a wishful little thought

#rude - the super true story of how delulu survived kindergarten. [1/??]

2014-01-02T08:27:12Z

Title: #rude - the super true story of how delulu survived kindergarten.
Pairing: luhan-centric; layhan; ot12 silliness
Genre: crack/friendship/kindergarten!au
Rating: G
Length: multi-chaptered; chapter one: 2,000 words
Summary: Luhan is a seventeen-year-old white girl trapped in the body of a five-year-old Chinese boy attending some Korean boarding school, struggling with confessing to the love of his (short) life, battling the filthy clutches of a certain Wu Yifan, escaping the grubby fingers of a flaming homosexual, and meeting the demands of Jongdae and his lollopop mafia. He also has a thing for hashtags. #dontjudge.

For the most part, it seems like a beautiful day to be setting foot in kindergarten for the first time. The sun is shining. The breeze is light enough to not be overwhelming yet strong enough to tousle everyone’s hair lightly. Luhan is now also lice-free (“Curse you, pesky hair inhabitants and your devotion to my lovely locks!”), so he finds it easy to feel no shame about the fact that he’s arriving to school for the first time a month later than everyone else.

Sure, he’s in a whole ‘nother country that’s certainly nothing like homeland China and its Communist-not-Communist identity issues, but that’s okay because Luhan has come here with his best friend for life, Zhang Yixing.

(They’re also soulmates and Yixing doesn’t know that yet, but that’s okay because Luhan thinks that it makes him cuter.)

(It also means that Luhan is totally the smarter of the two and one day, when he gets older, he has sworn to use this to his advantage in order to make sure that his husband-to-be is absolutely whipped.)

There’s some guilt because the poor boy’s been on his own for an entire month since the dormitory/daycare that they’ve been staying at has isolated Luhan from every other boy in order to prevent the spread of infestation (“Actually, I’m pretty sure that my lice wouldn’t settle for Mister Junmyeon’s hair when they can have my luscious mane!”) and despite his incredibly logical reasoning, there was no way out of isolation.

When their mothers signed them up for the exchange program at the young age of five, the rationalization was that it would be good for their two sons to begin learning how to speak more languages, the school was prestigious for its academic prowess and position within the international social hierarchy, and the two of them would at least have each other, so it’s not like they would be completely on their own. Luhan and Yixing had grown up like family, after all: they tried to spend every waking moment of their time together, they began to cry whenever it was time for one to go home, and no one could forget the time that Luhan had snuck into the younger boy’s bed when the latter couldn’t go out because of his fever, licked the remnants of one of Yixing’s tissues, latched onto the barely-conscious boy’s body, and screamed, “Don’t worry, Xingxing, I’ll save you!”

The act was nothing short of stupid, but as Luhan lay in bed a week later with Yixing gripping his hand tightly and sniffling over the fact that it was his boogers that had gotten his best friend sick, the older boy explained himself by saying, “See, you’re fixed now, right? It’s because I swallowed all of the germs so that you wouldn’t have to anymore!”

“But what will you do now, Lu? Who will take your germs away?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give them to that weird girl across the street that keeps sending me creepy smiles. I’m sure that she won’t mind all too much.”

Between the two of them, Luhan had always been the more outgoing one, so it makes him feel guilty whenever he imagines the younger boy dragging his bookbag to school all by himself and sitting in class all by himself and swinging on the swing set all by himself and eating by himself and just being by himself in general.

If he had remembered that his caretaker had confirmed the morbid massacre of the bug plantation atop his head last night (“Rest in peace,” he had decided to mumble after the woman had left, because Yixing had always been kind of religious and Luhan was kind of sort of really missing him and he figured that he would say something like that if he had been actually been there, but because he wasn’t, Luhan decided to go ahead and say the line in his stead anyway), then he would’ve bolted out of his confinement – which he was supposed to be moving out of later that day – as soon as the sun began to rise so that he could throw on his uniform and run to Yixing and interlock their fingers while saying, “I’ve killed all the intruders so that they can’t invade your hair now! Look at me, I’ve saved the day again!”

But alas, Luhan had grown so accustomed to the fits of itching that occurred atop his head that he had completely forgotten that said fits had – for the most part – disappeared entirely. He had forgotten that he was supposed to be getting ready for his first day of kindergarten and he was sure that their caretaker hadn’t bothered to tell Yixing of his best friend’s newfound freedom (Luhan’s almost positive that it’s because the caretaker wants Yixing for herself and knows some serious competition when she sees it) and so he mumbles a string of “poop, poop, poopity poop” as he rushes to make due for lost time and dashes through the one-minute walk to the school building.

He gets there out of breath because he’s Luhan and he’s been stuck in a room all by himself with nothing but lice to keep him company and ew, running. But the breath suddenly comes rushing back into his lungs as soon as he sees a familiar tangle of brown locks and an awkward body proportion and sees the familiar bag that’s an identical match to his own except in purple.

“Xingxing,” he screams in delight, somehow finding the energy to run towards his younger friend with arms that are already outspread to receive a huge hug. At the familiar nickname, said boy turns his head to face the newcomer, his trademark dimple already standing prominent within his right cheek.

However, as soon as he turns, Luhan gains access to something that he hadn’t exactly noticed before that sends his insides running cold and his legs suddenly running nowhere.

“Well, look who it is,” comes the slow purr that is strangely seductive and that infuriates Luhan because they’re only supposed to be five so it’s weird if one of them is seductive. And if anyone gets to be seductive in this story, Luhan’s almost positive that it should be him and he finds it infuriating that it’s not. “Lu Ge, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”

Our protagonist grits his teeth in frustration, trying to do his absolute best to not fling himself at the strange boy as me manages a dark, “Wufan. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I know. I just said that, didn’t I?”

Sometimes Luhan thinks that he’s too nice for his own good.

Before he has the chance to respond with something equally as witty and equally as bitter, Yixing pipes up with his oblivious smile to the tension electrocuting the air around the three boys. “Oh, good! The two of you already know each other. That means that we can skip the introductions!” He’s always had a habit of using animated hand gestures whenever he talks, so as he says this, Luhan suddenly realizes that the reason why Wufan’s arm is awkwardly moving along with whatever Yixing says is because the two of them are holding hands.

The action turns him livid and he’s about to go against everything that a good schoolboy should do in order to launch himself at the taller boy, but then suddenly Yixing’s wrapped him in an excited embrace as he exclaims, “I’ve missed you so much, Lu! School hasn’t been as fun without you!”

Luhan’s a bit awkward and a bit stiff but then he realizes that if Yixing is hugging him right now, then it also means that he’s no longer holding hands with Wufan, so Luhan mans up and loosens up and squeezes Yixing equally as hard. “I’ve missed you too, Xingxing! Everything’s been so boring without my best friend by my side.” He makes sure to include extra emphasis over those two special words in order to give Wufan a hint because Zhang Yixing belongs to Luhan because they’re soulmates and will be getting married as soon as they’re legal so Wufan needs to back off because he is the definition of #rude.

But the taller boy does nothing but snort at the statement, saying, “What? Even the critters eating off your head didn’t want to be friends with you? What a shame.”

Yixing doesn’t notice the poison that’s laced within Wufan’s joke, so he laughs, and that laugh makes Luhan’s face flusher brighter than it had ever flushed before.

“Who even says the word ‘critters’ anymore? Wow, Wufan, you’re the definition of outdated.”

Wufan rolls his eyes at this, but before he’s able to come up with something equally intelligent to say (which would be quite difficult, because Luhan’s an unspoken fact that he’s probably going to be the smartest kindergartener of their year), Yixing pipes up with a frown. “There’s no need to be such a bum today, Lulu. Are you sure that those bugs didn’t do anything to your brain? That would be kind of scary.”

Luhan flushes a bright shade of red because of course the bugs didn’t do anything to his brain – that would only be stupid – but he can’t call Yixing out for that because Yixing is Yixing and so he’s destined to live a beautiful life without having to ever receive a dosage of sassy Luhan.

The young boy doesn’t know how blessed he really is.

“Sorry,” the eldest boy mumbles, before continuing on with a halfassed excuse that doesn’t seem all that halfassed at all because, as mentioned earlier, Luhan’s pretty sure that he’s the smartest boy of his year, “While I was out, I had been reading a lot of books and wanted to show off my new vocabulary. I didn’t want anyone to think that I was allowing myself to fall behind.”

Yixing nods in quick understanding while Wufan only smirks. “Yeah, Mister Junmyeon actually released the results of the entrance exam up not too long ago. You should go check them out.”

The doe-eyed child blinks in confusion. “But we’re only kindergarteners. We’re already receiving a rank?”

“Yeah, I think that the Mister Yeollie said something about how age doesn’t matter and we all have to learn about responsibility,” Yixing states. “You’ll like him, Lu. He smells kind of funny, but he says that it’s just the smell of our dreams.”

“Pretty sure that he does drugs,” Wufan throws in, “And his English kind of sucks.”

Luhan puffs out his chest suddenly before claiming, “That’s okay, I can teach the whole class English if Mister Yeollie isn’t good at it!” The idea is kind of absurd since Luhan doesn’t know the first thing about the language, but that’s okay, because he’s probably the smartest kid of his year and can learn quick enough anyway.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Lulu,” Yixing chirrups, “Wufannie’s actually been helping Mister Yeollie a lot with English because he grew up in Canada!”

“Wufannie?” Luhan internally squeaks while his eyes get all big and he feels the yet-to-be-released testosterone surging through his body.

“Yeah, according to our class ranks, I’m number one anyway.”

Luhan dramatically falls to the ground just as the bell rings to signal the start of class and he doesn’t get out of his position until he realizes that Yixing has stopped worriedly poking at his cheek with a sigh and hads resumed walking hand-in-hand with Wufan towards the school building.

He looks on in astonishment for a few moments before angrily getting up out of his position and kicking the cement in frustration.

The young boy blames the fact that he’s still not used to being outside yet for his sudden faceplanting back into the sidewalk because Luhan is good at everything and walking is definitely one of those things.

Stupid sidewalk. Talk about #rude.

Stupid lice. Also being #rude.

Stupid Wufan for being the #rude-est of them all.

---

a/n: *sweats nervously* Man, I haven't written crack in the longest time. lololol. Thoughts? Comments? They would all be greatly appreciated. c:

until destiny returns. [2/2]

2013-11-26T05:28:06Z

Title: until destiny returns.
Pairing: chanlli
Genre: romance
Rating: PG
Length: one-shot; 8,158 words
Summary: Chanyeol and Jinri find themselves stuck in this never-ending game in which they spend an eternity searching for the other and forever within the other’s arms. At least, that’s how Chanyeol sees it.

one.

vii.

“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

Jinri rolls her eyes at the question from her philosophy major of a boyfriend, quietly wondering how he’s managed to do so well in that class when he can barely distinguish his left shoe from his right. “What’s the point in wondering when we’ll never be able to ever find a true answer?”

She doesn’t have to look up from her crossword puzzle to know that he’s shooting her a look of exasperation, so with a sigh, she decides on a different answer. “I don’t know, I suppose that we each have our own, individual purposes in the world. That’s why we’re each born where we’re born so that we can fulfill said purpose.”

“So you believe in destiny?”

“Well, yeah. I suppose I do.”

“Does that mean,” Chanyeol starts, swooping in out of nowhere in order to sit across from her at their small kitchen table with excited eyes, “that you believe in soulmates?”

Sometimes Jinri wonders what it was that she had seen him all those years ago when she had agreed to be the older man’s girlfriend. She can’t help but shoot him a skeptical look as she hesitantly asks, “You mean like the Red String of Fate?”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” he exclaims, clearly invested into the conversation that they’re sharing. Noticing this makes Jinri slightly nervous as she knows that Chanyeol is prone to an incredible amount of eccentricities whenever he gets into one of these moods and once he starts talking, there’s no shutting him up.

“I mean,” she uneasily starts, “That’s just a myth, isn’t it? I like to think that everyone should be allowed to make their own decisions. Perhaps we all have destinies, but it’s our choice whether or not we choose to fulfill it.”

He frowns slightly, causing her to silently berate herself for picking the wrong answer. “And what about dreams? Do you believe in those?”

She hesitates again and decides to make an awkward attempt to turn the tables on him instead. “Do you believe in dreams?”

“I asked you first.”

“But you’re the philosophy major here.”

“Touché.”

The older boy chooses to lean back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head as he ponders his own question. Sunlight streams into the room through the window behind him, casting a halo of light over his head that Jinri can’t help but admire.

After all, despite his countless oddities, he's her angel.

And nothing will ever change that.

“Without dreams, what are we?” he starts off. “Perhaps dreams are what we create in an attempt to escape the constraints of a destiny that had been written prior to our birth. We put our all into dreams despite knowing that they’re not likely to come true, because such thoughts are the true drive that keep us pushing on even when we want to give up. Perhaps it isn’t until we’ve fought hard enough to make our dreams come true that we’ve finally succeeded in defying our destiny.”

Jinri can do nothing but nod because it’s moments like these when she’s reminded just why Chanyeol is a philosophy major: his perspective of the world is something so unique and intriguing and Jinri can only be thankful that she’s allowed to be a part of it.

They sit in silence for a moment, quietly enjoying one another’s company. After a few minutes pass, the younger woman chooses to return her focus back to her crossword.

“Hey, Jinri?”

“Mm?”

“I think that if there’s no such thing as soulmates, then you’re my dream.”

The words immediately make her look back up at him with parted lips as a light flush takes over her cheeks.

“Will you marry me?”

She can do nothing but rush to throw herself into his arms despite the table separating them from one another as she excitedly murmurs, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

viii.

Chanyeol can’t help but wrinkle his nose as soon as he enters his house due to a strange, musty smell wafting through the air.

“Jinri? I’m only an hour late and you’ve already succeeded in ruining the entire place in frustration? Real mature, Ri. Real mature,” he jokes as soon as he finds her bent over the bathtub within their shared bathroom.

She shoots him a halfhearted glare before returning her attention to the task at hand. “I didn’t even realize that you were late. It’s not like I had waited for you or anything.”

Because Chanyeol is Chanyeol, he’s unable to tell whether or not she’s being sarcastic with him. Not knowing what else to do, he forces an awkward laugh and asks, “What’s that smell?”

His question is answered almost immediately by the sudden mewling that sounds from the bathtub.

With a raised brow, he sets his briefcase against the wall, and makes his way towards his wife of a few months to examine just what it is that she’s doing.

“Are those –”

“Kittens. They’re kittens, Chanyeol.”

There is a beat of silence as he can do nothing but stare at them blankly.

“Jinri, why is there an entire litter of kittens sitting in our bathtub?”

The younger woman only rolls her eyes in annoyance, “Why can't there be an entire litter of kittens sitting in our bathtub?”

Chanyeol ponders the question for a moment, is unable to come up with a proper answer, and ends up doing nothing more than shrugging.

“I was on my way home when I found them all stuffed in a box on the side of the road. It seemed like they had been there for a while now and no one seemed to want them, so I figured that I’d just take them all home and look out for them until we can find them a more suitable home.”

“I suddenly feel like we’re running an orphanage.”

“A kitten orphanage. It sounds like a cute idea.”

He nods excitedly, a burst of energy suddenly invigorating him out of nowhere as he crouches down beside his wife to examine their new “children.”

There are seven of them total: four girls and three boys. Chanyeol suddenly wishes that he was a cat expert instead of tax expert, that way he would be able to properly distinguish which species the kittens came from. Unfortunately, Chanyeol isn't a cat expert and neither is Jinri, so he can’t do much other than coo at them and make faces.

“Can we name them? I really want to name them,” he grins, picking up a white male with dark rings around its eyes. “Oh, this one looks like a Baekhyun! Can we please name him Baekhyun?”

Jinri giggles, easily amused by her husband’s childish nature. “Baekhyun? Where did that name even come from?”

He shrugs in response, not hesitating to dish out random names for the rest of the kittens as well, Jinri occasionally chipping in an opinion or two as she takes over the responsibility of washing them.

It’s a struggle at first, but it isn’t long until she finally succeeds in making sure that each one of them is squeaky clean and turns to Chanyeol, who is rubbing noses with one of the female cats that he had affectionately dubbed Sehun.

“Let’s go out to get some food for them first, okay? I can only imagine how hungry they are.”

Despite knowing that she’s probably right, Chanyeol can’t help but frown at the idea of leaving the young animals behind. Still, what Jinri says is law, so he obediently grabs his coat and follows her out the door.

“Hey, Ri?”

“Yeah?”

“Having kids is fun. Let’s have a lot of children, okay? I think I want at least twelve.”

Jinri almost chokes on her spit.

Chanyeol only laughs harder.

ix.

“I’m not feeling well, Yeollie.”

“What do you mean?”

She exhales a breath that she didn’t even realize she was holding, raking fingers through tousled, dark locks. “I don’t feel like going out tonight. I think that I just want to go to bed.”

Chanyeol frowns, trying to ignore the feeling of his heart dropping within his chest as he tries to press their date onward, “Awh, come on, Ri! I’m sure that going out for dinner will make you feel better. I got us this reservation at that five-star Italian restaurant over in downtown that you’ve been eager to try, and –”

“I said no, Chanyeol.”

He flinches at her tone.

Jinri notices this and is unable to stop the guilt from eating way at her stomach. She allows the tension within her shoulders to dissipate slightly as she allows her gaze to meet his. “Sorry, Yeollie. I’m just – I’m really not in the mood to do anything big tonight. Next time, okay? I promise.”

The older man forces a strained smile as he moves forward to envelope her in a warm embrace. “Okay. As long as you keep your promise!”

When she laughs, the strain within her voice is the most vibrant, and Chanyeol has to force himself to not flinch.

He tries to act nonchalant as he exits their shared bedroom and makes his way to the living room sofa instead, quietly sitting down and finding solace in simply staring down at the carpet.

Today is their three year anniversary.

x.

They sit across one another in silence: a burden upon both of their shoulders, stifling their breaths as she fiddles with document upon document upon document and he does nothing but sit their idly as his gaze focuses on the nothingness in front of him.

It seems to be a typical Thursday afternoon in the café. Individuals stream in and out of the small restaurant, ordering various sizes of caffeine and sugar as they chat about the lovely weather outside or the latest development in their church’s pilgrimage to some distant land. The easy acoustics of a guitar and piano duet hum lowly through the speakers scattered around the sitting area, and Chanyeol can do nothing but wish that he could drown in it.

He can’t. That would be too easy.

“I just need you to sign on the dotted lines at each of the highlighted marks,” she states, a tone that he is unable to recognize underlying the simplicity of her words.

For a moment, he realizes that perhaps if he refused her, he’d have the opportunity to fix everything. If he chooses now to finally show her his high levels of hesitation for what they’re about to do, maybe she’ll change her mind and everything will go back to normal. Perhaps this is just another bump in the road that they need to overcome, and by resorting to this measure, they’re simply taking the easy way out.

But Chanyeol can't refuse her. He’s never been able to refuse her.

So he quietly grabs the pen that she offers him with a trembling hand and begins to sign the stacks of papers.

He wants to take long. He really does. Yet it seems that time has never really been on his side as he finishes the final whirl of ink and allows the ballpoint to linger at the end of his name, ink continuing to stain the obscure whiteness of the page.

“Yeollie,” she calls, and the familiar nickname sends his head spinning and his heart lurching forward and his throat clogging up with unspoken emotion, “Are you finished?”

There is only the sound of rustling paper as he neatly piles them all in a stack, continuing to try and organize them even after it’s clear that his arrangement is orderly enough. When it seems that he can no longer draw out their time, he moves to pass the piles on to her.

At the last second, right before her fingertips are about to brush his, he pulls away.

“Why?”

Both of them know that there’s no point in elaborating what exactly he means by the simple question: that much is beyond obvious. And yet the weight of the undertones is enough to send Jinri’s mind into a whirlwind of memories – memories that she wishes that she could bury if it means finding some sort of solace in what she’s about to do. Images of exuberantly bright smiles lighting the path through the darkness, delicate eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as he leans against her, lips against hers, nipping, sucking, rolling in perfect synchronization because he was meant for her flood through her mind.

The problem with all of it is that she isn’t meant for him. And no matter how hard she tries – even if she did try – there’s no escaping that fact of the matter.

She hates that every time, despite every cycle of life that they pass through together, only she is able to recall this cruel twist in this reality; despite everything, it is always her role to play the part of the heartbreaker even though it kills her just as it kills every individual involved.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers, trying hard to ignore the way her voice almost cracks, “It’s no one’s fault.”

The answer isn’t good enough for Chanyeol and Jinri already knows that it won’t be enough for Chanyeol.

But she doesn’t have the courage to explain the cruel nature of their existence to him because thinking about it is enough to make her stomach churn.

“Does he make you happy?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Her heart clenches at the acknowledgment that the syllable isn’t a lie no matter how much she wishes that it were.

It seems as though Chanyeol is also aware of the truth within her confession as he quickly averts his eyes from her when passing the papers. “That’s all that matters.” As soon as the exchange is complete, he stands up out of his chair, still not finding the strength within himself to properly face her directly. “I guess this is goodbye then.”

She wants to object this statement. She wants to hit him on the head for being so melodramatic while he pulls her closer to him and she wants to hear the booming of his laughter through his ribcage. She wants to intertwine their fingers together and tell him that he’s been her everything for so long and that she doesn’t understand why destiny has to play such a cruel trick on them by forcibly prying her from his embrace as though she’s nothing more than a puppet. She wants to cry against his shoulder as she laments the fact that she isn’t strong enough to fight what she already knows to be coming because Jinri is weak, weak, weak, and the fact that fate likes to think of Chanyeol as nothing more than a stepping stone before she reaches her actual anchor makes her want to vomit. She wants him to understand that nothing is fair and that she isn’t fair even though she wants to be and that her chest feels like it’s ripping open as he walks away from her because the world is cruel and fighting it will get both of them nowhere.

However, she doesn’t do any of this. Instead, Jinri does nothing as he continues to step away from her.

Tears roll down both of their faces as he brushes past her one last time, stopping to whisper, “I told you that my heart would be safe in your hands. And despite everything, I’m still trusting you to keep it for eternity.”

The bell rings behind him as he exits the café.

It’s only then that Jinri truly breaks down.

---

Chanyeol doesn’t know why he forgets, but he always does.

For some reason, he constantly lives in the delusion that he’s the male protagonist of the story and that Jinri is the female and they’re meant to live happily ever after because that’s how stories are just supposed to go. He imagines that true love exists and will always prevail, but time after time, he’s always reminded that he’s nothing more than another chapter in the story while he's the actual book.

Chanyeol may be a bodyguard, but he's the prince.

Chanyeol may be the kind man who helps the poor girl rise up from poverty, but he's the celebrity that truly wins her heart.

Chanyeol may be her first love, but he's her everlasting soulmate.

Chanyeol may be the best friend who understands her dreams, but he's the one who fulfills them.

Chanyeol may be the medic, but he's the cure.

Chanyeol may be the one who consoles her, but he's the one who rises her up from the ashes.

Chanyeol may be the one who gets her to think about love and destiny, but it’s he who’s her actual love and destiny.

Chanyeol is nothing more than a second in time, but he's infinity.

He doesn’t know how he allows himself to keep forgetting this important lesson, but he does.

And it hurts.

---

When we’re born into this world, we float.

Not literally, of course – that would be a bit silly. We figuratively float here and there, near and far, and we can’t control where we float because all of the floating is simply predetermined by some unknown force that we have absolutely no influence over.

Park Chanyeol has stopped floating.

Or perhaps, maybe the entire idea of floating had been just that the entire time: nothing more than a simple idea possessed by a boy cursed to relive through the same cycle over and over again; to fall in love with the same girl, have her so close to his side, and then realize soon enough that she could never love him even if she wanted to because that's now how their destiny was written to work.

And that’s what hurts most.

Chanyeol thinks that maybe, if he just continued to force the memories out of his mind, he’d be alright. He could pretend like his fate never actually happens and he’ll continue to float in his pristine world and he can try to win his love’s heart the next time around.

But he knows that doing so is only in vain. He knows that such an attempt is nothing but futile. And he likes to think that when he’s torn from Jinri’s fingertips, she experiences just as much pain as he does.

Wishful thinking. I've always been good at wishful thinking.

---

Park Chanyeol doesn’t understand much – not consciously, at least.

But perhaps the nature of a genuine altruist is one that had always been written in his blood.

Park Chanyeol no longer floats because he knows that his existence is what makes her reunion with him bittersweet. He no longer floats because he knows that as soon as she sees him, she recalls that her first love was never meant to be and is forced to bear the weight of breaking this news to him, crushing his heart, because he never seems to remember.

Park Chanyeol no longer floats because he loves her but she can’t love him back and despite everything he’d like to believe, he can no longer deny that he’s the sole entity keeping her from achieving true happiness.

And he can’t live with that guilt.

---
author's note: i was a little nervous at first when i started writing this out, but now that it's over and done with, i think that i've ended up liking it a lot. there's a lot of symbolism sprinkled here and there and the weight that the story's structure possesses directly affects the plot line of the story - something that i feel like i haven't been able to properly accomplish in a long time.

anywho, thank you so much for reading! feedback is highly appreciated. c:

until destiny returns. [1/2]

2013-11-26T05:21:15Z

When we’re born into this world, we float.

Not literally, of course – that would be a bit silly. We figuratively float here and there, near and far, and we can’t control where we float because all of the floating is simply predetermined by some unknown force that we have absolutely no influence over.

Park Chanyeol isn’t sure whether or not he loves floating but he’s scared of the idea of one day not floating.

For centuries now, he’s been caught in this ongoing cycle of birth and death and rebirth and more death. He doesn’t know how to escape it, and when he stops to truly think about it, he’s not sure if he really wants to escape it.

Concepts like freedom and emancipation scurry past him, unable to create any sort of meaning in his mind. Ideas like hatred and jealousy and envy have yet to take root within the clutches of his chest, and he supposes that he’s perfectly fine with that since such things sound horrifying and scary and exactly like everything he doesn’t think he wants to understand.

But Park Chanyeol understands love. And he supposes that love is all he needs.

i.

The first time that Chanyeol recalls stumbling upon Choi Jinri was when she was one of the many princesses of the land, and he, nothing more than another commoner at her feet.

“Look,” his mother would whisper as the royal party paraded through their small village, “That’s the king, the queen, and that is the prince and the princess. They rule over the land with care and we owe everything that we have to them.”

Chanyeol doesn’t particularly take notice of these words as his eyes have locked themselves onto the youngest girl of the bunch – a clumsy toddler who couldn’t possibly be any older than him. With her long, silken hair fashioned into a braid tucked away in her headpiece and her dress dragging in the dirt behind her, he immediately knew that there was something special about her. She held her older brother’s hand for dear life as she struggled to keep up with the rest of her family. And yet, her expression showed no sign of worry at all: eyes bright, smile radiant, faint blush painting her cheeks as she continued to waddle forward.

She was cute. Even Chanyeol, in his awkward, chubby, seven-year-old body, knew that much.

And there was something about her that he could only label as familiar in the way that she suddenly turned towards him in the crowd, offering a lovable smile.

To him.

Only for him.

He felt his heart jump in his chest and a sudden heat wave over his body, and tiny Chanyeol – too short for his age and too fat for his youth – could do nothing but manage a hesitant grin in return.

“It is your father’s duty to protect the king and your uncle’s duty to protect the queen. When the time comes, it will be your turn to protect a member of the royal family as well. Surely you are prepared for such a task, correct, my son?”

The young boy can do nothing but nod quietly, gripping the flower in his hand tightly until the little girl’s figure disappears in the crowd.

I will protect you. I will always protect you.

Perhaps he’s too young for a promise too deep, or perhaps, in that fleeting moment, he was reminded of that raven silk dancing through the gaps between his fingers, of her eyelashes fluttering whenever she tried to stay awake to do nothing else but stare into his eyes, of those lips against his, nipping, sucking, rolling in perfect synchronization because he was meant for her and she was meant for him and nothing in their world would ever change that.

“Of course, mother. With my very life.”

ii.

It isn’t until they meet again, a lifetime later, that a wave of sensation overcomes Chanyeol’s being and he swears that the breathtaking woman before him is someone not as new as he thought she would be.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

The young woman before him almost jumps out of her sitting position, unruly locks tied in a messy bun atop her head and eyes ringed with a pained lack of sleep. Her expression is one consumed with nothing but fear as she tightly grips the small basket in her lap, whispering, “No, sir. You must have me mistaken. I’m sorry for occupying your space; I’ll be headed out soon enough.”

Chanyeol can’t help but continue to look at her curiously, not quite sure what’s causing her suffering but absolutely positive that whatever it is must be something unjust and unfair and downright disgusting. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just curious is all. It’s not often that I come home to find a young woman sitting on my doorstep.”

She flushes at these words, already parting her lips to perhaps create another excuse of some sort, but she is cut off but a quick shake of the head. “It’s nice to have some company once and a while, you know? Here, let me open the door. We can have dinner together.”

Her eyes widen at his audacious statement and Chanyeol tries his best to keep his nerves in check as well. He’s grown up in a world cruel enough to know that the blunt invitation has more than its own handful of repercussions and by recklessly challenging them, he’s not only putting his own reputation in danger, but the one of this young woman’s as well.

Yet for some reason, he finds that he can’t care. He should care but he doesn’t and he supposes that it has something to do with the way her eyes have started to glisten and the way those unshed tears catch the rays of the sun. He can’t spare time to worry about himself because right now she’s all that matters – and he doesn’t even know who she is. There’s something in the back of his mind screaming for him to hug this stranger as though they are longtime friends that have reunited after a long time apart.

He’s not sure how, but he manages to resist the temptation.

“I-I really can’t,” she stutters in response to his invitation, quickly averting her pitiful gaze away from this handsome young man. “I’m supposed to be returning to work soon. I had been asked to deliver these flowers, but it turns out that your neighbor hadn’t been expecting them and ordered me to send them back. I doubt that my employer will understand, so I really need to get back before I get into even more trouble.”

“No,” is his easy retort, and the single syllable makes her glance up at him once more in innocent surprise. “It’s dark enough and the flower shop is a while away. I’ll pay double whatever the supposed customer was to pay if you stay the night, and I’ll personally write a letter to your employer to explain the situation.”

When the words don’t seem as though they’re enough to sway her, he suddenly reaches for her hand, easily interlocking their fingers together.

“Trust me.”

For a moment, it seems as though she is unable to formulate a proper response. But after minutes of silence, she hesitantly squeezes his offered warmth, allowing a careful smile to light up her features.

Chanyeol thinks that if only he could see that painted joy in her eyes for eternity, then there would be no need for a sun. The way he sees it, this woman is enough to satiate every need for light that he could possibly ever desire.

This sudden revelation catches him offguard for a mere second, but is quickly wiped away when his attention is brought back to the younger girl by his side as she whispers, “I believe in you.”

iii.

“Well,” he starts awkwardly, scratching the back of his head in a strange attempt to soothe his nerves, “I had figured that the peaches would have already been ready by now. I know that they’re your favorites.” Above his head in the orchard are delicate blossoms in various shades of pink instead of the delicious fruit that he had been hoping for.

It isn’t until that moment that he wishes that he paid more attention to his elderly grandmother when she rambled on and on about the different seasons for the hundreds of fruit that grew in their native land.

Good job, Chanyeol. First date, and you're already showing off just how much of a screw-up you are.

He isn’t quite sure what he had expected his longtime crush to do, but when she smiles at him with her twinkling eyes, he feels the tension in his shoulders dissipate. “That’s alright. It’s the thought that counts.”

Chanyeol agrees with this statement fervently because the way he sees it, it’s the only thing keeping him from looking like a complete idiot in her eyes. A partial idiot is okay, but he figures that if he pushes that label onto himself too much, he’ll lose whatever chance he has with the stunning beauty currently at his side. “And at least the flowers are beautiful,” he tries to smoothly add on. “Maybe it’s nicer to see them like this instead of just plucking them for a snack.”

“I can’t agree with you on that one,” she chuckles, the sound like a soothing tide washing over his frame despite the fact that her words should be sparking some kind of worry within his heart. “I think that things are much more beautiful when they’re in an edible form. That’s for sure.”

“It’s all about food with you, huh?” he jokes, feigning a pout as he turns away from her with crossed arms.

A part of him had been hoping that she would hug him from behind and insist that she is only playing with him, but he supposes that the fact that Jinri doesn't do such a thing is the exact reason why he’s found himself so hopelessly in love with her.

“Stop being such a baby,” she singsongs, twirling away from him as well and skipping towards the trunk of the tree to stare up at the blossoms in wonder. “I’m sure that you were thinking the same thing, too. I wonder what would happen if we tried to eat the flowers?”

If Chanyeol had it his way, he wouldn’t have turned to assist the young minx at all. However, he finds that he doesn’t really have much of a choice when he feels a strong grip grab at the sleeve of his sweater and yank him backwards. “Hey, Choi Jinri, remember who the senior is here!”

She snorts at his lame attempt to recover leadership with an elfish smile, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget, Oppa.”

That shuts him up almost immediately as his face flushes to a shade bright enough to rival the blushes of the peach blossoms around him.

When he’s able to regain focus, he realizes that Jinri has been going on a tangent for a while now. He isn’t sure how it reached such an extent, but upon the epiphany that she’s suddenly raging on what she believes to be a corrupt education system, he’s suddenly fearful for his life because the soon-to-be teacher looks as though she’s about to gouge someone’s eyeballs out with her bare hands.

Chanyeol has the common sense to fear the idea that that someone might just be him.

“Whoa there,” he mumbles, still partially lost in his thoughts, “There’s no need to get so upset.”

Jinri doesn’t seem to care – that is, if she even hears him. Such a revelation does nothing more than annoy the man towering over her, who absentmindedly plucks one of the blossoms off of its branch and moves to tuck it behind the younger woman’s ear.

The sudden motion is enough to shut Jinri up as she turns her attention to stare at Chanyeol with wide eyes.

Memories flash by of stumbling youth and timid smiles and “Don’t forget to hold my hand!”s and “I’ll never willingly let you go.”s and love, love, love, love, love.

“Jinri,” he breathes, “Are you feeling alright?”

She can do nothing but continue to stare at him until some incessant whisper in the back of her mind swallows the rest of her thoughts and she feels herself moving forward to meet his lips with hers.

Chanyeol enthusiastically responds – once he’s able to overcome the initial shock – by cupping her cheek with one hand and twining his fingers through her hair with the other.

The action causes the peach blossom in her hair to gently fall to the ground, the petals tearing apart from one another due to the sudden change of momentum.

("My name is safe on your lips.")

iv.

“One day I want to fly.”

Chanyeol snorts at this, unable to stop himself from eventually erupting into manic laughter at the unrealistic picture that’s been painted in his head. “Please, Ri. I asked you about what you wanted to be when you grow up: not some silly little-kid idea like that.”

Choi Jinri, a mere seven-years-old, flushes a bright red in embarrassment, silently horrified at the fact that she just confessed one of her most genuine secrets to her best friend only to have him laugh at her in amusement. “No, you asked me about what one of my dreams was. You never said that it was something that actually has to be possible. I already know that people can’t fly. We don’t have wings.”

“Glad that you’re smart enough to at least know what your own body looks like.”

Chanyeol receives a rather harsh punch on his shoulder and proceeds to whine about how such a situation is what will eventually lead to his death.

“Dreams don’t necessarily have to be something realistic. I can dream about whatever I want to dream about and you can’t stop me from doing that. I already know that it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling the way I do. You can’t control how you feel – I think that if people could, then our lives wouldn’t be so complicated. I think that it may actually be better to believe in the impossible: since you already know that there’s no hope for it truly ever happening, you don’t actually get your hopes set that high, and so there’s no room for disappointment.”

An awkward silence assumes until her friend finally forms a mocking grimace. “Geez, Ri. When did you get so smart?”

The young girl rolls her eyes at this and responds with a blunt, “Never. You’re just really stupid.”

This response results in more high-pitched whines that Jinri didn’t even think was even possible. “Why are you so mean today?”

“If I come off as rude, then I’m sorry. I promise that I don’t mean to be.”

“Hey, Choi Jinri, one day you’re going to be the reason that I drown myself in tears.”

She sticks her tongue out at this, before lightly hitting his arm once more. “Don’t say things like that, Yeollie. You know that I would never do such a thing.”

The older boy laughs at this and envelopes his friend in a tight hug. “I know.” When he sees her smile back, he quietly adds, “I know that you’d never hurt me and I’d never hurt you and that’s how it’ll be for forever.”

Jinri grins, “Forever and ever.”

“For infinity.”

“For eternity.”

“Until the day comes when Choi Jinri is able to fly like a bird.”

Chanyeol receives another blow to his arm.

(You'll fly one day, Jinri. I'll be your wings so that you can soar.)

v.

The frigid, winter air whips her silken locks around as though each strand of hair is the tentacle of some monstrous beast, and the fact that her eyes are bloodshot due to the lack of sleep that her fever granted her only makes her look more deadly.

To everyone but Chanyeol, of course. Chanyeol just thinks that it makes her look cuter than she already is.

“What are we even doing here, Yeollie?” she sniffles, clinging to the blanket that her kidnapper had rushed to get her at the very last minute. “It’s so cold and I’m already sick enough. This is just going to make it worse.”

He does nothing but shake his head lightly in response, excited smile still lighting up his features as he leans in to whisper, “But you trust me, don’t you, Ri?”

The close proximity between his face and hers makes her face burn in embarrassment and she quickly turns away from him while shouting a shaky “Pay attention when you’re driving!”

Park Chanyeol is more than one hundred percent confident that he’s dating the cutest girl ever and no one’s objections will ever be enough to deter him from this belief.

“Don’t worry,” he singsongs, “I know what I’m doing. We’ll be there soon enough!”

Choi Jinri doesn’t believe that her boyfriend knows what he’s doing for a single moment.

It takes about two hours worth of “Are we there yet?”s and “I promise that I know where we’re going!”s for them to reach their destination, and when they do, Jinri can’t help but think that her boyfriend has completely lost his mind.

“Where are we?”

“Well, I think that it used to be a garden of some sorts. But now, because of the cold I suppose, everything sort of died.”

She blinks at his blunt response, expecting some sort of intriguing tale to spin forth from his lips and somewhat surprised at the straightforward honesty which his words entailed. Before she’s granted the opportunity to question her boyfriend of three months, the door to her right is thrown open, and the man that she likes to think is the love of her life gleefully pulls her out into the open air. “This way, Ri! I promise, it’ll be a lot of fun!”

Jinri doesn’t really get to decide whether or not she follows him – she just kind of gets pulled along while she whines about how cold it is and how Chanyeol should’ve at least had the decency to grab a thicker blanket.

