#xmsora

It's probably too late, he tells himself— in various aspects of time; in how late it happens to be because his common sense doesn't reign any longer and he doesn't consider trying to contact her in a few hours, when it doesn't seem so ungodly early to how long it had been since he last contacted her. 

Maybe it could've only been days to her— hell, hours— he reasons, yet it fails to pacify his distraught mind. It probably hadn't. It probably felt as if it had longer and it actually was. 

Ironically, after giving up his own time, after spending countless hours searching and involving himself with the rescue despite the option for him to stay behind and wait, Howon had chased after her himself.

He had risked his position at work. He had risked his life. But, most importantly, he had risked his sanity considering all that had transpired and all that he had learned. 

A mutant. After consoling her that he still accepted her when they first met again, reiterating over and over that he didn't care, he ran away just as he had.

Ran away from being a mutant. Ran away to protect others or himself. Whatever it was, the point was that he left— so maybe it's the alcohol that's made him so brave at this moment in time, or it's the recent insomnia wearing on his conscience, impulsiveness rearing its head and taking advantage of a prime opportunity. 

"Sora..." and his voice croaks already, the drink in his hand failing to soothe the irritation of his throat, serving to further incite its coarseness. "Sora... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not as great as you think." 

After a long pause— enough to make him think she'd hung up by this time once she listens to the message— he exhales long and slowly. Tongue darting out to sweep over cracked lips and the next few words come out softer than he intended— not that he realized he had spoken them aloud either. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner. You deserve better." 

i guess i gotta buy them myself..