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What if it opened its eyes? Looking straight into his soul, eating away every bit of sanity he had left?

The corpose was lying on the stale leaves, the sword clunched thightly in his hand. It was facing the clouded sky, with its mouth wide open, the broken teeth shined yellow when the torch came closer. The guardian expected it to start screaming every second from now. The crown was thrown away, probably in the nearby river, who's stream continued to fill in the silence, like a slow lullaby. The guardian backed away, fear starting to creep in. His lips formed random words, trying to comprehend the situation, everything seemed as a dream. A nightmare that crawls in your brain at night, tasting the warm flesh of your imagination. 

Minutes passed, even though he believed it were hours, and the only thing he could do, was scream, hoping someone, everyone would hear:

''The King... The King is dead!"

*

The coffee remained untouched for a long time, the playful steam dissipating slowly in the cold, November air. He reminded himself to buy another heater, before the first snow would freeze the crap out of him. He sighed for the nth time that day. Nothing worked as he expected, the cigarettes he's been searching for disappeared into thin air, and he knew all to well, that without them, the sleep will stay away, not that he would mind. For a brief of a moment, there was something close to a smirk painting his face, something that hasn't appeared there for such a long time. A night without dreams would be both Heaven and Hell, but he longed for it.

He later found the cigarette pack under the blood red sofa, thinking that Luhan probably wanted to play some tricks on him again, even though he doesn't quite remember when was the last time he had seen the boy. The room was poorly lit, leaving shadows dancing on the empty furniture, making everything seem alive, even just for a few seconds. Here and there, ripped pages of his journal remained still, the scribbled words on them whispering quietly of a boy, a boy who hold the midnight in his eyes. It was the only thing that made him beg the sleep to take him faster. Those orbs that never quite looked at him, never seeing him.

He jumped in the bed, lighting up a cigarette, making himself comfortable in the dusty mattress, trying not to break a rib in the springs. And so he waited. Inhaling bitter poison, exhaling a slow death, watching how the mold was eating away the wall, painting it in green and blue. He remainded himself to also clean a little. 

The smoke started to fill the room, making it less empty. Kyungsoo felt his cheeks being caressed by it, but he could tell, his lung were being stabbed, cutting down the years of his life. Maybe then, he could live There forever, leaving behind everything he had. He put the cigarette down, feeling his eyelids heavy, though his body felt a little lighter. He sat on his back admiring for the last time that day the wall, with all its rottenness.

And so, he dreamed.

*

He woke up in the middle of the ruckus. People were screaming, some were crying, others were whispering with reserved smiles. Kyungsoo could only stare, feeling his body a little rusty, his senses numb, but he could catch a rumour, a fying lie probably, or so he trought. The King couldn't have died, could he?

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