She’s shut up almost immediately when they reach their destination: what appears to be an abandoned log cabin settled in a frosted plateau surrounded by trees. It’s the sort of scene that Jinri had only expected to exist in movies, and the fact that the scene is very much very real and sitting right in front of her sends the breath hitching in her throat as she quickly tilts her head upwards to stare at her loving boyfriend in excitement.

He stares back with just as much warmth – if not even more.

“Come on,” he smiles, “There’s a fireplace in there as well, and I figure that it’ll be a hell of a lot warmer than the heater in your apartment. I’ll make some hot chocolate for us on the stovetop, after I light the fire, okay? And you just sit there in front of it and I’ll bring you nice things to drink and yummy food to eat and I’ll make sure that you take your medicine at all the right times and –"

“And we’ll cuddle too, right?” she questions, pink still staining her cheeks.

Her innocent interruption seems to catch Chanyeol offguard, and it isn’t long until his face is just as red as hers.

“O-Of course. Cuddling is fun. I like cuddling.”

Jinri can’t help but smile at the cute nature of his stutter, suddenly finding that it isn’t so cold anymore as her boyfriend pulls her protectively towards his chest as he leads her towards the entrance of the cabin. “I don’t think I deserve you, Yeollie,” comes the light whisper.

Such words make Chanyeol stiffen for a moment, before he lightly taps her on the nose. “Don’t say stupid things like that. If anything, I don’t deserve you.”

She parts her lips to refute his statement, as they both step into the wooden cabin, but before she can say anything, he interrupts her train of thought with a sudden kiss. The touch is enough to send whatever rationale she has out the door as he leans forwards to rest his forehead against hers.

His lips ghost over hers as he whispers, “My heart can only ever be safe in your hands. I want you to know that.”

If it’s possible, Jinri’s heart stops beating in that very instant.

vi.

The door slams in front of her with enough force to rattle the frame around it and Jinri can do nothing but stare forward in shock: eyes wide, lips parted, nails still digging into her palms with such intensity that her knuckles have turned white and scars are sure to be present in the morning.

Chanyeol, who had quietly been waiting outside the CEO’s door in support of the younger woman, had flinched at the way she had been roughly pushed out of room, but had opted to say nothing as he had known that standing up for what he believed to be right would only make matters even worse than they already are. Seconds pass during which he can do nothing but worriedly stare at the silent figure before him, until he finally finds the courage to ask, “How did it go?”

It’s not until his whisper echoes between the two of them that she finally collapses on the floor – the movement so sudden that Chanyeol can’t even think to reach forward and catch her before she hits the ground.

He stands there, an expression of both horror and despair on his features, shocked by the gesture and reminded of a distant promise that he can barely remember making: I'll be your wings so that you can soar.

“I think that my career is over,” comes the hushed response. There aren’t any tears shed as she says this – perhaps she had already shed them all – but Chanyeol looks at her and sees the little girl that he grew up with trapped in a dark corner with no way out and it pains him that no matter how much he wishes that he can do something, such a dream is impossible when they aren’t the dealer of their own fates.

Hearing footsteps echo somewhere down the hallway, he squats down beside her in order to wrap his arms around her shoulders and guide her to a more suitable place to talk.

Like nothing more than a lifeless ragdoll, she follows him without a question.

They end up going to her small apartment, and not knowing how exactly he should approach the situation, Chanyeol leaves her seated in her makeshift living room in order to prepare something for them to eat.

He’s already pulled out a pot and found some instant ramyun that he figures he can scavenge into some kind of delicious meal when she finally finds the courage to speak up. “You shouldn’t be here, Yeollie.”

“What makes you say that, Ri?” he asks, trying his best to ignore the sting in her chest as he fumbles around with the package.

“I-I’m already in enough trouble. It’s likely that people already saw us walking together on our way here and I’m sure that it’s only going to cause this whole fiasco to evolve into an even grander scandal.”

With a low sigh, he sets the items down on her countertop in order to pivot in her direction. “Don’t worry about what other people think. Your feelings are more important than that, and you shouldn’t allow them to put you down like this. You deserve more than that, Ri.”

“How can I do that when their opinion of me determines the entire success of my career?” The pitch of her voice has risen, portraying a greater sense of confusion and desperation. “And it’s not just my career at this point either! What about Soojung and Josephine and Vic Umma and Sunyoung? My screwups aren’t just destroying me, but they’re destroying them as well, and – O-Oh, God, I’m causing so much trouble. I’m going to be the reason why we’ll be forced to disband, I –”

Chanyeol closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see her tears.

“I’ve fought so hard to get to where I am now, but no matter how hard I try, it’s like people aren’t even willing to think about everything I’ve sacrificed to get here. I can’t say what I want to say or wear what I want to wear or act how I want to act – everything’s become this giant script that I have to keep on reading and it seems that I’m the character that’s created just for everyone to hate.”

The words change form and become salty tears that drip from her closed eyes as she continues to squeeze her hands into tiny fists. It isn’t long until a familiar presence shifts into position beside her, pulling her small frame into his chest as she finally allows her true sobs to rack her body.

“Don’t put yourself down like this. It’s going to be alright. I’m sure that the rest of your members don’t blame you at all, so there’s no reason to dwell on this topic for so long.”

She says nothing for a moment and simply cries instead: the sobs making her tremor even harder than before, and Chanyeol immediately becomes frustrated by the fact that he can’t do more. “Yeollie, I’m ruining your career as well. Don’t pretend like you don’t know that.”

It’s his turn now to tighten his hands into his fists as he grits his teeth at the situation. “Don’t say things like that. You know it’s not true.”

“Your fans are attacking me, Chanyeol. I’m being called a whore and a slut and it seems as though that’s all my reputation holds now. And what are we going to do if they find out that we’re actually in a relationship, huh? Do you think that they’re just going to smile and wish us happiness like we want them to? Do you think that they’re just going to sit by idly as ‘their oppa’ is snatched by some bitch in a dress too short and a laugh too high that is only famous because of her looks? A girl that can’t even sing and dance and does nothing more than hold her group back because she doesn’t even have a true role in the band that she’s dedicated her life to? Do you honestly think that they’ll just accept us for what we are without lashing out? Because the way they’ll see it is that I’ve corrupted you in some way and that I’ve done something to you so that you can’t see straight and that you’re in this relationship against your will. They’re decidedly blind to everything except the things that they want to see and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Silence echoes throughout the room as her body stiffens against his, her entity finally catching up with the words that have just spilled forth from her lips.

Chanyeol imagines that there’s some sort of regret pooling within the pit of her stomach and decides to speak up before she allows herself to berate her actions even more. “I know. And I’m sorry. On this path that we’ve chosen, I think that it’s nearly impossible to truly keep our images pure in the eyes of the public – after all, such perfection doesn’t exist.”

Her lips part once more in order to bring herself down even further, but Chanyeol doesn’t allow it. “The public looks up to us as though we’re not humans, but all of us are very much very human and there’s nothing that we can do to change that. This perfection that they’re expecting from us is only portrayed through smoke and mirrors and it’s their fault for falling for the trick. You can’t bear the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, Ri, because you’re just one person who’s trying to compensate for the lies of millions.” He pauses for a moment in order to turn his body so that he can stare directly into your eyes. “You have me, Ri, so you don’t have to go through everything alone. And don’t let the words of others tell you anything different because they don’t know what they’re talking about. You are not – and will never be – a burden to me or anyone else because you’re too good to be nothing more than a burden. Jinri, you’re the sun and the stars and the rhythm of my heart. You’re the breeze that rustles the leaves and the flowers of the spring and the music that keeps pushing me forward. You’re the reason that I can’t give up on anything that I do because you’re the reason that I breathe, so don't you dare say that you’re worth anything less than what you actually are. Because as long as you’re with me, I feel like I can handle anything that life throws at me. Don’t let something stupid like this break you. I promise that I’ll protect you from anything else that life throws at you. I promise.”

If it’s possible, her eyes seem to tremble with the impact of his words, and she retreats back into his chest, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Chanyeol only squeezes her tighter.

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Yeollie.”

“And you’ll never have to find out.”

two.

navigation + masterlist

2013-10-27T07:31:33Z

ahaha, h e l l o there.

welcome to my journal. it's nice and awkward here.

~~never thought that i would have to make one of these but wowowow when did i start writing so much?~~

[about] [aff] [tags] [tumblr]
for some reason i write a lot of angst and i'm sorry

stories (ordered by length; followed by chronology)

jamais vu. [3/3]

2013-10-26T00:40:54Z

Title: jamais vu.
Pairing: minseok-centric; xiuhan
Genre: romance/angst/friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: multi-chaptered
Summary: Minseok knows that what he and Luhan have is mostly for the cameras, but every time it happens, he finds himself believing that it’s real anyway.

i. ii. iii. 5,758 words

"This is boring,” Baekhyun mutters, eyes shut as he rests his head against Jongdae’s shoulder. “This is boring and I’m bored and I don’t understand why.”

The younger man rolls his eyes and fixes his glare on everything and anything. “I don’t know how to help you, Hyung. Maybe you could start by looking up alternatives to the word ‘bored’ in the dictionary."

Baekhyun doesn’t hesitate to elbow his friend rather sharply from their lounging position, allowing a smile to light up his features when his fellow vocal groans in pain. “Looks like I’ve found my source of entertainment for the day.”

Jongdae is about to launch himself to the side in order to attack his offender’s body, but Minseok walks into the room with tired eyes and a smile that is so forced that it causes both of the men to recover some sense of their maturity.

There’s a moment of hesitation between the two younger men as they look at one another skeptically, before Baekhyun is prodded to speak. “Hey, Hyung. Are you alright?”

He has to repeat the question at least three more times before Minseok even registers that the words have been spoken.

"What? O-Oh yes, I’m fine. I think that I’m just a bit exhausted from our series of performances.” There’s a pause as he turns his stare towards his two bandmates directly. “It’s so early. What are you two doing awake at this time?”

Jongdae parts his lips – probably to remark on the fact that Minseok himself shouldn’t be up this early either – but Baekhyun cuts him off. “Well, we woke up when Wufan, Yixing, and Luhan left to go speak with the manager. At least, that’s what they had said they were going to go do. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were just sneaking out to go get something to eat. Wufan probably doesn’t have enough money to pay for all of us, so it’s only expected that he’d take those two.”

Though it’s somewhat surprising that they didn’t take Zitao with them this time around,” Jongdae adds, following his elder’s train of thought. “The four of them usually go together. Probably to talk about China stuff or something. Or wait. Aren’t we all supposed to fly to China for separate promotions in a few weeks? Or is that just for Hyung’s drama?”

The man next to him murmurs a few words regarding his questions, but Minseok finds that he could really care less about whether or not they’re flying to China soon or not (after all, his opinion on the matter isn’t exactly relevant to anything in the scope of things). Instead, his thoughts turn to focus on the fact that five of the six members of his sub-group are aware of something that has been happening, and he had unintentionally been left behind in the dust yet again. He allows a soft sigh, and it is this small sound that makes the two younger men stop their bickering (now it’s something about which member of their band is more likely to be a talented actor).

It’s Jongdae that reacts first, perhaps already knowing where Minseok’s mind had wandered to due to their closer relationship. He frowns, and when he speaks, it’s with an innocent assurance that he hopes is enough to assuage the older man’s worries.

(It’s not.)

“Don’t worry about it too much, Hyung. They’ve never taken me out either and it’s not something that I particularly want to be a part of. They’ve gone through a lot together, even prior to our debut, and maybe sometimes they just want to talk about things that only they can understand. It’s not really a big deal or anything, which is probably why they don’t really bring it up. I only know about it because I’m a light sleeper.”

“Light sleeper my ass,” Baekhyun snorts. “It’s more like he wakes up at the strangest times of day because he gets hungry, is too scared to ask Kyungsoo to cook for him, and ends up coming to me instead.”

“Hey, sometimes I ask Junmyeon!”

Baekhyun laughs at this, and it isn’t long until Jongdae joins in the laughter as well.

Not wanting to spoil the mood, Minseok forces another smile and assents to cooking up something for Jongdae himself – much to the younger men’s excitement.

He can’t find it within himself to shake off the heavy weight tugging at his chest.

---

Promotions, for the most part, have ended some time ago. Now they’re left with much more free time than they would actually enjoy save for the occasional solo cf or photoshoot. They’ve just started learning the music for their next comeback, and none are too surprised to find that their newest song’s choreography is even more challenging and rigorous than the last. While Chanyeol and Jongdae lament this fact and Sehun and Junmyeon talk about possible concepts, Minseok is more torn over the sheet music that they’ve each been given.

It’s early in the process, and they’re getting ready to divide parts of the song amongst themselves. He can’t help but wonder what single line he’ll be allowed to sing this time around, quietly wondering if the producers will find it within themselves to grant him more seconds to sing.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t stop himself from doing so.

Minseok’s been in this situation numerous times before, so it’s silly that he allows himself to get lost in a dreamlike fantasy every time they reach this point in the year. It’s irrational and ridiculous and he wishes that he wasn’t like this.

When they attend the meeting with their music producers and company representatives, he doesn’t bother focusing in on the words that they’re saying or subtly asking for more parts in the songs. He doesn’t intend to do any such thing because he knows that he needs to remember how pointless doing so would be.

Instead, his eyes are drawn to the glazed over orbs of the man seated across from him, all pouty lips and grayed skin and nervous movements. He quietly wonders what’s going through his mind and why he isn’t saying anything even though he usually does. He quietly wonders why he keeps glancing towards Yifan with that permanent frown etched into his features. He quietly wonders why he isn’t elbowing his best friend and whispering words in Chinese that probably have to do with insisting that the latter asks for more lines on the new album.

He quietly wonders what the other is thinking.

It isn’t until Luhan feels the weight of Minseok’s stare that he finally looks up with his lips parted in remote surprise as though he had forgotten where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

The younger man forces a bright smile that looks too good to be true before averting his eyes to face the head of the meeting as though nothing had ever happened.

Minseok doesn’t understand.

---

It’s unintentional, but Minseok thinks that he does this thing – something that is probably subconscious in which he makes up a problem in his head even though it doesn’t exist. There’s nothing particularly wrong with him, he thinks, because if there was something truly wrong with him, then someone would speak up with some sort of remark on the matter. That’s just what makes sense. And if something was wrong with him, he would feel it himself as well, wouldn’t he?

So this thing that plagues him in the back of his mind isn’t something that’s necessarily bad. And if Minseok thinks about it for a long enough time, he realizes that perhaps it’s even a good thing.

This… this thing is nothing more than a series of ridiculous notions, a tirade of unrealistic dreams that he knows don’t make sense. It’s something that he knows doesn’t make sense, but once it consumes him, he knows that there’s no going back. And when it happens, there’s no denying the elation that cools the burning nerves of his skin to a light tingling sensation. It’s comforting and relaxing and once he’s in the moment, he doesn’t want it to ever go away.

But when it’s gone, he never wants it to come back.

Perhaps there’s been a moment (or two, or three, or five, or seven) that the monster in his mind has stolen from him: a fleeting memory that’s there and then not, a requiem that’s been sung once before that he can’t remember the melody to. Minseok knows that the fragments exist, that they’ve been absorbed by his essence at one point or another, but for some reason, he can’t call forth the remnants into his consciousness. All that he knows is that whatever’s missing is something important, something that he needs, something that is absolutely essential to his being. They’re things that are joyous and harmonious that Minseok knows made him smile when they existed in his present and now that they’re chained up memories of his past, he can’t even begin to know what to do with himself.

And that’s why he hates it.

He can’t decide whether it’s best to never experience the momentary bliss that this thing offers and never have to have that anxious feeling clawing at his very heart rather than experiencing happiness for short, ephemeral illusions that aren’t illusions but might as well be.

Perhaps it’s this emotion, this happiness that clouds his mind. Perhaps everyone would be better off if Minseok never allowed the thing to overtake his stability to offer him the unimportant emotion. Perhaps if he refused its advances, he could find the courage to speak up about his insecurities and the guilt that he has somehow developed for reasons that are purely theoretical in their scope and irrational from every possible perspective.

He’d be better off that way. He knows he would.

It’s the logical standpoint that he knows he should take. And yet, every time he hears the strained whisper of this is new, forget the past, don’t remember what happened before this, don’t let it eat away at you he immediately succumbs to its requests.

Minseok knows that it will ruin him, but he can do nothing but allow himself to fall further and further from what he knows is sensible reasoning; further and further from what makes sense and into a delusion that is sweet while it lasts and bitter once it is gone.

He doesn’t understand it and he’s given up on trying to understand it.

At this point, Minseok knows that it’s too late. Minseok knows that everything he wants to strive for is in vain.

Perhaps if he allows it to take over him once more, he’ll find it within himself to hope for the restlessness to finally depart.

---

“If you’re all so bored, why don’t you go out and do something then?” their manager asks one night when the twelve boys have decidedly gathered in the common room of their shared dorm to watch reruns of some drama that Chanyeol had already spoiled for them long ago.

The suggestion catches them all offguard, Kyungsoo even squeaking a surprised, “What?”

He responds with a casual shrug, “Why don’t you all go for it? I don’t see why there’s no harm. Just go out to get something to eat and maybe go do some dancing for a few hours. I don’t mind tagging along to make sure that you guys don’t get into too much trouble.”

It’s clear that they’re all skeptical about the sudden freedom that they’ve been granted, and Jongin and Sehun have already begun whispering about what they could have possibly done to be rewarded with such a gift. Junmyeon, after sharing a glance with Kyungsoo, carefully asks, “And what of the fans? Won’t they be eager to follow us around?”

“As long as you guys at least try to disguise yourselves I suppose that it’ll be okay. We can sneak through the back of the building to avoid the crowds for the most part; don’t be silly, I know that many of you have gotten past them before.”

Nervous laughter rings throughout the room before Chanyeol’s excited voice finally overwhelms the others’, “Okay, then let’s do it! I feel like I haven’t been able to go out like this in such a long time.”

There are excited murmurs of agreement and it isn’t long before the room begins to empty as the boys leave to dash into their closets. Minseok hesitates for a moment, not entirely seeing the point in going and completely comfortable with just sitting around doing nothing, but it isn’t long until the awkwardness of standing alone in the room with the manager’s careful gaze set upon him finally settles in, and he scuttles after the rest of his band members.

By the time they’re all done and preparing to depart, the manager calls, “Yifan, Luhan, and Yixing, the company needs to talk to you. If you have time, you can catch up with the rest of us later.”

Sehun, Jongdae, and Baekhyun whine particularly loud about the statement, calling after Junmyeon to postpone their outing for an hour or two so that their beloved friends won’t miss out on the occasion. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to make a joke about how the manager is treating them all like little kids that only Jongin seems to hear.

“No,” the oldest man insists, “I don’t know how long the discussion will take. If the rest of us don’t leave now, then we won’t be able to have dinner first and that’s what you’re all really interested in, right?”

While it’s more than obvious that the food is all the boys had originally cared about (that and being able to actually do something for once), the hesitation seems to outweigh their desire. After only a few mere moments of thought, Junmyeon parts his lips to reject the offer and insist to stay behind and wait, but Yifan cuts him off. “We’ll be alright. We’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Ge, it’s alright,” Zitao starts almost immediately, “We don’t want to go without you guys. It won’t be the same without the three of you.” And there’s something in his voice as he whispers the words that make Minseok do a double take, but there’s no trace on the young boy’s features to betray any of his thoughts. “We can wait. All twelve of us have to go for it to be fun. It’s has to be all twelve of us or nothing at all.”

Yifan turns to face his longtime friend with a sharp spin of the foot, expression full of defeated fatigue as he mumbles something in Mandarin so rapid that Minseok finds he can’t understand a word that’s been spoken. Yixing is the one that has to gently place a hand on his older friend’s shoulder in order to make him stop his tirade, and it’s only then that it seems that Yifan realizes that perhaps he’s said too much. He turns back to face the manager with tired eyes, offering Minseok a clear view of Zitao: head bowed in thought but disappointed eyes still visible from his position.

“Please just go on without us,” Luhan casually says, a familiar smile already on his lips. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Minseok doesn’t need to listen to his words to know that they have to be a lie – after all, Luhan’s lips say it all.

It’s clear that there’s a vast amount of hesitation on Junmyeon features as he quietly regards the rest of the group before he slowly whispers, “Well, alright then. We’ll be expecting you soon, Hyung.”

After the words are spoken, it’s as though there had never been a trace of worry in the first place: smiles break out among the other members of the group and they once again engage in their excited chatter.

Only Minseok, Zitao, and Jongdae take a final moment to wave goodbye to their group members.

There is a smile on Yifan’s face, though it looks like it’s about to crack at any moment. The shortest of the three shoots them a small thumbs up and a playful wink as he smiles after them, as though insisting that they go off and have their own fun without troubling themselves with worries.

And on Luhan’s face, the same smile that they’ve all grown accustomed to remains on engraved onto his features.

No words are spoken as they shut the door behind them.

Jongdae hesitates for a moment, feeling some sort of emotion stirring in his chest. However, it isn’t long until he runs after the rest of the group, calling for them to wait up for him and leaving Zitao and Minseok behind.

The older of the two is intelligent enough to know that something isn’t exactly right and that only his young companion is aware of the truth of it all. And the tension regarding the situation is enough for him to force the courage to inquire about it. “Zitao, what’s going on?”

His bandmate says nothing for a moment, but eventually offers a pained shrug. “I don’t know anymore, Hyung.”

Minseok knows that he’s not lying.

---

Electronic beats fill Minseok’s eardrums as he feels his head sway back and forth, balance offset by the intake of alcohol and the rhythm of the music. He recalls that hours earlier, he had quietly promised himself to not have too much fun until he was completely sure of what was going on, and looking at himself now, he can’t stop himself from chuckling.

Well, the past is only the past after all.

He’s allowed the whispers to take over his head, joyfully drowning himself in the night without a care in the world.

Have I ever had this much fun before? How much of the world am I allowing myself to miss out on?

The questions are like staccato notes in his head, momentarily taking up entire measures before quickly being replaced by the high-pitched screams of the party-goers and the light bumps that he receives from the people around him. The staggered fragments seem unnecessary and worthless, so Minseok throws them out of his mind as soon as he can.

And with the questions, he throws away long-forgotten memories of midnight conversations and tearful eyes and pained confessions and pleas. He throws away the fragments of a dream that he feels like he once dreamt maybe, figuring that what’s lost is lost has already been forsaken. Perhaps it’s destiny or perhaps it’s simply just carelessness.

The debate only leads to more questions, which only leads to more forgetting.

Minseok doesn’t close his eyes the entire night.

---

They return after hours of time spent in the restaurant and at a small, exclusive club, most drunk with too much excitement and mirth to notice that three of their brothers never caught up to them as promised.

It isn’t until they come home to all of the lights in the dorm on and Yixing, Yifan, and Luhan silently standing by the front door with packed bags at their feet come into view that a harsh reality suddenly collapses over the shoulders of the other nine boys, expressions dropping and minds suddenly rushing to clear themselves of the lost euphoria.

“H-Hyung, what’s going on?”

There’s a pained expression on the older man’s features: an expression full of regret and indecision and guilt and the silent plea for forgiveness. He closes his eyes and rakes a shaking hand through his hair before quietly whispering, “It’s complicated, Chanyeol. But the three of us – we’re leaving.”

Minseok knows that he’s not the only one who feels like he’s falling. He knows that he’s not the only one that’s suddenly found that he can’t breathe and that he’s not the only one who feels like his heart has collapsed in on itself. He knows that.

But for some reason, he finds that he can’t accept that logic.

“What do you mean? What did they want to talk to you about?”

A sigh escapes Luhan’s lips as he turns his stare towards his shoes. Yixing looks as though he’s on the verge of tears as he halfheartedly explains, “There had been some talk about the three of us trying to get our contracts nullified – that we were trying to leave the company. I suppose that they just wanted to set the record straight.”

“Well, if that’s all they wanted,” Sehun innocently starts, fear and desperation weighing heavily on his voice, “Then why are they making the three of you leave?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

And it’s that single sentence that sends Minseok’s world spiraling out of control, vision flashing black and white and red and blue and every color of the rainbow as something inside him keeps screaming no, no, no.

The words hit every boy hard, eight of them turning rigid at the words as thoughts of “What did we do wrong?” and “Why are they abandoning us like this?” and “No, no, please don’t leave” flood their minds.

It is only Zitao with his shaking shoulders and wavering tenor that seem to have retained some sense of mobility. “B-But, Ge… You promised that you would think this all through again. You promised that if you guys really did leave that you would make sure it was on good terms. You promised that you would never hurt any of us. You promised –“

“Things change, Tao,” Luhan bluntly interjects. The young man has finally looked up now, expression solid and voice trembling only slightly. “This isn’t intentional. You know that we would stay if we could.” He’s met with silence all around as the younger man can do nothing but shake his head quietly, tears already streaking down his face. The action seems to crack Luhan’s tough guy façade slightly as he moves forward to embrace him in a tight hug, “It’ll turn out alright, Taozi. Just you watch, we’ll all make it through this and we’ll all be okay afterwards.”

When that fails to assuage the younger man’s tension, Yifan quietly steps forward to pat him in the shoulder, “Nothing is set in stone yet. We’ll work it out. I promise.”

It’s these words that make Zitao flinch away from their embrace with another shake of his head, “If the three of you are still set on leaving us then it changes nothing. And at the same time, I don’t want any of you to stay if it’s making you unhappy. Your feelings matter, too.”

Yixing’s started crying as well now, rushing forward to pull his other three Chinamen into another tight embrace without a word.

It’s only in that single moment that Minseok realizes that the entire conversation that he has just witnessed has taken place in Mandarin, offering a silent explanation to the puzzled expressions of the Korean members in the room. He shoots a glance over at Jongdae to note that the younger man’s features are twisted in considerable pain, meaning that he understood at least a part of what had been spoken, even if he didn’t catch the whole thing.

With this assurance, Minseok waits for Jongdae to speak up and ask them to change their minds. After all, Jongdae’s always had a decent flair for words and is sure to say the right thing at the right time. And now’s the time when words are needed most. Even Minseok knows that.

“When the time comes, after we’ve all calmed down a bit, Tao will explain everything to the rest of you. But for now, I think that it’s time that we all got going,” Yifan states in feigned calmness. He turns to the dumbfounded expression still evident on Chanyeol’s face and forces another smile, moving towards him to ruffle his hair. “Why do you look so sad? It’ll be alright. You’ll see me again in no time.”

Chanyeol holds his gaze with the utmost seriousness for a moment, before his lower lip trembles, and he launches himself forward to embrace Yifan.

Words aren’t spoken, but Minseok knows that they’re there.

And suddenly hugs and empty promises are being thrown around the room and tears are being shed and Minseok finds that he still can’t move because this isn’t happening and it can’t be happening and he must be lost again within his own head because that’s the only possible explanation he can come up with for this.

He registers a sudden hug and words whispered into his ears. He registers that his shoulder is suddenly very wet and that a flustered Yixing has bowed to him profusely apologizing over and over again for something that isn’t even that significant. He registers Yifan thanking him for everything that he’s done and imploring him to look after Zitao and Jongdae. He registers Junmyeon bursting into tears and grabbing onto all three of the young men at one point, asking them what he’s done wrong and why they have to go. He registers Sehun crying because he doesn’t understand what’s going on and Kyungsoo and Jongin trying their best to comfort him despite the tears in their own eyes. He registers Baekhyun trying to speak some sort of sense into Yixing, begging him to stay and Jongdae holding back tears as Yifan reminds him to stay out of trouble and to not do anything too reckless in mock seriousness.

And then he suddenly registers a familiar smile in front of him paired with sad, doe eyes that are filled with grief and regret and guilt and loss. “Hi, Minseok. Are you alright?”

Minseok knows that he isn’t and he knows that it’s a silly, stupid question and it makes him want to yell and shout and scream for Luhan to tell him what on earth is going on because nothing makes sense and nothing made sense before and all he wants is to understand what is happening.

But he finds that he still can’t locate the proper words.

As though he’s fully aware of this, Luhan chuckles bitterly, “Right, right. Anyway, I don’t know when the next time we’ll see each other again will be, and I suppose that I just wanted to say goodbye.” He closes his eyes.

A pause.

“You know, I really liked you, Minseok. You’re a great listener and even though it seems like you never remember any of the conversations that we’ve had, I’m still glad that I was able to have them with you.” When Minseok can do nothing but blink in confusion at these words, Luhan forces another laugh. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I’ve let this topic slip through this big mouth of mine a number of times, don’t you remember? I’m glad that you were able to understand what I had been going through. I guess it was nice knowing that I wouldn’t be upsetting at least one out of the nine of you if I suddenly got up and left.”

No, no, no. You have it all wrong. I don’t understand at all. It hurts, Luhan, it hurts. Why are you leaving? Why do you have to go? Don’t leave us behind. Please don’t leave me behind.

The words aren’t spoken.

Luhan’s smile finally cracks and suddenly the tears are overflowing and he pulls the older male into a quick hug and whispers hushed words of Mandarin that Minseok wants to understand, but his heart is hurting too much to focus in on the words and his lips are burning with desperation and hopelessness and it suddenly feels as though everything has been forsaken before his very eyes.

“Goodbye, Minseok.”

Suddenly the warmth is gone and so is the strength keeping his lungs from collapsing in on themselves and the comforting tenor that has blindly assured him that things will be alright. Gone is the hope and the belief in a friendship that may or not be real and the trust that Minseok that he had created between himself and the departed individual. Everything seems to have disappeared from his very view.

But the clarity comes racing back.

“Do you care about what I think, Minseok?”

“How are you feeling today? Did I do something wrong?”

“Would you miss me if I disappeared?”

“You’re a good friend. You know that, right?”

Minseok would willingly throw away every last bit of understanding that he possesses if it means having things return to the way they used to be. He’d willingly throw away every piece of himself if it meant returning things to the way they used to be. That’s what’s right, that’s what’s fair, that’s what makes sense.

The front door opens, a sudden burst of cold, autumn air rushing into the room as Yifan, Luhan, and Yixing quietly pick up their things and get ready to file out through the door.

Without thinking of any possible repercussions, Minseok reaches forward to grab onto the closest element of his departing bandmates within his reach, settling for the back of Yixing’s shirt. The slight force is enough to halt the young man’s advance, but Luhan and Yifan continue forward towards the hailed taxi without noticing his absence.

“Don’t go,” Minseok hears himself whisper, “I don’t want any of you to leave. Please stay.”

And the words are quiet and hushed – pathetic almost – but Minseok doesn’t care because he doesn’t know what else he can possibly do at this point. It suddenly feels as though it is only the two of them in the room; the weight of the other eight boys’ stares feels like nothing on Minseok’s back as he pleads. This is all he has left. It’s his only option.

It scares him.

“You know I can’t do that, Hyung,” Yixing mumbles in his awkward Korean, back still facing Minseok. “It’s no one’s fault, really. But there comes a time when someone realizes how maladapted they are for the path they have chosen, and it’s better for them to correct themselves early on before they find themselves abandoned and lost on a road that they can’t run backwards on.”

The words are probably supposed to make some sort of sense to Minseok, but the man finds that they’re all just a jumble of syllables and all his mind can register is no, no, no.

“We’ve been putting it off for a while now because we love all of you too much to want to leave in this sort of way. But I suppose that now that the company has heard about our supposed intentions, there’s no longer a point in trying to push it away. And Luhan, who had been pushing for the longest time that we’re important here and we can’t leave you guys because you need us, has suddenly stopped pushing that point. He’s started to say that even though we love being a group of twelve and we’re loved for being a group of twelve, it doesn’t matter all too much as long as we stay in touch. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

But it’s not enough for Minseok because he loves being offered dancing tips from Yixing in the practice room and having Yifan give him advice on how to make himself more likable and having Luhan sit with him when no one else will and just talking to him to make all the loneliness go away.

He doesn’t want to believe that this is happening.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner. I don’t want any of you to go. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay here and I want you stay with us and I promise that we can fix whatever problems you guys have with the company and everything can go back to the way it was before –“

It’s only now that Yixing turns to face the rest of the men in the room – slow and deliberate, as though he’s not sure if he should say what he’s about to say – with a sad smile that doesn’t look like it belongs on his face. “You of all people should know how much your words mean to Luhan. If this is how you feel, why did you never say a word of this to him?”

And the question makes Minseok’s heart stop beating in his chest as he asks himself why, why, why and he knows that he’s just stalling for time because the answer has been clear to him for what feels like his whole life.

“Because I was too scared.”

If it’s possible, Yixing’s smile shifts slightly to allow some sort of sympathy to shine through, and suddenly Minseok feels like this smile is maybe even more forced than Luhan’s. It’s suddenly clear to him that Yixing doesn’t actually want to leave and that he’s sad that it’s come to this and so maybe it’s the same scenario with both Yifan and Luhan. He’s not sure, but all he knows is that there’s something about the assuring aura that the younger man is trying to share that makes Minseok’s heart freeze.

“I don’t understand how you can allow yourself to live in such fear all the time.”

Minseok knows that he doesn’t understand it either and knows that he has no hope for possibly understanding it at all.

He can do nothing but quietly fall to the floor as he allows his sobs to finally rack his small frame.

Yixing says something else – something to the rest of the group as a whole that sends Junmyeon and Baekhyun running to engulf him in another hug. He grabs his last bag from the floor, but before leaving, whispers one more thing to Minseok.

Minseok really wishes that he had paid attention to the words that he had spoken. Perhaps it would have given him more of a sense of closure. But unluckily for him, his mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of desperation and pleas that they can’t process anything.

And it infuriates him to no end.

The Chinese man is doing his best to hold back his tears as he turns once more and exits the dormitory one last time.

Minseok can’t even find the courage to say goodbye – and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s still too scared to do so, or if it’s because the word seems to possess a tone of finality to it that he doesn’t want to believe is real.

---

author’s note: wow, it's strange to think that it's all over already. i feel like this ended up a being a tad bit rushed, but OTL OTL OTL.

thank you so much for reading this far! ;uuu; it means so much to me and i don't know what i would do without any of your support.

jamais vu. [2/3]

2013-10-21T00:44:26Z

Minseok shifts in his worn bed after feeling the harsh jab pierce the area between his shoulder blades, rousing him from the slumber that he had pleasantly been enjoying. He bites back a low groan, knowing that allowing one to escape would only mean an uncomfortable few moments of questions from his assailant, and after a few seconds of debate, forces his eyelids apart.

He’s immediately jolted by the sight of wide, doe eyes staring at him in excitement directly in front of his features – much too close for comfort.

The older male is unable to stop the scream from erupting through his throat as he hurriedly jumps out of bed, cheeks painted a bright scarlet and heart beating erratically out of his chest.

Luhan just grins at his reaction – a smile that’s all teeth and genuine joy and energy and everything that Minseok wants to have but doesn’t. He’s clearly pleased with the response he was able to elicit from his fellow bandmate, and in delight, he playfully wraps an arm around the latter’s neck in a boyish headlock. “Haha, got you!”

Thoughts run in and out of Minseok’s head – real or not real? – but he throws them aside in order to form a reaction, knowing that if he allowed himself to be lost in his thoughts, he would only succeed in looking ridiculous. With a smile that comes more naturally than he had expected it to, the young man allows his lips to twitch upwards in some sort of joy that he can’t exactly describe and can’t exactly explain. “That’s not fair; you cheated! It’s too early for this.”

A chuckle resounds from the chest behind him, and Minseok is glad that Luhan is unable to see his face at their current angle. “I mean, what were you expecting me to do? Allow you to miss the final rehearsal for our comeback stage today?” Minseok easily imagines that the younger Chinese boy rolls his eyes after saying this line before continuing. He finds himself slightly surprised by the fact that they had all been looking forward to this day for months now, yet he had still somehow managed to forget that it had finally come around. Still, Minseok has a habit of laughing when he isn’t sure what else to do, and so that’s what he does. “You need to get showered so that we can go practice again. Which is a bit ridiculous, since the stylists will have us shower again before our actual performance,” Luhan pauses in thought for a moment to release his hold on the smaller man in order to fall back against his bed in thought. “But I mean, as long as it’s for the fans in the long run, I don’t think that it minds all that much. I’ll do anything if it means making them happy.”

And Minseok doesn’t mean for his smile to falter – no, he really doesn’t.

But he can’t help but become curious about the extent to which the younger man is willing to go in order to ensure the happiness of his fans and he can’t help but feel like he’s a part of that extra step that’s being taken in order to make everything happy and merry and perfect in the eyes of the fans and he longs to ask Luhan about it, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because Minseok is shy and cowardly and unconfident and everything that Luhan isn’t which is why he can’t bring himself to confront the latter about what has really been on his mind for so long.

He allows a sigh.

Luhan zones in on the soft sound almost immediately, sitting up in the bed with a slight frown marring his features.

(No, don’t frown. You don’t deserve to frown. I don’t deserve to be enough to make you frown. That’s strange. That’s unfair. Please smile. You deserve to smile.)

“Are you alright, Minseok?”

He wants to respond with a negative but knows that even the thought itself is futile. So he manages a halfhearted glare as he mutters, “I’ve woken up so late that I bet all of the hot water has been used up. Such a lovely way to start the day.”

The lie is believed easily and the easy expression returns to Luhan’s features. “Hey now, I didn’t wake you up at this time for nothing, you know.” Minseok blinks and suddenly feels stupid for not previously noting the dim lighting of the room, signaling dawn at best. “You haven’t used your turn to shower first in a really long time, and I think that everyone’s a bit exhausted from all the effort they put into the last minute changes last night. I figured that you might enjoy using the moment to your advantage.”

Minseok feels himself smile, “Did you really?”

There’s a shrug on Luhan’s part as he turns to face away from his fellow band member and stand up out of the bed, “I’ve always been the type of guy to wake up early, and I think that people are going to assume that I’m only doing it to get first dibs on shower privileges. It’s only fair that I share the glory with my ‘fellow old man.’’ He pauses for a moment to shiver as he agitatedly adds, “I’m going to kill Jongin and Sehun if they refer to me like that one more time. We’re not that old.”

“No, not at all,” Minseok says airily, finding that his thoughts aren’t entirely in focus. There’s a short lull in the conversation as Luhan continues to angrily mumble about his personal vendetta against the troublesome maknaes. And then suddenly – perhaps because Minseok is allowing the silence to steer his thoughts in whichever direction they desire instead of actually trying to focus them himself – he blurts out, “Would you like to shower with me?”

He doesn’t mean it in any sexual way at all. No, of course not. His logic is simply that Luhan has done something nice for him, and so it’s only fair that he does something nice for Luhan in return. Having to cram three – sometimes four – grown men into one shower is both awkward and uncomfortable, and his rationale is that it wouldn’t be too bad if there are only two. Besides, they’re both guaranteed hot water that way.

