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deiemos · 7 years

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thirteenth

his father was a king and the son of kings. he did not care much for a child who would not be his heir, and his mother— they say brides do not smile on their wedding day, only the foolish ones. he was plucked from her arms and replaced with a pillow by a midwife the day of his birth. she did not notice. only hugged it closer.

almost as stupid as him.

his stupidity stemmed from hope. the kind that took root in your heart, manifested itself as a child’s wide-eyed curiosity. he wanted to be just like them— his siblings adorned in jewels and furs. the way they carried themselves like fluid gold, graceful and poised and respected. it was never to be.

the youngest of the family, born into an ivory palace soaked in crimson. the bloodbath had already begun long before he was born, screaming, into the world. he was sure, for awhile, that he would leave the same way. another son, another rival to the throne. the weight of the crown though hefty, would never outweigh the greed of its bearer. he wanted to be like them— his brothers— but they looked to him with nothing but scorn and fear. they never spoke kindly, and he was alone.

quickly, he grew to be a disappointment; lean, lanky. his limbs too long for his body. he was not graceful. he was not poised. he was not respected. the best that could said about him was his smile. but that, too, faded over time.

princes did not smile, you see. not with their eyes. they tipped their chins up and looked over their subject’s heads. how would you smile if you never were to meet their gaze? jhin, however, was different. he’d look even the servant, who worked to take care of his every need, in the eye, befriend the gardener who maintained his favourite daisy meadow, taste-test everything in the kitchen with the chef laughing by his side. no, he wasn’t like the other princes and princesses who carried themselves with a sort of grandeur that was stifling to the royal servants. not how they often walked around stiffly, like a dolly stick was glued to their spines. where they were rigid, he was free-spirited, and friendly and everything a prince should not have been. maybe if they had cared enough to drill the youngest into the deep-seated discontentment the monarchy seemed to thrive off, he would not have been adored. instead, he was loved, and not feared. he was not a prince.

that only made them hate him more.

simple avoidance turned into degradation. they had the decency to start slow. he was never in the public eye to begin with, the people of his kingdom oblivious to an heir such as him. they did not care, he would think. not as long as the harvest was plentiful and their pockets full. so when he disappeared from knightings and other public ceremonies, no one quite noticed. even if they did— like the servants of the monarch— they remained silent, for they were powerless. who were they to question the rulers of the land? it was always better to keep their mouths shut to things the gods battled over. the royal family was to itself its own.

his siblings were every bit as cruel as they were ambitious. they never did anything in his presence. they were like that— the monarch— the hilt of their sword to your back, never your front. they never revealed themselves. he was naive, then. it was a simpler time. life had not taught him enough for him to understand why they shunned him. hid his prized possessions. blamed him for mistakes he never committed. he would cry himself to sleep at night, empty stomach doing nothing to coax his indignation. why would a boy of six years deserve the harshness of his own siblings? what had he done, exactly, to warrant such duress? the answer was uncomplicated, in retrospect. it was simply because of who he was born to, the silver spoon in his mouth.

in some ways, maybe they beat the hope out of him. his skin bled purple, blue and light. they never had the guts to do it themselves. it was gullible of him to think that they found it hard to lay hands on their baby brother. it was probably their fear. perhaps they found it a chore. they never had to pick up a finger to do anything in their life— this was just one of the many things they outsourced to servants who were terrified to act against their orders.

he hoped, and he hoped, and he hoped. and one day, he stops hoping. what good was a king who did not hear his son’s cries? what good was a father who always had more important things to do? a mother, who knew of nothing, and cared so much less than what she knew. of siblings who despised him, wanted him dead. what good were the friends he made in the castle who cowered at higher power. became deaf to his pleas, blind at the atrocities, mute in comfort. jhin did not smile anymore. he did not talk. he did not leave his room. he was not afraid, but he was tired.

