ttransient:
   Becoming desensitized to his sinister sayings at this point, all she could offer was a quirk of a neat eyebrow and a questioning gaze. The temperature has lowered enough that the concrete she sat on gave a biting chill to the bare skin that made contact to it, and immediately she wishes sheâs brought a jacket. He might have thought that the shiver she gave was from his words.
âWell thatâs not a very pleasant dream. Unless youâve enjoyed it. What was the context of my death? Did I go out with my dignity, at least?â
   A hint of a smile touches at her features before she turns away. Had her father known her preferred company ranged towards those ravaged by life, in which their prominent madness showcases through their apparel and visage â hungry eyes, dark clothing, inked skin â sheâd have been immediately forced to attend a charity event with those whom she truly belonged with â neat hair, pressed suits, and soft hands who have never spent a day working. What her father does not see is the equally vibrant glint in her eyes that scream for blood, or the scars that adorn flushed skin. All he sees is his companyâs Chairman of the Board, not his daughter, not his own child.
   So Kyungri retreats to the darkness to find an echo of how she feels, of the fiends who actually understand her morbid sense of humor. Her eyes drifted to him before she tried catching his gaze, signalling for him to join her on the floor.
âThey say dreams are a manifestation of our inner desires. Do you wish to kill me? Have I done you wrong?â
  Boot scuffs against the pavement, but the tread is already worn away. Years spent walking have ground it down to leave behind the initial uniform design for hills and valleys in the arch and plateaus on the heel. He doesnât think about it.
  He doesnât think about anything as he conjures up his response. Itâs easy to forget the distance between them when theyâre chatting like this. Physical, social, emotional - there are leagues separating them on each count and itâs obvious to anyone that looks, but he feels as if heâs her equal right now. Leaning against the wet brick of the building behind him, standing over her, heâs comfortable.
  âAlways enjoy it, Sweetheart.â
  Heâs not looking at her, not really; heâs looking past her as he attempts to recall the events of the previous nightâs brief reprieve.
  âWas with a knife, real personal, yâknow? Donât normally do shit like that. Sâquicker with a gun, but ya went fast enough. Bled out on the floor ând I just kinda sat there next to ya. Think thatâs some kinda symbolism?â
  The fixation on the ground next to where her head is in his field of vision is broken as he comes back into reality and he reaches for his most-often used vice: cigarettes. Itâs a moment before he silently offers her one, as well.
  âThatâs way too fuckinâ deep right now.â A half-hearted chuckle. âYou havenât pulled anything yet.â
  But they always do, donât they?