But as soon as the words have tumbled out of his mouth, Minseok is suddenly struck by the nature of his words and his cheeks resume their pink tint. There’s a significant amount of embarrassment flooding his mind and he’s quite sure that he wants to disappear in some dark hole that he’ll never crawl out of despite the knowledge that such a reaction is both childish and impossible in his situation (dorm rooms don’t have Minseok-sized holes in their floors, after all).

Luhan blinks for a moment before turning to face the older man with an expression of slight surprise. “Huh. I didn’t think that you were into that kind of stuff, Minseok.”

Minseok has decided that he will personally dig that Minseok-sized hole if it means escape.

“I think that I’ll pass though. I don’t really like sharing the shower with anyone at all.” He smirks for a moment before joking, “And if we’re late because of my refusal to get sandwiched between two other guys, I’m just going to throw all the blame on Sehun and Jongin – I think that he manager is more likely to trust my words over theirs anyway.”

A part of Minseok rationalizes that such a sentiment is realistic and likely to be true due to Luhan’s obsessive, picky nature on many things, but the larger part of him continues to insist that the refusal stems from the fact that Minseok isn’t perfect and his body isn’t perfect and it’s not something that Luhan would be interested in so of course he wouldn’t be interested in having to share such a confined space with the older individual.

He knows that he shouldn’t believe such things and he knows that such thoughts are simply histrionic in their scope and that they’re just plain wrong, but that doesn’t make it any easier to push them away from his mind.

“Ah, okay,” he mutters, standing up from his sitting position. “I guess I’ll go get started then.”

Luhan hums in agreement, before chuckling, “Time for the more difficult task of waking up Yixing and Wufan.” He stops for a moment in order to shudder. “I swear, sometimes our dear ol’ duizhang, is worse than Sehun and Jongin combined. I think I need to stop myself from strangling him at times.”

Minseok turns to glance at the younger man’s expression, but despite his words, there is a large smile as Luhan brushes past him in order to go wake his friend.

The brunet sighs once more, and this time, without any feeling of guilt.

---

“No, Hyung, that’s wrong.”

Chanyeol groans and all but throws himself against the wall of the practice room.

“I don’t get it then, Jongin. I thought that I was able to finally figure it out last night and I’m doing the exact same thing,” the older man grumbles in frustration. “I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”

Jongin frowns for a moment – perhaps still not used to the fact that he has somehow gained the role of teacher despite being the second youngest in the room – and waves a hand in partial dismissal, “That’s okay, I can review it with you again, Hyung. Everyone else can just take a break.”

A few muttered curses escape the rapper’s lips, and Baekhyun gives him a short pat on the back in reassurance. Junmyeon turns to face the group that is preparing to disperse, already giving orders before they have the chance to start out on their rare break. “Baekhyun, Kyungsoo, Jongdae, I want you to take Luhan somewhere and do some extra practice with the pronunciation of his lines. You’ve improved well, Hyung, but I know that you said that you’re not confident with it yet.”

“We don’t even have permission to sing live today,” Kyungsoo mumbles tiredly, “Is there really such a point in making such an effort?”

The older man shoots his friend a glare, but it is Jongdae who answers for him. “Soo, either way, our fans have been anticipating this comeback for a long time. Even if our mics aren’t actually turned on, at least the audience members in the front will be able to hear us.”

For the fans. It’s always for the fans.

“It’s alright. I’m willing to learn anyway,” Luhan adds, somehow managing an excited smile despite the fatigue that is widespread throughout the room. Kyungsoo only offers him a pained look, obviously desperate for even the shortest of breaks, but Luhan simply throws an arm around him and leads the way to a more secluded area so that they can begin practice.

Junmyeon nods in what is clear approval, before he turns to the rest of the gathered group in order. “Sehun, work on choreography touch-ups with Yifan and Zitao. I think that I’ll join in later. Actually, I should probably ask Jongdae to join this group as well; Baekhyun and Kyungsoo should be able to handle the pronunciation issue just fine. Yixing, if you could help Sehun out, that would be great.”

The Chinese dancer chuckles and mutters something in his native tongue to his other Chinamen, and if Minseok heard correctly, then he’s pretty sure that the young man is making a joke about how uptight their group leader is. Both Yifan and Zitao join in with his laughter, and Sehun is quick to whine about his lack of understanding (to which Yixing only throws an arm around his shoulder before cheering, “Sehunnie, our maknae, is growing so tall! Let me catch up; give me some of your height!”).

(Sehun flusters in embarrassment and pleads for Zitao to somehow control his elder.)

Minseok squirms uncomfortably for a moment, watching as Junmyeon turns on his heel to go force Jongdae into dance practice, debating whether or not he should actually speak up. It isn’t long for the words to come tumbling out of his mouth though, as it’s painfully awkward being the lone figure standing in the middle of the practice room. “Junmyeon, wait! Um, what do you want me to do?”

The outburst seems to catch the young leader offguard, but when he turns once more to face his fellow band member, there is an easygoing smile on his face. “Oh, sorry, Minseok. My mind is all over the place today; I think that my nerves are really getting to me.” There’s a pause as he thinks the question over, before he carefully responds, “I can’t think of anything in particular that you need to work on, Hyung… Why don’t you just take a break? We’ll be no more than an hour, and I bet that you’re eager for a break just as much as the others are.”

Oh.

Minseok tries to smile. He really does. But all that he feels he really succeeds in is a strained twitch of the lip that pulls at his mouth at unnatural angles.

Junmyeon doesn’t think twice about the expression and only grins brighter before running off to go find Jongdae.

A small piece of his conscious is whispering to him about how this could be a good thing. How maybe it means that Junmyeon believes that he’s doing everything fine just the way he is and he deserves a break simply because he’s been working so hard. Maybe it means that all of the painful effort that he’s forced through his body has finally come to some sort of fruition because that would make sense, wouldn’t it? He should be happy that he’s been allowed a break. He knows how desperately the others crave one.

But Minseok is anything but happy.

Again, he’s alone. Again, he finds himself leaning against the glass of the dance mirrors with a knapsack full of empty dreams resting on his lap as he watches his other band members continue to force themselves to practice. And it’s not like he wouldn’t want to join him, but the fact that he was asked – told – to sit makes him feel as though he’s unwelcome.

No, that’s not it.

The fact that he wasn’t told to keep practicing makes him feel as though he’s worth less than he already believes he is because no one will notice if he messes up anyway. He’s just a single silhouette in a crossfire of supernovas and light and that general notion does nothing but bring him pain. After all, the number eleven isn’t ideal for dance formations, so perhaps all the company needed was someone decent enough to serve as their placeholder.

At least Minseok is able to tell himself that he’s decent.

He covers up his sadness by reaching into the bag on his lap and pulling out a bottle of water to drink. When he moves to return it back to its place, he’s greeted by excited eyes that sparkle with mirth.

“Hi there,” comes the delicate tenor, “How were you able to convince gramps over there to give you a break?”

Minseok has already shut his eyes to the light before him, knowing that if he allows himself to take too long of a peek, he’ll only succeed in deluding himself with the illusion once more. “Don’t be silly. You shouldn’t call him gramps if you’re older than him. Besides, he’s our leader. He deserves nothing but your respect.”

Luhan snorts before allowing himself to lie down on the dusty floor, “Don’t act like you don’t think it. Junmyeon acts older than all of us which is nothing short of ridiculous. I suppose it doesn’t matter since it gets things done, but I just wish he’d loosen up for a minute or two.”

“He was looking for Jongdae earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. Probably wanted to sneak out a make-out session or something before dragging him away for ‘dance practice.’” The younger man chuckles while Minseok can’t stop himself from blinking in surprise.

“J-Jongdae and Junmyeon? They… They have that sort of relationship?”

Luhan allows a short chuckle, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. Jongdae is always so careful around Junmyeon and so reckless around the rest of us. But I suppose that whatever’s going on between them is meant to stay between them. I wouldn’t want to pry.”

“But is something like that even allowed?”

“You’re thinking about it too much,” comes the blunt response, complete with a crinkled nose and furrowed brow. “Our judgment shouldn’t matter. As long as they’re happy, then as their friends, we should be happy as well. After all, such relationships between individuals are much more important than a written contract.”

Minseok hums in response, not knowing what else to say and not knowing what else to think. At this point, he’s struggling to maintain his lack of focus on the matter at hand because he knows that doing so is in his best interest and he’s tired of losing himself time after time again.

He doesn’t understand why he does this to himself, really, but he supposes habits are difficult to break and this one is simply no exception.

It isn’t long before the voices in the back of his mind consume his being and he finds his eyes opening themselves to the illumination once more while he can only whimper and beg and plead for his rationality to win the battle just once. That’s all he asks for.

But then his eyes are open and all he sees is Luhan, Luhan, Luhan, and maybe that’s all he’s meant to see anyway. Maybe, rationality is never meant to win because rationality is the bad guy who’s trying to cloud every small thought that Minseok has left. Maybe the whispering murmurs of wishes and maybes and hope are the good guys in Minseok’s strange reality and so it would only make sense that he listens to what they have to tell them because the winners always have to be the good guys because that’s just how the world is supposed to work.

He’s almost sure of it.

Luhan adjusts himself so that he’s leaning against the mirror directly next to Minseok, their thighs touching and their fingers centimeters from grazing, and Luhan’s warmth filtering through the frigid front that Minseok has set up around himself as a protective barrier. The older male can’t stop himself from shifting his weight to scoot closer to the man at his side, selfishly basking in the sunshine and starlight that this man offers to him, but too scared to get too close – not because he fears getting burned, but because he fears the harsh scorn that asking for too much will bring him.

“Kyungsoo and Baekhyun weren’t particularly excited to work on pronunciation with me and I can’t blame them. I think that poor Junmyeon might be worrying about all of this too much. I told them to go sneak a snack or two from one of the vending machines and take a break for a while since Junmyeon will be too preoccupied with dancing and Jongdae to really look into what they’re getting themselves into. But I’m not particularly hungry or particularly thirsty, so I guess I’m just stuck here.”

The more rational part of Minseok is telling him that Luhan is only stuck here and doesn’t actually want to be here and imploring him to wake up from this strange, strange delusion, but Minseok can’t find it within himself to do so.

“Ah, I see…”

“Not,” Luhan continues, “That being stuck here is a bad thing, of course. I’d rather just go out there and perform. Tensions are running too high right now between everyone. I’m waiting for Chanyeol to punch Jongin in the face out of frustration.”

Minseok finds himself chuckling at the imaginary sight of the gentle giant begging the young dancer for forgiveness after he had allowed his emotions to consume his actions, knowing that Chanyeol is the type of individual to act before he thinks. “I suppose that’s true.”

There is a short lull of silence, until Luhan rests his head against the glass, chin tilted up towards the sky as he allows his eyes to shut. “You know, you’re very quiet, Minseok. I think that you’re the quietest one out of all of us, which is kind of funny, because the fact that you’re also the oldest means that you can be as loud as you want and none of you can call you out for it. Why are you so quiet, Minseok?”

The question is random and something that the older boy hadn’t been expecting and he finds that he doesn’t have the words to formulate an intelligible response. “Well,” he tries, “I’ve always been quiet. I suppose that that’s just how I am.”

Luhan hums in thought at this, and though Minseok is desperate to find out what he’s thinking, he can’t bring himself to ask. “Being quiet isn’t a bad thing, of course. So please don’t think that it is. It’s nice having someone quiet to talk to since everyone else is so painfully loud and won’t even let me talk.” He chuckles at this revelation before continuing, “I love them all, of course. They always say the most interesting things. And I suppose that I’ve grown so accustomed to it that I don’t know what I’ll do when everyone goes away and I’m left by myself. It’ll be hard to adjust.”

Minseok is startled by the words, namely because he can’t imagine why Luhan would ever believe that he’d ever be alone because everyone loves Luhan and everyone loves the way he sings and the way he dances and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs and the way he does everything he possibly can to make others happy and there is no way that Luhan would ever be alone ever.

He knows that he’s not the only one to share such sentiments regarding the Chinese man. He knows that he can’t be the only one that longs to bask in his essence and hold his hand when they begin their ascent into the sky and brush the sweaty bangs out of his eyes after a particularly long performance. He knows that he can’t be the only one and it’s silly for him to believe that he could possibly be the only one because Luhan is the earth and Minseok is the moon and his purpose is to revolve around this celestial being without never getting too close because doing so would do nothing but cause trouble.

Minseok doesn’t understand people and he supposes that maybe he never will.

“I wonder, sometimes,” the younger man murmurs, the sound faint even to Minseok’s ears, “I wonder if this whole idea of shipping myself to South Korea and lying to my parents was a good thing. I wonder sometimes if joining this giant group was a wise idea. I wonder what would have happened if I had denied SM’s offer and run off on my own to start my own group with the people I know and the people that I care about. And I wonder if I would care about the fact that we don’t have any expensive equipment to record with or any big corporations to assist in our promotions or pockets that are so full with money that I don’t have any idea what I should do with them.” A pause. “I think that I would be happier that way, in all honesty.”

For a moment, no words are said. Minseok feels strange and awkward and believes that these words are words that he shouldn’t have heard because these words seem too real and too genuine to be something that Luhan would actually talk to him about. But the rational part of him is telling him once again that the words really were spoken and they really are real and that Luhan is expecting some sort of response out of him.

But Minseok continues to deny what is happening because something like this has never happened before so how is he supposed to know how to react? Has Luhan even spoken to him on such a scale like this before? No, that was just another dream. Luhan couldn’t be more bothered with what Minseok thinks or what he has to say. The thought itself is nothing short of ridiculous.

Luhan emits a soft sigh, straightening his neck and running a tired hand through his dyed locks. Minseok suddenly notices that there are dark circles underneath the usually bright orbs and that his skin is paler than it should be. He notices the pain that his bandmate’s sigh emulates and the fatigue that is lining his quiet whispers and it all reminds him of another moment – or maybe two, or four, or five – but he can’t exactly remember what the moment is and it makes him feel all the more useless.

It hurts.

“You know, it’s nice having a quiet friend like you, Minseok. You’re a very good listener.” The taller boy has stood up out of his position now, stretching as though his body had been painfully sore and he’s only now waking up. There’s a smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and the realization of this hits Minseok hard because he’s never noticed how easy it is for Luhan to pretend that he’s happy. He registers someone halfheartedly ruffling his hair in affection before watching Luhan’s worn sneakers jog away from him.

He’s quite sure that he had only imagined the younger man’s voice murmuring “I wish that you would just speak up more” as he darted away because it would be silly to believe that Luhan actually cared about what Minseok thought of him.

Their relationship – the friendship that he likes to believe they’ve formed – is something created only for the sake of the fans, after all. And he needs to stop deluding himself into thinking otherwise.

Minseok has to try harder to keep his eyes shut next time. Losing himself in an illusion hurts.

---

iii.

author’s note: ah, i'm actually really excited to type up the final chapter of this three-shot! shooting to get that up by this thursday. i hope that you've all enjoyed this update as i experienced a short writer's block after typing up the first third of it and was scared that the rest would come off as word vomit. /shot. again, thanks for sticking around! it really means a lot. c:

jamais vu. [1/3]

2013-10-12T04:04:42Z

Turn to the left, smile at the fans, wave lightly. Wait for Luhan or Jongdae to lean in and pretend to whisper you a joke of sorts. Laugh at whatever they say or don’t say, making sure that you don’t overdo it and look like a slob. Pull the member that’s to your right closer to you by throwing your arm over his shoulder. It has to look like you’re simply being a protective hyung. If someone calls your name again, repeat.

“Xiumin!”

Minseok rotates his body in the opposite direction with a bright grin, allowing his hand to raise itself in a shy wave. His eyes scan the crowd, trying to make eye contact with the shrilly voice that had called his name, recalling that Yifan had insisted that it makes the girls go crazy.

But all he sees are banners that are purple or white or gold or brown with names that don’t belong to him. All he sees is a crowd of wild fangirls that don’t seem to care about him because ‘Luhan Gege’ or ‘Kris Gege’ or ‘Lay Gege’ are the ones that are particularly popular in this part of China. There’s no real point in him getting his hopes up.

“Move! Move! You’re in the way!”

He sighs, but still finds himself stepping slightly to right in order for the cameras to get a decent view of his band member without his being in the picture.

However, he suddenly feels a taller male drape his arm around him to whisper, “You don’t have to listen to them, you know. I think that they have enough pictures of me anyway.”

Minseok feels himself go rigid at the man’s touch, but finds that it’s easy for him to calm himself down in a matter of seconds. For a moment, he can’t help but wonder if this is part of the script or if the younger man genuinely means it.

Of course, he doesn’t give himself much time to think about that and simply throws his head back in a light laugh.

The two continue to walk on like that: Luhan’s arm protectively around the shoulders of the shorter man and Minseok feeling slightly anxious because this is breaking the guidelines that his manager had entailed but finding that he doesn’t really care anyway.

Minseok should feel grateful that he obtained the opportunity to debut. The company’s said it themselves, he feels it sometimes in the members’ gazes, and he, himself, knows that he should. He knows that he should because there are hundreds and hundreds of trainees that can do nothing but pray for the chance that he had been offered, so he should be thankful to be where he is now.

But he isn’t.

He knows that he should be, but he feels that he isn’t.

It’s not right for him to complain about his position in the group. The other eleven boys have worked hard to be entitled with the roles that they had earned within the fanbase. He can’t complain about having to struggle to learn an entirely new – and incredibly difficult – language, because Jongdae is struggling even more than he is.

Minseok doesn’t have a right to complain. The company’s said it themselves, the members are aware of it, and he, himself, knows it.

That’s why Minseok tries to make himself as little as possible when they’ve been training the entire day and his fellow members are feeling hot-blooded. It’s why he doesn’t enforce seniority when they all line up to use the showers and his joints are killing him and it should only be fair that the eldest member gets to freshen up before the maknae does. And it’s also why he does his best to sing his heart out for the three seconds that he’s given to in each song without feeling bitter about his lack of spotlight.

Grateful, grateful. You need to be grateful.

But it’s so, so hard to be grateful when the crowds are cheering for everyone but him because “he’s the fat one” or “he’s not as good looking as the others” or “he doesn’t even have a role in EXO; he’s just another placeholder.” It’s something that always goes unspoken amongst the fans and he doesn’t have to read it or hear it to know it.

And even though he tries to tell himself otherwise, he knows that it’s true. He knows that it’s all true and that’s what he thinks hurts him most.

Wait, no. That’s not it.

What hurts him most is that he knows it too and that he tries to make him feel better with hugs and whispers and playful touches that Minseok wants to believe mean something.

But he knows that they mean nothing.

All for the fans. Everything is just for the fans.

They arrive at the gate in no time. They’re an entire hour early.

Minseok wants to turn towards Luhan. He wants to find the courage within him to ask if maybe the younger man wants to go look at one of the shops or maybe if he wants to play a game with him or maybe if he just wants to talk because sometimes Minseok thinks that Luhan would be really great listener.

But Minseok was never really the courageous type. So he shouldn’t be all too surprised when the arm around him slackens, before withdrawing from his shoulders.

“Come on, Lu. We passed a Baskin Robbins not too long ago and I’ve been craving ice cream for a while.”

“You know that we shouldn’t be eating things like that, Xing. If the manager finds out we could get into trouble. Besides, isn’t your diet stricter than mine?”

Yixing parts his lips to say something, quickly thinks better of it, and cleverly quips, “We’ll only get yelled at it anyone finds out. Besides, it’s not like he can throw out anything we buy once we have it, right? What’ll the fans think?”

For the fans. All for the fans. Everything is just for the fans.

Luhan raises a brow at this, before his lips part to reveal a daring smile. “Why, Zhang Yixing, I never realized that you were the type that lived on the edge.”

“Well,” he starts, expression full of bravery and valor and everything that Minseok wants to be but isn’t, “If you’re not living on the edge, then you’re taking up too much space.”

And even though Minseok knows that the younger man is just kidding around like he always does around the members, it doesn’t make the pain in his heart hurt any less.

Of course, no one seems to notice the way his expression falls because Minseok always makes sure that his expression never falls. Because falling means that something is wrong and Minseok doesn’t deserve to have anything wrong happen to him because he’s already enough of a liability and his causing trouble won’t do any good.

Luhan gets up out of his seat with a chuckle and nudges his longtime friend playfully, “Let’s make a run for it then. Don’t want dear ol’ duizhang getting on our case either.”

Yixing snorts, and the sound makes Luhan burst into laughter, especially when the brunet adds, “He’ll figure it out soon enough. After all, it is his wallet that’ll be paying for this treat of ours.”

And then the two high-five in the way that only best friends do, before running off in some random direction while Jongdae smirks and Yifan mumbles about how he thinks that he might just be missing something.

There are certain relationships that exist as only a sliver of reality. Relationships that exist solely because people try to force them together in order to create positive publicity.

After all, everything is for the fans. Everything is just for the fans.

But Minseok knows that the relationship between the two Chinamen extends to something much more than just a ridiculous pairing that was created ‘just for the fans.’ They know it and the other members know it and he’s pretty sure that the fans know it as well.

And Minseok can’t help but feel a tang of sharp jealousy because why can’t he have a friendship like that? Why is it that all the other members have bonded together so easily while he desperately tries to fit in without making himself too conspicuous? Why is it that he always has to remindhimself that what he has with these other men is all just a charade every single time? Why does he get his hopes that maybe, maybe this time it means something genuine?

Why does he forget?

In the depths of his mind, amidst the memorized notes and scripts and silent cries for help, Minseok allows himself to shed a tear.

Because loneliness is something that isn’t physical. It’s something that you can’t fix. Or perhaps you can, but Minseok doesn’t know how because even though Minseok knows a lot about the laws of his industry, he doesn’t know a lot about people.

And he doesn’t know how to learn.

---

ii.

author’s note: i actually had written this with the intentions of posting it as a drabble sometime during the summer. LOL. since i never did, it's been sitting in my hard drive for the longest time. i was recently reminded of this particular piece, and decided that i wanted to develop and extend it into something further - which explains while there are some minor differences in this first chapter as compared to my current writing style.

i do need to clarify something of course. this story is in xiumin’s point of view. the things that i write here are the things that this fictitious xiumin believe. i love him to death, so please don’t think i’m shaming him for things or calling him unimportant. i can promise you that that’s anything but true. just wanted to get that out there because i know that xiumin’s been getting a lot of hate from some people lately. ;3; the poor guy, i just want to give him a hug. ;A;

okay, i think that that's about it for now. hoping to update again next week. c:

kind to a fault.

2013-10-07T01:47:46Z

Title: kind to a fault.
Pairing: layhan
Genre: angst/friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: one-shot; 7,109 words
Summary: Yixing forces a smile despite his bruised hips and Luhan pretends like everything is okay despite crying himself to sleep every night because perhaps their incapability to be selfish does more than just destroy themselves.

Warning: Wow, so this started out pretty well, and I thought that it would come out very nicely. And I was painfully wrong. LOL. Prepare for some word vomit. ;AAA; ~~This is also unedited herpderp///~~

(this is crappy, but it's also dedicated to our favorite unicorn, yixing. ;3;)

“It’s not your fault, you know,” the older man murmurs, hesitant voice breaking through the silence. “Stop blaming yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Yixing pulls at his hair in frustration, head bowed over in anger as he fights the angry tears that are streaking down his face. “Of course it is. We all know that it is so there’s no point in you trying to delude me into think otherwise.” The soft, gentle tenor of his voice shakes under the weight of his burden, and his dear friend feels his heart knot itself within his chest. Underneath the fluorescent light of the dorm room that the younger man is sharing with Jongdae, his hair looks strange and unearthly. And while others would probably comment that the unnatural hue makes him almost look radioactive (especially when taking into consideration the harsh way in which it contrasts with his pale complexion), Luhan would always insist that, if anything, it looked more like an angelic halo that served as proof of the younger man’s purity.

And even though Luhan has never really considered himself to be the religious sort of fellow, he’s knowledgeable enough to know that angels just aren’t meant to cry.

So he shifts awkwardly in his position on Yixing’s bed in order to engulf him in a one-armed embrace, “Yixing, stop it. If you push yourself this hard and continue blaming yourself over nothing, then all you’re doing is making yourself sick.”

“I messed up the choreography, Lu,” he mumbles. “The company says that all I’m decent at is dancing and I can’t even do it right. If I had performed better, then we wouldn’t have gotten yelled at by the manager after our performance. The group is what matters: not me.”

Luhan parts his lips instantly in order to refute these statements, but he’s cut off when the younger man suddenly falls back onto his bed with a defeated thump. “I have to practice more. I’m doing it all wrong and that’s why I can’t improve. I need to go to one of the training rooms.” And he continues to whisper these tired promises of dreamed progress as his tears continue to drip down his face, ruining the makeup that he hasn’t even bothered to remove. “I need to practice longer next time. I have to take less breaks.”

Then comes the broken whisper, “Ge, please help me.”

And despite his original stance, Luhan finds that he’s torn between logic and emotion; common sense and flawed judgment. Because he knows that Yixing needs his rest and that Yixing is only hurting himself and that Yixing is flawless, impeccable, perfect. All he wants to do is wipe his face of the makeup and sweat, tuck him into bed, and sing him a familiar Chinese lullaby as he watches over the young man to make sure that his suffering – the suffering that he constantly forces himself through – fades away into nothingness through the world of sleep.

But Yixing refuses his rest and Yixing refuses to allow himself time to heal and Yixing is convinced that he is the epitome of failure holding back an otherwise faultless group from an unreasonable expectation of excellence.

And Luhan knows by now that the only way to see Yixing happy is if he abides by the younger man’s wishes and all Luhan has ever wanted is to see Yixing smile at him like he does on the rare occasion when he’s truly happy: it’s what the elder has found himself striving for, breathing for, living for.

So he isn’t surprised when his words dissipate from his chapped lips to be replaced with the automatic, “Of course, Xing. Anything for you, Xing.”

The younger man shoots him a smile – pained, forced, fake – before struggling to rise up from his position.

(Luhan doesn’t miss the way he winces and immediately reaches for his waist in pain.)

“Thank you. Let me just get dressed.”

Although he knows that it’s probably inappropriate to do so, Luhan doesn’t take his eyes off of the frail body before him as he undresses. He silently takes note of the black and violet marring porcelain skin and the angry slashes of crimson red lining his upper thighs without batting an eyelash because Luhan feels that it’s his fault for not looking closer; not stopping him sooner; not being a better friend.

(He sheds a quiet tear but quickly wipes it away when the younger man turns to face him with violent shades of purple decorating the areas below his eyes and whispers that perhaps it would be best if they make a move before their manager realizes what’s going on.)

---

With Luhan’s help, Yixing is able to get the energy shots that he had been eager for and easily slips into one of the SM practice rooms. He insists that it would be alright for Luhan to go back to the dorms without him since it’s likely that he’ll be a while, but the older man refuses to leave his side.

“It’s okay. I need the practice, too.”

And Luhan, in all honesty, doesn’t think that there’s a point in additional practice because he knows that in a matter of hours, all twelve of them will be piled up in this very room, slaving over the very same choreography for hours until they’re called to prepare for their next performance. But he feels that he needs to suffer as Yixing suffers because Yixing isn’t meant to suffer, so maybe by doing this, Luhan will be able to lessen at least a small component of his burden.

It’s the least they can do.

The music starts and the two fly into position: Luhan robotically moving to the tiring beat of the music and Yixing suddenly springing to life in order to make sure that he properly hits every beat.

They don’t stop until three o’clock in the morning when Yixing slams a fist into the glass mirror, cursing his lack of coordination and sloppy transitions. He hides inside his oversized hoodie and pulls at the sleeves in agitation, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that if Luhan weren’t present, he would probably behave at a much more drastic level.

Luckily, Luhan is.

Without a single word, the older man moves to restrain his friend from potential injury before forcing his hand into his own and quietly guiding him towards the exit of the building where they can hail a cab back to their dormitory.

There is a sizable group of fans that begin to squeal as they see the two idols exit the building, and Luhan immediately feels himself tense up. There’s a clawing sensation at the back of his mind telling him to try and run away, but Luhan knows that doing so would be incredibly irrational – not only because the company insists that they have to act normal and casual whenever they see their fans, but also because he knows that he can’t just leave Yixing behind as he tries to selfishly make a run for it.

He feels himself trembling as he forces a smile for all the cameras, but the itching feeling that a part of his conscious has decided to possess doesn’t go away.

It scares him, but he pushes forward, knowing that he has to be strong.

Luhan hails the first cab that he sees and rushes inside, not realizing how heavily he had been breathing until he buckles his seat belt and the driver begins his course back to their dormitory.

He’s lost in his own thoughts, still trying to calm himself down after the situation (he doesn’t know when he became like this, because he knows that they’re just a bunch of girls that practically worship the ground he walks on, but for some reason, a strange fear has settled in whenever he’s confronted with the issue of others forcibly entering his personal space and he doesn’t know what do about it because he’s scared that the paranoia is beginning to consume him), and it isn’t until Yixing speaks up that he’s snapped out of his reverie.

I’m sorry for dragging you all the way out here. I’m sorry for making you stay up all night with me when you’ve already mastered the entire setlist. I’m sorry for being such a burden to you, Lu, because I wish that I could be anything but that but no matter how hard I try, it seems that that’s all I’ll ever amount to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

And Luhan shushes him with the genuine assurance that everything is alright and that he doesn’t care anyway as the younger man drifts off into a hesitant slumber in the back of the taxi.

---

They arrive at the dorm after twenty minutes of driving, and Luhan tentatively wakes Yixing – not because he wants to disrupt the sleep that he knows that his friend barely gets, but because he knows that he, himself, is too fatigued to properly carry the younger man all the way up to his room. The dazed boy allows himself to be guided through the maze of hallways, and despite Luhan’s best attempts at opening the door to the dormitory as quietly as possible, he still manages to wake one of the individuals that had fallen asleep at the kitchen table.

“Where have you guys been? The manager has been worried sick.”

Luhan looks at Wufan with tired eyes before bringing his gaze to stare at the man draped around his shoulder that is already half-asleep.

Words don’t need to be spoken.

Wufan assists Luhan in carrying their friend towards his shared room with Jongdae: both of them wincing when they accidentally brush one of Yixing’s injuries as they hear him quietly hiss in pain. They lay him to rest on his bed and are both thankful that they manage to not wake Jongdae.

“He’ll be alright now. We both need to go to bed as well.”

Luhan shakes his head dismissively, “You go on ahead. I think that I’ll stay here a little while longer.”

The younger man parts his lips in order to form an argument, but despite his status as leader, it doesn’t change the fact that Luhan is still older than him and there’s only so much he can force him to do without feeling completely rude and improper. So with a sigh and a contemplative ruffling of his own hair, Wufan assents, “Just make sure that you get some sleep, too, alright? I know that you’re worried because trust me, I am, too. But hurting yourself over his pain isn’t going to help anyone. If anything, it’ll just make him feel even worse about himself when he wakes up.”

He doesn’t expect any sort of affirmation of his words because he already knows that he won’t get one.

Once the door shuts, Luhan allows himself to slip into Yixing’s bed and sits with his back against the headboard. The younger man has curled himself up into a ball because of the cold temperature of the dorms, so Luhan isn’t particularly surprised when he turns to cling towards his leg, knowing that all Yixing wants is an affirmation of warmth.

And Luhan knows that his heart isn’t warm enough to satiate this fallen angel’s needs, but he can still try.

He whispers the lyrics of a Chinese lullaby as he strokes the short hair on his lap and watches over his frail form in his sleep.

---

“What are you doing here so early?” comes the faint whisper, so sudden that it almost sends Luhan jumping out of his position on Yixing’s bed.

He turns to see Jongdae peering at him curiously under the dim light of the sunrise from the opposite end of the room. It’s clear enough to Luhan that he’s bewildered by the random appearance of the older Chinese man and is likely jumping back and forth between conclusions, so he quickly translates an intelligible response in his head. “Yixing wasn’t feeling very well last night, so I figured that it would be best for me to watch over him while he slept in case he needed anything.”

The young man’s eyes widen in surprise as he whispers, “I didn’t even realize that he was feeling sick. Is that why the two of you disappeared last night? To get some treatment?”

Luhan knows that the logical thing to do would be to tell Jongdae the truth of the matter because it only makes sense that Yixing’s actual roommate should be aware of the other’s internal struggle, but he finds that he can’t properly form the words to relay the bitter reality of the situation. He can’t help but wonder why since his Korean has always been the most fluent and smooth when compared to the other Chinese members. He can only assume that the true reasoning lies behind the fact that he knows that anyone else’s knowledge of the matter would only make Yixing feel like he was burdening others even more. And this assumption is made mostly because he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that maybe he likes being the one that Yixing turns to whenever he needs help or is troubled.

Wufan may know more than he lets on, but he never directly says anything, so it’s highly likely that Yixing isn’t aware of just how obvious his secret is to those who are willing to look.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Luhan responds with a vague “Yes, that’s right. I had told Wufan before we left, which is why he had stayed up until we returned after you guys called it a night. I hope that he didn’t have too much trouble with the managers – if they even realized that we were gone in the first place, that is.”

He can’t tell what Jongdae thinks of the lie because, in all honesty, Luhan has never been particularly close to the fellow singer and is therefore unable to properly gauge his minute reaction. All he knows for sure is that the younger man manages a low sigh before raking his hand through his hair and mumbling that maybe it’s time to wake Yixing up so that he can take a shower now in order to avoid the traffic later.

Luhan immediately refutes the suggestion with the insistence that Yixing needs his sleep and that he’ll wake him up in time to shower before the others so Jongdae should just go ahead and take the liberty of being the first one to make the advance.

It’s clear that there are unspoken words on the younger man’s tongue, but he bites them back with a light nod before he grabs a towel and heads off into the bathroom.

---

“How long were you up last night?” comes the hushed question in native tongue as the two slump side-by-side on the dusty couch of the dormitory. Judging from the nature of his tone and his general lack of curiosity, Wufan already knows what Luhan’s answer will be before the words even part from his lips.

Luhan lies anyway.

“I went to bed soon after you did.”

The younger man scoffs at this statement, shifting his weight to allow himself to sink more into the old sofa as he mutters, “You’re just making the situation worse, Han.” Said individual rolls his eyes himself, though he isn’t sure if it’s because of the coming lecture or the uncommon reference to his name. “You know that if Yixing finds out that you’ve been missing out on sleep because of him, he’ll freak.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep this a secret then, won’t we?”

Wufan shoots the older man a glare. “Look, this isn’t the way to go about his problem. You may just be prodding at the situation right now, but knowing you and knowing your feelings for Yixing, it won’t be long until you’re pushing yourself into a personal situation that he doesn’t want you to meddle with. You need to learn boundaries, Han.”

The comment makes Luhan flare with anger and he can already feel the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red. However, he somehow manages to maintain his composure as he’s fully aware of Sehun and Kyungsoo’s questioning glances in their direction, obviously curious as to the secrecy of the conversation since they can’t understand a word that leaves either man’s lips. “My feelings for Yixing are the feelings that one friend would have for any other if he knew that his comrade was suffering. I know what I’m doing and I know that what I’m doing is right. If I don’t do anything then no one will and Yixing will just keep on hurting himself like this. I don’t understand how you content yourself with silence like this when you know just as well as I do how much he’s suffering.”

“And who says that I haven’t done anything?” Wufan counters. “Just because I’m not as obvious as you are doesn’t mean that I don’t care. Yixing knows that I would do almost anything for him, but he also knows that I know how to say no to him as well. That’s the difference between the two of us, Han. I act in the best interest of his health while you act in the best interest of his happiness. And unfortunately, where Yixing is concerned, it’s impossible to simultaneously have both.”

Luhan is desperate to come up with another rebuttal of sorts, but finds that nothing seems like a proper argument to the younger man’s words, which probably infuriates him even more.

“Why do you think he always asks you for help and never me, even though he knows that I have more weight in the company than you do?” Wufan continues. “It’s because he knows that you’ll do anything in your power for him, Luhan. It’s because he knows that you’ll give up anything and everything if it means making Yixing happy. It’s because you’ve lost your rationality to this worrisome nature of yours and he knows it.”

Despite not necessarily being bothered by his statements, the fact that Wufan makes it sound almost like Yixing is taking advantage of him sends his senses into a fury once more. “You’re just pulling excuses out of your ass now, Wufan,” he snarls. “We both know that Yixing would never use anybody like that – especially his best friend. He just doesn’t know who else to ask for help because no one else is even trying to reach out to offer him their assistance. I’m all he has right now, so of course I’m willing to give up whatever it takes to give him whatever he needs.” There is a beat of silence as he struggles to calm himself down, noting that the two Korean members are whispering to one another in hurried, fretful tones. In a faint whisper, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Yixing doesn’t deserve to suffer. I know that you know that as well, Wufan. Yixing is too good to ever have to suffer through anything so.”

The fierce expression that had formerly consumed his features has been replaced by a pitiful one and Wufan feels whatever annoyance that had taken over his thoughts instantly dissipate. With a sigh, he awkwardly averts his gaze away from the older man in order to stare at his feet. “I know, Han. I was just pointing out a possible scenario. But it’s not likely at all. He used to ask me for help in sneaking him out to the practice rooms every now and then as well, but I’m assuming that he just felt guilty for constantly asking me after a while. He would never take advantage of anyone’s kindness on purpose. It was silly of me to even contemplate such a possibility.”

Luhan nods halfheartedly in agreement with what he had already determined a fact quite some time ago.

The bathroom door opens to reveal Yixing in his towel. He blinks in curiosity at what is obviously an uncomfortable atmosphere before offering a fragile smile, “Thanks for letting me shower alone this time, guys. I know that it cuts into our time constraints considerably, but I think I really needed it this morning.”

Luhan and Wufan are quick to assure him that the matter wasn’t burdensome at all, and as though they have caught on to the situation as well, Sehun and Kyungsoo quickly throw in befuddled words of their own.

As the pale figure disappears into his room to change, the four give each other slightly awkward looks before Wufan finally mumbles, “Well, let’s get moving then. Shall we?”

There is a muttered agreement as the four move towards the small shower and cram themselves into it, Kyungsoo muttering that Sehun better help him wash his back this time while the latter whines about how he doesn’t want to touch him and Wufan assents to the task in order to shut them both up.

Luhan’s glad that Wufan volunteered because he knows that he wouldn’t have.

They all flinch at the frigid water and Wufan mutters something about how it’ll hopefully prevent any unforeseen erections this time around.

The other three men laugh awkwardly.

---

That night, Yixing finally confesses to Luhan that he’s been worried sick about the latter as he’s been acting strange. The claim catches the older man offguard, and when he asks the dancer to elaborate, he becomes frustrated when he realizes that Yixing can’t find the right words.