the only thing that eased him was the sea. his palace wing perched on a huge jagged rock along the coast. it overlooked the stormy blue ocean, and he would spend his days barefoot on the lower rocks where his toes could feel the sand. they had once called him prince Ōkeanós. an old time word for the ocean. now, they barely called him at all. perhaps it was better like this, to be alone. to feel the waves lap at his toes, the salty mist drawn over his face, unruly hair strewn backwards. to hear the tide crash in silence. he was at peace. the loneliness was as gritty as the sand beneath his feet— he supposed this was their way of teaching him. only the monarch was capable of feeling melancholy in such power. a gilded cage made from gold and adorned with jewels was still a cage. was it right for a boy, a mere ten years of age, to be so mournful? not for a simple fisherboy, but for a prince in waiting, it was all too normal. he was starting to understand them, maybe. his brothers. all this could only have been born from a place of complete isolation and despair. it was not hard to imagine them in such a position. it did not make what they did forgivable, but it eased jhin enough for him to shed his outer garments and wade into the tide. he half-expected his favourite guard to hold him by the elbow and guide him out, that one maid that felt like a mother to chide him into stepping back ashore. it’s too cold for swimming, little prince. she’d say in that tone of hers. today, however, there was only the sound of howling wind. it seemed they had turned their backs on him too.

the garments he kept on soaked through in a second. they clung to his skin in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but all he felt was warmth. they used to say he had an affinity with the ocean, that he had been born on the first day the tide retreated and no longer crashed noisily over the coast. that poseidon, himself, had watched over his birth. old time myths were never lost on him. he treasured the stories as he would a person. now, with his eyes closed, he let himself drift off to these tales, of a god with a trident who ruled over the seas.

he stayed like this for a good while, water lapping at his shoulder blades, and tried not to fall asleep. he didn’t know how far from shore he had drifted, pulled in by the current. he could only tell it had been awhile by the way the sun scorched the skin of his nape. the salinity of the sea water made his new wounds sting, but he had remembered a servant once telling him that the pain would help it heal. a remedy as old as time, he had said. jhin allowed himself to be swept away in the things of the past, ever so often. it was to be his downfall.

the hands that grabbed him were familiar. sinewy things that he had seen more than a few times. it did not matter when he was pushed underwater, all the same. with his head submerged, he could barely make out the silhouette through his half-parted eyes. the saltwater stung, but this felt like his chest was on fire. it was only a game, was it not? just another one of their pranks that would end in him being near death, but never quite dead. when he struggled, he was pushed further down. he felt his head getting lighter, foggy with the amount of water he had swallowed. his mouth felt like sandpaper and his throat throbbed, raw with his screaming. it dawned upon him that this was their last effort. he was not going to live this time. more than anything, they wanted him dead, and they always got what they wanted. there was no way he would survive this— they had thought so, at least. enough to send one of their own to trip on their power and finish the task. his brother smiled above him, drowning the boy. it felt right for him to die in a place he loved most. where he felt safe. jhin let his limbs fall loose, no longer resisting, and with his body light, his eyes fluttered close.

the hands he had grown up worshipping finally let go of him. he felt the current shift as the man waded back to where he had came from. jhin pushed himself into a spot where he could keep his head above water with his feet on the ground, stuck his head up and breathed in greedily. his lungs still felt heavy with salt, and the water made him choke and splutter, but he was drowned out by a loud wave crashing over the rocks. the sea was truly on his side. he acted before his brother noticed. it would be a lie to say it was a mistake. not with the way he lifted the man’s bleeding head and slammed it against the sharpest rock again, and again, until his garments were soaked with more blood than water. he did not just want him to die. he wanted him to feel pain. he wanted them to pay. he wanted to be feared. the water around his feet washed him clean, but the sea bled crimson. he was at peace.

the fourth prince to the throne had died, and suddenly he was a murderer being tried for treachery to the crown. it mattered not that he had been attacked first. or that he had almost died and acted upon self-defence. perhaps this had been their plan all along; two birds with one stone. it was not enough for him to die. they wanted jhin to suffer as much as he had wanted the fourth prince to cry out in mercy. that was his sin to bear. they would have him strung up in the public square and stoned to death. made a joke out of by his own people before his inevitable passing. maybe it would have worked out as planned if it weren’t for the thin circlet that mostly stayed hidden amongst his curly locks. they, as he did, sometimes forgot he was a prince. he did not act like much.

