i grew up to be rich, though supposedly we should all have the same money. i grew up to be selfish, hoarding all the women i wanted and all the land i wanted. i grew up to be vile.

he was the boy no one cared about.

but he wasn't the vile one.

the teacher i was so familiar with died trying to flee the country. boys who would have grown to be fine soldiers are now six feet under. and he was rotting in prison.

and i, had the audacity, to visit his cell.

he was so thin.

so quiet.

he looked up at meー

and his form radiated hate.

and his lips radiated hate.

and his eyes radiated hate.

the emotion that used to be raging sadness was replaced with the loathing of one man.

and in my dreams i watch. and i would smile at him. i was happy. he wasn't sad anymore.

and i would hate the man standing in front of him.

but what could i say? i say it along with the man;

"i'm so, so sorry, namjoon."

FIN.