“Is it something I’ve done?” Yixing quietly asks after a few beats of heated silence. “You’re becoming agitated with me as well, right? I’m sorry, Lu, I’ll work harder to improve.”

But Yixing has it all wrong because that’s exactly what Luhan doesn’t want him to do, but Luhan knows that he can’t say that because it might only upset the younger man further. He exhales a deep sigh before lightly punching his friend’s arm, “Don’t’ be silly, Xing. You’ll never be a problem to me. You’re fine just the way you are. Come now; it’s getting late. We should get some rest.”

The words aren’t enough to satiate Yixing and Luhan knows that. But he’s running out of words to say because it seems that he isn’t even properly fluent in any language at all.

A part of him is scared that if he leaves Yixing’s side for a moment while Jongdae is out doing something with Junmyeon, the younger man will do something irrational. It makes the older China man flinch when Yixing pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Ge. Everything will be okay.”

It doesn’t make sense to Luhan because he’s perfectly fine and it should be him trying to reassure Yixing. He isn’t sure how the tables have suddenly been turned or why they’ve suddenly been turned, but he decides to say nothing.

“You should get going. I’m sure Minseok Hyung has been wondering why you haven’t been sleeping in your room with him lately. I’m sure that he’s just as worried about you as well.”

The statement sends alarms ringing in Luhan’s head because he’s fine so why is Yixing worrying about him? Is he trying to kick him out? Politely tell him that sharing a bed with him has become uncomfortable now?

He doesn’t realize that he’s started to tremble until Yixing pulls away from their embrace to look at him curiously, “Lu?”

“I’m okay,” the older man quickly insists. “I’m okay and I want to stay here. Minseok won’t mind. Minseok understands. I want to stay here.” I want to stay here so that I can watch over you. I want to stay here so that I can protect you. I want to stay here so that I can chase away the nightmares and fend off the demons that try to eat away at your mind while you sleep because I’m the only one that can do it. I want to stay here because I want to stay with you.

But he doesn’t say any of that aloud so Yixing never becomes aware of it.

The younger man frowns but there is an obvious spark of something that Luhan can’t name in his eyes as he shakes his head, “Don’t be silly, Lu. I know that you haven’t been sleeping well, and that’s my fault since my bed is too small.” His rationale is silly and childish because they both know that the size of his bed has nothing to do with him at all. “Your eyes almost look bruised from all the lack of rest. I know that all of the members are getting worried as well – and if you haven’t heard about the fans’ laments, then I think that they’re all right when they say that you’ve really been out of it.”

Luhan shakes his head quickly because that doesn’t make sense and he doesn’t want Yixing to worry about him because that’s ridiculous because Yixing already has enough on his plate and shouldn’t have to worry about something as petty as Luhan’s health.

No, that’s supposed to be irrelevant. It’s unimportant. Luhan himself isn’t even concerned about it.

“I’m okay, Yixing, really.” He doesn’t know why he’s still quivering because that definitely doesn’t strengthen his argument. But when he quietly implores his body to stop, it seems to have no intention to do so.

The slightly shorter male doesn’t look convinced at all, and it isn’t long until he lightly takes Luhan’s hand and leads him through the door and towards the latter’s actual room.

Minseok is obviously surprised at the sudden intrusion of the room that he had – for the most part – been living alone in for the past week, but once he realizes that it’s just his dear friends, his wide eyes are coaxed into a joyful smile. “Hi, Lu, Xing.”

Yixing mutters a kind greeting as well, and though Luhan knows that it would only be polite to mumble one as well, he finds that the words aren’t coming to him. His mind has gone blank – save for the continuous worries that he’s done something wrong and that he’s screwed up because now Yixing is trying to push him away and that’s not okay because if Yixing pushes him away then Yixing will be all alone again and Luhan refuses to let something like that happen.

The younger man lightly pushes Luhan so that his elder is sitting on top of the bed with dazed eyes. Yixing sits beside him and begins to fret about him – are you okay, why are you acting so funny, you haven’t been yourself lately and I’m really worried – but Luhan finds that he can’t really focus on the words so he just tunes him out and continues to fret in his mind. It doesn’t make sense that Yixing is worrying about him because he’s worrying about Yixing, and it’s silly for them to go back and forth like this.

Which is why Yixing needs to stop making up these false problems in his head because Luhan knows that Yixing is just pretending that they’re there so that he doesn’t have to focus on his real problems.

Because Luhan isn’t a problem. Luhan is a solution.

He has to be.

Luhan doesn’t realize how long he had been consumed by his thoughts until he realizes that Yixing has redressed him in his pajamas and is gently tucking him into bed with a string of prayers flowing forth from his lips.

He wants to call out for Yixing to come back when the younger man stands up from his kneeling position by his side to go back to his own dormitory, but the words don’t come.

The tears do instead.

He silently thanks Minseok for deciding to not say anything as he drifts into the world of sleep with tears scarring his cheeks.

---

They come back from practice a few weeks later with Wufan poking fun at Zitao to what seems to be Yixing’s amusement as Luhan lingers a distance behind them and allows Minseok’s words to drift through his ears. His eyes are drooping because the previous night offered him no solace at all.

It’s not particularly enjoyable.

Their manager was asked to drive f(x) to a broadcast that they were to be attending so that means that, unfortunately, the older man has arrived both late and parked a considerable distance away from the building due to the congregation that had gathered by the front. However, by taking a back route, they’ve been able to (for the most part) escape the prying eyes of their slightly more obsessive fans.

Of course, a good thing can only last for so long.

When their group turns a corner, they’re attacked by a throng of what seems to be more like animals than actual people.

Bright lights flash directly in each of their faces while sharp nails claw into their skin in attempts to steal away parts of their essence for safekeeping. Luhan feels someone pry the bracelet that he had been wearing from around his left wrist and doesn’t even blink an eyelash. A particularly aggressive individual shoves him particularly hard against Minseok, yelling something in Korean that is so frantic that the foreigner is unable to properly register what has been said to him. He mumbles a glum apology to the shorter man beside him for almost collapsing over him, but isn’t able to hear whether or not a response has been received.

The hairs on the back of his neck have already stood up a long time ago, and though he feigns a casual persona, every flash and every touch and every whimper directed towards him makes him want to flinch.

But he has to act strong.

He’s doing a particularly good job at this until he hears Baekhyun cry out in anger and frustration from the front of their group. The intensity of the shout is enough to make Luhan instantly snap out of his reverie, and he feels his heart drop to the ground when he’s able to finally register what has happened.

He forgets that he’s never supposed to push back against the fans or treat them in any way that could potentially be described as malevolent as he fights his way through the crowd in order to help the band member that has fallen over.

---

Luhan knows that he shouldn’t be so surprised to find himself sitting on the edge of Yixing’s bed while the latter lays and tries to hide his face from Wufan who is giving him a strict lecture.

“You know that you shouldn’t be hiding injuries like this from anyone – not just because it’s bad for our entire group, but because we all care about you and hate seeing you like this. There’s no way that all of these bruises are from your fall today. And what about the scars, Xing? What have you been doing to yourself? Why haven’t you told anyone about all of this? I knew that you were suffering, but I didn’t know that it was to this extent.” The young man throws a hand through his dyed locks in agitation before finally allowing his expression to soften. “Look, Xing. We all care about you and we all want to help you. But I’ve known you for years now and I know you well enough to know how much you hate worrying others. So I’ve refrained from saying anything even though I want to, and I imagine that the others have been doing the same – well, for the most part. But if I had known how far this had gone, then I would’ve stepped in sooner.”

There is an awkward silence as Wufan runs out of words in which to lecture the younger Chinese man with, and without knowing what else to do, he lightly takes a seat on the bed as well.

Unspoken thoughts linger throughout the room as each individual chooses silence over expression until Yixing croaks, “I’m sorry, Ge. I didn’t want to burden anyone. You each have your own problems and I don’t deserve to be one of them.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Luhan grits through his teeth. “Stop saying that you aren’t worth anything because you’re worth so much, Yixing, but for some reason, you’re not allowing yourself to see any of it. You’re choosing to blind yourself to your accomplishments – which is nothing short of ridiculous. And no matter how hard we each try to show our individual appreciation for you, you push us all away with the insistence that you’re not ‘good enough,’ even though you’re one of the best of us.”

Wufan senses that this conversation is about to get a lot more personal than he had intended – which really says something because he had already imagined that the conversation he was getting himself into would be much too emotional for his personal comfort. He has the mind to shift awkwardly in his position as Yixing slowly rises from his face-down position on the bed to stare at the oldest individual in the room.

“And what about you? Look at your health. You’ve been neglecting your sleep and proper eating habits. You toss and turn in your sleep while mumbling about your fear of crowds and your nightmares of falling and then wake up and assure everyone that you’re fine. Minseok says that you cry yourself to sleep every night and he doesn’t know why and I didn’t want to bring it up because I knew that you didn’t want me to.” The accusation sends Luhan flushing scarlet and Wufan really wishes that he could somehow sneak out of this conversation without being too obvious. “Aren’t you being a bit hypocritical as well? I only want the best for you, Lu, but you won’t even give yourself the best that you deserve.”

“Well, you deserve it, too!” Luhan shouts. “Why are you blinding yourself to your wellbeing and only worrying about mine? Look, Xing, I’m not the one that needs the help: you are. You have a problem, Xing, and running away from it like this isn’t going to fix anything.”

They’re both becoming frustrated with one another now, and Yixing angrily stumbles out of his bed in order to pace to the other side of the room in an attempt to calm himself down. “You’re talking as though you’re not doing the exact same thing to yourself, Lu.”

The older man blinks in incredulity at the statement.

“You’re becoming paranoid and you’re stressing yourself out and it’s eating away at your sanity. You keep telling me that I need to focus on myself, but how am I supposed to do that when my best friend is spiraling downward before my very eyes? Physical injuries are nothing because physical injuries are something that everyone can see and can – for the most part – be easily treated. But mental and emotional scars take even longer to heal, and it’s harder to get help for those. You expect me to allow myself the audacity of selfishness while just blinking a blind eye to your suffering?”

Luhan doesn’t know what to say and Yixing exhales a breath that he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. He’s never been good at confrontations, but he ignores the way his body is trembling by focusing on the clenching and unclenching of his hands instead.

“In my opinion,” Wufan hesitantly starts, desperate to assuage the intensity of the situation, “You both need to learn how to love yourselves before you can begin to worry about someone else. I understand that you both care a lot for another, but this is getting out of hand. Your individual kindness is what’s killing you both.”

The words hold an obvious truth in them: both Luhan and Yixing are aware of it. However, they refuse to come to terms with the statement and that much is clear from both of their expressions.

Wufan lets out a low sigh before standing up himself. “You know, back when we were younger and had yet to debut, the three of us were inseparable. Perhaps the two of you more so than the three of us, but I remember that at the end of the day, we each had to watch one another’s backs because all we were were the three Chinese kids in a highly competitive Korean society. And we were bullied and we were teased and we were told by other trainees that we were worthless, but we ignored them and overcame that. I remember that we each had our own worrisome nature, but beyond all of that, there was something much more powerful: the desire to succeed. And while we each wanted one another to succeed, that didn’t change the fact that we were competing against one another and there was a chance that one of us – if not all of us – would fail. And hoping for our own success didn’t make us selfish back then, did it? So now that we’ve all hit that success, is there anything really wrong with keeping the mindset that we possessed beforehand?”

Both of his fellow singers don’t know how to respond so they don’t. Wufan just shakes his head sadly.

“You’re each losing yourself to some imaginary guilt that shouldn’t be there. You’re both forcing yourself to suffer because you’re scared of disappointing the other. And while it’s okay to care for someone to the extent that you put their happiness before your own, what right do you have to try and love someone if you don’t love yourself first? If you keep beating yourselves up like this, you’ll only continue to trouble one another, and you’ll each continue falling further and further from the light because you’re trying to grab for someone that’s falling with you. That’s the real problem here, and the fact that neither of you are choosing to acknowledge its existence is what really worries me.”

No words are spoken as Wufan slams the door behind him when he leaves, and Yixing and Luhan don’t know what to do other than sit on their opposite sides of the room and contemplate the words of their friend.

They both feel a little silly when the situation has been worded that way and they both think that maybe this is supposed to be the part where they each apologize to one another, but they quickly decide that doing so would be useless, so they settle for continuing to say nothing at all.

It’s still silent when Minseok and Jongdae enter the room and awkwardly usher Luhan out. It’s clear that they’re both curious as to what happened to the infamous inseparable pair to make them act so foreign to one another, but as soon as Wufan hears them whispering about it, he snaps for them to shut up.

No words are spoken at the EXO dormitory for the rest of the night.

---

The next day, Luhan and Yixing each wake up at the crack of done – not to speak to one another, of course, but instead, to wake Wufan and ask him for his guidance in checking them each in to get help. They’re both surprised at the fact that they had come up with the same idea without consulting one another, but neither decides to remark on it.

Wufan seems proud of the fact that his monologue the day before was enough to inspire his two friends into at least trying to move forward in order to solve their problems, and surprises them both when he suggests the idea of taking the manager’s van and just going for it now since their schedule doesn’t actually start until sometime in the afternoon. His two friends are appalled by this idea, thinking that Wufan had always been the angelic voice of reason within their trio, but don’t remark on it. Instead, they share a short, collective laugh before quietly sneaking out of the dorm room.

---

“Where did you even get these keys, Ge?”

The older male puffs out his chest a little in pride as he smirks, “Well, what do you think I do when I’m in Canada?”

“I was almost positive that all you did was go out with the rest of your nerdy Asian friends to really lame arcades to try to beat the twelvies’ high scores,” Luhan deadpans.

“… Shut up.”

The eldest shrugs, “We both know that your escapades to Canada have nothing to do with the car keys at all, Fan. Those are just the dormitory’s keys. We’re probably going to end up hailing a cab since Wufan here didn’t think this whole idea through.”

Yixing bursts into laughter and Wufan flushes a bright shade of red, and all three China men file into the taxi.

---

Luhan still believes that it’s a little silly for him to be sitting in a therapist’s office as an old man with more nose hair than actual hair continues to ask him probing questions about his feelings and his family history and his personal thoughts. He believes that Wufan is silly for actually being right about something for once because the younger man is too proud of the fact to actual shut up about it. He also believes that at one point or another, some obsessive sasaeng fan is going to come out of nowhere and tell the world that the acclaimed singer is seeking mental help for problems that are in his head, and prays that Wufan will be right about the level of secrecy that the institution provides.

Unfortunately, Wufan is never right about anything when Luhan wants him to be, so all he can really do is pray for the best.

Luhan doesn’t believe in stress or his problems or the fact that maybe he should believe in his stress and his problems because they’re the reasons why he’s in such a mess. He’s not as religious as he should be and he doesn’t believe in things that he should because somewhere between here and there his faith has been shaken.

But even though Luhan doesn’t believe in angels, he believes in Yixing.

So even if he feels like a rat underneath a microscope as he admits to things he thought he would never have to admit to in front of a man who looks like he’s old enough to be Luhan’s dead great grandfather, he’s willing to push through it.

If it means helping Yixing, then he’s willing to do anything.

a/n: whelp, i tried. pmsl. i like how things opened up, but i think that things began to go awry when i shifted more focus towards luhan's character instead of keeping it balanced between the two of them as i had originally intended. ~~for some reason, wufan always worms his way into my stories lolol~~

anywho, comments are much appreciated. i'd love to see where you think i could improve or where you think i messed up. i plan to come back and edit this more when i have more time and my amhist essay isn't guilting me from it's corner of my desk.

thank you all for reading! c:

effleurage.

2013-09-29T19:29:51Z

Title: effleurage.
Pairing: Victoria-centric; very minor sultoria
Genre: drama
Rating: PG
Length: one-shot; 6,089 words

viii.

Victoria wakes up in a room with gleaming glass windows that allow the radiant sunshine from outside to stream onto her bed. The birds perched on the willow by her balcony are alive with the excited chirp of their song and the melodic glee with which they greet the sun above them - merrily and joyous, as per usual. The room itself is quite large with a pale pink and white motif, and the extravagant canopy bed on which the young woman lies is cushioned with soft ivory comforters and rose-colored pillows. Above her head, the drapes of her cover shimmer with a coral shade that dances in the light’s rays as though they are encrusted with diamonds. Along with the minute finish of platinum gold sprinkled throughout the room, it truly looks like the residence of a princess.

Which should be so, because if anyone could be considered royalty within their perfect society, it would surely be the daughter of the Magistrate herself. After all, that would only make sense.

The young woman allows a small smile to grace her features as she lightly steps out of bed to cross over to the balcony on the opposite side of the room in order to survey the masterpiece of her father’s creation.

Though the town below her is by no means large (even from her high position atop the small hill) it’s clear that it gives off an aura of peaceful harmony: something that she knows is rare in other areas of the world in the world in which they inhabit.

If possible, her grin widens, and she stifles a yawn before heading back to bed because she knows that if any trouble arises, her father will assuage the situation before she even bats an eyelash.

After all, that is his job, and Victoria doesn’t see the point in arguing with the elderly man when she can spend her hours doing otherwise.

Sleep has always been her favorite pastime, especially since she’s started dreaming of a beautiful woman whose looks are able to rival even her own, twirling in an endless meadow of flowers while her laughter – the jingling of bells – sounds throughout the landscape and rejuvenates the entire land.

Victoria doesn’t know who she is and doesn’t know if the woman in her dreams even exists, but she supposes that that doesn’t really matter as long as the girl continues spinning and smiling and giggling and singing because Victoria finds that seeing this figment of her imagination beaming so brightly is enough to make even the sun’s perfect rays fade to gray in comparison.

iii.

Victoria wakes in a room with opaque windows that filter the sunlight from outside, making sure that the blinding rays don’t nudge her awake too harshly. The only noise that echoes through the cramped room is a fuzzy static from some unknown source, creeping through the walls and into the young woman’s ears. Not that that’s too difficult to do, of course, seeing as the size of the room is barely large enough for her to pace around and the sad excuse for her bed is simply a worn mattress covered in mothball-infested sheets thrown precariously onto the cement floor.

It’s uncomfortable and she hates it, but perhaps there’s nothing that she can really do about it. After all, it would be horrible if she thought that she could have everything because she already does.

Victoria floats in a perfect utopia of her father’s creation, so having the audacity to complain about her current surroundings would be nothing short of selfish and ridiculous.

She already knows that.

So with a sigh, she stretches her arms and forces herself to place her feet on the floor, ignoring the urge to wince at the harsh texture of the cement below her. As though it is some sort of subconscious habit, she finds herself moving towards the blurred picture of the town below her that the window provides. Her dainty hand slowly raises itself to touch the distorted glass, and Victoria finds herself faintly amused at the scene that is before her: a sizable town, bustling with high-tech transportation systems, busy streets, and smiling faces.

It’s all thanks to her father, of course. As long as the citizens of the older man’s utopia are happy, then she shouldn’t upset herself with the current dilemma of her living conditions. The dirty room is a well-kept secret; something that the shining eyes of their populous know nothing about.

And she intends to keep it that way.

With that final reassurance of a faded promise, Victoria hesitantly parts from the view of the town in the valley below the hill, before twirling around in order to exit the ugly room and releasing the idea of it from her memory.

vi.

Victoria can’t remember when she woke up, but she supposes that she must have at some point as she is currently seated in the throne room to her father’s left, watching as he tries to compensate for some of the neglect that this elderly man is complaining about. He seems to be angered by the neighboring waters of the ocean whose tides softly lick the outskirts of their island paradise, but Victoria doesn’t understand why this upsets him.

She could have sworn that yesterday, this man (or at least, someone who looks strikingly similar to him) had come to complain about the lack of water for the fishing industry. He had said something about how the delicate rivers of their valley home had become so miniscule that there was no way for the villagers to capture the salmon that used to run within them, which is funny, because the villagers have never lived in a valley before and they’ve always lived on the island.

Then again, she’s not very sure about this statement. All she knows is that she lives on the hill and that she’s lived on this hill ever since she started counting.

Victoria has never been good at properly recalling the order of events or the time at which they occurred, and she finds that, more often than not, she orders entire days in the incorrect chronological order. It sounds burdensome, but the young woman doesn’t bother to concern herself with it.

After all, time is just time. And in this perfect world, Victoria has all the time in the world.

(The man yells something about the recurring theme of change before stomping out of the hearing, but Victoria finds that she doesn’t really care. She thinks that this selfish man is simply taking everything he has – everything that her father has worked so hard to achieve for his citizens – for granted.)

(It makes her squirm in her jeweled chair with anger.)

x.

Victoria counts the number ten, but logic tells her that that would be impossible. After all, her conscious is insisting that this event could only occur after she counted the number six. But Victoria has never been particularly good at counting, so maybe this shouldn’t make her as uncomfortable as she is now.

In her father’s stateroom, the councilmen have gathered to argue about the rumors of a rebellion taking place within the metropolis. The young woman sits across from her father in her delicate chair of porcelain with wide eyes, not entirely sure what is going on and unable to follow the fast-paced conversation that is being held between her father and his advisors.

But what she does realize is that the people within the paradise that her father had struggled so intensely to create have found the audacity to be ungrateful enough that the officials surrounding the community have caught wind of ploys to overthrow her father and issue a democracy.

However, their society is already a democracy. It’s a flawless, foolproof system that elected her father as the head official to call the shots to keep their already perfect world clear of any troublesome issues that may arise during his reign.

Victoria doesn’t understand these people or where they’re coming from. Especially since she knows that her father goes out of his way to make the people of their utopia as happy as they can possibly be – he has never once made a promise that he has not kept. And she can personally attest to that, because she has silently declared it to be her duty to remind him of anything that may casually slip his mind.

After all, age really does do things to the memory of an individual.

The meeting ends without drawing a proper conclusion or formulating an intricate course of action because this is the first time in their history that their happiness has been attacked by the tides of revolt. Her father is a reeling mess, still unable to come to terms with the fact that his reign has been encompassed with such a horrible stain of imperfection, does nothing but continue to sit in his seat at the table with glazed, vacant eyes. And no matter what Victoria does in an attempt to gain his attention, it seems as though it’s all in vain.

She decides that come the next day, she’ll start to take matters into her own hands.

xiii.

Victoria wakes at the crack of dawn when the larks have yet to rise in order to sing their melancholy song and the water of the lake that their village is centered around catches the rays of the sun in a truly breathtaking way.

Her room’s color scheme is that of an ivory white with specks of lavender thrown about here and there, and the simplicity of it all makes the young woman squirm in discomfort because she swears that something is a bit off about it all, but she can’t quite point out what it is exactly.

She’s never been good with details because details have never been that important. In her worry-free world where everything is picturesque and perfect, it only makes sense if she allowed herself to be swept away like flower petals in the wind of time.

The young woman dresses herself in a simple navy dress that ends in a bell right above her knees with dark stockings and a pair of black creepers. After affixing a single red ribbon in her hair, she quietly exits her grandiose room and, eventually, the castle on the hill itself.

It’s not until she’s hit by a pleasant breeze that she realizes that she can’t recall the last time she left the confines of her home. The thought intrigues her, but she can’t find the strength to dwell on the idea for long. She glances upwards to see the sky of the rising sun in its various shades of violet, scarlet, and gold, painting their paradise with its stretching shadows of warmth and awakening each individual as it gently strokes their cheeks. The tingling sensation on the ends of her nerves pleases her enough to make her smile and gives her the strength to continue down the path towards the village enveloped in the valley beneath her hilltop abode.

As she carefully meanders towards the base of the natural affixture, she hears a sudden crunching of leaves from her right, and quickly pivots to stare at the unseen individual in shock.

Initially because of their abrupt appearance; soon after because of the sudden burst of recognition.

At the bottom of the hill sits a cherry blossom tree: its branches parted and reaching for the sky in desperation and the blushing petals of its flowers a stark contrast to what Victoria sees as an otherwise monochrome world. The blossoms are full and brimming with purity, surely enough to cause any individual to stop whatever they’re doing and gaze longingly at its beauty, all of them longing to reach out and grab a piece of the perfection for themselves, but none of them finding the audacity to do so. After all, there is a certain price to pay for touching something that you know is forbidden.

It is here, under the skeletal woodworks that Victoria sees her: a young woman, surely younger than she is, with hair the color of cinnamon brushed towards her left shoulder and a simple, shapeless, white dress concealing her form. The color of her skin is pale in pallor - a clear difference to the harsh saturation of the wood behind her.

What startles Victoria is the fact that she can recognize her. Or at least, she thinks she can recognize her.

She isn’t sure where it all comes from, but flashes of an endless meadow and a twirling dress and the jingling of bells scatter her vision and her world begins to spin around her at an alarming rate and suddenly Victoria begins to doubt her original intentions of leaving the safety of her hilltop home.

But then the young woman sitting beneath the tree raises her eyes to meet hers and Victoria’s world instantly comes to a standstill.

Her amber orbs look tired and vacant, yet they somehow manage to shine with the light of a million stars which shouldn’t be possible (but then again, perfection itself shouldn’t be possible), and she sits beside the trunk and surpasses its splendor.

Victoria finds herself moving towards the mysterious woman without fully understanding why.

“Good morning,” comes the voice. “I don’t usually see people awake this early. You frightened me.”

Victoria angrily chastises herself for nonexistent carelessness and whispers an apologetic, “I’m sorry.”

The younger woman turns to face her with a small smile, “Don’t be.”

She gestures for Victoria to take a seat beside her which she gladly does.

A silence settles between the two individuals: the stranger lost in thought as she stares upwards at the blossoming flowers and Victoria lost in thought as she stares at the stranger. She knows well enough that staring is rude, but she feels that she can’t be bothered to care because something in the back of her mind is whispering that it won’t be long before this perfect being becomes only faded fragments of memories that lull her to sleep as her eyes gently shut.

There’s only so much time left.

“The petals will be falling soon.”

Her voice shakes Victoria from her trance and it takes her a moment to retrieve an intelligible response from the depths of her mind. “What do you mean? It looks like they’ve just blossomed.”

The woman beside her only shakes her head lightly, “That means nothing. They’ve awoken from their slumber. Just because you’re newly arisen doesn’t exempt you from death’s cold blade.” Victoria blinks at these words, not expecting such pessimistic sentiments to escape the scarlet pair of lips beside her. “There’s only so much time left before they’ll be gone. But it’ll only be then that we’ll all be free.”

If she had thought that forming a proper response had been difficult earlier, then Victoria is surely at a loss for course of action now. She opens her mouth momentarily but closes it almost instantly.

It is during this time that the petite figure beside her rises to her feet with a sad sigh.

“Everything will change once the rebellion begins.”

The mention of rebellion quickly brings Victoria to her naïve senses.

"You know of the rebellion?” She, too, stands up out of her former sitting position in order to properly address the younger woman once more. “Please, what can you tell me about it? I’m willing to do anything to stop it.”

“It’s something that cannot be stopped. The gears are already in motion, Lady Victoria.”

She feels herself turn rigid, “How did you know my name? I don’t believe that we ever introduced ourselves.”

“It’s never too late to do so,” comes the nonchalant response. “My name is Jinri. Now excuse me, but I have to get going.”

Victoria blinks in surprise at the woman’s smooth departing statements before hurrying to grab the other’s wrist to prevent her from disappearing. “Why are the people upset? Why do they want to overthrow my father?”

There’s a beat of silence as Jinri stares in silent surprise at the harsh grip around her arm and she makes no move to respond until Victoria hesitantly lets go. The younger woman quietly regards the bright red finger marks that offer a contrast just as similar to the one that belonged to her and the tree before finally murmuring, “Because this world of ours holds no true form. One day we live in this world and the next day we’ll live in another. The people are tired of forcing smiles and pretending that they’re happy. All they want to do right now is wake up – and they’ll do anything in their power to do so.”

Not a single one of her words makes sense to Victoria, whose head can only reel in confusion.

But perhaps this is the younger woman’s intention as she allows a bright smile to grace her features in contrast to the older woman’s confused frown. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, Victoria. There’s only so much time left until then.”

Victoria blinks for a mere second due to her confusion, and when her eyes open once more, Jinri is gone.

Victoria has never been that good when it came to counting, but she’s quick to realize that she needs to learn. Fast.

Time has gained significance, as have the array of details that merge together to create the ticking clock on her wall: the gears spinning against one another behind its face, the delicate brush strokes that have formed its numerals, the golden hands that she now realizes move at an alarmingly slow rate.

It’s all important.

And it’s all disappearing quickly.

xiv.

Victoria doesn’t have time to survey her surroundings because she doesn’t even remember falling asleep the night before.

She had intended to talk to her father about the words spoken by the young woman, but she supposes that if she can’t even remember laying her head to rest, then it’s highly likely that she also didn’t bother taking the time to speak to him.

With a string of mumbled curses, Victoria sets her feet on the glass of the floor below her, grabs a coat to cover up her nightgown, and rushes towards her father’s chambers.

She knocks once, twice, and then throws the door open without waiting for a proper response.

Unsurprisingly, her father is already fully dressed in his day attire, sitting by his desk by the window, looking deep in thought. At his daughter’s sudden arrival, he hurriedly turns to face her with a worried expression of surprise, “Oh, it’s just you, Victoria! What’s the matter, darling? You look absolutely horrified!”

“Father, have you received any news regarding the current status of the rebellion?”

The old man blinks at the direct nature of her question before slowly shaking his head, “No, I don’t believe that I have. But I don’t want you to worry about that too much: I assure you that the Council and I will handle the situation appropriately. I promise that no harm will come to anyone once we are able to make the rebel leaders see sense.”

“But do you even know what it is that they want?” she asks. “What course of action could you possibly be planning if you don’t even know why the people are so angry?”

He says nothing for a moment but his expression is one of pure exasperation. “We’re all trying our best, Victoria. I don’t suppose that you have any clue on the matter?”

She parts her lips in order to properly answer him but is surprised when she finds herself hesitant to do so. The idea makes her squirm in discomfort as her conscious screams for her to keep her mouth shut, but logic is telling her that this confession is the best course of action for the sake of her utopia, so she forces the words through her lips. “I left the castle yesterday and came across one of the village girls. She told me that the people are upset because of something about our world having no true form? I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m almost certain that if we try to talk to the village people more and more, we’ll be able to properly find the meaning behind her words and –“

The Magistrate cuts her off with a sad sigh. “I was afraid that it would come to this. My child, there is nothing that we can do now. If this is what is upsetting the people, then there’s no hope for our salvation – and if they were intelligent enough to stop and properly think of the situation, they would realize that there’s no hope for them as well.”

Victoria feels her heart drop in her chest as she had thought that this information would produce a more optimistic response. She figures that she should at least be somewhat curious about how easily her father understood what she could barely manage to recite, but she finds that doing so would be in vain. “But… We can still try to find a solution to all this, right, Father?”

The old man forces a sad smile before standing up out of his position in order to lovingly ruffle his daughter’s hair. “There’s never any harm in trying, Victoria. Always remember that.”

Despite knowing that her hopes had been dashed instantly because Jinri had been right when she claimed that there was evidently nothing that could be done to stop the coming rebellion, Victoria finds herself throwing on another one of her expensive dresses in order to meander down the pathway once more to see if perhaps she can find the younger woman sitting at the base of that cherry blossom tree even though she feels as though she’s hours late.

(Then again, Victoria can never be too sure since the concept of time is something that she’s just beginning to force herself to become familiar with.)

She’s surprised at the lush smell of a thick forest around her, occupying every component of her vision with an endless ocean of trees. She racks her mind for some sort of explanation to this because she could’ve sworn that there had been no river flowing beside the bark of the cherry blossom tree – with flowers that are in full bloom – that she had seen yesterday because she would’ve remembered a detail like that. She knows that once the blossoms begin their graceful ballet towards the tender land of the earth, a few will settle within the river’s glistening water, making the scene even more picturesque than it already is.

She would remember something like that.

She knows that she would remember something like that.

So why can’t she?

The thought plagues her: a whisper in the back of her mind insisting that there’s something wrong – that there’s something that she’s not getting but she just can’t put her finger on it.

However, as soon as she catches sight of the petite, young woman leaning against the base of the tree, her anxious heart allows itself to settle more within her chest.

Jinri is clad in a formless white dress and her wavy, auburn locks are brushed towards her left shoulder. Her eyes are shut, making the dark rows of her lashes look like tiny butterflies caressing the smoothness of her pale skin. Rosy red lips seem to be the only true component of color present on her figure, and Victoria can’t help but wonder why she feels like she’s stumbled across a similar scene before.

As she allows herself to step nearer to the seemingly slumbering woman, Victoria casts the thoughts away. It isn’t until she takes her seat next to the petite frame that Jinri stirs in order to rest her head on the older woman’s shoulder, butterflies fluttering away as her gentle eyes open.

“I told you that there was nothing you could do.”

The blunt nature of the words stings considerably, but Victoria still somehow manages a weak, “There’s always something that you can do. There has to be.”

Jinri laughs, but this time, instead of hearing the laughter of innocent fairies, Victoria hears something darker and more malevolent – something that she can’t quite name.

It scares her.

“You’re the only one who can actually do anything in this world. Haven’t you managed to come to that conclusion yet?"

Victoria shakes her head slowly. She doesn’t understand where the younger woman is coming up with these conclusions, but she knows that it would be ridiculous to actually argue with her because she speaks with this erudite sort of intelligence that simply doesn’t seem natural for someone of her age. Despite her logic telling her that this all seems like a grand trick of some sorts, there’s still a small voice nagging at the back of her mind, begging her to hear what this girl has to say. “I don’t understand what you mean. The only individual who’s able to make laws in our utopia is my father, and the things that I do have little to no influence on any of his actions.”

Another giggle.

“Oh, you’re still so wrong, still so ignorant to the world around you. To your world around you.” There’s an amused smile on her lips – one that would belong to a child who knows a secret and refuses to tell it. “You’re the one who started the rebellion and you’re the only one who can stop it. You’re the only one who created the world in which we live in, so you’re the only one who can fix it. It’s too bad that our heroine is too sleepy to understand what’s going on. Perhaps we’ve all been forsaken from the very start.” The mirth in her chuckle returns, making Victoria shiver – that is, if the words themselves weren’t enough to do so.

“Now you’re just not making any sense,” she begins uneasily. “I’m not tired at all. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now.”

“And why should I trust your judgment of time above mine? In all honesty, can you, yourself, even trust the ticking of the clock? Shouldn’t an individual like you be able to easily twist and bend the hours of time to your choosing?” Her words only confuse Victoria further, and sensing this, she shifts her weight in order to sit up straight as she continues, “You feel like you’re late to our meeting right? This meeting that we didn’t even properly schedule? Haven’t you wondered why I showed up here in the first place, or why I came here hours later than I usually do? Aren’t you curious as to the reason why I’m actually here and not elsewhere?”

Victoria is unable to answer any of these questions because, frankly, she doesn’t understand what any of the questions mean.

So Jinri answers for herself.

“Because this is what you have willed. And whatever you wish for, we must give in to.”

Millions of questions race through Victoria’s mind, but she finds herself unable to answer any of them.

The heavy silence weighs on both of their shoulders for what feels like an eternity, until Jinri steps up out of her position to follow the river south towards the village.

She doesn’t leave the older woman with so much as a parting word.

xv.

“Father, something needs to be done about the situation with the villagers.”

The elderly man sighs at these words, raking a hand through thin wisps of grayed locks. “My child, I don’t think that there’s anything that I can really do to stop the coming battle. All we can do is pray that it won’t be too damaging to our estate and that no one will get hurt.”

Perhaps under normal circumstances, this answer would have been good enough for the young woman. But taking into account the recent events of her given situation, the words only frustrate her. “If you can’t do anything, then what can I do? There’s something that I must be able to do; something you’re not telling me about.” This accusation makes him quickly turn towards her in surprise: lips parted but voice mute. “Father, if you care about your people as much as I do, then you have to let me know what I’m missing. You have to give me the missing pieces of the puzzle so that I’ll be able to solve it.”

“I can’t do that, Qian.”

Victoria blinks, “Qian? Who is Qian?”

Her father simply stares right through her as he monotonously asks, “And who is Victoria?” in retaliation.

The words send her mind reeling, and once she closes her eyes for a split second in order to gather her thoughts, the old man is gone.

Victoria runs through the castle and towards the cherry blossom tree as fast as she possibly can because she needs answers, and it’s frustrating her that she isn’t getting any of them.

Between the smug metaphors of the younger woman and the nonsensical monosyllables of her father, she figures that the former is her best choice for a source of information.

And besides, the former is much more appealing for her to look at.

But she supposes that that’s beside the point.

The barren landscape before resembles that of a desert, and for a split second, as she’s dashing towards her meeting spot with Jinri, she frets about whether or not she’ll actually get there in time and if the tree is still there and if Jinri is still there.

Her doubts are cast aside as soon as she realizes that the beautiful cherry blossom tree has materialized in front of her: the young woman in the simplistic white dress sitting within its branches and delicately caressing the few gentle blooms it has left.

Victoria blinks in surprise and quietly chastises herself for not being aware of her surroundings. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot – why is she just realizing that she had forgotten her shoes? – and allows he toes to wiggle themselves into the grainy sand at her feet. It shouldn’t make sense that a lush tree such as the one before her is able to survive in such a harsh climate and Victoria knows that. She knows that that doesn’t make sense at all and becomes further stressed when she realizes that she can’t remember what the tree looked like yesterday.

“It looks like you’re still stuck at square one. I told you that there wasn’t a point in trying,” Jinri states with an air of innocence. Her legs dangle as though they are extensions of the branches in which she sits, dancing in the heavy wind of the desert. “Then again, I suppose that when an artist inserts a piece of himself into the world of his creation, it becomes difficult for him to escape it.”

The older woman sighs, and not knowing what else to do, allows herself to drop down to her knees in an exasperated heap. Last night, before she had gone to bed, she had tried to piece together the information that she knows (or at least, what she thinks she knows) with the metaphors that escape the mysterious bright red lips, but all to no avail. In fact, it’s beginning to become clear to her that perhaps this entire concept is something that will forever be out of her grasp; something that, no matter how hard she tries, will always elude her like a fleeting dream after moments of her awakening.

It pains her.

“I’m no artist,” she deadpans, not knowing what else to say. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to take the young woman’s words literally, but she feels that at this point, she doesn’t really have any other choice.

“Oh, but aren’t we all? An artist is not a profession, after all. It can be, but we each possess the qualities to assume that role ourselves, don’t you think?” Jinri counters instantly. “And I think that that’s the case you’re in right now. Perhaps you don’t intend to be the artist, but you’ve simply been forced into the position. It just so happens that this is a job that you can’t resign from.”

Victoria regards the words in silence for a moment, realizing that it’s probably the closest she’ll ever be to clearly deciphering the meaning behind the young woman’s words. She comes to the conclusion that the best path to understanding lies not through the route of argument, but rather through going along with the metaphor that dances through the air.