his status kept him from execution, but it did not change the fact that he was a murderer, branded a criminal and a permanent stain on his family’s lineage. they could not look divided to their neighbours. it would make them look weak and easily overthrown. his father had spent his life scrambling to keep his kingdom and would not risk losing it over a son like jhin. he had to be erased from history.

this is how he became an orphan. with no parents, no family name and no inheritance.

he was to be sent away. exiled to a kingdom far from sight. the death of his brother had been announced as an accident, and his trip, a diplomatic one. it was not uncommon for lower princes to marry women of noble birthright in allied kingdoms. the people did not seem to care. in a few years he would be forgotten completely, his name removed from writing. there would be no thirteenth son of ezekiel. he would not have existed.

no one came to see him off. he had become a prince, had he not? the remorseless killing, the hollow eyes, his melancholy. it seemed this would not be enough for them either. the thought alone made him chuckle. they had finally gotten what they wanted.

the trip spanned forty days and forty nights on sea, and another eighteen moons on horse. they wanted him far away, away from sight to be forgotten quietly. he did not speak to the messengers who guided him along and they did not move to engage him in any way. he could tell they were afraid.

when he arrived, he was brought before the king, whom he refused to bow to. the royal guard forced him to his knees and he laid prostrate against his will, but he did not struggle. he had no family, no king, no god. the act meant nothing; not respect or fear or submission. rather, he was glad to be able to lay down after weeks of travelling.

“what is your name?” jhin had been exiled to be fostered in this man’s kingdom, yet he did not know of his name.

jhin ground his teeth and kept silent. the grip on his shoulders tightened and he felt panic rise in his throat. it was too soon.

“jhin.” his reply breathy.

“do you know why you’re here?” what a foolish, pointless question. he had been sent with a bag of gold in exchange for being kept as a servant. surely, the king knew. he was the only one aware of his prior status. this was a pitiful attempt at trying to humiliate him.

“to live in servitude.” jhin did not see why he should have to answer, but he also did not want them to push him down by his shoulders again. the king seemed satisfied by his answers, and with a swift flick of his hand, jhin was dragged away from the throne room.

he did not have much in ways of personal belongings, but was forced to dump whatever he had in the servant quarters before being ushered away from the empty room again. all he wanted was to lay down on the uncomfortable looking pallet and sleep. instead, he was now in a hall full of servant boys around his age. they all wore the same expression— fear— one jhin knew too well. they looked terrified as they fidgeted in their spots, afraid to speak or even let their backs touch the wall behind them. like they would be reprimanded if they were an inch out of line. before he could turn to the boy next to him to ask, the doors at the head of the room swung open and the air grew cold.

“his royal highness, crown prince, ahn baekhyun.” he swore he heard the boys beside him stop breathing entirely. jhin never understood the need for such practices, but at least now he knew who he was looking at. while all the other servants in the room immediately had their heads bowed in respect and trepidation, jhin looked around the room in pure boredom. he had seen enough. the prince was nothing but a boy, his age, wearing a cape too big for his shoulders and a crown that weighed heavy on his head. jhin nearly pitied the boy, until it became clear that he was just like them, perhaps even worse. this prince did not seem to care for pleasantries. he used fear to his advantage, twisted these poor boys around his pinky and watched them snivel in terror. his gratuitous cruelty became clear in an instant. jhin was not surprised in the slightest. it seemed the heavier the crown, the more vicious they became. his heart still ached for the strangers he saw scorned and kicked to the ground, but he did not flinch. it was as to be expected.

he barely notices when the prince stops in line before him, too busy tracing out the intricate lines on the ceiling. they were fascinating, the patterns. he had never seen things of the sort from his native land. it made him wonder how far away he was from the kingdom.

“look me in the eye.” the prince had a piercing voice, the kind that commanded complete and utter submission. jhin felt as bored as he looked, staring determinedly at the clock. he wondered, briefly, if the guards were going to push him onto his knees again. maybe he would be able to take a nap while he laid on his knees.

