Detecting Falsehood

(a/n: have an extra update to apologise for the mess my updating schedule has been recently I've just been a mess myself and it's been a bit mad. I love you really, I promise! Enjoy the chapter!)

???7?22??

They think you've run away. Is that true?

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I'm startled out of my confused thoughts when the door unlocks without warning, and a masked figure bursts in, closing the door carelessly behind them and jumping up onto the chair, playing around with the camera and microphone for a moment before dropping down to sit in the chair, head lowered.

I'm about to move closer and question the stranger, when they lift up a hand, causing me to freeze.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he says, with clear difficulty, pulling the mask down, and my eyes widen at the sight of the lying son of a gang leader. "There are just some things that get on my nerves."
"Junghoon? What are you doing here?" I question, stepping forward and ignoring the held out hand. "Last time you visited, you ran away because I got annoyed at you. Why come back?"

He chuckles bitterly. "Stupid, isn't it? I go back to someone I threatened to kill, just because nobody else knows who I am. I can't even sleep without a fucking mask on some days. I just wanted to take this off for a bit."

He looks up at me, his eyes flashing with some sort of hidden pain, and a fist clenches round my heart, despite every effort to remain unbothered. "I'm not a good person, Taehyung, I know that. I know you hate me. I know you blame me for your presence here. I know that I don't deserve to be able to run over here and not give you a choice as to whether I do. But I have demons too. They're just buried deep down, because having demons here is like signing your own death warrant."

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I wonder if that would be the better solution. But then I remember that I can't even take that way out." He then looks up at me, directly, and the confusion in my eyes must speak to him, because he sighs a little and explains himself.

"My father. He has nobody left if I die. He's lost his wife, his son, and his other son is considering following them." He smiles a little, the expression almost fierce in how bitter it is. "Almost makes you sympathise with him, doesn't it? Makes me seem like a selfish prick by comparison. But I'm not the worst person here. Honestly. I'm not."

My heart clenches as I realise that he's telling the truth. For once, every word is honest, and he's not lying at all. No half-truths. No skirting round it. He's being directly honest for the first time since I met him.

I don't know whether to be shocked, sympathetic or horrified.

"How did your brother die?" I ask quietly, gently, after a few moments, and he smiles painfully, looking up at me through his fringe, a strange vulnerability appearing in his eyes. "You were talking about an accident. Did your mother die at the same time?"

He fiddles with his hands, his gaze lowering to the floor. "I don't want to talk about it," he responds, "it makes me feel guiltier every time. But I will tell you this. My mother was gone years before that happened." He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair and standing up, stretching out his muscles and wincing as his back cracks. "Maybe another time, in another place."

"You said yourself that I would never be able to leave," I remind him, and his eyes flash with pity for a moment. "How can you ever tell me if there never is another place to go?"