“But isn’t it true that an artist is not an artist without a vision? Without a motive, the splatters of paint are nothing more than shapeless colors that refuse to blend and awkward shapes that look horrid and unnatural. If this is the case, then wouldn’t the artist lose their job?”

Jinri beams down from her perch, and in a sudden burst of excitement, drops down to face Victoria directly. “That’s right, that’s right! But the art isn’t real, so neither is the composition. Everything is just in the artist’s head because she can’t put it down on paper until she wakes up. Now that the artist is trapped in her nightmare, she’s forced to relive day after day after day of creation without understanding the true depth of what it is that she does. No matter how hard she tries, the world of an artist cannot maintain stability. After all, a constant environment has no hope for expression at all.”

Victoria’s eyes widen with a sudden understanding while Jinri’s face instantly darkens as she realizes that perhaps she’s said too much. She steps away from the Magistrate’s daughter, eyes averted and assuming a persona of extreme aloofness.

The older woman quietly picks at the strands of her long, wavy locks, not wanting to accept the reality of the situation that has been thrust upon her. “But that doesn’t ‘make sense. That doesn’t sound plausible. It can’t be real.”

“You may choose to believe whatever you wish to believe. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

A sigh echoes throughout the empty desert as Victoria quietly asks, “Then please just answer me this: why do we sleep? Why are some people subject to a loss of the perception of time and waste away living but not really living? How is that possible? Why is that possible?”

“Because we aren’t loved and so we can’t love. We fall victim to the world of sleep because a fabricated lie is better than the cruel truth.”

Victoria closes her eyes at the words in an attempt to compose herself but allows a single tear to slip through her defenses.

When she opens her eyes again, the tree and Jinri have disappeared.

It begins to pour heavy sobs from the sky and Victoria realizes that she’s beginning to lose hope – if it all hasn’t disappeared already.

xvi.

When Victoria wakes up, it is in a blank white room with no shadows and no light. It is a void of pure emptiness and the more rational side of her registers the feeling of sadness, but she’s decided to throw all rationality out the window because it seems to never really do her any good.

She slips through what she imagines to be a closed door and desperately tries to stumble across someone – anyone – just for some sort of reassurance that she isn’t actually alone.

It feels like hours and hours have gone by, so she eventually gives up after finding no one.

There’s an emptiness with its root at the pit of her stomach, churning her very body into an uncomfortable mess of wanton cries and desperate possibilities of escape, but she knows that no matter how hard she tries to fight the feeling, it’ll be impossible to make it disappear.

So she closes her eyes and sits within the empty space around her, fighting the urge to cry out and plea for assistance.

After what feels like centuries, she opens them once more.

A cherry blossom tree made of dainty porcelain branches has appeared in front of her, only a single crystal blossom left.

Her heart skips a beat.

Victoria quietly walks towards the tree and strokes the petals of the delicate flower with the utmost care.

Another tear falls.

Then another. And another.

She snatches the precious crystal from its position atop the porcelain and smashes it on the ground.

fin.

truth's fatal kiss.

2013-08-30T22:43:30Z

Title: truth's fatal kiss
Pairing: baekyeol
Genre: romance/angst
Rating: PG-13
Length: ficlet; 1,848 words
Summary: And Baekyhun can’t help but wonder how much of their relationship was a delusion and how much of it was just another figment of his distorted reality.

Warning: So it's like two in the morning and I'm sleep deprived and not exactly sure what I'm doing anymore, so prepare yourself for an unedited mess. OTL.

Blood trickles out of the gaping wound and Baekhyun looks at Chanyeol with this expression of pain – not from the fatal hurt inflicted upon him, but by the emotions that are running frantic in his fading heartbeat.

His mind is spinning with fragments of thoughts and conclusions that may or may not be right, but he finds that in that moment, as his life continues to slip out of his fingertips at an alarming rate, none of that really matters. All that really means anything is this abstract sensation in his chest that he knows isn’t actually there, but just feels so real that it might as well be.

In all honesty, Byun Baekhyun isn’t even sure how to separate the truth from a lie anymore.

He hesitantly raises his gaze to meet the one of the man hovering over him. And even though Baekhyun’s always been an incredibly articulate sort of fellow, he finds that the only word he can manage is a strangled, “Why?”

The taller man blinks at the innocence of the question, before tilting his head in mild thought. “Well, I didn’t mean to be so messy: that’s for sure. This’ll be a lot of work to clean up, but it wouldn’t have been this bad if you hadn’t squirmed around so much.”

Baekhyun isn’t sure if he wants to laugh at the misconception of his single question or if he wants to cry.

“No,” he croaks, “Not that.” He knows what he has to say – how he has to explain his true curiosity – but he finds that doing so would take more emotional strength than what he currently has. “I mean –“

And suddenly, his murderer’s expression brightens with a seemingly random burst of joy as he claps his hands together. “Oh! You actually thought that I loved you!” He says the words like an elementary school child correcting himself after responding to his teacher with the wrong answer, and the purity of the reaction only twists Baekhyun’s heart more. Chanyeol is still looking at him with this childlike stare, as though waiting for a response of some sort from the older man.

Despite the recent betrayal, Baekhyun finds that he can’t refuse the younger man of his silent request and manages a small whimper of affirmation.

Chanyeol’s face seems to light up even more and he allows himself to hum a silent syllable of praise.

“I told you from the beginning that I never loved you. When I first met you, I told you that you had caught my eye, but when we started spending more and more time together, I told you that I wasn’t capable of love. I told you that; you just never believed me.”

Baekhyun wants to believe that there’s some distortion of the truth taking place in Chanyeol’s words, but there’s something inside of him insisting that this is the first piece of reality he’s registered in a long time, so he has no choice but to accept it.

It doesn’t stop the painful clenching of his heart or the stinging tears running down his cheeks though.

Despite the reaction that he’s received, Chanyeol continues on with his explanation nonchalantly. “I’m not exactly sure what it was that you did to get on Wufan’s bad side, but the guy took me in when no one else would, so I suppose that that’s where my loyalties lie. I was asked to target you, to get all the information that I needed from you, and then dispose of you before you would realize what I was up to.” He pauses to pull out his phone in order to frown at the screen. “A few days late, actually, but I suppose that it doesn’t really matter since I got the job done.”

Baekhyun finds himself too weak to do anything but continue staring at the assassin before him in pure despair. When Chanyeol had first approached him all those months ago, he was attracted to the optimism in his step and the glitter in his smile and what seemed to be the undying devotion that the taller man had towards him. Every day, he had woken up to a husky voice lightly breathing into the shell of his ear and the warm, protective embrace of the man lying beside him. Every day, he would wait for approximately two minutes after his shift, before the familiar black sports car would pull up to the building and the younger man would insist on treating him to some coffee before taking him for a stroll around the park. Every day, Baekhyun would think about the days before he met Chanyeol: back when he was painfully confused about anything and everything and could only view the world as dull, while only viewing himself as an unimportant liability to all those whom he was concerned with. But when Chanyeol stumbled into his life , he had begun to believe that there was something vibrant and worthwhile in every little thing and that maybe, maybe he served some purpose in life.

But now that the truth has been exposed, Baekhyun is sure that everything that he had started to think was true was nothing more than a lie spoken through the lips of the Devil himself.

Except Chanyeol can’t be the Devil, because Chanyeol is everything and anything that Baekhyun isn’t: he’s the light of the stars and the tide of the sea and the breeze that ruffles his hair on a sunny day.

Chanyeol isn’t evil. Chanyeol is too good to be evil. This is all a mistake; some cruel nightmare inflicted upon him for drinking too much coffee again. In a few minutes, he’s going to wake up to a whispered promise of eternity and familiar arms around his waist. In a few minutes, the empty feeling in his chest will disappear to be replaced with a sensation of pleasant floating.

In a few minutes, everything will be okay again.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he grimaces, shifting his gaze to stare at the graffitied wall of the alley. “You’re starting to make me feel uncomfortable, Baekhyunnie. And that’s no fun.”

No fun. Right, Baekhyun never really is any fun. Chanyeol has told him that before.

“If it makes you feel better, you weren’t all that bad, you know? I really liked the feeling of you underneath me. You have a serious talent with those fingers of yours. It’s a shame that I had to kill you, really.”

The words do nothing but make the tears dart faster down Baekhyun’s cheeks and when he tries to choke back a sob, all that comes up is a glob of blood that only adds to the stains on his formerly white shirt. He feels that he should at least try to make an attempt at something intelligible – something meaningful that Chanyeol might be able to remember him by – but the only thing that he can manage is a horribly clichéd, “I-I loved you. No, I love you.”

However, the words succeed in catching Chanyeol offguard, and his eyes quickly flash back to meet the fading gaze of the older man. “What? You’re not thinking straight. I just stabbed you, and in a matter of minutes, I would’ve killed you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Baekhyun mutters. And he takes a dry swallow as his vision begins to become spotted. White fills every dimension of his sight and suddenly, the pain in his torso has begun to fade. This realization makes it clear to him that his time is almost running out, and that scares him, because he’s never said anything like this to anyone before and he only has a few seconds to think of a way to do it properly.

But Baekhyun has never been a quick thinker, so the words that slip through his lips are rushed and genuine – words that come from the very depths of his fading heart.

“Love isn’t something that’s meant to be logical. It’s something that stems from something that no one can ever control because emotions are something that no one can control. Love is when you want to spend every waking moment of your life with someone because they mean something to you; because they’ve made a significant difference in your life and you can only hope that you’ve done the same thing for them. When you love someone, you want to shield them from all the cruel aspects of the world because you know that someone as perfect as them doesn’t deserve all of that pain and suffering.” He pauses for a moment to stagger for air, only succeeding in accentuating the stinging of his lungs. When he begins again, his voice is quieter – nonexistent, almost – and Chanyeol finds himself leaning forward in order to hear every last piece of it. “Love is forgiveness; no matter how great and detrimental the sin.”

Silence echoes throughout the alleyway as the younger man tries to process the words, before he whispers, “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve your love.”

Baekhyun allows a hoarse chuckle to reverberate throughout their empty space. “That’s okay. Because the more you insist that you’re not worthy of it, the more the feeling grows.”

Keeping his eyes open has become a burden now, so Baekhyun tentatively allows his eyes to shut. He supposes that he’s said all that he needs to say, and perhaps dying young is better than dying old in the long run.

The last thing he registers is someone pulling his corpse of a body to their chest in a tight embrace as they press their lips to his forehead in a long, meaningful kiss.

“Thank you.”

---

Target #56312, Byun Baekhyun: eliminated.

---

“Wufan, he told me that he loved me.”

The older man blinks at the sudden comment, before warily turning his attention towards his subordinate, “So?”

“He told me that he loved me, and no one’s ever told me that before.”

For a moment, Wufan debates on how he should respond to this innocent confession. However, he figures that it would be best to make sure that his most trusted assassin remains tied to the world of harsh reality. “Does it really matter now? He’s dead, and there’s no coming back.”

“Wufan, do you love me?”

“No,” he responds instantly, “People like us – we’re not capable of love. It’s such a useless, tiresome emotion, Chanyeol. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

Chanyeol stops to think about the passion in Baekhyun’s dying voice and the feeling of his body moving in synchronization with his and the electricity that passed between their lips and the pure honesty in his final words.

“I suppose that you’re right.”

It’s the first time that Chanyeol has ever lied to his senior.

destroyed in love.

2013-07-29T00:52:29Z

Title: destroyed in love.

Pairing: krystal-centric; kaistal; kailli

Genre: romance/angst

Rating: PG-13

Length: one-shot; 7,508 words

Summary: Soojung loves without knowing what the word means and Jongin doesn’t know how to help her.

When you’re thousands and thousands of miles up in the sky, it only takes the smallest of missteps to send you plummeting to the ground. The breath hitches in your throat while your heart lurches in your chest and you blink in shock because everything had been fine until that very second. Your mind scrambles for some sort of solution, but by the time it finally creates one (that is, if it creates one), it’s too late. You find yourself on the ground: bones broken, eyes lifeless, and soul absolutely empty.

Rain falls, leaves fall, and so do people.

Jung Soojung is no exception to this rule.

In fact, the only thing that Jung Soojung seems to know how to do is freefall from the air as her life passes her by.

(Falling, falling, always falling. Waiting for Prince Charming to fly in and save her from utter demise. But Prince Charming doesn’t exist so she dies at the end of every one of her dreams.)

Krystal wants to laugh but she lacks the strength to, so Soojung does instead.

---

Being an exchange student is something that she never signed herself up for. Of course, the word of her parents is law, so Soojung finds herself quietly sitting in a corner of her older sister’s Korean flat as she makes out with a mysterious stranger that Soojung doesn’t feel she should concern herself with.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

The brunette glances up to see a bright face amidst the darkness of the crowd. “Yeah. Sooyeon’s younger sister.”

“Mmm,” the taller woman hums, before taking a seat at Soojung’s side. Dressed in what looks like an expensive designer outfit, the smiling girl looks like she’s the same age as Soojung. Her dyed brown hair falls to a point a little below her shoulders and her eyes twinkle with this sort of spark that makes Soojung want to wince. “Your sister’s really into parties, huh?”

“I guess so.”

When the stranger laughs, it sounds like the tinkling of bells. Soojung can’t stop her lips from twitching upwards at the innocent sound that stands out from the electronic rhythm that’s been dominating her eardrums for a tad bit too long.

(But Krystal thinks that noise is annoying and sneers in disgust.)

“It’s okay, I’m not that fond of them either. I’d prefer to just relax at home, you know? Unfortunately for me, my friends have been getting on my case about my lack of social skills. I didn’t have much of a choice this time around.”

Soojung mutters a halfhearted response that can barely be heard over the music.

Something about it sends the other girl into another laughing fit. It isn’t until she finally calms herself down that she finally introduces herself. “My name’s Jinri.”

She extends her hand to shake the other girl’s.

(Don’t do it, you idiot. You’re making friends with the wrong people.)

“Soojung.”

heir hands grasp each others in a gentle way that Soojung hadn’t expected.

(There’s no going back now.)

---

When Soojung later asks her sister about the girl, Sooyeon only responds with a simple “Oh, Jinri. Yeah, she’s one of Victoria’s friends. If I remember correctly, you two are actually in the same grade.”

Soojung hums in thought.

(Krystal smirks at the opportunity.)

---

“Is it that different from America?” Jinri questions, tilting her head to the side slightly as she guides Soojung through the maze of hallways. “I’d imagine that it is. Western movies portray high school so… oddly.”

Krystal rolls her eyes while Soojung allows a light laugh to escape her lips. “Yeah, it’s definitely something else. Especially the uniforms.”

“I bet that our school will be a tad bit boring in comparison,” the taller girl admits with a sheepish smile, “Our campus is kind of small though, so it’ll be easy to get to know everyone.”

And just as Soojung expected, Jinri continues through her tour of the school, pointing out people that she considers interesting as they go along. Soojung struggles to try and memorize all the names, but Krystal doesn’t see the point in it. After all, why should she waste energy trying to recall the names of insignificant faces in an otherwise busy crowd? That would be stupid.

Names and faces all fly through her mind with not even a second thought.

Until they come across him.

Soojung feels all of her senses come to a sudden standstill. Her vision begins to blur and she parts her lips to question the man before her, but nothing comes out because it seems that her tongue has tied itself into a knot. There’s a faint ringing in her ears without any explanation as to what might have caused it because no matter how hard she tries, it seems that Soojung can’t connect the ties between sight and sound. Her heart is suddenly threatening to lurch out of her chest and the feeling scares her, because this has happened to her before. Dear God, this has happened to her before and it scares her because despite her nonchalant gaze, everything scares her. Smudges of bright colors flash through her mind, along with a gentle voice’s melodic song and the memoir of a hand holding another, and then –

“Soojung, this is Jongin.”

The man before her is tall with mussed hair and an awkward expression on his features that does nothing to disguise the genuine kindness that lies underneath. His uniform’s jacket is left unbuttoned and rolled up halfway as he leans against a locker, lips moving, but no sound being produced.

But it’s his eyes that make the breath hitch in Soojung’s throat.

Because there’s something in his eyes that reminds her of a dream that she once had: a dream of gentleness and compassion and coy caresses and light whispers of “I love you” and “Please, please, don’t ever let me go.

(Familiar, familiar. Doesn’t he look so familiar, Soojung?)

The epiphany sends her mind reeling and she finds that she can’t bring herself to respond to the casual greeting that had been offered to her only moments ago.

So she does instead.

“My name’s Soojung. But please, call me Krystal.”

He blinks at her for a moment – slow and lazy yet careful and cautious – before a smile lights up his features. “Nice to meet you, Krystal."

Something is screaming in the back of Soojung’s mind, but she finds that she doesn’t care all that much for it as long as this stranger with the addicting eyes keeps smiling at her like that.

---

“Are you alright, Soojung? You’re looking a little pale.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she mumbles, mind still spinning. She doesn’t plan on saying anything more, but it seems that Krystal has other ideas. “It’s just been such a long first day, you know? At least the workload isn’t too bad. I just… It really sucks that I moved here in the middle of the school year. It would’ve been cool to just hang out with you guys without any worries, you know?”

Jinri frowns in empathy, guilt clouding her eyes – Krystal smiles at this. She had read the girl correctly, after all.

The taller woman fidgets for a moment in thought, before finally allowing a bright smile to grace her features, “Well, like you said, there’s not too much homework tonight. And Jongin’s been complaining about how much he wants to see that new comedy…”

Soojung grins in anticipation, while Krystal smirks.

(Bingo.)

---

When they arrive at Soojung’s doorstep full of smiles and excitement, Sooyeon makes her younger sister promise to be back by midnight, before handing her more than enough won to last the night and sending her on her way.

Evidently, none of the high school students are able to drive (much to Krystal’s amusement), so all six of them – Soojung, Jinri, Jongin, and three others whom Krystal quickly labels as irrelevant – end up taking the bus. It’s a tad bit embarrassing, but Jinri assures the younger girl with a laugh, “Don’t worry, students here do it all the time.”

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the theatre and purchase their tickets. Jinri and two of the guys stop by the concessions stand, but insist for Jongin, Soojung, and the other girl – Amber? – to “get their asses into the theatre because, Jongin, I swear, if we’re sitting behind super tall people again, I’m going to kill you and draw on your corpse with eyeliner.”

Jongin just laughs and ruffles the hair of the shorter man, “Baek, if that happens again, you can just sit on my lap. It’ll give you a nice boost.”

The older male flushes a bright red, before giving his friend a harsh shove in the general direction of the movie room.

Soojung trails after him, ecstatic grin on her expression as they arrive into the darkness of the viewing room.

It’s clear that the movie they had chosen isn’t the most popular choice when they realize that it’s only five minutes before the showing is set to start yet they’re the only individuals in the room.

Something about it makes them all laugh and Jongin convinces the two females to hide with him in order to scare the others (namely Baekhyun) once they arrive with the snacks.

They know that they’re more than successful when the older male screams like a three-year-old girl and nearly drops his tray of soft drinks.

(He almost dumps an entire cup of coke over the younger man’s head as revenge, but another boy – Sehun? – stops him with a laugh. “Hyung, you do remember that you spent the last of your pocket money on that drink, right?”)

It’s clear that Baekhyun isn’t all too angry when he slings his arm around Jongin’s shoulder after hitting his neck. “Come now, Jonginnie. Sit next to Hyung. Hyung will make sure that you’ll enjoy the movie.” The words are spoken with a devilish sort of tone, making the younger student flinch at the touch. Of course, he can do nothing but allow himself to get dragged towards a particular row of seats by the older male, whining all the way.

Soojung starts to follow after him – still intrigued by the reaction she received from their brief interaction earlier in the day and amused by the man’s dorky personality – but Amber cuts her off suddenly with a playful smirk. “Don’t be silly. Let Jinri go in first.”

The words confuse Soojung, so she turns to the other female, who’s giggling embarrassedly. “There’s no need for that, Hyung,” she teases.

Sehun, overhearing their conversation, laughs as well. “Yeah, Hyung,” he jokes, “Maybe Jinri isn’t the mood to sit with her boyfriend. I think that she’s finally fallen for my manly charm, you know?” The young man proceeds to pull Jinri – who’s still laughing at the whole situation – towards his chest with his right arm, before raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I think that she wants some new eyecandy. Right, Ri?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Hey!” Jongin calls, pout on his features as he pats the seat beside him, “Get your asses over here, the movie’s about to start. And Sehun! Will you please stop harassing my girlfriend?”

At his words, both Jinri and Sehun erupt into more laughter, before following one another into the selected row – Jinri beside Jongin, Sehun beside Jinri. Amber looks like she’s about to follow suit, but after a quick glance at their newest addition to their group of friends, a line of worry creases her features. “Are you alright?”

Soojung parts her lips to answer, but something inside her chest feels tad bit off and she finds that no words come out of her open mouth. However, the questioning gaze on the other woman’s features is beginning to look judgmental, and so without thinking, Soojung quietly whispers, “Girlfriend?”

If Amber is suspicious of anything, she doesn’t let on. “Yeah, Jinri and Jongin have been together for a while. A little over two years, I think?”

Soojung feels her body go rigid.

(No, no. That’s not right. Jongin’s not his real name. He’s a liar, a liar. Can’t you remember your past with him Soojung?)

Yes, yes. That’s right. You’re right. He’s not Jongin, he’s –

“Oh, that’s cute,” Krystal covers smoothly, “I wouldn’t have expected it though. Jongin seems a little…”

It seems that Amber feels that she knows where Krystal is headed, as she responds with a light laugh, “I know what you mean.”

(If only you did.)

---

After the movie ends and they get off the bus, the group walks Soojung back to her sister’s flat.

“Hey, are you okay? You haven’t spoken a word since we left the theatre,” Jinri points out, genuine concern laced onto her features. When the younger girl doesn’t react at all, she decides to joke, “I know that the movie was absolutely horrid, but the guys still seemed to enjoy it. Jongin’s taste isn’t that bad, right?”

Soojung makes no move to answer her question, forcing Jinri’s lips into a thin line of silence.

Perhaps she intended to try her luck again, but they arrive at Soojung’s home much too soon, so her question is never answered.

(If you want my honest opinion, his taste is absolutely horrible.)

---

Sooyeon doesn’t answer the door, so her younger sister has to resort to using the spare set of keys hidden underneath their doormat.

When she enters the flat, all she hears are the high-pitched sobs of her wailing sister.

She darts to the older woman’s side, pure confusion in her eyes.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of her sister’s cries piercing the emptiness of the air. But eventually, Sooyeon composes herself enough to look at the younger girl and whisper, “Soojung, our parents are dead. I-I just got the call. The police suspect foul play.”

Soojung’s entire body freezes up and it isn’t long until her own tears join her sister’s on the wooden floor.

---

A piece of her dies that night.

---

Days turn into weeks which turn into months.

Krystal allows a careful smile because somewhere between here and there, Soojung’s lost all capability of emotion. She continues on with her life in a doll-like state: wishing, wanting, willing herself to move forward, but to no avail. All she has left are the miniature hopes that her heart has managed to retain its grasp to, but how long can something as fragile as her soul hold onto something as transparent as wisps of smoke? There’s something wrong, she can sense it. She knows that there’s something wrong but when light shines through to her despite the darkness of the world around her, it gives her the sort of hope that occurs only in books and movies and fairy tales.

It would be stupid for her to put everything that she has left into something as ridiculous as a childhood dream, but Soojung has nothing else inspiring her to continue living out her life.

She’s scared. She’s so scared and there’s no one to help her and that makes everything even worse.

(It’s okay, Soojung. You still have me. No matter what happens, you’ll always have me looking out for you. I promise.)

Soojung clutches at her chest, desperately trying to find the beating of her heart but finds herself unable to do so. Her breathes become labored and she allows herself to slowly slide down the door of her room as everything begins to spin.

Sooyeon. Where’s Sooyeon?

(She’s not here when you need her. She’s never here when you need her. Neither were your parents. Is living a life without them really that different from living life with them? Get over yourself, Soojung. You’re just being dramatic again.)

Right. You’re right. You’re always right.

(Of course I am. Instead of mourning the loss of the people that never truly looked out for you, shouldn’t you spend your time trying to straighten out the relationships you have with the people who are willing to help you out?)

What do you mean? The kids at school? Jinri seems nice. She always goes out of her way now to make sure that I’m okay, but I never do anything in order to pay her back.

There is a pause.

That makes me a bad person, doesn’t it?

(No, no. Of course not. You could never be a bad person, Soojung. Your heart is too pure for that. There are other people too, you know. Like –)

Jongin.

(Yes. Like Jongin. Don’t you remember him, Soojung? Don’t you remember dear Jongin?)

Soojung loses herself to the tears once more, sobs echoing throughout the silence of her empty room. Because of course she remembers Jongin. Except in her memories, Jongin isn’t Jongin. Because in all reality, Jongin is not Jongin. Jongin has the same smile as him and the same personality as him and the same, gentle heart as him because Jongin is him. And it makes Soojung want to scream because why doesn’t he remember her? After everything he had done to her, why can’t her recall how important he is to her?

(It’s alright, Soojung. Unnie has it all figured out.)

---

The next day at school, Krystal is all smiles. Seeing this makes Jinri beam, as she had been going on and on about how worried she was starting to become, but Krystal can honestly care less about what the older woman thinks of her.

When lunch arrives, she doesn’t bother waiting for the familiar brunette so that they can interlock their arms and make their way to the cafeteria together. No, no. There’s no time for that.

Instead, she easily makes her way through the crowd and towards their usual table where a certain Kim Jongin is already sitting, laughing at some ridiculous joke he’s just told while the others already gathered around him look at the young man as though he’s an idiot.

Out of the few students congregated at the table, he’s still the first to notice her. “Oh! Hey there, Krys.” He has that cheesy grin on his features, but it falters for a moment as he confusedly asks, “Where’s Ssul? Don’t you two usually walk together?”

“Jongin, do you remember me?”

The question leaves Soojung’s lips quickly and without a thought. It’s clear that her response has caught the young man offguard as he blinks a couple of times in confusion. “Well, of course I do. I see you every day, don’t I?”

His cheeky reply sends Sehun and Baekhyun chuckling, and Krystal has to clench her fists tightly together to keep herself from lashing out at them.

“No. I meant from before. Before I came to Korea. We knew each other before then. Don’t you remember?”

Realizing that she’s completely serious, the stupid grin wipes itself off Jongin’s features as his brows crease together. He tilts his head to the side for a moment in thought before careful saying, “No, I don’t. I’ve never left Korea before, Krys. That’s impossible.”

His words, though honest, make something crack inside Soojung’s heart.

(What a liar. Don’t listen to him. He’s lying, Soojung. Jongin is a liar. You already know that.)

“Hey, Soojungie! Are you alright? You darted out of the hallway before I could catch up to you!” Jinri says with a light giggle, finally making her entrance to the lunch group. It only takes a moment for her to notice the awkward atmosphere that has developed between her young friend and her boyfriend, so she curiously asks, “Is everything okay here?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jongin pushes his seat away from the table and engulfs Jinri in a one-armed embrace. “Yeah, of course. Soojung and I were just clearing something up.”

She looks at him for a moment with a raised brow and he returns the look by suggestively raising both of his brows, and it sends the couple into a small giggling fit.

It doesn't make sense. He doesn't make sense.

Because he looks at her the way that she looks at him, and Krystal wants to laugh because she doesn't remember when he became such a liar.

(Typical Jongin. Always doing whatever it takes to bed his next target.)

Something stirs in Soojung once this realization hits her and she mumbles an excuse to quickly depart from the table. She feels a familiar sensation developing behind her eyes and a tremble in her lower lip, and because she knows what’s coming next, she quickens her pace.

She doesn’t know where she’s going, and Krystal supposes that it doesn’t matter all too much.

Because behind Soojung’s retreating form, she can still hear the worried whispers of Jinri: “Jongin, what on earth did you do? You know that she hasn’t been feeling well since… you know. She was just starting to get back to her old self again!”

“I-I really don’t know what I did,” he explains quickly, “I’m just as worried as you are. I’ll be back. I’ll go check up on her and make sure that she’s alright.”

As Soojung runs, Krystal hears the hurried steps coming up from behind her.

(Don’t worry, Soojungie. He’ll remember. We’ll make him remember.)

---

“Krys,” he calls, hurrying over to her hunched form as soon as he spots her in the abandoned hallway, “Krys, are you alright?”

When she doesn’t respond, he hurriedly crouches down in front of her slouched position against a row of lockers. Dark locks are shadowing her expression as she hugs her legs toward her chests, and at first, Jongin thinks that she might be crying, but he hears no sobs, so realizes that he must be wrong. “C’mon, Krys. I’m sorry if I came off as rude. I just… You know,” he hesitates for a moment, realizing that he has no idea what he’s going on about. “Thought you were joking,” he finishes lamely. It’s clear that he has no idea how to properly assuage the situation as he nervously scratches the area behind his ear with his index finger.

“Soojung, please.”

And it is this sentence that finally makes the petite brunette raise her head to look up at him.

Curious brown meets the other’s anxious eyes, and Jongin feels something in his chest tighten. Because this young woman in front of him just looks so vulnerable that it makes his heart crack in sympathy. Somewhere in the expanse that the light brown offers to him, he can see fear and stars and the trembling of willow trees in the wind and beyond all of that, beyond all of the apprehension and the panic, he sees a frightened little girl crying in a corner.

He doesn’t know how he sees it. Perhaps he doesn’t actually see it all. Perhaps it’s all a figment of his imagination. Or perhaps it’s just what his heart is seeing, because sometimes, the heart is aware of more than what is considered physically possible.

Jongin doesn’t know. And frankly, he doesn’t really care either.

There’s just this surge of pity that gushes out from the very core of his being, and because he’s lanky and awkward and never knows how to fix people when they’re feeling down, he goes ahead and does whatever he does when Jinri’s feeling particularly sour.

He does his best to wrap his arms around the small frame before him, pulling her towards him and trying to pretend like he doesn’t feel completely uncomfortable with her knees digging into his chest. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I’m sorry for being rude. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

In all honesty, Jongin isn’t exactly sure what it was that he had said that had hurt her feelings. If she didn’t look so broken, then he would’ve thought that she was being a tad bit overdramatic. But of course, Jongin is the type of man that can only focus on one thing at a time.

So when he pulls away from the hug to shoot her an encouraging grin, he’s startled to realize that Krystal has risen to her knees and has followed his pull.

And he still isn’t sure what’s happening, but suddenly, Krystal’s lips are on his.

The action does more than just startle Jongin. It sends his mind into a frenzy because no, no, no, this is absolutely wrong – these lips aren’t Jinri’s – and this really shouldn’t be happening to him right now because all he really wanted to do was cheer a girl up after he sent her running. And despite the fact that Krystal’s lips really know how to kiss a guy, Jongin finds that he’s not enjoying the kiss at all because he’s absolutely mortified at what’s happening.

All of this clicks in his mind almost immediately so he quickly pushes Soojung off of him.

"W-What are you doing?”

She does nothing but stare at him with eyes that are almost wider than his.

Jongin touches his lips for a moment, chest heaving in confusion as he quickly scrambles away from the younger girl. “Tell me that that was an accident. Because that was an accident, right? Because you and Jinri seem pretty close and she seems to like you a lot and you definitely wouldn’t do something like this to her, right?” His mind is desperately trying to come up with a plausible conclusion without thinking negatively about the brunette, but he finds that it’s difficult to do so.

Especially when Krystal’s lips part and her tone is full of something that Jongin can’t exactly name when she says, “Stop playing games, Kai.”

Soojung imagines that something flashes in his eyes as his brows crease together.

“Who’s Kai? Soojung, are you feeling alright? You… You haven’t really been yourself today.”

And Soojung wants to ask him if he even knows what he means when he says that. Because she doesn’t even know who she truly is, so how is he supposed to know?

He’s left her so many times in the past. He waltzes in and breaks her heart and then disappears without a trace. So how could he possibly know? Because if it weren’t for him, then maybe Soojung wouldn’t be so broken. It’s his fault, really.

“You’re right. I think that maybe I’m sick.”

This response makes Jongin’s expression crack once more, and his shoulders slacken instantly as though her words have released a heavy burden off his back. He struggles to come up with the proper response, before lamely deciding on, “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

A painful silence lingers between the two until Soojung nervously continues in a trembling whisper, “That was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it. Jinri does a lot for me. I would never do something like that to her.”

The words seem to ease Jongin further, and he shoots her a small smile, “That’s good to hear.”

(She might not. But maybe I will.)

---

Later, Jinri nervously approaches Soojung and tells her that Jongin told her of everything that had happened.

It’s clear that she’s uncomfortable as she proceeds to ask for an explanation of sorts because she insists that she wants to hear both sides of the story. “Jongin says that it was all an accident, but…” she hesitates for a moment, before finally managing, “But if it wasn’t, I want to hear it from you. I won’t be angry because I like to think that our friendship means more than that. I just want to know the truth, Soojungie.”

The words touch Soojung in an odd sort of way, but they do nothing more than make Krystal scoff.

“Do you want the whole truth? Because I think that if I tell you it would jeopardize everything that the two of you have together.”

And this response makes Jinri widen her eyes as she uncertainly assures Krystal that she wants to hear it all.

With a hidden smirk, the younger woman unwinds the long, forgotten tale of a Korean-American boy who went by the name Kai. She recounts how he was a kindhearted young man that charmed everyone with his awkward smile and lovable personality. How he used that all to his advantage to become a player that used his high school classmates to alleviate all his sexual needs. How she, herself, was a victim of this notorious badboy.

How the man’s true name was Kim Jongin.

Jinri looks stunned. But Krystal speaks with such emotion through the mouth of a distressed Soojung, and it’s hard not to believe the lies that are spilling forth through her tainted lips.

---

The two break up a few weeks later, Jinri’s excuse being that she thinks they need some time apart for a while because she’s feeling very confused.

Jongin’s at a loss for words and can do nothing but blame himself for everything that he had done that could have possibly led to this and everything that he hadn’t done that could have prevented it. He walks through the hallways with a broken expression, the slouch in his shoulders making him look smaller than her really is. His cheesy jokes have stopped bringing laughter to others because he no longer tells them and his smile – when he does smile – looks weak and strained and makes it seem as though he’s truly going to fall apart at any moment.

And everyone – Soojung included – can do nothing but worry about the young man because it seems as though he’s not willing to let anyone in. But if you keep all of your pain to yourself, then is it truly possible for anyone to heal?

(No, probably not. But it’s always easier to work with those who are already broken.)

---

“I don’t understand, Sehun,” he whispers one day after school when the hallways have cleared out. “I thought that everything was fine between the two of us. Where did I go wrong?”

There is a short pause as the younger man quietly stares at Jongin, mind silently racing with everything from pity to sadness. He eventually sits himself on the dirty school tiles next to his best friend. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jongin. There’s nothing that you could have done differently.”

The words are blunt and it’s their straightforwardness that makes them sound harsh. But despite the way the sentence makes Jongin cringe, they’re full of nothing but truth. And perhaps Jongin knows that – deep, deep inside his heart, of course – but just can’t bring himself to admit it.

“That’s stupid. There must’ve been something,” he insists, eyes glazed over the way that they do whenever he finds himself deep in thought. “What do you think was her breaking point?”

Sehun allows himself a soft sigh. “Jongin, I know what you’re thinking. And no, there’s no way that she would’ve broken up with you just because of Soojung.”

“Krystal,” the older man finds himself halfheartedly correcting, “She likes being called Krystal.”

Sehun blinks at him for a moment and looks as though he’s going to comment on his words. However, he decides against it and continues with his story. “I can see why you want to blame it on what happened with you and Soojung that one time,” Sehun pauses for a moment to note the way that Jongin visibly flinches, “But I’m sure that that couldn’t have been what threw Jinri off. Girls really do appreciate honesty, you know? Besides, if Soojung had anything to do with it, I doubt that Jinri would still dote on her as much as she does. And she doesn’t seem angry towards you, right? Just distant. That definitely means something.”

Jongin bites his lip for a moment before releasing the breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “I suppose that’s true. I just… I love her, Sehun.”

And the way that his voice cracks as he says those words is enough to send Sehun’s mind into a sympathetic fit because this is his best friend and this is the kid that cheers him up whenever he’s down and having the tables turned so suddenly is more than enough to catch him offguard.

“I really care for her, Sehun. And I know that this is just high school and that usually romances like this don’t mean anything – but no; that can’t be true. Because I love her so much and I don’t know what I did wrong. All of a sudden, she can’t even look me in the eyes or brush past my shoulder and I don’t know why. And I think that that’s the worse part of it all. I don’t know why.” There is another pause until he whispers, “Sehun. Sehun, I love her and I never even told her.”

The young man pulls his friend into a reassuring hug in an attempt to stop his tears, “Jongin, it’s okay. It’s alright. Everything will work out. If it was meant to be, then the two of you will get back together in no time.”

But the words aren’t enough to satiate Jongin. “D-Do you think… Do you think that if I tell her, it’ll be enough? If I tell her how much she really means to me, will it change anything?”

And Sehun honestly doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t. Because he’s known Jongin long enough to know that when he’s thinking about something this hard, his mind darts back and forth at a pace that is impossible to keep up with. He knows that – despite Jongin’s failing grade in math – his friend is one of the most intelligent people he’s ever met. Grades are one thing, but the way that one’s thought processes work is another. With Jongin, his thought processes are something that aren’t meant for anyone but him to be able to follow, so Sehun sees no point in trying.

After a few minutes of silence, Jongin sniffles quietly and pulls away from Sehun’s embrace. He can’t really meet the eyes of the other as he mumbles his next words, “Thank you, Sehun. I don’t know what I would do without you.” The younger man smiles, but doesn’t get the opportunity to speak. “Sehun, you’re the best friend that anybody could ever hope to have. And I’m so lucky to have you. I know that you don’t really like talking about gushy stuff like this, but just… Thank you so much for listening to me.” He hesitantly brings his eyes upward to stare into the other man’s as he finishes, “It sounds stupid, but right now, you’re all I have. My life revolves around making Jinri as happy as I possibly can and spending my time with the best friend that I could ever have. The two of you are all I really have, and I –“ I really don’t know what I would do without you.

It’s clear that he can’t properly find the words to express himself, so Sehun allows himself to interrupt, “It’s okay, Jongin. I understand. It’s okay.”

These words make Jongin’s lower lip tremble once more, and suddenly he’s all tears again.

Sehun chuckles as he rubs his friend’s back reassuringly, “You’ve always been such a baby.”

Though it’s simple, it’s enough to get a chuckle out of the older man, who halfheartedly tries to shove the brunet away from him. “You suck.”