“i, his royal highness, the crown prince, ahn baekhyun, order you to look me in the eye.” jhin nearly laughed. what boy his age spoke like that? was that normal here? it sounded ridiculous.

for that alone, he was forced down to the ground by his collar. the prince was stronger than his slight stature would suggest. it took jhin by surprise, but he was yet to make a sound. he would have to work a lot harder to break jhin. there was little that scared him now. yet, the boy kept trying. “would you rather stare at the mud on the floor for the rest of your life?!” jhin considers it impassively. maybe. if it meant that he would not have to endure such meaningless brutality.

his silence had only made the young prince more angry. it was clear that he was lashing out on the servants in his already foul mood, but jhin had made things worse. he did not care much, but the foot on the back of his head was starting to hurt and he could not fall asleep in this position. he grunted, and finally, the prince moved away, satisfied in what he thought to be power over him. jhin would not let him have that pleasure. with his arm stuck up in a way that he knew would cause the boy to fall, or at least trip, he waited, head up to see that it was fulfilled. it worked and the prince stumbled, and jhin had to stop himself from breaking out into fits of laughter at how stupid he looked— the realisation, shock and anger clear on his features. there was a moment where he seemed consumed by rage, like he was going to turn on his heel and finish the job, crack jhin’s head open on the marble floors. instead, he did something that left jhin confused— he spoke again, before walking away.

“this one!”

before he could gather his thoughts and catch his breath, jhin was pulled back up onto his feet roughly and dragged into yet another room with no explanation.

it was certain that this would be his life now. here, fallen from grace and stripped of glory, he was but a servant. it would take awhile for him to realise the weight rags could carry. until then, he would continue to suffer, retaliate in his silly pride, before that was taken from him, too.

#voxera #( * we were never made to be holy )#( * wb au )#tw: abuse #// disc: references made from tsoa #// this turned out longer than i had anticipated

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deiemos · 7 years

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Baby, I have no idea how this will end. Maybe the equator will fall like a hula hoop from the Earth’s hips And our mouths will freeze mid-kiss on our 80th anniversary. Or maybe tomorrow my absolute insanity Combined with the absolute obstacle course of your communication skills Will leave us like a love letter In a landfill. But whatever However Whenever this ends I want you to know That right now I love you forever.

Andrea Gibson, “How It Ends” (via feellng)

#ㅋㅋㅋㅋ 사랑해

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deiemos · 7 years

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they meet a second time, unsurprisingly in the exact same spot behind campus where jhin is once again high on some sort of joint and making out with a faceless stranger he’s not quite sure he knows the name of. easy how he slips back into deplorable habits— not so much the drugs part, but the inexplicable need to chase after bodies of a certain stature, with a particular curve to the cupid’s bow that’s so hard to replicate. he’s never felt them beneath his, besides the harmless kisses against ten-year-old-jhin’s bruised knees. the lucky bastard. it’s a fantasy he really shouldn’t be trying to recreate, especially with the speed at which he goes through these boys, who do nothing to quench his curiosity. too tall, shoulders too narrow, lips that curve at the wrong angle; he’s beyond frustrated with his lack of progress.

meeting baekhyun has let loose a whole spectrum of repressed emotion that he had been ( keywords: had been ) so sure he lost with the pitchiness in his pre-pubescent voice. his persistence can only get him so far, and even with the reprehensible number of men he’s kissed in the past six days, he’s yet to find someone that’ll take his mind off a pair of lips he yearned to kiss over mugs of hot coffee. his logic is all kinds of fucked up, but maybe, just maybe, kissing someone with similar lips will convince him that it’s as uncomplicated as lusting over another body part, and not because he has, god forbid, feelings for a person. maybe if he kisses enough boys he’ll stop thinking about rectangle shaped smiles and quietly distant eyes. so far, his plan doesn’t seem to be going very well. trying to kiss the attraction away makes him feel like human trash, and he ends up longing to see baekhyun again. not to say he wasn’t absolute garbage before, but wanting to kiss baekhyun feels so damn wrong, yet so, so right. they lost contact for twelve years, he should be over this, goddamn it!

