Kyo's gaze followed the narrow eyed Korean across the tent. The Han sat on his neatly made bunk, gaze seeming to fight the urge to connect with the iron of the bed's bottom frame -- where the survival were laid bare for all to see. No more than six were chisled into the black metal. The young man was slouched, head tilted as if it was only the bare minimum of respect that stopped it from hanging completely in despair. 

"He'd known, somehow," a deep voice ghosted into his ear from his left. Kyo didn't have to turn around to know it was Gackt. "The dead one, I mean. He'd confessed to not being able to last a week on the battlefield."

There was a moment of silence between the two, the only sounds otherwise being the cacaphony of men being called out to the field for patrol and drills. 

"Tamerai ni hohoemi," Kyo finally spoke. Gackt had seemed to wait on more, but the shorter Japanese singer didn't elaborate. 

"All he ever did was smile," a light tenor joined in. Gackt glanced to his left to see Jun Ki standing off to the side, arms folded and long eyes fixated on the desolate soldier on the bunk. "And now it's fading..."

"....Captivated me immediately...Their feelings and emotions are just perfect...It was perfection and if continued like that....wow..." - CloudyDremer [Meme Grande Review Sanctuary]

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This is a self-apology fic for failing the first real attempt at writing something angsty. It turned out to be its own pivotal point between angst and horror and dark. It's like genre backlash in that competition that I'd entered. But I guess this one's going to make up for it. I sincerely hope that you enjoy this little re-do of my genre hiccup.