“Yeah, I know. And I also know that I won’t be leaving anytime soon. So you don’t have to cry anymore.”

Jongin manages to shoot Sehun a teary smile – the most genuine one that his friend has seen in a while.

A shadow shifts in the darkness – not that the two students notice, of course – before promptly turning to leave the building.

(Once something breaks, it’s impossible to put it back together.)

---

Just as Sehun had predicted, Jinri and Jongin get back together after two and a half weeks of being apart.

---

When you’re thousands and thousands of miles up in the sky, it only takes the smallest of missteps to send you plummeting to the ground. The breath hitches in your throat while your heart lurches in your chest and you blink in shock because everything had been fine until that very second. Your mind scrambles for some sort of solution, but by the time it finally creates one (that is, if it creates one), it’s too late. You find yourself on the ground: bones broken, eyes lifeless, and soul absolutely empty.

Rain falls, leaves fall, and so do people.

Jung Soojung is no exception to this rule.

But what’s funny is the delusion of falling: the delusion of a fairy tale that is full of nothing but happy endings and caring smiles and true love.

Because whenever Soojung begins to fall, she somehow always manages to land on another floating platform. Always back to where she had started at the very beginning of her journey. And every time, she tries to choose her steps cautiously because she’s already experienced the fear of falling one too many times and she’s absolutely scared to fall. But every time, she loses her step and her center of gravity shifts, and she should be dead, but she never actually is. She can’t die. Because Soojung likes to think that she’s not even real. So is it possible for a mere figment of reality to plummet to an untimely demise?

No. Probably not.

Soojung likes to think of herself as a tortured princess in a fairy tale: suffering at the hands of a dreaded curse that includes nothing but falling, falling, falling and never being able to achieve the spiritual release that death has to offer her. And just like in every fairy tale, she likes to imagine that once she hits a certain point in her life, she’ll be rescued. One day, while she’s falling, a handsome young man on a beautiful white horse will rush onto the scene to catch her before she’s forced to restart the horrid cycle. He’ll treat her like a delicate flower as he carefully pulls her to his chest whispering, “You’re safe now, you’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you like this ever again. You’re safe. I’ll protect you.” And then they spend the rest of their lives in each other’s company, picking flowers and dancing at extravagant balls and caressing each other in the protective shadow that the night provides, murmuring, “I love you” and “Please, please, don’t ever let me go” until the sun rises once more. Living in a word of promised infinities and sworn vows of dedication.

The problem with Soojung is that she’s met this prince of hers in a strange void in-between the world of her dreams and the world of pure reality. He’s tall, tan and muscular, with an innocent smile that is enough to make everyone stop and look. He has a certain humble charm about him that isn’t a quality found in many young people of the day, and his hands hold eternity within them.

And he’s the reason that Soojung falls so often.

Because Soojung knows that he’s the prince, but he never seems to realize that she’s the princess.

So instead of racing to catch her as she falls, he continues to run past her, never stopping to even spare the falling girl a second glance.

So Soojung falls and falls in a world of her own creation while her prince continues to cause her more and more suffering.

(Prince Kai never seems to care.)

The young woman whimpers in her slumber.

Because she’d rather meet her doom through a bullet to the head or freeze to death in a frozen tundra or burn in the fires of Hell than fall again.

But she’s already taken the wrong step.

So there’s no going back.

---

When Soojung goes to school the next day, Jongin is a mess.

Jinri and Sehun have gone missing.

Soojung is shocked and feels the tears rushing down her face before her mind fully registers it.

Krystal gives him a reassuring hug and promises to help him cope with this. She promises that the two will turn up soon and that they’re perfectly safe.

Jongin can do nothing but continue bawling into her shoulder as he thanks her for being there for him.

Krystal has always taken pride in her lying capabilities.

---

An announcement is released in the few days after their disappearance: Jinri and Sehun are dead. The police suspect foul play.

But no, they don’t just suspect foul play. They know that what has been done is nothing short of a horrendous murder on two young teenagers who were a mere week away from seeing their graduation ceremony. It’s hard to assume anything else when the two bodies were washed up in a river that was headed to the ocean, their nude corpses bound and gagged, cuts and burns marring their pale complexions, bruises making their faces almost unrecognizable, and a deep puncture in each of their chests to reveal a missing heart.

The murderer’s cautious care and the rushing water around them has eliminated any trace of fingerprints or DNA.

---

When Jongin hears the news, he faints.

And when he wakes up to find that it all wasn’t just some horrible nightmare, he can do nothing but sob.

He isolates himself for almost three months, not even caring that he’s just missed his high school graduation. Because what’s the use in celebrating the closing of one chapter and the beginning of the next when the author has decided to strip the main character of his only reasons for living?

---

It’s Soojung who carefully coaxes Jongin from the fragile safety that his bedroom provides.

His parents aren’t really sure who she is, so they’re a bit tentative when they grant her permission into their house with a basket of homemade cookies and a somber expression on her features. But at this point, they’re desperate for their son to be saved and the expensive therapeutic sessions clearly aren’t working.

At this point, it’s pure desperation that is on Krystal’s side.

It takes over a month to convince Jongin that maybe it’s time that he’s moved on.

“No, I’m not ‘moving on.’ I’ll never move on. Something like this isn’t something that you just put behind you.”

But he allows Krystal to take his hand and guide him towards the park.

The sun is shining and there’s a faint breeze rustling the trees.

Today marks the four month anniversary of Jinri and Sehun’s deaths. It’s an unspoken statement that they’re both aware of but refuse to address.

---

Meeting at that certain bench in the middle of the park becomes a daily habit between the two. Every day at four-thirty in the afternoon, they’ll make their separate ways to the location before sitting beside one another in silence.

Always in silence.

Because whenever they meet with one another, Jongin’s eyes are never focused. Whenever they meet, Jongin can do nothing but think. He reminisces all of his memories with his dearly departed or laments everything that they could’ve done together but didn’t or thinks about how bleak his future seems because at this point, his future seems almost nonexistent.

And it’s an unspoken rule that Soojung should say nothing either. There’s something in his glassy eyes that reminds her of a moment in a hallway that occurred centuries ago. And whenever she’s gifted with a short glance from the older man, she can see fear and stars and the trembling of willow trees in the wind and beyond all of that, beyond all the tiredness and loss, she sees a little boy clawing at a dark curtain separating him from what – no, who – he loves most.

It does more than just hurt her.

It shatters whatever is left of her being until it becomes absolutely nothing. Because Soojung no longer exists: she’s been swept away by the midsummer breeze as nothing more than dust in the wind. She’s been cursed since birth to live in a horrid fairy tale that she can never escape because all those sayings about how the individual writes his own destiny is nothing but a lie, lie, lie.

It hurts that she had to find out this way, but perhaps it was just inevitable.

Her prince will never love her. He was never meant to love her. He was never her prince.

So Soojung will continue living her life falling, falling, falling because the man that she wants to catch her never will.

And she refuses to give anyone else the chance.

Because even if Jongin wants to love her back, Soojung is long dead and Krystal never truly existed in the first place. All that sits at his side is an empty, empty shell of a young girl whose eternity ended before it even began.

---

author's note: wow, this is almost double the word count that i had projected when i was plotting this baby out. /shot. but it was definitely a lot of fun to write! as some of you may have guessed, this was inspired by the "pink tape" teaser that sm gave to us. i had hoped to get this finished before the mv release, but from my knowledge, the album is set to release in a couple of hours, so i'll happily take that as well. c;

thanks for reading! your thoughts are definitely appreciated. c;

as you reach (you fall). - prologue

2013-07-27T01:30:59Z

Title: as you reach (you fall).
Pairing: baeklay; minor layhan
Genre: romance/angst
Rating: PG-13 (might get bumped up to NC-17)
Length: multi-chaptered; prologue: 517 words
Summary: Everyone tries to tell Baekhyun that he's not perfect except Yixing who only repeats the compliments he overhears outside the bathroom door.

The word ‘perfection’ is subjective.

When you ask the master artist what his latest project looks like, perhaps he’ll offer you a grimace or the simple shake of his head. But the attendees of his art gallery will describe it as perfection.

If you ask a mother to describe her infant child in a single word, she’ll jokingly respond with the word ‘trouble’ while her husband chuckles in agreement. But the way that the couple adores the sleeping babe says it all: she’s perfect.

The author that writes and writes until the early hours of the morning will describe his work as mediocre as best; surely nothing special. But when someone finally stumbles upon his secret journal, they’re in awe, because it takes courage to release your very soul onto something as insubstantial as mere sheets of paper. And those sheets become worth so much more than they were before because now, instead of being empty, they’re full of perfection.

Objectively, the word ‘perfection’ should never be used. Perfection is something that is not naturally created in the world that we live in. And if it is, then it’ll be destroyed before it can truly be appreciated.

A blooming flower begins to crumple in on itself as soon as it’s reached its maximum potential of beauty. For a few short minutes, passerby will call it gorgeous, beautiful, absolutely perfect.

But in the infinite space that time occupies, minutes mean nothing. And once that short moment in the spotlight draws to a close, the flower is no longer radiant. Now the petals are slightly discolored and the fragrance isn’t as sweet as before and the splendor of it is withering, withering, withering away until it becomes nothing. Until it’s left as nothing but a dead memento of something was once called perfection.

Because when the next new artist comes along, the glory of that painting instantly becomes nonexistent. It gets torn down from the wall and chucked into the waste bin because no one wants to look at something that’s no longer chic.

Because that perfect baby girl is born with an incurable disease and the new parents don’t have enough money to pay for even a month of treatment. She dies almost as soon as she’s given her name.

Because those papers were nothing more than paper. And when the next man decides to empty his feelings out through words once more, those old sheets are suddenly filled with error upon error upon error. Nothing but worthless.

Perfection is something that is not naturally created in the world that we live in. And if it is, then it’ll be destroyed before it can truly be appreciated.

Byun Baekhyun is perfect.

He has the perfect face, the perfect hair, the perfect body, the perfect voice.

And Byun Baekhyun has been living for a long twenty-one years now, so he’ll be damned if he doesn’t live a perfect, long life either.

Because Byun Baekhyun knows that whatever other people say is only said to tear him down, and he’ll have none of that rubbish.

He’s worth so much more than that, after all.

And anyone that tries to tell him otherwise is worse than the dumb Chinese kid that follows him around murmuring nothing but praise after praise after praise directed at only him.

Baekhyun doesn’t need compliments to remind him of his perfection. Because compliments are subjective things that only matter on an individual scale, and Baekhyun’s sure that his flawlessness is something that’s factual – as set in stone as the rules of his industry.

a letter written in regret.

2013-07-13T03:38:49Z

Title: a letter written in regret.
Pairing: layhan
Genre: friendship/romance/slight angst I guess?
Rating: PG
Length: ficlet; ~2,500 words
Summary: There are two different kinds of love, Yixing supposes. The trouble is discerning one from the other.

Note: Companion piece to “neverland’s will.” It’s recommended that you read that before this.

time. how irrelevant we thought the idea of it all was.

“we have time. we possess time. we own every hour and every day and every month and every year of time. we are time.” that’s what it had come to. but i suppose that everything – no matter how infinite it seems – must come to an end at some point. perhaps we should’ve known that we couldn’t hold on to something so intangible and figurative as time for so long. that would be cheating the universe.

then again, i suppose that we were quite good at that as well.

would you believe me if i told you that hell was cold?

it’s funny. if our circumstances hadn’t come to this (if i were still sleeping by your side, kicking you awake whenever you started to snore; if i were still there holding your hand as we rushed through the busy streets; if i were still there embracing you when you looked like you were about to break in a desperate attempt to make sure that all the fragments of your being remained glued together), i can easily imagine the chuckle that would escape your lips as those words of mine echoed into the air.

light, airy, effortless.

like an angel.

how ironic, huh?

i’m not stupid, lu. ever since that chanced meeting (or would destined be the better word?) atop that grassy hill, i knew what you were: trouble. of course, i hadn’t anticipated just how much trouble you were destined to bring about.

but if i had known, would i still have accepted your hand? if i had known that you were an extension of the devil himself, would i still have listened to all your words with an open mind? if i had known that our meeting, that the unspoken bond we formed with one another on that night, would lead to my eventual entrapment in this dark abyss, would i have still invited you to sit with me under the stars?

would you believe me if i told you that the answer would be yes? that to any question you asked me, my initial reaction would always be to say yes?

yixing, do you think that i look okay? yes
.
yixing, do you think that i’ll get better soon? yes.

yixing, do you think that i’m important? yes.

yes, yes, yes. for you, luhan, it was always yes.

can you believe that for me? despite everything, will you be able to hear these faded words of mine and know that I’m telling the truth?

what am I talking about? you’ll believe anything i say. you always did and you’ve always been so resistant to change. if even the foulest, most disgusting lie were to escape my lips, you would embrace the words as though they were the only truth that you had ever known. perhaps that’s why our fate has turned out this cursed.

maybe we were a mistake. maybe two people were never meant to trust each other as much as we did.

and maybe that’s why everything turned sour as soon as I decided to betray your trust. maybe that makes me the bad guy in our story: the story of luhan and yixing. kind of like the story of peter and wendy, right? It has the same ring to it.

maybe that just adds on to the irony.

i was scared. i was – no. i am a coward. i’m a repulsive, worthless figment of reality that’s been crossed out over and over again from the mark of existence with the blood of the devil himself.

luhan, from the moment my mother died, from the moment that i was left alone in that miniscule abode with nothing but the clothes on my back, my world became black and white. there was no more shining sun or rippling waves or blooming flowers: everything was stuck in a cursed monochrome spectrum. all the life had been sucked out of my very reality and it was scary. and i didn’t know what to do. i felt so alone.

but as i wandered to and fro, i would see a splash of color: a ray of sunshine that would make its way through the endless darkness, a while lily floating in the lake, a single flower the color of a smile blooming amongst a field of endless gray.

i didn’t understand it. and i suppose that i never really tried to.

all i really understood was that these small displays of life had become the bane of my existence, keeping me from slitting my own throat or jumping into the jagged rocks of the ocean.

but suddenly, all the color disappeared.

and i found that that was all it took for me to forsake what little hope i had left.

when you waltzed into my life on that fateful night, i knew i had to trust you. i knew that i was meant to trust you.

because, luhan… luhan, you brought back the color. luhan, you were the color.

i know that it sounds stupid. we didn’t even know each other. i didn’t know who you were or what i was getting myself into.

but you were the color. you were my color. you are my color.

and perhaps that’s what led to our downfall.

when you asked me on that fateful night “do you trust me?” the answer was already yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

of course, saying that out loud wouldn’t give off a very good impression, would it? i couldn’t let you know how much i needed you, how desperate i was for you to whisk me away from the hellish grayscale world that i was living in and towards the rainbows and rainbows of color and joy and life.

i was like a moth of darkness and you were like my spark of light.

no, that’s not right.

i am like a moth of darkness and you are my spark of light.

when i signed away my soul to wufan, i knew what i was getting myself into. everything was painstakingly clear by then.

but see, the thing is that i didn’t care.

i mindlessly sold my very existence to the devil himself because i knew that i had to follow you. there was something about you that i knew i had to decipher.

i’d later realize what it was.

think about it this way: we are two sides to the same coin, lu. but while i’m lost in a sea of apprehension and fear and doubt and pessimism, you’re running through an endless pasture full of confidence and hope and courage and this dreamlike optimism that shouldn’t be real.

but it is real.

because you’re real.

lu, while i’ve become nonexistent and insubstantial , you’re real. you’re the shining sun and the roaring waves and the scent of a newly blossomed flower and you’re so real and in every piece of the world that it’s unbelievable. unbelievable, but so, so real.

that’s what scared me.

because I didn’t deserve you. i don’t deserve you.

you are an ethereal being, and i your shadow. you are the shooting stars, and i the endless night that you fly through. you are the sun, and i the splotch of darkness that ruins your glowing beauty.

it didn’t make sense for a light as bright as you to care so much for an empty void like me.

and it was even more ridiculous for something as worthless as me to long to envelope you in a warm embrace or to stroke your cheek while you were sleeping or to kiss your forehead when you felt scared.

it didn’t make sense. i wasn’t making sense.

i had gotten too attached. and aren’t such attachments only nuisances to others?

but why did I care so much about what others thought? why did I have to care so much when everything that I wanted – everything that I needed – was by my side the whole time?

luhan, i’m stupid. i know that you know that and i know that you hate me for it.

i wanted to run away from you. i wanted to stay as far away as possible from you because when i began to recognize the emotions stirring within my heart, i knew how dangerous they were.

and it scared me. because, lu, everything scares me. yet despite all that, you always, always managed to take my hand and guide me through the storm.

how could i run from my protector? how could i escape the warm embrace of my guardian? what sense would it make for me to try and flee from the safety of the man who had taken a silent oath to keep me away from all harm?

then again, what sense did it make for my guardian angel to be the right-hand man of the devil himself?

luhan, i think that our relationship was meant to be incredibly unreasonable. because how can you explain a bond that was created by satan himself? it shouldn’t be possible for such an insubstantial bond to be created either.

but the two of us – our story – proves that all wrong.

many years ago, i heard the tale of a young man who sat between the gates of heaven and hell waiting for a lost lover. he’s a familiar face to many: youthful expression, doe eyes glinting with mischief, not too tall, not too short. has the looks of a young child despite his age and an enchanting voice that is impossible to ignore. people say that at the beginning of time, he was always jubilant and friendly despite the hellish life which many assumed he lived. he used to always be up and about, jumping from place to place, immune to age’s curse, without a care in the world. but now, all he does is sit. his eyes no longer glisten: they look tired and lifeless. his skin is no longer youthful and radiant: there are dark bags underneath his eyes and a pale pallor which surely can’t be natural. there are cuts up and down his arms that he never allows to fade because he always keeps a knife in his hand, a gun in the other, and a lighter in his pocket. his hair, which was once soft to the touch, has become matted with dirt in an untidy heap above his head. and even though he used to sing a familiar tune everywhere he went, he is now – for the most part – mute.

but whenever someone asks him about what he’s doing, he suddenly springs back to life – like a jack in his box – and says, “i have a friend that’s meeting me here in neverland. as soon as he comes, we’re going to fly away together and never come back.”

then silence.

luhan, why are you doing this to yourself?

please, please, please don’t do this because of me.

on that day – that last day we spent together – you were trying to tell me something. there was something that i could tell you wanted to say, but you were too scared to. you thought that i didn’t understand. i could see the desperation and disappointment in your eyes.

lu, of course i understood. i always understood.

but the understanding. the understanding is what scared me.

i know that the words won’t matter anymore. it’s too late for us. it’s too late for me.

but it’s not too late for you, lu. you still have the rest of eternity in the palm of your hands. don’t let silly old me get in the way of that.

wufan told me that sometimes, if i talk and if you’re trying really hard to listen, you can hear me.

i know that it’s stupid to listen to wufan, but he’s really the only person that i have to talk to. i hope that you don’t take everything that he says seriously. you know how much of a liar he is.

i wonder, lu. can you hear me?

if you can, then stop being stupid. don’t throw away your existence because of me. where’s the fun in that? the luhan that i know doesn’t let things get him down. he doesn’t mope around and waste time doing nothing. no, he picks himself up and frolics around like an idiot while screaming nonsense at the top of his lungs because why should something that happened in the past have to take away his entire future? the luhan that i know gets up and punches people in the face when they piss him off and plots bizarre schemes to get people to do things that he doesn’t want to do because he’s incredibly lazy and enjoys living without any worries. the luhan that i know radiates life and sunshine and pure joy despite the fact that he’s an angel of death because the Luhan that i know thinks that labels and restrictions are pointless and incredibly ridiculous.

luhan, i’m upset enough because of what my selfish fear has gotten us into, but if my mistake has ruined the one person that meant anything to me at all, then the deepest pit of hell is too glorious a place for someone as disgusting as me to belong.

so, luhan, please. i beg you to forgive me. to forgive me for being ignorant and self-centered and decidedly oblivious to everything that we could have had together, and to forgive me for what i’m about to say:

forget about me. don’t waste away lamenting mistakes or trying to kill yourself. don’t sit there like a lifeless doll and let eternity pass you by – because i think that we both now know that sometimes what we consider to be eternity isn’t actually an eternity after all. don’t spend every moment that you have thinking about me because i’ve already been forsaken and there’s no more hope for my salvation. don’t hear these words of mine and suddenly burst into tears either, because i feel like i can hear your sobs all the way from down here.

i want you to trust these words this time, because luhan, i love you too much to allow you to continue living like this.

and no matter what the universe throws at you, just remember that somewhere, deep, deep within the layers of hell, you have a friend praying for God’s miracle to be bestowed upon you – praying that the divine being will take pity on the happenings of your life and grant you freedom from the clutches of hell.

when you feel like nothing is going you way and that there’s no more point to your existence, just remember:

you still have me, you know.

---

author's note: just a sort extension of "neverland's will." from yixing's perspective. a few people were thinking that the main reason why yixing and luhan didn't end up together was primarily because of his religion, and i wanted to shed some light on that. it was a bit difficult to understand since "neverland's will." is told in third person limited (luhan) so you're not really able to get many of yixing's thoughts.

despite the short length (well, i suppose it's actually quite long for what was originally supposed to be a drabble), i hope that you all found it enjoyable! c: thanks for reading.

[shout out to ukexing for her help with the title (pmsl, "existiential crisis"), timingspaces for being my go-to grammar expert, and miiil for somehow figuring out a way to properly reference this fic five seconds after i shared the document on skype. kudos to you, man.]

neverland's will. [2/2]

2013-06-22T02:40:58Z

Title: neverland's will.
Pairing: layhan
Genre: friendship/romance
Rating: PG-13
Length: one-shot; ~12,000 words
Summary: While Yixing worries for his future, Luhan laments the past. Because as they dive into a world of memories, it becomes evident that one clings desperately to the broken shards of glass, while all the other can do is try to gather what remains of the pieces.

{entry for challenge #09 at aideshou}

part one

A few decades later, the duo meet a pair of friends somewhere in Berlin. They're surprised to hear someone speaking in the native tongue that the two hadn't been exposed to for years, and they're both quick to introduce themselves to the sudden burst of familiarity.

"Huang Zitao," the Chinese man says, "And this is my friend, Oh Sehun."

The slightly shorter boy whispers an embarrassed greeting, shyly hiding behind his taller friend.

Yixing thinks that their friendship is cute, but Luhan is wise enough to know that their relationship extends to something far more intimate than a simple friendship.

Even though it's not something that he has been exposed to regularly, he still thinks it's cute.

It doesn't take long for Yixing to figure this out for himself, but his reaction is something that is the complete opposite of Luhan's.

"That's so... unnatural," he whispers to the other, nose crinkled in faint disgust. "It looks so wrong. They're breaking every law of nature."

His words affect Luhan in a way that neither of them expect. "Why do you say that? Love is love. Physical appearances shouldn't matter. Don't you agree?" When Yixing slowly nods his head, Luhan is quick to continue, "And gender is technically something categorized as physical, since we have no conscious control over it. Just let them be."

Yixing says nothing—perhaps in order to evade getting on his elder's bad side—but Luhan is still disappointed upon noticing that Yixing begins to treat the other two males differently.

While Zitao and Sehun have offered them free lodging for months now, Yixing has always received the two younger men warmly: smile wide on his face, eyes glistening in delight, and arms spread in welcome. But his former kindness is quickly replaced with hesitation and doubt—in fact, Luhan finds that his longtime friend sometimes goes out of his way to avoid even coming into contact with the couple.

Though it would make sense if he simply took Yixing's behavioral change in stride—perhaps even subconsciously adopting the same attitude towards the younger men—he finds himself unable to do so. In fact, Luhan actually finds himself angry that his friend is being so judgmental. A part of him rationalizes that this is something to be expected: Yixing had always seemed to be a religious fellow (despite the fact that he was a recent convert) back when they had first met. Perhaps that side of him is something that never changed (for, although he never choses to comment on it, it is impossible to not wake up when Yixing does at the crack of dawn every Sunday morning to stumble his way into a church).

But in Luhan's case, the more rational part of him always tends to be a miniscule component in his overall thought process.

In all reality, it's difficult for him to understand why Yixing is so disgusted by the love that the two boys share. Is it really that wrong for two men to have such feelings for one another? Are such feelings so taboo that they could permanently ruin the perceptions of others?

Luhan isn't sure why it concerns him so much. And despite the fact that he and Yixing have always been incredibly honest with one another regarding their thoughts and have never previously hesitated to ask the other any question no matter what the subject, the older male suddenly finds that he can't find the proper words to do so. Suddenly, his former reputation of having a flawless way with words has disappeared, vanishing into thin air along with a vast amount of his confidence. Without warning, a small wave of discomfort washes over his being whenever he makes contact with his younger companion; a strange feeling of anxiousness overtakes his mind even when they do something as innocent as holding hands.

Luhan doesn't know where the feelings are coming from. And the fact that some part of him knows that discussing the matter with Yixing would only make everything worse doesn't help at all.

---

When Luhan and Yixing return to the house of the two younger men, they are surprised to find it nearly destroyed and their two companions nowhere to be found.

After asking around, they are forced to come to terms with horrible news: it has been ordered that the two be sent to a "concentration camp" of sorts.

It doesn't take long for the weight of those words to settle within the hearts of both Luhan and Yixing.

They quickly take their leave from the area underneath a cloak of stars, and Luhan is still in a state of shock regarding the whole matter. He debates whether or not he should ask Yixing for his thoughts about it all, but he decides not to.

He finds that he's afraid to hear the answer.

---

"I'm tired, Lu."

"You can't possibly be as tired as I am. You can go ages without sleep. I can barely survive a day."

"No, not that kind of tired. It's not the kind of tired you can fix by simply sleeping."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

Yixing sighs and rakes a hand through auburn locks. "I'm beginning to become tired of this life that we live. I want to... I think it's almost my time."

The words startle Luhan enough to make him whip his head towards the youngster with wide eyes. "That doesn't make any sense. You can't die. You don't have a time. You're going to live forever, remember?" With me. You're going to live forever with me.

"I have the option of living for forever," Yixing corrects with a calmness that sends the older man's mind into a frenzy. "But I think... What's the point in living for forever? We're forced to watch thousands and thousands—maybe even millions—of people that we know suffer and die. We have to watch them get old and lose their inspiration until they finally succumb to the greedy hands of death. But while they're forced to endure such pain, the sensation is something that either of us barely remember. While they desperately cling to every second of their short lives, we throw away hours and hours because we have all the hours in the world to spare. We're cheating everything that is natural in the world for selfish reasons, and it's unfair. I don't want to do it anymore."

No matter how hard Luhan tries, he finds that he is unable to form the correct words to respond. There is a feeling in his chest that is slowly expanding throughout his entire being, consuming all of his warmth, and it scares him. The idea that Yixing, his best and only friend in the world, is having such thoughts sends his mind racing without direction.

And everything hurts.

But he can't tell Yixing that.

"You still have me, you know," he quietly whispers.

There is a short silence as Yixing's thoughtful eyes bore into his own frightened ones. And what frightens Luhan is the sudden realization that he can no longer tell what the other is thinking; instead of a synchronized thought process, he's scared to come to the conclusion that somewhere between here and there, a piece of their relationship has been forsaken. He's scared that it's something that they can never get back, because for centuries now, all they've been doing is wandering and forgetting, and perhaps this precious part of their friendship is just another one of those things destined to be forgotten.

What frightens Luhan is that he's losing him.

"I know, Lu. I know."

---

Things slowly fall back into their former routine, though it would be a lie to say that the two fell back into their harmonized rhythm.

Somehow, in their avoidance of the West and their goal to go anywhere that wasn't home (because home is something that's far too familiar for either of their tastes despite the fact that they haven't visited the country in ages), the two end up in the bustling city of Seoul on the Korean peninsula. It had been Luhan's idea and, although he was incredibly proud of it for a while, it isn't long before he regrets ever coming up with the suggestion.

Because during one of their pranks on civilization, Yixing meets her: a beloved songstress adored by not only Korean citizens, but by an international audience as well. She's softhearted with a gentle smile that looks as fragile as a blooming rose, and a heart that's big enough to enwrap the entire world in a warm embrace. Her voice has the pitch of an angel's with the power of a goddess' and it's enough to make everyone stop and listen whenever her caring timbre echoes throughout the air.

And when Yixing meets her as he and Luhan exit a building under the name 'SM' with the idea that maybe being superstars for a while would be fun, it's as though his entire existence is put on pause because all that he sees is her, her, her, her, her—and suddenly Luhan means nothing. And this girl, this woman, seems to feel the weight of his gaze on her because she turns to him with rosy cheeks and smiles.

Luhan finds the expression on the woman to be disgusting, but Yixing considers the moment to be a masterpiece.

Soon enough, the false dream of singing and dancing to their heart's content is thrown out the window. Because, although Luhan is still intrigued by the idea of fame, Yixing has lost all interest in it. Suddenly, "what ifs?" and hushed whispers become nothing in his world—all that matters is her, her, her, her, her. How she smells, how she laughs, what she likes, what she hates. His world is focused on nothing but her and Luhan doesn't know how to fix it because he no longer knows how to speak. Somewhere between Tao and Sehun, and this new, nameless woman, Luhan has lost all of his coherency. It's nonexistent now, as is his will to share each and every one of his thoughts with his longtime comrade because what used to come so naturally to him now feels like something that can prove to be detrimental to their already brittle relationship. Their bond is shattering at a rate that is much too fast for him to handle, and what tortures him most is the fact that it seems like Yixing is oblivious to the entire thing.

Why doesn't he care? What's happened to their friendship? When did their bond become nothing more than a figment of Luhan's imagination?

---

A few months later, Yixing comes home with this giant smile on his face and the news that she said yes.

Luhan is unable to come to terms with the meaning of his words and can do nothing but blink in confusion.

But soon enough, the weight of his words comes tumbling down to crash into whatever piece of reality that Luhan was still holding on to. Because she said yes and now Yixing is getting married.

And in Yixing's case, marriage is the equivalent to a fate worse than death.

Despite the fact that Luhan suddenly can't see straight, he manages a forced smile and a faint "Congratulations, Xing." But the younger man doesn't even seem to hear his words as he runs to the balcony of their shared apartment and unleashes a happy shout that is filled with a joy that Luhan hasn't heard in a long time.

While Yixing is still excitedly celebrating his engagement, Luhan slips under the covers of a bed that feels much too spacious and much too cold. He doesn't understand why his comrade is so accepting of his coming damnation; why he can rejoice and smile like it's the happiest moment in his life because he basically just wrote away his life. And even though he had technically done that centuries ago, he always had the option to refrain from losing himself to a world full of nothing but flames. So why is he rushing into it? Why is he so eager to leave the world of the living in order to experience a single night with a woman who has no idea that she has just caught herself up in a web of dark magic?

Does he remember? He has to remember. There's too much at stake for him to not remember.

So why doesn't he care?

And why does Luhan's chest feel like it's ripping itself open with poisoned talons that laugh at his unnamed suffering? Why is it that it suddenly feels like his entire world is slowly collapsing in on itself, like whatever light that somehow managed to remain lit for his sake has suddenly flickered out as though it had never even shone in the first place, like he's trapped in a frigid blizzard with no means of escaping because there is no one left to save him?

Luhan is shaking desperately underneath the layers and layers of blankets due to the absence of a familiar warmth.

And no, those surely aren't tears that are dripping down his childish features because crying definitely wouldn't solve anything. He isn't sad. That would be silly. No, no, Luhan is full of nothing but joy for his friend. Because it would be stupid for him to be upset when Yixing can't stop smiling. That would make him selfish. And Luhan already knows from past experience that selfishness does nothing but ruin everything.

Luhan isn't crying because he's sad or because he just needs to cry.

He's just very cold. That's all.

---

"What are you doing, Lu?" came a soft chuckle into the shell of the other's ear. "You've been latched onto me for what feels like forever now. If you don't let go of me soon, I'm going to be late for my own wedding. And what kind of image would that portray?"

When the older man only grips the tailored suit of the groom tighter, Yixing begins to become worried. "Lu, what's the matter?"

Luhan's mind reels with millions of words in countless languages that could possibly explain what the matter is, but he finds that none of them will be of any use because words are useless. None of them will have the desired effect because none of them are powerful enough to showcase the feelings of his very soul; words are just words and nothing more.

He pulls away from the embrace to stare heavily into the eyes across from his: eyes that used to reflect his very being but now seem glazed over with a sort of mundane joy that Luhan doesn't think should be possible. He desperately tries to find a trace of himself within the eyes of the other, but there is nothing. There is absolutely nothing in them that Luhan can confidently say he recognizes, and it twists his heart in a way that is so painful he collapses.

Because why doesn't Yixing understand? Why doesn't Yixing understand now when it's incredibly important for him to understand? Why is it that when Luhan truly needs him to be able to read his mind, the other seems to have no intentions of doing so?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

"Luhan. Luhan, seriously. What's wrong?"

And that's when the older male finally cries, sobbing on the church's newly waxed floor as he desperately tries to think of some way to explain himself even though doing so seems impossible. A faint part of him feels embarrassed for his childish actions, but a large part of him feels a horrible amount of disgust in himself because he knows the words that he has to say, but he also knows that saying them out loud would forever break apart the thinning string that connected him to Yixing. And at this point, it is these scraps of useless cloth that are the only things tethering Luhan to his sanity—however minuscule they may be.

"Please don't do this, Xing. You know that doing this will take you away for forever. You don't deserve that, Xing. You're too good for such a fate."

They're the wrong words. And Luhan knows this, but he's still too scared to say the right ones.

"It's okay, Lu. I'll be alright. Besides, a couple of decades in Hell won't break me. And what are a couple of decades to an eventual eternity in Heaven?" he responds softly. "You know better than I do that time doesn't really mean much. There's no need to worry. I'll be alright."

"But I won't be," the older murmurs, and Yixing is almost sure that he heard him wrong until the elder continues, "Yixing, what am I going to do without you?"

The surprised expression on Yixing's face speaks volumes.

"Because when you leave, I'll be alone. I'll be all by myself again and I won't even be able to remember what it's like to have someone by my side every day and every night because you would've faded from history's memory. I'll be so lost. I'll have nowhere to go. And then there'll be no more point in my living because..." Because how much is life truly worth without the person you love?

It is clear that the younger man isn't sure how to react, but he slowly kneels down onto the floor of the church himself to embrace his friend one more time. "You'll be okay, Lu. You don't need me. You'll be okay. Tomorrow you won't even remember that I ever existed."

And it is these words that cause Luhan to sob even harder than he had been doing before because Yixing still doesn't understand and he's running out of ways to make him do so. The invisible clock keeps on ticking and it hurts because he's still so scared to admit to something that he knows could possibly ruin their last moments together; he only has one hope for something that'll make Yixing change his mind, but that hope is so dim that he's sure it won't work. He doesn't see the point in trying.

But when he looks up at Yixing again, it looks as though something has changed in his eyes as the younger man quietly asks, "What else are you not telling me?"

The hesitation continues on Luhan's part.

Seconds full of nothing but silence quickly turn into minutes and then Yixing sighs because it seems like Luhan is being nothing short of ridiculously selfish (which is probably true), and that scares Luhan even more because nothing would be worse than Yixing walking away from him and towards that altar without having to hear what he has to say.

But words are scary, horrifying things that Luhan continues to wish didn't exist because it seems like they do nothing but make his existence so much more complicated than it has to be.

And it angers him.

His mind is continuing to race, continuing to string fragments of syllables together to form the perfect response without including those dreaded three words that he knows he has to include to make sense, but it keeps failing. And the stress of it all just makes Luhan cry harder which stings a piece of Yixing that he is insistent no longer exists.

So when the wedding bells begin to chime signaling that the wedding is to start in a matter of seconds, Luhan gives up on thinking.

He closes the short distance between his lips and Yixing's, and for a moment, nothing else matters. Because in that moment, everything that has been building up inside of him is suddenly transferred to the other; everything that he had wanted to say but couldn't is being thrown out there in a way that is impossible to ignore; every piece of his soul is reawakened inside the other's being because it's been there the whole time but buried underneath the fabric of a time that never should've passed on so quickly.

Luhan should be experienced enough with time itself to be able to come to terms with the fact that the moment lasted for only a few mere seconds despite the feeling that it could've lasted an eternity. But when Yixing gently pushes at his chest and separates from the elder's embrace, Luhan finds that whatever he used to know, whatever logic that had made sense at one point in his life has faded from his memory. When Yixing quickly avoids Luhan's gaze and quietly whispers, "No, Luhan. You know I can't," something cracks inside the older man.

He was right to believe that hoping would do him no good. Nothing ever really did Luhan good at all. It was too late for that.

---

The next day, Luhan wakes up in a bare apartment that is much too cold for his liking and a feeling in his chest that feels vaguely like emptiness, but that would be silly because chests aren't meant to feel empty. He has a ridiculously painful headache, and he finds himself calling for a nonexistent friend to bring him a bottle of painkiller and a glass of water.

He's gone insane. Truly.

Still, there is a strange feeling of loss in the pit of his being, and when he sits up to get the medicine for himself, he almost staggers back when he sees another identical bed next to his own.

It doesn't make much sense because Luhan's been alone for as long as he can remember. But when he tentatively moves to stroke a pillow that looks like it has never been touched in the duration of his existence, his heart lurches in his chest and his mind is sent reeling.

For some reason, he finds himself sobbing which is absolutely ridiculous because Luhan is an angel of death, and such messengers aren't meant to cry. That would be stupid.

---

"I haven't seen you in a couple of centuries."

"What are you talking about?" Luhan mutters, eyes puffy, throat raw, and with a ridiculously painful emptiness in his chest that doesn't seem to go away no matter how much he wishes it to. "I came here yesterday. I come here every day."

"And where is here exactly? Neverland?"

There's something about the name that touches a nerve in the back of Luhan's mind, signaling memories of childish laughter and stars and holding hands, and it does nothing but anger him further because he doesn't know what any of it means. "What the hell are you talking about, Wufan?"

The man acts stunned for a moment, but the expression across his features looks too practiced to be mistaken as something genuine, and Luhan isn't stupid enough to believe his falsities for a second. "Oh, that's right. I had nearly forgotten that the wedding was yesterday."

"Wedding?"

Wufan's laugh makes Luhan flinch.

"Poor Lu doesn't seem to be able to remember a thing."

It is the mention of memories that seems to strike a chord within the young man as he quietly whispers, "What do you mean?"

"It wouldn't be any fun if I told you. And I've been bored for ages, so I think that I deserve this sliver of entertainment."

And even though he knows that the heart within his chest is anything but a good one, Luhan still finds it beating faster and faster the longer he stares at the Devil before him. "You're not making any sense, Wufan. This isn't a game. What did you do to me?"