so when the man he’s been silently pining after rounds the corner to the alley, his heart all but stops in his chest. their eyes meet over the brunette that jhin’s kissing, and he doesn’t stop or pull away, only staring baekhyun down as he continues ravishing the lips that have been set in front of him. there’s the familiar clatter of books falling to the ground, and jhin doesn’t know what to make of it; one second too late for it to be out of shock, like the day prior, and too early to be a conscious effort to get his attention. he finally gets around to pushing the boy away from him, watching baekhyun’s expression, only to find nothing in the carefully vacant stare that he wish he wasn’t acquainted with. the boy jhin’s been kissing stammers a goodbye and runs in the opposite direction. even as the land of freedom, america’s still not very keen on same-sex anything. but as it comes to most things, jhin hardly pays it any mind, only wiping his kiss-swollen lips with the back of his hand subconsciously, like it pains him to have kissed another person.

baekhyun averts his gaze subtly, and again, he’s left with more questions than answers. it seems to always be like that with baekhyun: a labyrinth, a maze of convoluted paths that never seem to converge. every time he thinks he’s making headway, he walks into a dead end with nothing to do but to backtrack over all the progress he thought he made. it doesn’t help that baekhyun always seems so close, yet painfully out of reach. like jhin could reach out and touch him, make sense of the boy with the same eyes and lips, only to fall short; all hollow eyes, and even hollower smiles. baekhyun is not the boy he used to know. and for someone who’s so adamant about forgetting everything that’s happened in the past and leaving it behind him, jhin’s indescribably melancholic when he thinks about twelve years of lost time. with baekhyun, he finds himself clinging onto the past, grasping on to any semblance of what they used to have with aching fingers and gaping breaths. he thinks maybe if baekhyun just extended his arm to him they’d be able to piece together whatever’s left. he doesn’t.

baekhyun looks antsy beneath the facade of indifference— jhin’s proud of himself for picking that up, at least— and he looks like he wants to say something. watching your ( ex ) best friend shove his tongue down another man's throat after only having met once in the last decade is probably a lot to handle, so jhin hardly pays any of his hesitance mind. he's used to judging looks. something tells him the look in baekhyun’s eyes isn’t quite the same, but he’s too busy being completely shell-shocked at the fact that baekhyun’s here. even though they had promised to meet sometime again, he didn’t think it’d happen at all, let alone this quickly. although korean comes more easily now, talking to baekhyun is still like trying to navigate a minefield. he’s terse and unspeaking when it comes to most topics, only offering a placid smile in return to jhin’s excitable attempts, but when jhin manages to hit home with a particular topic, baekhyun engages in conversation willingly and blusters out a thousand questions at once. it’s still awkward, and there are more than a handful of painful silences that makes jhin want to suffocate himself ( baekhyun, on the other hand, seems perfectly content with the overhanging quietness ), but they make do.

on their second meeting jhin talks about what he first did when he travelled to america. it reminds him of a painfully lonely period of time, but baekhyun’s eyes shine when he speaks of corn dogs overlooking the statue of liberty— baekhyun hasn’t had the time to explore the city yet. jhin finds himself promising him a full tour of the city, declaring that he accepts payment in favours ( that won’t be too hard, he swears! ).

“alright, it’s a date.” it slips from his mouth before he can stop himself. fuck you, freudian.

“…. a date?” baekhyun stares at him weirdly. he forgets that jhin’s the master of feigned obliviousness and a mysterious foreigner who knows the inner workings of everything new york.

“of course. that’s what all westerners call it! a meeting between friends, it’s a date.”

baekhyun’s lips form an ‘o’ that jhin shouldn’t find pretty, or want to kiss. “okay. see you on thursday for our date.”

he thinks he could die happy.

