Choi_Choi



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    “You’re dead,” Yeonjun mumbled.
    “Yes,” Soobin replied evenly. He didn’t sound like it bothered him.
    “B-but– I don’t… It’s not possible,” Yeonjun stuttered. “I went to your funeral. I packed up all of your things and mailed them back to your parents. I called the veterinary school and told them you couldn’t come.”
    “I know,” Soobin responded. “Thank you for doing those things.”
    They were on Yeonjun’s block now. The door of his apartment building was meters away. His head was spinning with a toxic combination of tiredness, confusion, and hope. “Then how? Soobin–“
    They’d made it into the light above the front door. Yeonjun’s blood turned to ice. There, away from the orange streetlight and under the harsh white fluorescents, he could see the one thing that had changed about him.

    Soobin’s irises were crimson red, the color of fresh rose petals.

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    26 Feb 2024

  2. Public Bookmark 2

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    Вместе с прощальным письмом Криминального Лорда ему перешел в «наследство» этот дневник. И пусть он не позволил случиться самому худшему, жизнь Уильяма Джеймса Мориарти все еще висела где-то между Тауэрским мостом и глубокими водами Темзы.

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    20 Oct 2022