"I didn't do anything. It's too bad that you can't remember who did. Though I'm sure that even if you were somehow able to recall his name, you wouldn't feel any anger at all. After all, your dear Xing did mean the world to you."

"X-Xing?"

"Why, yes. Zhang Yixing," the man drawls, "Ring a bell? I doubt it."

But contrary to Wufan's thoughts, the name is enough to ring more than a bell. The simple three syllables are enough to send recollections of a dimpled cheek and auburn hair and a man that is everything that Luhan is but not at the same time through his mind. But he finds that they are all jumbled fragments: pieces of a puzzle that don't fit together because the most important pieces have been lost to some sort of sorcery that doesn't have any true explanation other than the man before him. And the realization of all this sends Luhan stumbling to the ground because he knows that there's someone so much more important than himself that is suffering right now because Luhan is too weak to remember.

When Wufan realizes that the male before him has collapsed into a fit of confused tears, he does his best to hide his smirk, "What's the matter, Xiao Lu?"

The young man is shivering in a way that seems unnatural, before he quietly whispers, "Wufan, whatever you've taken from me, give it back. I'll do anything for it. I'll sign whatever hellish contract you've prepared. Just give it back to me."

Wufan has to restrain himself from laughing at the pathetic scene before him.

"A deal's a deal. And you know how much fun I think that deals are."

Luhan nods slowly but doesn't hesitate to sign away what little remains of his destiny to the bastardly man in a suit worn to only mock an occasion that Luhan feels he doesn't remember.

---

It all comes back as soon as Luhan signs away what little eternity he has left. It takes only seconds for him to break down once more, and only less time for Wufan to remind him of the conditions of Yixing's contract once more: once the young man acknowledges the feelings of true love, he will dissipate from the existence of the world; no one will remember him, and he will be forced to suffer through the most fiery ring of Hell; when his true love finally makes an ascension to Heaven, Yixing's soul will be purified as well.

Luhan's not stupid. The only option to save his friend is clear. And though he feels a small piece of remorse, at the idea of having to kill such a young woman when her life was still only beginning, he knows that it is something that must be done. Besides, it's not like she'll have to suffer: he'll ensure that her death is quick and painless.

And Luhan has clearly done worse throughout the duration of his life. More blood on his hands surely wouldn't make much of a difference.

---

When the deed is done, Luhan hurries to wait in an in-between of realms that he so childishly referred to as Neverland. He rationalizes that his friend will have to pass through the gate in order to make the proper transition from Hell to Heaven, and even though he knows that he will never see him again once he passes, it would be a shame not being able to say goodbye.

(A piece of him still hopes that Yixing will reject Heaven and somehow find a way to go back to Earth with Luhan, that he'll get over whatever fear he has of their being together and just accept the love that Luhan has to offer him because he's sure that he can give him a lot. The notion is unlikely, but Luhan is still too immature to stop himself from hoping despite the fact that his hopes never really seem to get him anywhere.)

He waits for ages.

Yixing never comes.

Luhan never leaves.

---

After what feels like centuries and centuries of pointless waiting, someone finally comes to visit the young man, though it certainly isn't the person that he's been waiting to see.

There is a groan of annoyance, before the low drawl echoes throughout the empty space once more, "They really weren't kidding when they told me that there's been an idiot sitting here for the longest time. I probably should've guessed that it would've been you, but I had thought you were intelligent enough to see that my game has already run its course."

Luhan blinks, and a part of soul sinks at the man's words, "Wufan, what do you mean?"

"You have Yixing's true love all wrong. You killed the wrong person, idiot."

The words make Luhan spin to face the taller male with a look of incredulous shock written all across his features, "What the hell do you mean?"

"Yixing never loved that girl. What he had for her was an obsession and a desire to purify his sins. You know how religious the guy was. It shouldn't be that much of a surprise."

"But he... But what sin could Yixing possibly have?"

"The greatest taboo of Christianity itself: he fell in love with another man. You, to be exact."

Luhan feels whatever is left of his heart shatter into millions of pieces on the filthy ground below him. "That doesn't make sense. I don't even know why I still listen to you."

"The heart knows better than the mind. Logic flaws all emotion. His soul was screaming for you, but a love between the two of you breaks every law that he grew up learning. In Yixing's case, logic was too irresistible to ignore. I suppose it was his downfall."

There is a sensation of infinite spinning that has decidedly taken over Luhan's vision, and suddenly every color is fading into nothing but white. "N-No. Yixing wouldn't. He couldn't." He feels himself fall to the floor, that all too familiar aching in his chest consuming what little is left of his soul.

Wufan does nothing but roll his eyes out of annoyance. "I really imagined that this game would have been more entertaining. I don't know what's more repulsive: your petty persistence or the love that you two shared."

He leaves Luhan in that empty space named after a place that was supposed to promise him eternity, whimpering and whispering for a man that is never going to come.

---

Even though he knows that it's pointless, Luhan does everything in his power to kill himself. But no matter how many weapons he uses, how many drugs he takes, how old he uses his power to become—he doesn't die.

In an ignorant decision of nothing but stupidity, he had agreed to sell his fate—the one thing that he had had some control of—back to the Devil himself. And the Devil is too heartless to take pity on a man who made one too many deals with Hell's flames.

Luhan is lost. Helpless.

There is a piece of him missing that he'll never get back, and he can no longer cry because he knows that he is beyond death. The last bit of his mortality has been sucked from his soul, murdered in cold blood at the hands of useless logic and ignorant refusal. A piece of him has died while the part that is living has become a blank sheet of paper, the worthless ground at a burial. And dirt doesn't weep at a funeral just as we, ourselves, remain dry-eyed in a motionless shell within our own casket.

---

Author's Note: In all honesty, I'm a bit bummed with how this turned out. In my head, the story was so much more epic, and I feel like I wasn't able to properly capture the epicness when I wrote it out. Serves me right for procrastinating though. Writing is one of those things you just can't rush. *le sigh* Either way, I really hope that you all enjoyed reading this! Comments are definitely appreciated. c:

***I have to send some thanks to timingspaces for proofing this for me and some love to ukexing as well for cheering me up all the time when I was really close to giving up on this story. I don't know what I would do without you guys. ;3; If you enjoyed this entry, I'd really appreciate it if you voted for me as well. c:

edit: asdfghjkl; i'm incredibly honored to have won third place with this entry / wrote an extended continuation of this fic from yixing's perspective. click here to check it out!

neverland's will. [1/2]

2013-06-22T02:38:56Z

Luhan thinks Yixing is stupid. He thinks that he’s completely and utterly stupid and Luhan hates him for it.

But he can’t actually hate him. Not really.

Yixing inhales the breath that Luhan exhales.

When the older male notices the small action, he can’t help but stare because it’s just been so long since they’ve shared something, and it actually surprises him. He faintly wonders how something that used to occur so naturally became something so rare.

The thought vanishes as soon as he is reminded that the turning point was so abrupt and long ago that there is no possible hope for him to recall the true mechanics behind the shift in their relationship.

Yixing exhales a soft sigh and Luhan inhales the bitter taste of reality.

“Are you really going through with this?”

Despite the simplicity of those seven words, the weight that holds them down is enough to make the other shiver. For underneath the outer layer that encases them is something much more daunting: a plea from one friend to another.

Because, despite everything that they’ve been through, Yixing has and will always see Luhan as his truest friend. But it’s because their relationship has existed for such a long time that he’s able to look beneath the calm aura with which his friend’s words are spoken. Underneath these seven little words is a desperate cry carefully laced within a minute whisper that is so hushed that only those who have known the speaker long enough are able to catch them.

And there is only one person who has always been able to read Luhan like an open book, only one person that has stuck with him through thick and thin, through countless centuries of endless wandering, only one person who has looked after the other as though he were an extension of himself.

There is only one person with whom Luhan has spent his entire lifetime—his entire existence with—and that person’s name is Yixing.

Luhan knows this; Yixing is desperate to forget it.

When there is no response from the younger man, Luhan feels himself fidget uncomfortably in the starched fabric of his tuxedo. “I want you to think this over, Xing. I really do.”

What he really wants to say is that he doesn’t want Yixing to leave him. Although it sounds incredibly selfish, Yixing is a piece of him that he does’t want to let go. He wants to tell his friend that what he is doing is absolutely stupid—that it’s impossible for something as petty as love to destroy a castle that took centuries and centuries to build, that his insistent assurance of his personal rationality is actually nothing but irrational because he is only thinking of himself. Yixing is only thinking of how this fiasco could affect him and it genuinely hurts Luhan because the latter is greatly concerned with how horribly he would be scarred in this twisted chain of events.

Yet even though Luhan is highly aware of Yixing’s own selfishness, he is unable to call the other out for it.

Perhaps it’s because he hates seeing his younger friend sad. Perhaps it’s because he’s scared that he cares far more for the brunet beside him than the brunet does for himself. And perhaps it’s simply because words are something that Luhan has never been good at using properly, so attempting to use them in his favor this time around would only make him look stupid.

Luhan isn’t sure. And he supposes that it’s not that important anyway.

When Yixing finally speaks, it’s with utmost care. (They really were true compliments to one another after all. While Luhan trips and stutters over the simplest of phrases, they leave Yixing’s lips with an elegant flair, gliding through open space with a smooth flourish. While Luhan is a bundle of nerves, Yixing has always managed to remain calm and collected. When they embrace, the hollows of Luhan’s collarbones are filled with Yixing’s being. When Luhan breathes in, Yixing breathes out. It’s how they had always been: flawless reflections of the other.) “You know that I’ve thought about this decision for ages, Lu. It’s my time.”

And though the words are meant to soothe Luhan’s nerves, they do nothing but send the man’s mind into an agitated frenzy.

He longs to speak the words hidden in his heart regardless of how ridiculous he’ll sound. He longs to reach out and clasp Yixing’s hands in his like they have done so many times before. He longs to pretend that this ordeal is something nonexistent—something that the two had conjured up in another one of their “what if?” scenarios that were entirely for fun and most definitely nothing serious.

But Luhan can’t do any of those things. He doesn’t have the courage to. So instead, he stands up to pull the younger man into a tight embrace with the hopes that his heart will be able to speak to the younger’s through the innocent contact of skin.

All he can do is pray that it works.

---

When Luhan first meets Yixing, it is a starry night in fourteenth century China as the latter claws at the fertile soil beneath him in a fit of late night desperation.

“What are you doing?”

It is this simple question that forces the young man to a gradual stop. Underneath the moonlight, wiry locks tangled above his head, he looks incredibly small. He is by no means below the average height, but with his thin, almost nonexistent frame, he seems nothing but piteous. For a moment, Luhan thinks that his question is to go unanswered until a hoarse, “I don’t have to tell you anything,” echoes throughout the night.

Luhan huffs because, clearly, this stranger has no idea who he's talking to. However, he had learned from Wufan’s previous actions that lashing out on others would do nothing but stir bloodshed. Besides, it isn’t as though he's put off by the individual’s cold front. Curiosity is curiosity and, in Luhan's case, curiosity is something that must always be quenched. “I suppose that you don’t. But you really do look like a mad man right now. I’m debating whether or not I should call the authorities.”

If he isn’t mistaken, he could’ve sworn that the younger male had muttered something about him being a “pretentious prick.”

He decides to pretend to have not heard it.

“You know where we both stand right now. So I don’t understand why you have to ask. Is it not obvious?”

“I want to hear you say it,” Luhan responds with a short shrug. “I can’t help you unless you help yourself.”

It is clear that there is a question on the tip of the youngster’s tongue—a spark of curiosity ignited within his being at the other’s words—but he somehow forces it away from his lips. He shifts his weight to allow himself to sit on the ground below him, gazing up thoughtfully at the stars.

Luhan is, to put it frankly, intrigued by this man. He has been watching him for quite some time, after all. But never before has he seen him like this. So when his conversational partner softly pats the ground beside him in a silent invitation, Luhan doesn’t hesitate to accept his offer.

For a few minutes, they sit in silence. And when the stranger’s voice breaks through the frigid air, it is with a heartbreaking crack in his voice, “The plague took my mother. She was all I had left. And now I’m alone.” Luhan turns for a moment to catch the tears that are quietly streaking down the youngster’s face as he childishly tries to blink them away, eyes still set on the stars. “I’ve never… This feeling within my chest…” He shakes his head abruptly. “My mind is in a frenzy. I can’t think straight. Everything hurts, but all the physicians tell me that I’m as healthy as a newborn baby. But the pain is there. I know it is. I’m crazy. Yes; that’s it. I must be a lunatic. That’s what loneliness does to people, right?”

Luhan isn’t sure how to react to the admission despite the fact that he had already known of the youngster’s dilemma. He eventually decides on a careful, “And what will digging up her grave do? A corpse is just a corpse. The dead feel nothing.”

“Then maybe I want to die.”

It is not the fact that it is this boy telling him this that stuns Luhan—no, no. Luhan doesn’t particularly care for the boy all that much. But the youngster’s logic is something else entirely. It is something beyond Luhan’s understanding, something that his mind can’t seem to comprehend. And this lack of comprehension frustrates him. “Death? Do you truly think that your death will fix anything?”

The response to his question comes quickly from the lips of the other, “If I can’t feel anything, then yes. If death means that I’ll be protected from this horrid feeling, then I’m up for it. Death can’t be all that horrible. Death will be my salvation.”

If Wufan were there, he probably would have laughed and made some snide comment on the youngster’s religion.

Luhan is thankful that he isn’t.

“I think you’re wrong. Death is not salvation. Death is turmoil. It is life—with its ups and downs, with its countless emotions, with its interlocking webs of friendship and love—that offers salvation and happiness.”

The young man seems to think about this for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head with a bitter chuckle. “Why wouldn’t death bring about salvation? What has your religion taught you?”

Luhan suddenly thinks that this situation might actually be easier to handle if Wufan had opted to tackle this youngster for himself.

But because Wufan is nowhere to be found, Luhan simply lets out a soft sigh. “How much does religion really mean in the long run? You either live or you die, regardless of which faith you belong to. Those who believe in Hell find themselves trapped in the deepest pit, surrounded by nothing but fire, screaming their wanton cries for salvation on deaf ears. After all, the Devil likes to keep his believers close. For those who believe in Heaven—well, I’ve never met God and I doubt that I ever will. But I find that only those who are blessed by some predestined fate are allowed to find themselves knocking on Heaven’s door when their time finally comes. All the others find them stuck in a horrid in-between—a satanic combination of the wonders of Heaven and the hardships of Hell.” He pauses to allow himself to gauge the other’s reaction: eyes focused on him in surprise, lips parted in slight wonder, head cocked in thought. And though Luhan isn’t entirely sure, he senses something strong and powerful building up within the youngster’s being. When he continues his words, they are softer than they had been beforehand, “The only way to avoid such a cruel fate is to remain alive. Life, this petty existence in a worthless shell, is something that you should cling to, not cast away. There is no logic in longing for death.”

ith that said, the thoughtful silence worms its way into their conversation once more.

“But no one can live forever. Either way, it is a fate that we all must face,” the youngster eventually concludes.

This is where Luhan smirks, “That’s not necessarily true.”

And this is where the boy, Yixing, furrowed his brows in confusion. Seeing this, the grin widens on the older male’s child-like features as he jumps up out of his position to reach his hand out to the other. “I think that I can help you out—if you trust me, that is.” A small piece of him is yelling for him to shut the hell up and leave while he can. His conscious (which sounds humorously too much like Wufan) is roaring about how he is neglecting responsibilities by offering solace to this target of his instead of actually killing him, but Luhan doesn’t care. There’s something about the boy before him that draws him in, and Luhan has been bored for a long time.

It’s not like Wufan can do all that much to him anyway.

Yixing looks at the hand in front of him in silent contemplation before hesitantly slipping his own in the other’s firm grasp. “Trust is something that is earned. Not something that can be bestowed on another on a mere whim.”

Luhan finds himself laughing at that and he isn’t sure why.

At the cheerful sound on such a bitter night, Yixing allows himself a small smile, dimple protruding in his right cheek.

Though they aren’t entirely aware of it, the small exchange results in the forming of a bond that destroyed the original masterpiece that had been created by a higher power beyond their understanding. With a simple touch, the happiness that their endings would have eventually found disappeared to be replaced with nothing but horrid suffering. With this promise that neither of the two know exists, they become strung together in a sudden knot that breaks through the otherwise flawless string of time.

Though they don't know it, two shattered fragments of two empty shells are merged together. When they stand next to each another, hand-in-hand, they are no longer empty. Though they are mere pawns unknowingly being played in a larger, crueler game, there is an unspoken bond created on that starry night: a bond that merges the two together to create a destiny that is so much bigger than themselves.

---

“Where are we?”

“This area doesn’t have a name.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t tell me where we are.”

Luhan stops to look at the other boy curiously because he honestly doesn’t know why he’s being so incredibly persistent. “I suppose that we’ll just call it the In-Between for now. We can come up with a more interesting name for it later.”

“Okay, fine.” Yixing decides to stop walking and, because his hand is still enveloped within Luhan’s, the latter is forced to come to a halt as well. “But the in-between of what?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Only because you’re so bad at answering them.”

Luhan chuckles.

“In-between Heaven and Hell, stupid.” Yixing’s face pales and he looks like he’s either going to faint or cry or possibly run screaming in the other direction which does nothing but puzzle the older male. “I mentioned that before, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t say that you were actually taking me there! I had thought you were just making a metaphor!”

“Metaphor,” Luhan repeats incredulously, “Why on Earth would I take the time to make a metaphor when I can just speak bluntly? That’s too much work. I think that you overthink things too much.”

---

When they reach a certain point, Luhan tells a still fretting Yixing to wait while he goes to speak to someone.

“You’re just going to leave me?”

Luhan supposes that he feels slightly bad for stringing the kid along without properly explaining the situation he was dragging him into, but he’s right to assume that there’s no way he’d agree to what he is about to if Luhan had explained anything.

Besides, he’s technically not lying. He’s simply avoiding the truth and there’s technically no moral code against that—at least, from what he can remember. He hasn’t really concerned himself with morals for a very long time.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

Yixing huffs before a troubled groan leaves his lips, “I really must be insane. This is all a horrible nightmare.”

Luhan can’t help but laugh at that because a nightmare probably wouldn’t be as scary as what he’s about to face. But when Yixing turns to him with confused eyes once more, the older male decides to do nothing but wave away his silent question.

There’s a voice inside of him saying that this is still a bad idea, but Luhan thinks that the voice is even more annoying than Yixing’s incessant questioning, so he ignores it.

---

“You’re serious right now,” Wufan deadpans, staring at the small face before him in remote curiosity.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

There are numerous ways in which Wufan could answer this question, but when he contemplates all his possibilities, he realizes that all of them lead to boring results.

And if Luhan could complain about boredom, then Wufan should be allowed to moan and groan and write books and books about how much he despises responsibility while throwing childish fits that would outnumber Luhan’s easily.

So he settles for a simple, “We have a contract, you and I. Are you really willing to break that eternal vow for the sake of a human?”

Luhan scoffs, “You make it sound like being a human is something that I should be repulsed by. I’m a normal human as well."

“As far as I’m concerned, those who willingly make deals with the Devil himself don’t usually fall under the category of ‘normal human.’” The words are enough to make the man before him flinch and Wufan finds a bit of entertainment in that. “Besides, I don’t see any value in this kid. He seems kind of petty. And his devotion towards his religion makes him kind of boring. Ask me about this again, and I think I’ll just have to break our contract myself.”

He figures that that would be the end of the conversation, so he’s surprised when he hears his subordinate quietly say, “Then I suppose you’ll have to do just that. Because here I am, about to ask again.”

The words are enough to pique Wufan’s interest because although he always knew that Luhan was a tad bit different from the other humans who had foolishly dealt with the magic behind death, the man had never been daft enough to directly challenge his personal authority. Yet here he was now, accepting his threat if it meant gaining his approval for another to succumb to the flames of Hell. And Wufan doesn’t understand the logic behind it.

“After all, a life isn’t worth living unless you learn to take risks,” Luhan carefully continues.

“Well, if we think about the… perks of your case, you’re technically not even alive. Having a soul is one thing, but having a soul that is destined for eternal damnation is another,” his superior drawls. “Speaking of which, does this new companion of yours even know what he’s signing up for?”

It is here that he finally captures an expression change on the otherwise calm individual’s features. Luhan fidgets for a moment before mumbling, “No. But he doesn’t have to. This is what’s best for him.”

Wufan is about to ask what makes Luhan so sure that he knows what is best for the younger male, but catches himself at the last minute.

Because in that moment, Wufan is sure that the pieces for an incredibly amusing game have just waltzed through his front door and practically begged him to play.

And play Wufan would.

“Fine. If you’re so sure, then bring him in.”

Luhan is too bewildered and ecstatic to think about any possible repercussions that this deal might have. For some reason, it seems that he’s forgotten that he is contracting with Lucifer himself.

---

He isn’t sure what Yixing and Wufan discuss while inside the chamber.

All he really knows is that despite the fact that the former was dragged into the room with a look of fear and helplessness spread across his features, he exits with an aura that is calm and collected and nothing like the boy that had been perpetually asking him questions just moments ago.

Luhan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about this. But underneath the confusion of mixed up emotions, he is able to recognize a faint trace of guilt: guilt for assisting in the destruction of something that was still somewhat pure and damning a soul for the sake of his own selfish desires. The other hadn’t been aware of what he was getting himself into; he wasn’t aware that humoring the ideals of a complete stranger would result in his losing his very being. It was forced upon him because Luhan thought that doing so would make his life a little more interesting.

But as Wufan thrusts the care of his latest subordinate into Luhan’s capable hands while thoroughly explaining the deals of Yixing’s contract, the newly damned soul seems to flutter for a moment—as though he is there but not there; alive but not really. And it is that expression of pained exposure cracking through an otherwise solid façade that sends all of Luhan’s previous thoughts spiraling into oblivion and his feelings of guilt skyrocketing into every element of his vision. Because dear God, he had dragged this poor kid into this mess and ruined whatever life he would have lived if Luhan hadn’t decided to interfere. Sure, it would’ve been his duty to end the man’s life a tad bit early, but indubitably there could have been countless joys that the youngster could have experienced before his untimely demise: joys that Luhan clawed out of destiny’s hands in order to keep himself entertained.

It was in that moment, in that second of heated disgust directed to only himself that Luhan became faintly aware of the invisible bond that had been created between the two of them. It was in that moment, as the older male gingerly wrapped his arms around the other, that he realized that this man’s eternity was in his care; that despite the fact that they are blessed with eternal life and cursed with eternal suffering, it is now to be his duty to ensure the other’s happiness, no matter what the cost.

It was in that moment, during that small rupture of the expected, that Luhan realized just how much he had gotten himself into.

It was also when he realized just how much he was willing to accept his new life: a life that would be spent righting a wrong that was hastily scribbled in a state of rambunctious excitement; a life that would revolve around atoning for this sin despite the fact that doing so would get him nowhere in the long run because he was already cursed; a life that would be focused on making sure that that expression of worthlessness that flashed on Yixing’s features in that brief moment would never happen again because seeing that sort of hurt on such an innocent man’s features and knowing that he was the cause of it was something that Luhan suddenly found he couldn’t live with.

After the moment passes, he’s quickly made aware of the meticulous outline of the newly formed deal that Wufan is rambling on and on about. He realizes that he’s missed a few of the details, and quickly scrambles to obtain the main points of the agreement: Yixing is not like Luhan. While Luhan can alter his form and fall prey to mortal things such as infections and wounds, Yixing is immune to that. While Luhan is forced to withstand the human feelings of fatigue and restlessness, Yixing is capable of running years and years without ever closing an eye. But while Luhan can live for as long of an eternity as he wishes, Yixing’s eternity will come to a close once he acknowledges the feelings of true love. And once this happens, he will cease to exist. All traces of his being will be erased for centuries on and end, and he is fated to suffer through the rest of his eternity in one of the deepest rings of Hell until his chosen makes the ascension into Heaven. And only then will his pain come to an end.

Luhan doesn’t understand why Yixing’s contract is so much more detailed than his own. He doesn’t understand why he agreed to such terms despite the fact that not too long ago, he had been murmuring about the importance of religion in his life. In fact, he doesn’t understand why Yixing even agreed to the deal in the end despite the ultimate realization that he was dealing with the Devil himself. He could have run away, right? He could have fought against the Deadliest Sin in his purest form in order to free himself from an eternal vow of damnation, right? This isn’t entirely Luhan’s fault, right?

But Luhan knows that it is and he knows that no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise, the results would be nothing more than unsatisfactory.

It is in the recurring aftermath, as he slowly guides his newfound accomplice to some refuge far, far away, that he becomes aware of their connection. Though it is tiny and minute, the self-awareness begins. And he promises to hold true to the unspoken vow. Even if the other knows not of its existence.

---

It would’ve made sense to say that their relationship opened up with a rocky start. That’s what Luhan had expected, anyway.

He had thought that Yixing would be bitter about the fact that Luhan had basically tricked him. Because that would have made sense. He had thought that Yixing would want nothing to do with him. That would have made sense, too. But most importantly, Luhan figured that Yixing would have at least wanted to talk about all that had occurred in that single night. So when he realized that the other had no intentions of bringing it up, he tried to do so himself—not because it was something he wanted to talk about (God, no), but rather because he thought that the younger male was trying to maintain politeness by ignoring the subject.

When Yixing mumbles “I don’t know what you’re going on about. But I’m absolutely exhausted. Can we please just find a place to sleep?” in response, Luhan is absolutely flabbergasted. Yet he finds that arguing will do him no good, so he quietly tightens his grip around the younger man’s waist before snapping his fingers to return them back to the human world.

They arrive in an elaborate building of sorts that is full of tapestries and intricately detailed pieces of furniture, and Yixing is honestly startled by the fact that there are these strange utensils that the men and women in the room are eating with because he’s never seen them before. When a man dressed in foreign garb speaks in a language that Yixing finds choppy and bizarre, he’s astounded to find that he can understand what the man is proclaiming: the announcement of the arrival of Eastern ambassadors.

When Luhan smirks and responds to the proclamation with a deep bow, Yixing has no choice but to do the same. And suddenly, the eccentrically dressed people with the terribly odd features are shown into a frenzy and all Yixing can really understand is that they’re delighted to be in the company with such exotic merchants (merchants, he silently guffaws, when on Earth did we become merchants?) who have come all the way from China. The duo are quickly surrounded and Yixing is even more bewildered than he is before, until Luhan whispers to him in the reassuring comfort of his native tongue, “Don’t worry, I’ve done this countless times before. I’ll explain everything later, okay?”

Having at least one thing to remind him of his everyday normalcy is enough to soothe Yixing’s nerves, even for but a moment.

He hopes that Luhan doesn’t mind when he tightens his grip on the elder’s extravagant robes. In his defense, he just wants to be able to cling to the one thing that he can relate to in a sea full of strangers and he wants to make sure that his anchor won’t suddenly disappear on him.

It’s surely not because he doesn’t want to be alone again.

No, that would be ridiculous. This man is still technically just a stranger despite the feeling in his chest that’s telling him otherwise. (Yixing reasons that that piece of his chest mustn’t be thinking right because that idea makes no sense at all. He then realizes that that logic wouldn’t make any sense because his chest shouldn’t be able to think, so he decides that it must be his fatigue that is just confusing him so much.)

It isn’t long before Luhan manages to convince them of the exhaustion that their “trip” has caused, and the two are immediately escorted to a bedroom adorned with all sorts of drapes and paintings that seem so tacky that Yixing wants to wince.

When he and Luhan are finally left alone however, Luhan smiles and points towards the biggest piece of furniture in the room, “Rest there. It’s much more comfortable than what we have back home.”

Yixing allows the older man to guide him to the bed, before asking, "Where are we, exactly?"

“The West. You know, where the missionaries are from,” Luhan responds. “It’s kind of funny that they actually believed my story about our being merchants. These petty Europeans never have anything of particular interest. I suppose that they’re simply naïve enough to think that they’re finally capturing our attention.” He shrugs once, before looking around the room with a grimace, “How rude. They didn’t even have the courtesy to give us another bed.”

The younger man allows himself a chuckle, before sinking into the plush mattress below him with a soft moan, “Don’t be so dramatic. A place to rest is a place to rest.”

“Yes, but if we leave now, I’m pretty sure that I can snatch us a different means of lodging in which I won’t have to sleep on the floor. I’m pretty sure that a rat just ran across my foot.”

Yixing doesn’t bother to strip himself of his clothing, and simply slips under the covers, “I want you to know that I have no intentions of leaving this bed until I’ve gotten enough sleep. I like it here. It’s nice.”

Luhan opens his mouth to retort, but once he realizes that Yixing’s eyes have already shut, whatever sarcastic remark that was on his tongue flutters away. He sighs for a moment, debating whether or not he should wake up the younger man with a fit, but he’s quickly reminded that he sort of owes him right now, so he decides not to.

Instead, he exits the room and throws a tantrum demanding that someone come back and escort him to a place that has a spare bed.

He’s quickly shut up when Yixing—who seems to be very much awake—snatches his collar and drags him back to the room with a chuckle, “You’re going to get us kicked out before we really even begin our stay. So just shut up for the night. I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

Luhan is happy that the darkness covers of the bright red of his cheeks because he honestly has no idea how he would explain himself.

---

When they wake up the next morning, they are rudely reminded of their apparent "occupation".

It is when one of the servants comes into their room to leave the reminder that the Lord and Lady of the house are looking forward to viewing their wares that Luhan and Yixing share a silent exchange.

"So, how are you planning to fib your way through this one?"

There's a pause as the older male contemplates the possible courses of action, before he decides on a calm shrug. "I genuinely didn't think this far ahead. I say we just—"

"—Disappear," Yixing finishes with a smirk on his expression. "It'll be like we were never even here."

Luhan chuckles at the fact that his younger friend is able to follow his train of thought so easily, "Come on, let's get moving before they send another servant back to check on us."

"You can't just... poof us out?"

"I don't think you understand how much energy that takes up. It's too early in the morning for that. We're making a run for it."

Yixing laughs at that before the two slip through the open window.

---

Conning and lying become a habit of sorts for the two.

A little white lie in order to get whatever they felt they needed, and then a simple trick to get themselves out of what would otherwise be an uncomfortable confrontation. The pattern becomes a sort of unbreakable habit that leave the two gasping for air from fits of uncontrollable laughter at each one of their crazed escapades.

And between inflicting heartbreak on unsuspecting women, promising false treasures to rich men, enacting artificial tragedies of two orphaned brothers or childhood incidents that left the two gorgeous men with horrible scars and an extensive medical bill, the bond between the two strengthen. Between the millions of lies they uttered between their lips and the one or two declarations of the truth, they become genuine friends. With a simple look, they could communicate all of their thoughts; a light tap on the shoulder was an unspoken signal that only the two could understand; frenzied laughter that lasted well into the night became a daily occurrence that only the two could share with one another.

Their relationship was something special. Something that people would spend their whole lives hoping for but never attaining. Albeit, Luhan and Yixing had cheated fate by extending their time in order to form such a relationship. But through their eyes, the friendship was something that was simply meant to be: time meant nothing to them, and it never would. As the years went on, the line between Devil's right-hand man and former normal human blurred into nothing but white space. They were equals to one another. Just as bad and just as good.

Yet despite centuries and centuries of adventures, there had never been a verbal assurance muttered between the two to confirm that the depths of their friendship were something mutually understood.

It wasn't until one of their twentieth century exploits led to Luhan's development of the influenza that their abuses to the rest of the human population came to a halt.

"I told you to wear a coat. But did you listen to me? No."

"You sound like my mother, Xing." The older male had whined as he allowed his head to sink further into the plush pillow below him. "What are you going to do next? Read me to bed?"

There was a moment of silence, before Yixing shrugged, "If I don't take care of you, then who would? Because I'm sure that you're too childish to actually care for yourself, Lu." He chuckled at his own joke, before continuing his words to prevent Luhan from speaking up, "I don't mind reading to you if it means that it'll make you sleep. Is my voice really that tiring to listen to?"

"No," Luhan starts without thinking, "Your voice is just very soothing. Listening to you talk relaxes me."

Yixing blinks in surprise at the innocence with which the words are spoken, before a small smile lights up his features, "Okay then. Where's that book that you were in the middle of? I'll just continue from wherever you left off."

"Somewhere... Over there."

If Luhan wasn't already bedridden, Yixing would've hit him for being so vague. But unfortunately for him, Luhan is bedridden and he's too good of a friend to hurt someone who continuously complains that he's going to die despite the fact that they both know it's impossible.

"Peter and Wendy? Is this the one?"

There is a faint hum of approval, along with a murmured, "I like it so far. It reminds me of us."

The words intrigue the younger man greatly, especially since he had never felt so much interest in something as simple as literature before. Yixing flips the book over in order to analyze the cover, and finds himself somewhat amused when he realizes that the book that his older friend seems to be so in love with is a simple children's book. "How so?"

"Well the way I see it," Luhan tiredly starts, eyes fluttering in a lame attempt to stay awake, "I'm like Peter, and you're like Wendy." Yixing opens his mouth to protest his sudden role of female protagonist, but Luhan continues before he has the chance, "Peter is from a wondrous place called Neverland where he has a bunch of enjoyable adventures. But one day, he finds himself outside Wendy's window and he convinces her to come to Neverland with him. And they travel all across the land and have a lot of fun together. That sounds a lot like us." He pauses for a moment, before his eyes momentarily brighten, "We've always been trying to come up with a new name for the In-Between, right? Neverland sounds pretty nice. I think that this Barrie fellow is secretly one of us."

Yixing can only smile at Luhan's childlike comparison, "I suppose so. Is that really all the book is about? A child lamenting her future, and a stranger who promises her that that future never has to come? Is that the extent of their relationship?"

He hears his friend mumble something about how his habit of incessant questioning never faded away before he responds with a blunt, "I'm not sure, Xing. I'm not even halfway through the book yet."

"Whatever the princess wants," his friend singsongs. Yixing flips to the dog-eared page of the book and begins to read from the top of the page, "'Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it...'"

It isn't long before Luhan's breathing begins to level itself out, and Yixing allows himself to silently finish reading the chapter.

He's quick to see why the sickly man enjoys the story so much: with the innocence of the main characters and the whimsical tone with which the story is told, it seems like something that would be quick to strike chords in its readers despite their varying ages. And with Luhan's previous comparison to the main characters and themselves, Yixing can't help but comically imagine him and Luhan prancing around a mystical world leading a gang of rambunctious children into silly adventures. The thought is enough to cause a small smile to spread across his features.

For a moment, he debates reading ahead in order to see how the story ends, but a quick glance at the amount of pages he has left makes him quickly change his mind. Luhan would probably tell him how it ended once he finished reading it anyway.

Besides, a children's book couldn't possibly have a sad ending. That would just be strange. It would probably end with another happily ever after.

That's just how stories go, right?

---

Luhan is able to recover pretty quickly (though this fails to shock either one of the men), and the two soon depart from their temporary lodging in order to avoid having to pay their owed rent.

In their rush, they forget to bring the copy of "Peter and Wendy"—it is left, complete with numerous folded and unfolded pages, on the nightstand by the bed.

Yixing offers to buy his elder a new one once they stumble across another bookstore, but by the time the occasion rolls around, the book is one of the last things on their minds.

They never do find out how the story of Peter and Wendy ends.

part two

understanding (when sehun can't and only jongin can)

2013-05-05T01:57:23Z

Title: understanding (when sehun can't and only jongin can)
Pairing: sekai
Genre: romance; slight angst
Rating: PG-13
Length: one-shot; 7,350 words
Summary: Sometimes Sehun looks at Jongin and wonders what he did to be blessed with someone as perfect and godlike to keep him company. Other times he looks at Jongin and feels this unfathomable sense of loathing within the recesses of his heart that he just can’t explain.

Sehun doesn’t understand Jongin. He never has, and he doesn’t think that he ever will.

But when he really, really thinks about it, he supposes that maybe he was just never meant to.

“Kai,” he would breathe softly as they walked side-by-side past the park; the slightly older male fidgeting with the dying light of a lit cigarette and his younger companion looking at him with that blank expression of his that said everything but nothing at the same time. “Kai. Kai. Kai.” He wasn’t particularly sure what exactly it was about the nature of the syllable—the only name that he truly knew him by—but there was something about it that gave him a sort of solace. So every day after another treacherous experience at school, Sehun would whisper the name repeatedly to himself, “Kai. Kai. Kai.”

Sometimes Jongin would respond. But most of the time, he just really couldn’t be bothered.

On the rare day that he would acknowledge the younger male’s existence, he would simply roll his eyes and mutter, “What is it now?”

And perhaps it was just because the occurrence was so rare, but Sehun always found that he could never find a response to the halfhearted question.

(Does there have to be a reason why? I just like the sound of your name, he would think. But something told him that if he confessed to something like that, the older male wouldn’t respond positively to it. And Sehun didn’t want to think about that possibility.)

“Nothing,” he would murmur. And Jongin would look at him skeptically, before kicking at the dirt below his worn high-tops, mumbling something about how Sehun was forgetful and needed to hurry up and remember already because he was beginning to get tired of their routine.

Not that Sehun would ever notice. Because by the time Jongin started mumbling to himself again, Sehun had recommenced repeating that syllable once more, “Kai. Kai. Kai.”

And Jongin would sigh quietly, but Sehun would never take note of that soft exhale. Because his mind was swimming with images of tanned skin intertwined with pale white; of soft caresses in the darkness to remind him that he was never truly alone; of whispers of encouragement in the face of danger, swearing that his Sehunnie can do whatever it is that he needs to because he’s invincible. And with each whisper of that single syllable, the images would sharpen, and Sehun could feel his senses heighten because it was just so real. The Kai in his mind was so real and was standing next to him and just the idea of it sent his heart soaring.

But Jongin already knew this. And it pained him to know it.

Yet he would never utter a word. He couldn’t bear to crush the mirage that the youngster had created.

So he continues to ignore him, and instead moves to push the remnants of a cigarette flush against his skin, not even wincing when the ashes singe his flesh.

He’s okay with the pain.

---

Sehun doesn’t understand Jongin. He never has, and he doesn’t think that he ever will.

And this fact pisses him off to no end because Kai is arrogant and a jackass and doesn’t feel any guilt when he treats the younger male like absolute shit.

“Kai,” he would mumble angrily as they walked towards the large estate which they shared; the slightly older male arrogantly breathing a puff of venomous smoke into Sehun’s face and the young man clenching his fists together as tight as possible in a wry attempt to keep his anger in check. “Kai. Kai. Kai.” He dipped each syllable in poison, before allowing it to cut through the air in a jagged pattern. His mind longed to devise another word—anything but that horrid name, any utterance that would spare his diaphragm from filling up with acid; spare his throat from running dry; spare his chest from exploding with an uncanny and unexplainable rage—but there was some sort of addicting nature to those vile three letters.

