TSR — 01

00:45 - 21^st october 2013 / jung jinki's flat, gangnam, seoul
 

 

ushed voices from the television filled the dim lit living room, the only source of light was the thin box of led itself. The light was blinding because of the dark. It bounced off the tired form of twenty-six year old man, a couple cans of beer and a few bottles of soju, littered around him. He still hasn't changed from his black suit, his tie loosely hung around his neck. The neck that started to ache as he leaned on his sofa like a pillow while he sat on the floor, long legs folded slightly towards his chest.

 

Considering the alcohol he consumed, he should've drifted to sleep by now. But he's still awake. Limbs aching. Face burning. Head pounding. Heart tightening as he refused to cry out his frustration, helplessness and loneliness.

 

He was used to it—not crying. Even if he was alone.

 

He wasn't the type to complain either. Things like that felt useless and it doesn't change the reality. He'd simply breathe and move on. On the other hand, he knew it wasn't healthy. But he can't help it. He's used to holding it in as he had so much to lose.

 

Until today.

 

Jinki opened his eyes as his phone buzzed for nth time. He sluggishly sat up and pulled his phone from his pocket. He stared at the screen as it stopped buzzing, showing the number of missed calls. Most of it are unknown contacts—reporters claiming to listen to his side of story but they twist his words on print— and estranged friends while a certain name topped the list by missed calls. The screen changed as another incoming call came.

 

"What is it?" he answered without as much of a hello.

 

A disbelief snort came from the other side of the line. "What is it? What is it?" Yoo Ilhan's voice was laced with frustration at the talent he looked after for 5 years. "We haven't talked for a while and you were taken in for a drug scandal?"

 

I didn't do it, is what he should've replied. But he's tired of clarifying himself. At least to the man he considered his older brother, he shouldn't need to say it. He took in a shaky breath as he waited for Ilhan to say something at his silence.

 

"Are you okay?" His sight blurred at the question.

 

"No."

 

"I'm almost in Seoul," Ilhan said. Jinki can pick up the alarmed note in his voice saying, Don't do anything rash.

 

"This is probably what she felt, right?" Jinki brought a hand over his eyes, closing it. Immediately, the image of the woman they both knew well appeared along with images of the struggles she went through. "She was so bright—blindingly bright—but everything around her was still dark." He didn't continue. He was sure Ilhan, too, was taken back to the certain point of time where everything starts to fall apart.

 

Jinki felt a stray tear finally left his right eye. "Hyung."

 

"Ten minutes tops, Jinki. Ten minutes."

 

"I'm going to fight," Jinki rasped. "Like she did."

 

It was Ilhan's turn to go silent.

 

"But unlike her, I'm going to win. I have to win." Jinki straightened up, he fixed his gaze at the non-stop news coverage of the trouble he caused currently running on the television. "...You'll help, right?"

 

"...When do we start?"

  KYU'S NOTE