without a moment’s consideration and turns to the nearest body, fingers sliding over their shoulder in greeting. “hey.” he lifts the wolf’s head to face level, lips curling slightly to himself in quiet devilment. 

“what did you get? wanna trade?”

tbh,, i’m garbage at writing okuyasu. 

                    HE TOUCHED HIS CLONE’S FACE, EYES WIDE, IVORIES SHOWN behind parted lips. He was in SHOCK, thumbs brushing over the scars on his face as his tiny irises darted about to observe him.                     WARM blooded, HOT BREATH as his fingers skimmed past his nostrils and lips. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. 

                                          This WAS him. 

                                 He was not a stand, unless it was a very convincing one. This was him, in the flesh. ANOTHER OKUYASU NIJIMURA. He was DUMBFOUNDED, to say the least. 

                      “ Yo... sorry for getting all HAND-sy, but...

                                You... you are me, aren’t you? 

That’s what i told myself earlier-

            don’t ever tell me to go fuck myself...

                     I just might take it literally.