And unfortunately, it was an addiction that Sehun found he could not quit.

“Kai. Kai. Kai.”

Kai groaned, caramel fingers reaching up to remove the cancer stick from his lips, “What is it now?”

The younger male always supposed that it was the sharp tone of his companion’s voice that always snapped him out of his mantra. His lips would still be parted as though he had the intention to speak, but nothing would escape—save for a soft sound that was emitted from the base of his throat; but Sehun could never identify what it was or what it meant, so he refused to believe that it was real.

(It was funny how the one thing that could stop his continuous script was the subject of said script himself, he would think. And there was just some strange thing about this concept that would send a chill down Sehun’s spine and his toes curling within his worn Converse. Not that he would say anything about it, of course.)

“Nothing,” he would manage through grit teeth, the lie burning his tongue and nearly making him wince.

Kai would roll his eyes and nudge the younger male next to him meaningfully—a warning.

Jongin would frown—his brows knitting together in a worry meant for someone with more years, more experience, more wisdom.

A worry that shouldn’t have been meant for him.

The cigarette in his fingers is being consumed by nature’s air itself rather than his lungs, but he’s beginning to find that maybe he doesn’t really care. There is some feeling of foreboding eating at the pit of his stomach, but Jongin can’t identify what it is or what it means, so he refuses to acknowledge it.

He knows that he should say something. Anything actually.

But by the time his mind has strung enough words together to make a coherent phrase, Sehun has recommenced his fuming whispers, “Kai. Kai. Kai.”

And every day, this would make a piece of Jongin’s heart shatter. Because he knew that inside the mind of his younger friend there were only images of light brown clashing with tainted white; screaming matches in the darkness continuing until the sun’s rays would frighten away the possessive demons with their streams of light; jabs and insults at every possible moment, mocking tones and crushing words that would be enough to destroy any human.

Each syllable that escaped Sehun’s lips felt like another stab into his very soul—a writhing knife dipped in cyanide, guiltlessly draining the ever decreasing hopes that Jongin managed to somehow hold onto; making the darkness of the setting sky all the more real and intimidating and just horrifying.

Kai laughs.

Somehow Jongin is able to manipulate his shaky fingers enough to crush the remnants of his cigarette against his bare skin.

He welcomes the pain.

And the shadow over Jongin’s lanky frame seems larger than ever as they continued their walk home.

---

In all reality, sometimes Jongin feels like he just doesn’t understand himself.

It’s like there are these conflicting emotions in his head, these contrasting ideas threatening to make him burst from the inside. And no matter how many pills he takes or how many cigarettes he inhales, his splitting headache remains ever present. It’s not the physical sort of pain that one would expect from a headache though. No, Jongin’s headaches are the sort of headaches that you feel when you’re sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, and there’s something inside your mind poking out at your thoughts, begging to be released… But it just doesn’t know how. It’s this itching feeling that something’s not right, that everything has a greater meaning… But not being able to understand what it is. His head is split with confusion, and it makes him fidget uncomfortably next to Sehun, who is mindlessly whispering that name over and over again.

It’s the presence of the younger boy that soothes him slightly, but when the face beside his turns to look at him, there are only glossy eyes and the whisper of, “Kai, is everything alright?”

And Jongin is shaking because he knows that everything is not alright. He knows that there’s something inside him screaming at him and telling him that it’s not alright, but he doesn’t know what that something is and it scares him.

He wants to ignore it. He’s going to ignore it.

(If you listen, they’ll only hurt you, a small voice whispers in his head, and Jongin can almost swear that the voice that says this is one that he has heard before, but cannot exactly recall. It only adds to his headache.)

He and Sehun have been waiting in their classroom for their individual teachers to arrive onto the scene to cart them away from one another for what feels like ages now. The empty waiting room is haunting in a way that he knows shouldn’t be haunting. He should feel comfortable. He comes here every day, so why is he suddenly beginning to feel so anxious? It wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense.

For some reason, Jongin feels his fingers twitching and concludes that he needs to take a puff out of his cigarette.

He murmurs his temporary departure to the pale figure behind him out of habit, already knowing that the younger male probably wouldn’t notice his absence at all. With a flick of his lighter and a long inhalation, Jongin’s lungs fill with smoke, putting him at ease.

“Kai?” The voice shocks him out of his short reverie, causing him to burn himself with the cigarette yet again as he turns to face a short man in a white lab coat. “It’s time for classes to begin. Sehun is already with his instructor.”

The cancer stick has already burned itself out on the hard concrete of the school’s courtyard, and perhaps if he didn’t have such an ego to maintain, Jongin would have allowed himself a short whimper. Part of him is screaming for that familiar warmth inside his chest; that freedom from agonizing thought; the pure bliss that the drug offers him, so much so that he almost scrambles to the ground to pick it up once more and attempt to relight it. However, the other part is screaming at him about how his class is about to start and that he shouldn’t miss it lest they punish both him and Sehun.

It seems as though his teacher realizes that there was some internal conflict going on within the young boy regarding the situation. He tuts annoyingly, before muttering, “You were making a lot of progress yesterday, Jongin.” The name makes the young man go frigid, all thoughts about drugs and punishment instantly fleeing his mind as he whips his head up to look at him.

Jongin. Yes. Yes, that sounds correct. Your name is Jongin. Not Kai. Where did Kai from? Who is Kai?

He smirks at his reaction, “That’s what I thought. It’s time for your lesson. Stripping here is fine.”

Jongin obliges without a second thought.

---

Kai is weird, Sehun concludes. Kai is weird and beyond anyone’s understanding. If he would, Sehun would probably give up on his dream of being able to comprehend the older male, but both men knew just how impossible this task would be, so Sehun never even bothers trying.

It happens on their way to school the next day.

“Sehunnie, if I asked, would you stop calling me Kai?”

The random question catches the younger male off guard, interrupting his innocent mantra of that sacred name as he turns to look at his elder in surprise, “Why? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

He isn’t sure why, but a light bulb inside the shadowed darkness of his mind has flickered on. There’s something inside him telling him that whatever is going on isn’t right. Whatever is about to happen isn’t supposed to happen and could potentially ruin everything as he knows it.

But he’s also highly aware that by holding out in the conversation for just a little while longer, he’ll be granted another opportunity to try and understand the mystery that is Kai. And even though he knows that it’s a lost cause, there’s just something about the existence of the tan figure beside him. And whatever it is, it’s something that Sehun finds himself latching onto daily with reasons that are unexplainable. Even to himself.

His companion has stayed quiet for an amount of time that makes Sehun feel strangely uncomfortable. In fact, Kai had decided to stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk, the multitude of cracks below him suddenly becoming the sole focus of his attention. Even Sehun can tell that there’s some sort of conflict going on within his friend’s head, but something is screaming at him to not get himself involved in any of it. The way that he saw it, whenever he tried to involve himself in Kai’s problems, he would always get hurt. That’s just how it always was.

(See, you just admitted it yourself! Go on! Run while you still can!)

The pale boy is easily able to ignore the command once Kai parts his lips to speak, “I suppose so. But… let’s mix it up a little. Why don’t you call me Jongin instead?”

What was that?

Sehun blinks at the taller male in remote surprise, a feeling of dread spreading throughout his body once more. But he fights the sentiment and the numbness, and instead forces a hollow laugh, “What is this? Your rebellious phase?”

He expects the older male to chuckle along with him since it seems to be one of Kai’s better days when he’s not completely gloomy, but as he turns to take in the sad expression in his elder’s eyes and the grim line of his lips, something strange begins to stir inside the younger man. He fidgets uncomfortably under the heavy weight of his friend’s stare, before quietly asking, “Um. So what were you saying, Kai?”

In all honesty, Sehun isn’t sure if he had only imagined the way that his friend’s body seemed to twist at the mention of the name. It seems so realistic that he almost swears that it’s true, until he realizes that Kai has no reason for feeling pain. He didn’t get hurt, right? He was fine.

Right?

“Jongin. Call me Jongin.” It was no longer a request. It sounded more like a plea for help; the hushed cry of a doubtful man who can do nothing but pray for his suffering to end. And from the way his voice cracks as he finishes his words, it becomes clear that his only hope for salvation is the porcelain boy beside him. This porcelain boy that has grown ignorant to the cruel reality that the two are entrapped in: the cruel reality that Jongin knew existed, but Sehun remained ever oblivious to.

(A piece of him feels like crying, because at this point, the pieces are slowly coming back together in his head once more, but he can’t bear to leave Sehun behind. He’s nothing without Sehun. He refuses to be anything without Sehun.)

Warning bells are ringing in the younger male’s head once more. There is a distinct voice in his head telling him not to succumb to the flimsy will of his companion: doing so would only bring some sort of unspeakable terror upon them both. Their only hope for salvation is Sehun’s persistence to refuse his longtime friend’s request.

But Sehun has never been able to deny Kai of anything he wanted. And he wasn’t going to start now.

A pink tongue slowly sneaks out to lick chapped lips as the younger male cautiously tries the name out on his tongue, “Jong… Jongin.”

It is silent for a moment as the pair allow the syllables to resonate through the air, an echo in an empty space. Something so hushed and irrelevant to the world, but with a weight that almost makes Sehun stagger back in a bewildered sort of surprise. And beside him, the tan figure looks as though his world has been set alight with the hopeful promise of something unspoken. Something that is immense and daunting, but promising and awe-inspiring at the same time.

Not that Sehun really notices. Because his mind is beginning to race and his heart is beating madly in his chest and that strange, strange feeling of foreboding is becoming so strong that he believes that he might faint. There is something uncomfortably familiar about the ease in which that name rolls off his tongue: something so much more soothing than the way the name “Kai” does.

It’s magical. It’s an excerpt from sort of spell whose utterance is meant to glorify the insignificant life that the younger lives, something to brighten his days with peace and light.

A lump has formed in his throat—perhaps his body begging him once more to forget the suggested name—but it does nothing to stop Sehun from repeating the name to himself over and over again, “Jongin… Jongin… Jongin…”

And he’s found a new addiction, and Kai—no. Jongin looks so happy that he could cry, and everything is okay.

Sehun is delighted with this new idea—with this new addition to a routine that was getting too old—and he quickly promises to himself that from now on, there is no such thing as a Kai. There’s only Jongin, Jongin, Jongin.

And due to Jongin’s request (though incredibly peculiar), he also adds that if he calls him Kai ever again, then he must not be himself anymore. His friend’s rationalization is that this is something special for only the two of them, and no one is allowed to know about it ever. It’s a little ridiculous, but Jongin looks panicked and Sehun doesn’t see the harm in it. This is just a game. An incredibly fun one, at that.

But still, that feeling of unease is threatening to engulf his very soul; threatening to burn his body over a roasting fire; threatening to make him beg, beg for mercy—mercy not for just himself, but for Jongin as well. It’s like a weight is forcing itself down on the young man’s shoulders, laughing as it whispers about how it is the same weight that his friend has been shouldering for far too long, how it’s about time that Sehun started acting more mature and taking up his half of the burden as well—not that the boy hears.

And even if he did, it probably wouldn’t matter.

He really likes the name Jongin.

---

Under normal circumstances, Jongin would feel incredibly guilty when his examination with his teacher takes too long and he is forced to keep Sehun waiting. But today isn’t one of those normal circumstances.

Even he understands that.

It’s like he’s a new man now: Kai is no more. It’s only Jongin, Jongin, Jongin, and Sehun, Sehun, Sehun.

Everything would work out perfectly. He was going to make sure that everything worked out perfectly. There was still a cloud hanging over his thoughts, masking fragments of his memory, but he was sure that he had put a majority of the pieces together.

Sort of.

But that could wait for some other time. Because in that moment, in Jongin’s present, there was no longer a Kai and Sehun was beginning to wake up and it wouldn’t be long until he started to remember things more and more so that he could help Jongin put all the pieces together. And once that had been done, they could figure out a way to fix everything.

Because even though Jongin wasn’t exactly sure what it was that needed to be fixed yet, he could tell that there was something.

It was the only conclusion that he could come to that made sense.

He had bounced out of classroom and towards the front of the school building where he and Sehun met daily, excitedly expecting something more to happen once they encountered each other once more.

But when he skids to a stop, porcelain features are distorted into an annoyed frown as the younger man mutters, “What the hell took you so long, Kai?”

Jongin blinks, sudden panic bubbling up from within his chest. “K-Kai? I’m not Kai. Remember?” He tries to laugh it off, but Sehun just looks more annoyed than ever.

“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today. We’re already behind on our usual schedule. Let’s go.”

But Jongin finds that he can’t move. His entire body has gone numb.

He needs a smoke. Some pills. Anything to make up for the clenched hope that had disappeared swiftly from the palm of his hands.

---

To put it frankly, Jongin is tired of understanding.

Nothing is fair. He’s beginning to realize how cruel and looming this truth is. In all actuality, he faintly recalls times before when others complained about the realities that they were forced to endure. Times when he ridiculed them for complaining about something so petty, so obvious.

He now knows where they’re coming from.

“What are you still doing out here?” comes a hushed question, and Jongin feels a familiar warmth break through his thoughts to sit beside him on the front porch of their shared abode. “It’s getting late, don’t you think? Come on, let’s eat dinner.”

The milky white skin of the boy next to him makes Jongin’s heart race, and a small voice shyly points out how close in proximity the two are to one another. Their hands are so close to touching and all he needs to do is turn his wrist just a little more, and the two will intertwine. Just like they used to.

He longs to do it. He longs to make that small movement towards a lost happiness.

But he knows that if he does anything too rash, if he ever does anything too sudden, it could prove detrimental to them both.

Jongin understands this. Sehun is too forgetful to remember it.

“No, I’m okay. You can go ahead and eat without me.”

He doesn’t have to look at Sehun to feel the frown forming on his face. “No, that’s ridiculous. We always eat together. Come on.” There is a soft tug on the elder’s sleeve as he continues to whine, “I’m getting hungry and it’s getting dark and we’ve really been destroying our schedule today. What are you even doing out here?”

Jongin can only sigh, before halfheartedly pulling out a box of cigarettes along with his trusty lighter. “I’m taking a smoke.” He doesn’t miss the way that the younger’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “So go ahead and wait for me inside. I’ll be there soon.” It’s becoming all too easy for these lies to roll off his tongue, but Jongin finds that he can’t really be bothered. He’s probably not going to go inside for a long time. He needs to think. And he can’t do it when Sehun is sitting next to him as closely as they are now—so close to being able to touch him, but not having the heart to.

Jongin imagines that Sehun is like a forbidden fruit and that he is trapped in the Garden of Eden. The only problem is that his resolve is much stronger than Adam and Eve before him. He’s far too deep in love with the man beside him to risk his departure. No, no. He can’t live without Sehun. He refuses to live without Sehun.

But the young male is still intoxicatingly close to him. And when Jongin takes a long drag out of the lit cigarette, it feels like he’s inhaling Sehun’s very essence as well: oak and sweat and doubt and curiosity all hidden underneath the mask of a poisonous drug.

The idea of it all stuns Jongin enough to make him take the rolled paper away from his lips as he coughs and wheezes and all but begs for something else to enter his lungs. Too much Sehun is a bad thing. Too much Sehun will cloud his thoughts and make him forget. But goddammit, if Jongin has to forget everything that he’s already figured out again, he thinks that might even just give up on living in general.

Understanding is his burden. And he was not going to let anyone else bear it.

And while these thoughts continue to consume his mind, milky white reaches out to tentatively grab the cigarette out of tanned fingers. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself. Smoking is bad for your health.”

Jongin wants to cry because his health is not the most important thing at stake here.

But before he can voice this concern (or at least come up with some sarcastic response that would be bitter enough to make his younger friend leave him alone), he turns just in time to see Sehun bring the drug to his lips.

Something about the gesture sends Jongin’s heart racing.

Sehun takes a long drag of the cigarette, before removing it from his lips to exhale a cloud of smoke into Jongin’s face. “So if smoking kills you, then I want it to kill me, too.”

No. No, Sehun can’t die. Sehun was never meant to die. He was meant to live for forever because he was the god of Jongin’s world. Jongin would be nothing without Sehun. Sehun can’t die.

He forces himself to laugh shakily, “Don’t be ridiculous, Sehunnie. You’re not thinking straight. Besides, you don’t smoke, remember?” He moves to take the white stick back away from the innocence of his friend’s fingers, and is shocked when Sehun shakes his head and scoots away from the older boy.

“I can start. It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

The words almost stop Jongin’s heart from beating. Sehun’s not doing this. Sehun’s not doing this because he wants to die like Jongin because that notion is ridiculous. Sehun can’t die. He won’t die. And even if he won’t actually kill himself just by taking a puff out of a single cigarette, the fact that Sehun just admitted that he wants to die is sending Jongin’s mind into a frenzy. “I mind. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sehun. Give it back.”

“No!”

Jongin is shaking now, and he’s not entirely sure that he knows the reason why. He scoots closer to Sehun as the latter continues his gradual advance away. “Sehun. Sehun, stop acting like a little kid. You’re so much more important than I am. You can’t let something petty like this destroy you.”

(You can’t start loving me like this all of a sudden. You can’t will yourself to die alongside me when you’re not supposed to die. You can’t suddenly remember all the times when the two of us meant the world to each other. You can’t play with my heart like this—when you don’t even know that you’re doing it. Stop it, Sehun. That’s not fair.)

Surprisingly enough, tears begin to leak out of the corner of the young man’s eyes, “I don’t care anymore. I just want to understand you. I want to do whatever it takes to understand you because there’s something that I’m not getting, and I know that you know it and I don’t. And I don’t understand why, Jongin.”

Jongin isn’t sure if it’s the statement itself that throws him offguard, or the simple fact that Sehun has managed to recall his name once more.

And before he knows exactly what’s happening, Sehun has already taken another drag of the cigarette, and it sends Jongin’s heart into an angry flutter, and without fully realizing what he’s doing, he’s pushed Sehun onto his back, knocked the cigarette out of his hands, and planted his lips firmly onto the other’s—forcing the younger’s mouth open so that he can take the smoke out of his system.

But those few seconds of contact were all that he needed.

Memories flash through the back of his mind almost instantly: their kidnapping, the machines, the scientists, the torture.

Jongin pulls away quickly—coughing and sweating and shaking and fearful of this complete understanding.

But when his eyes meet Sehun’s, it’s clear that the younger boy has gained no recollection of their reality. Instead, he raises his fingers to slowly touch his lips, eyes wide as ever as he stares at Jongin.

And Jongin is surprised when the younger male jumps up and forces him down, hungrily attacking his lips with his own.

For a moment, it’s as though his mind has run completely blank: all that matters is Sehun’s lips on his, the way their mouths move against one another’s in pure synchronization, the way that his heart all but leaps out of his chest in a childish sort of glee because this is everything that Jongin has wanted in such a long time all rolled into one fleeting moment, and it’s too good to be real.

Too good to be real.

The longer that their tongues roll against one another’s, the longer Sehun intertwines his fingers in the tangled locks atop Jongin’s head, the longer the latter moans and pants and gasps for air… the more his mind begins to whiten. The colors are beginning to fade with every passionate movement and this realization sends warning bells ringing in the depths of Jongin’s consciousness.

It takes all of his willpower for him to push the younger man off his body, the two panting heavily as they truly take in the sight of one another: Jongin with a look of urgency, and Sehun with a pained expression of rejection.

In fact, the younger looks as though he’s on the brink of tears as he quietly whispers, “J-Jongin?”

But the older male can only shake his head as he clumsily brings himself to his feet.

He had to fix this. He had to fix it all while he still remembered it, or else it would be too late. If he didn’t do anything soon, they would take the opportunity to wipe both him and Sehun clean.

Jongin didn’t want to have to suffer through that purgatory any longer.

“W-Where are you going?” He can hear the stumbling steps of disarray behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his own longer legs, but perhaps the combination of dizzying confusion and blissful agony were taking their toll on the younger male.

Jongin refuses to turn back around to attempt to fully take in the sight of Sehun franticly trying to catch up with him, and he supposes that he doesn’t have to. Before he knows it, a firm grip has seized his wrist, causing him to spin back around. Wide, fearful eyes lock onto his own as the slightly shorter male whispers, “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” Tears have already commenced streaming down the younger man’s face as he slowly falls to his knees, “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Jongin. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Don’t leave me.”

And Jongin feels his heart lurch forward painfully, and part of him longs to stay and comfort his lover; to promise him that everything would be alright because he would never leave him—not really anyway.

But there is this feeling of urgency coursing through his veins, and though it pains him to do so, he quickly pulls his wrist away.

Sehun’s response to the action is something that he’ll never forget: red eyes, tearstains marring perfect complexion, brows crumpled together in agony, arm still outstretched in hope, and lips slightly parted to form a silent scream of the word, “No.”

Jongin feels himself shaking as he forces himself to continue onwards. “I’ll be back soon, Sehunnie. Don’t worry about me. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

It has become much too easy for Jongin to roll these lies off his tongue.

(He should’ve stayed. He should have ignored everything that logic was telling him and embraced the universe’s final offer of blissful ignorance. But he doesn’t, because its human nature to take opportunities for granted.)

--

When Jongin arrives back at what he believes to be his school, he angrily throws open the doors to an all too familiar “classroom,” and begins screaming in a blind rage as soon as he realizes that there’s not a single soul in the room.

“I know everything now!” he screams, “Goddammit, let me out of this nightmare! I remember everything! Let me out!”

But his cry seems to fall on deaf ears.

So he continues to roar and cry and shriek until his throat has made itself raw. And at this point, he collapses onto the cold tile beneath him, his insides burning with something that hurts so much more than the burn of a cigarette against his skin. Something inside him is contorting itself painfully within his body, and Jongin swears that if this pain continues, then his body will go numb in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly the door opens, and his teacher races into the room with wide eyes, “Kai, what on earth are you doing here at this hour—“

His eyes dart towards him almost immediately, blazing with an unforgivable fury as he points an accusing finger at him, “Let me out! Let me and Sehun out!”

The man is clearly bewildered by the youngster’s words and actions as he carefully responds with a faint, “Let you out of what? You still have class tomorrow. You need to get home and catch up on some rest. It’s clear that you need it.”

“Stop lying to me!” he cries, pulling at his hair in frustration and all but ripping it out. “The gig is up! I remember it all, and you’ve had enough fun. Let us both out and I promise not to press charges!”

He expected at least some sort of affirmation from the man beside him, but he continues to ramble on and on about how Jongin must be getting overly stressed from all the schoolwork and how it just means that he really needs to go home and sleep before the coming school day. And his words continue to increase the panic within the young boy because he knows he has to be right. He knows that his memories have truly come back and that it’s his job to fix everything for him and Sehun because Sehun couldn’t. It was up to him, and he had no intentions of letting Sehun down.

He just needed to get the man before him to know that he was telling the truth. That he wasn’t insane and was actually one of the most sane of all of their test subjects.

He had to force them to allow him to wake up out of this augmented reality.

Because that’s what it had to be: an alternative universe that was created to serve as a torturous hell for him and Sehun alone.

With only these thoughts to guide him, Jongin pulls the chipped lighter out of his pocket and brings the bright orange flame to his skin.

He would have thought that at least some part of him would feel a sort of pain aching throughout his body, but no such thing occurs. In fact, the sensation reminds him of smoking cigarettes—except instead of a warm feeling expanding throughout your chest, setting yourself on fire seems to expand that warm feeling throughout your entire being.

Perhaps if this was another time and another place, Jongin would have laughed at his unfortunate situation and nudged Sehun into laughing along with him.

But no such thing happens.

The flames are suddenly doused.

Jongin’s eyes open for the first time in a long time.

--

The room is gray. Dark. The walls are soaked in dread and blood and screams and tears and under any other circumstances, Jongin would probably be begging to be in any other place.

But in all actuality, the young man thinks that he might actually start crying tears of joyous bliss at any given moment. The fact that he was just a thin piece of fabric away from being considered naked meant nothing. It didn’t matter that the feeling in his hands and feet were nonexistent due to the tight constraints around his wrists and ankles. It definitely didn’t matter that he could very clearly make out the jagged lines of incisions made into his skin, all in the hope to perfect an experiment that was on the road to going horribly, horribly wrong.

The only thing that matters is that he’s awake. He’s free.

And now that he’s in the real world, he can save Sehun. Because the only thing that has ever really mattered to Jongin is Sehun.

The name alone is enough to sting the back of Jongin’s eyes as he envisions the younger male as he had last seen him: desperate, and hopeless, and just needing him. The name alone is enough to remind Jongin that when Sehun needed him most, he didn’t help him.

This revelation sends his heart into a frenzy because he realizes that he denied Sehun. Sehun, who he had promised the entire world to.

“Please,” he whispers, completely going against what he had previously determined as his most logical course of action, “Please just let me see him.” The two figures dressed in lab coats stained with what he can only assume to be the blood of the innocent look at one another in silent contemplation. And when Jongin realizes that they are about to deny him this single request, he desperately adds, “I’ll do anything. Please. Please, I need to make sure that he’s okay.” And even though he had wanted to give off the impression of a strong, capable young man, the entire façade crumbles as sobs begin to rack his body. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, before continuing their path down to his bare chest, and eventually to the dark entity of the ground.

He’s not sure if it’s pitiful demeanor or his promise to do whatever they ask of him that does the trick, but the two men part from one another to reveal a pale being clad in only loose shorts, perspiration glistening on the pale skin of his chest. The artificial light dangling above his head makes the brown of his hair shine despite the dirt that is evidently tangled within his locks. His ribs protrude out of his narrow frame and angry red is strewn all across his body.

“S-Sehunnie?” Jongin croaks, the cry sounding as pathetic as ever as it escapes his raw throat.

Is he alive? Is he breathing? No. Sehun can’t die. Sehun won’t die. Jongin refuses to let such a reality come into passing.

He attempts to raise his arm to reach out for him, but his binding is too tight. He feels his insides contort painfully and suddenly there are splotches of white trying to consume his vision, and Jongin screams because he’s come so far and he refuses to let the world of white take him away from his reality once more. He can’t fail Sehun. He won’t fail Sehun.

And suddenly the two scientists step towards one another once more, blocking the image of his dying lover once more, and Jongin screams.

“It is time to resume the experiment, Kai.”

The name sends Jongin reeling and the pain in his chest is too intense to be real and he doesn’t know if it’s possible, but he imagines that his tears only fall faster. “N-No. Please. Please don’t send me back there. Don’t send us back there. It hurts too much. Please, please…”

“We can’t trust you anywhere else. The last time we tried to study you in our laboratories, you almost killed both yourself and Sehun. We can’t have you trying something insane like that again.”

For a split second, Jongin finds himself scrambling to find truth in these words, but he quickly realizes that even if they were telling the truth, it would mean nothing. Because with every moment that Jongin wastes, Sehun continues to die, and there is only so much time left and Sehun can’t die. So he speaks like the desperate man he is, shrieking the first things that come to his frail mind, “I won’t! I promise that I won’t! Please, please just let him go. Let Sehun go. Give him back his memories so that he can remember who he is and so that he can remember who I am and so that he can remember us. That’s all. I’ll do anything you want after that. I just… Sehun. He’s all that matters. Please, please…”

And he murmurs that single syllable over and over again because he feels like it’s the only word that his lips can shape without cracking and becoming immobile. The word gives him hope like the name Sehun does, and hope is all he has left at this point.

“Such sensitivity only skews our perceptions of reality. You have potential. Stop wasting it. Sehun doesn’t matter. Sehun shouldn’t matter.”

These hateful words shatter whatever hope Jongin has left.

(What does hope even mean, anyway? No such thing exists. It’s just another children’s fantasy. Jongin should’ve grown up a long time ago.)

And as though to prove his point, one scientist signals the other, and suddenly volts of electricity are racing through the other side of the room and they part from one another to reveal the spazzing body of a young man.

The cry that rips through Jongin’s throat is inhumane and unrealistic. The sound of an animal.

When Jongin can inhale smoke from his bound position, the electricity stops and brown eyes flutter open through the pain, “J-Jong…”

Sehun. Sehun is alive.

This realization makes Jongin freeze. And for the first time in a long time, he feels the corner of his lips dragging themselves upwards in an attempt at a grateful smile.

But suddenly the electricity is flickered back on and Sehun is screaming for Jongin to save him and Jongin begins to scream as well because they’re really killing him now. He lashes at the chains holding him down and feels the metal dig into his skin more and more.

But it doesn’t matter. Because nothing matters but saving Sehun. Without Sehun, Jongin is nothing.

When the volts finally stop, the name Jongin is gone from Sehun’s lips, “K-Kai… Kai, Kai, Kai….”

And Jongin feels his heart break even more. “N-No! No, Sehun! It’s me! Jongin! Not Kai, Jongin!”

The younger boy is panting heavily, desperately trying to catch his breath. His body is still trembling as he timidly looks up at the man before him through the sweaty bangs plastered onto his forehead. There’s a pained confusion in his eyes as he takes in the scene before him, before he quietly whispers, “Jongin…? I don’t know a Jongin…”

The older man across from him feels his existence shatter into a million pieces.

But Sehun is still looking around the room franticly, eyes sharpening as he begins to become more and more aware of his surroundings. “W-Where’s Kai? I want Kai,” he whimpers, lower lip trembling as sobs begin to rack his body.

Jongin wishes for himself to be electrocuted. For some sort of flame to consume his being in order to force his heart to stop beating so that all the pain will go away. It hurts. Everything hurts and he wants it to go away, but the only way to make everything stop is for Sehun to be alright and he’s not. He’s alive and he’s breathing, but they’ve broken him. They’ve broken him because Jongin wasn’t able to protect him even though it was his duty to do so. Jongin was the only one who could have saved him, and he didn’t.

Jongin thinks that true understanding leads to nothing but suffering.

And it’s all his fault.

______________________________________________________________________________

a/n: i hope this isn't too crappy. the idea was a lot better in my head.

At First Sight

2013-04-13T05:27:24Z

Title: At First Sight
Pairing: friendship!heehae/haechul, haesica, heesica
Rating: G
Length: one-shot; approximately 2,000 words.

In Kim Heechul's honest opinion, love was stupid. Fake. Nonexistent.

It pained him immensely to watch his close friends gaze longingly at girls that would never even give them a second glance. He wanted to ignore them when they rambled on and on about how beautiful they thought she was, and how kind, gentle, and sweet they insisted she must be.

But Kim Heechul was many things, and a bad friend was certainly not one of them.

So he would sit and halfheartedly listen to delicately planned confessions and escapades. Of dreams and hopes and smiles and kisses. He'd watch the way his friends' eyes would light up in excitement thinking about the lucky girl that received their affection, and the way their lips would be permanently stuck in a genuine grin of absolute glee. He'd skeptically nod along to whatever they said, but would never encourage their ideas.

Because Kim Heechul would always be the one his friends would go to when they were in tears after a rejection or a bad break-up. And it would always be Kim Heechul who would try to pick up the broken pieces of a shattered heart.

And thus, he promised that he would never subject himself to such agony. Why would he take the time to love someone if they'd never love him back? Why would he willingly put his entire heart, his entire soul, his entire being out on the chopping board for some random girl to slice into a million pieces?

No. He was too good for that. Everyone was too good for that.

But they all refused to listen to him.

Especially a Mister Lee Donghae.

Heechul vividly remembers when the spunky young teenager skipped into his training room of SM Entertainment. He remembers how bright he smiled, and how his eyes twinkled, and how he refused to give up no matter how often Heechul told him that he was an idiot that would never get to debut no matter how hard he tried.

And he remembers that every time he would mock his dongsaeng, the young boy would only offer a sheepish smile and bow before responding with a light, "I'm sorry, sunbae. I'll work harder!"

He was the only one that Heechul couldn't crack.

And so he became one of the only trainees that Kim Heechul willingly took under his wing.

Perhaps the younger boy's optimistic attitude was actually beneficial to a pessimistic atheist like Heechul. Donghae was upbeat and energetic. He loved to make people happy, even if it was at his expense. His belief that all things would get better as long as he believed was similar to the mindset of a young child.

And that twinkle. The young man had a certain twinkle in his eye that was simple mesmerizing.

Lee Donghae was nothing like Kim Heechul.

Heechul was lazy and a deadbeat. He didn't care what other people thought about him, and he always put himself first. He was all that really mattered. Heechul was a firm believer that destiny was something that had been drawn before an individual was born. Some people were meant to suffer, and that was that. Things wouldn't always get better as long as you thought that it would, because you can't change something that was written in red ink before you even entered the world.

And his eyes had no twinkle at all. The eyes of a young Heechul were like black pits of nothingness: boring and dull. The kind that makes people want to look away.

But these differences were what made the relationship between Heechul and Donghae so interesting. They were like the sun and the moon. The sky and the dirt. The light and the darkness. They complimented each other, but it was clear that one was more favorable than the other.

Donghae was more favorable than Heechul.

The latter was quick to come to this conclusion, but it's not like he cared all too much. Why did he have to impress people? As long as he was happy, he didn't need other people. They would only get in his way.

What did bother Heechul was the fact that Donghae was like a lovesick puppy.

It was easy for the young man to claim that he had fallen in love. The poor guy was like a child: always pointing at things he wanted but knew he couldn't have. Occassionally there would be a time that he would actually get close to the girl that he was fantasizing over, but after a make-out session or two, the girl would always dump him. After all, Lee Donghae had the beliefs of a little kid: sex was only for after marriage.

And it seems that the girls that he always chased were only after that one thing and nothing more.

But what set Donghae apart from Heechul's other friends was the fact that he wouldn't break after a girl had left him. There would never be any tears, no screams, no laying around and doing nothing.

No. There was never any of that.

In fact, whenever Heechul would walk over to console the younger male as he thought he was obligated to, said boy would just shrug and say, "I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

And after Heechul would look at his friends as though he had three heads, the brunet would only continue on to say, "Don't worry, Hyung. She's coming. One day I'll meet her, and we'll stay together."

"How will you know that?" Saying that Heechul was mesmerized by the headstrong belief that his younger friend had would surely be an overdramatic statement. But the older male was intrigued by his friend's mannerisms, and he couldn't help but ask.

"I'll know as soon as I see her," Donghae would say, "She'll look at me, and I'll look at her, and we'll both just know."

And as those words would depart from his lips, that twinkle in his eye seemed to brighten even more, and Heechul would have to look away. Because for some reason, it was too much for him to bare, "Whatever you say, Donghae-ah. Just don't get your hopes up too high."

Though Heechul uttered these words often, hearing them always seemed to sadden his younger friend. Donghae would look at the older male with an expression that many people would label as pity, but Heechul refused to call it anything but his friend simply being stupid.

"Hyung, your time will come, too. And you'll experience love."

This conversation was often a repeated one, and Heechul would always be surprised when he realized that the young teen hadn't given up on him yet. But then the initial shock would fade, and with an exasperated sigh, Heechul would decide to entertain the imagination of one of his beloved dongsaengs and respond with a halfhearted, "Yeah? Well, how will I know?"

And just like every one of these conversations that they would have, Donghae would smile his wide, toothy grin, and say, "Because when you see her, she'll feel like the only thing in the universe. Your heart will race, and your hands will sweat, and you'll feel dizzy. That's how I think love feels like."

"Sweating sounds disgusting." With that said, no more words on the manner were to be spoken. By this time, Donghae knew that if he said anything more, there was no guarantee that his hyung wouldn't shove him into the next wall and beat him until he was unrecognizable.

* * *

One day during their trainee years, when Heechul was twenty-one and Donghae was eighteen, they overheard a staff member mention something about new trainees coming in.

This information was interesting to both of the young men, as new trainees usually meant more people to boss around. Well, that was what they meant in Heechul's case, at least. To Donghae, trainees meant being able to meet new people and create new friendships.

Heechul considered the idea stupid, since it was already ridiculous enough for him to spend so much time with a dongsaeng like Donghae, but he never said anything about it to his younger friend. He knew that doing so would be pointless, as it would result in another intense ramble on the other's behalf on how Heechul should try to be more friendly because without other people in his life, he'd be lonely, and being lonely is the worst thing that could ever happen to someone who lived on planet Earth.

And Heechul had already grown tired of Donghae's rambles a very long time ago.

On that day, snow had finally set foot in South Korea in the form of dancing little snowflakes falling gracefully from the sky. The weather was absolutely lovely, and since it was the first snow day of the year, their trainer was kind enough to let them out early.

The sun was just beginning to set as the two friends exited the training facility and walked in the general direction of a bus stop. Donghae was complaining about how they hadn't been able to meet any of the newbies, and Heechul was halfheartedly listening, but silently thanking whatever mysterious force out there that had made it snow and had granted him an early release from the confines of the practice room.

But before he knew it, he had bumped into an unsuspecting figure that had been standing on the street, causing both her and himself to fall clumsily onto the frozen ground below them.

Heechul's mouth opened immediately to yell at the idiotic individual for not paying attention to where she was going, but as he looked into her eyes, he found himself unable to do so.

She was a pretty young girl, obviously younger than both he and Donghae. Her long black hair was hidden underneath a dark pink beanie, but the ends curled slightly in a way that was too perfect to be natural. She looked stunned by the sudden confrontation, and perhaps that was what caught Heechul so off-guard.

Because as he looked into her big brown eyes, he felt his heart beat faster. He stared at her in wonder, completely forgetting where he was, or what he had been doing. He forgot that he should be scolding her for not paying attention to her surroundings, and hell. He couldn't really say much because he found that right now he wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings either. Before he knew it, his palms began to sweat and he felt nauseous. The familiar sensation of throwing up bubbled in his throat, and the older man had to force a swallow in an attempt to keep it down.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he parted his lips to apologize. To do anything actually.

But suddenly, Donghae was at the young girl's side, offering his hand to help her up.

And then Heechul saw something that made him cringe.

As the young woman took his friend up on his offer, time seemed to stop. They were both still holding one another's hands, and their eyes were glued to one another's faces.

The twinkle in Donghae's eyes seemed to become the brightest that Heechul had ever seen it in all the long years that the two had known each other.

And in the younger woman's eyes, a spark seemed to have been lit.

Heechul didn't know how long they stayed like that, but he knew that while they stared at each other, a horrible sense of dread seemed to fill his chest.

"Are you all right, Miss? My name is Donghae. Lee Donghae."

And then the woman unleashed a grin so bright that it put Donghae's own smile to shame. Her smile looked like it was something that belonged in heaven. It looked like something that should cause peace to reign throughout the world. It was angelic, it was perfect.

But it made Heechul wince.

"Thank you, Donghae. I'm fine. My name is Jung Sooyeon. But please, call me Jessica."

In Kim Heechul's honest opinion, love was stupid. Fake. Nonexistent.