—

JHIN’S SUPER AMAZING TASTY BIG APPLE TOUR FT. BAEKHYUN!, or so he’s chosen to name it ( don’t forget the exclamation mark ), spans over a whole month. he really doesn’t need that much time to bring baekhyun to all these tourist hotspots, but he’s somehow managed to convince himself that they can only do one activity a day so it remains Fresh and Cool. needless to say, baekhyun’s forced to oblige to his whims and fancies. when they first start out, jhin is more of a tourist than baekhyun. he has a makeshift loudhailer ( a cone of paper ) and a crappy flag ( a paper on a stick ) that he waves around excitedly just in case baekhyun somehow "gets lost", despite there only being one person on the tour. if baekhyun's annoyed he doesn't show it outside muffled complaints and curses that jhin does NOT think are hot. he doesn't have much of a say when jhin buys them matching shirts that spell out "i ❤ NY"— "it's a tradition, a must-have item!". by the end of it, they’re both decked out embarrassingly, looking like the tourists that they are, jhin notes proudly.

with the golden age of capitalism taking root in america, jhin trails behind consumerism like the weed-smoking, snapback wearing exchange student that he is. baekhyun looks faintly sad whenever he sees jhin divulge himself to everything material. it makes jhin think about korea and the war and how he really shouldn't be enjoying himself here, doing drugs and fucking bitches— but if there's anything that's stayed rooted in his heart, it's stubbornness. if korea didn't want him, then he didn't want korea either. childish, yes, but he never claimed to be more than petty. somewhere deep in the crevices of his mind he knows he cares, and that korea will always be home, his home; he's just been hurt by the same shit one too many times for him to pussy out and act like he gives a fuck ( he does, he cares way too much ). after all, he hasn't spoken to anyone he knew from korea for years, and he's not about to change that anytime soon. baekhyun's an exception and jhin can ignore that underlying sadness just fine ( or so he’s convinced himself ). jhin makes it up to him with more corn dogs than he can stomach, holding one stick between each finger and pretending to tickle baekhyun with them; he smiles brighter than whatever melancholy he's kept tightly veiled and jhin thinks maybe this is enough.

( it still makes him sad to think about how baekhyun looks at everything in america with wide-eyed wonder. is this how jhin looked when he first arrived? how bad had the war become for him to looked so thrilled by oily battered hot dogs and pretentiously overpriced souvenir keychains? )

ignorance truly is a bliss.

the statue of liberty is uneventful, but jhin can make anything interesting, even a large, mould-green lady. what baekhyun wants is what he will get! they wear their obnoxiously matching new york shirts and walk around with their caps on backwards.

"we look stupid...."

"you mean COOL. we're the trendiest people here!!"

baekhyun sighs and straightens his cap. jhin grins.

the green lady is huge. mouldy and huge. she stands in her moulded, rusted glory while jhin reads off a list of facts ( see: JHIN'S SUPER AMAZING TASTY BIG APPLE TOUR FT. BAEKHYUN! FACTS! two exclamation marks ).

"the statue of liberty is... HOLY SHIT THATS FUCKING HUGE-- SHE'S MORE THAN 305 FEET TALL!!! HOW TALL IS THAT BAEKHYUN??? HOW MANY FOOTBALL FIELDS... hm...."

when he gets no response, he looks to baekhyun who's stood beside him. if jhin didn't know him better he'd assume that look was one of awe. but because he's spent twelve years pining, and the last twelve days observing and memorising, he knows otherwise. it isn't the look of an awestruck tourist beholding a large man made structure. it's reverence, almost akin to fear— head bowed slightly, arms folded in front of his legs— like he's seen statues this big and respected them. not the work itself, but the person it was moulded after. these pieces of baekhyun are confusing and hard to piece together. and while he might like to pretend to be a fool, he's not the same boy who took everything as it was back in korea. he knows something is wrong, but maybe he hasn't changed in some ways. feigning obliviousness is always easier.

in a giant leap of faith, he takes baekhyun's hand and draws him out of his reverie. it's a bad idea, and he really hates himself for wanting to provide baekhyun with some sort of comfort even though he isn't certain what's going on in that complex mind of his. baekhyun flinches with his whole body, and looks like he might hit jhin over the head with his free hand out of reflex. when he realises it's just jhin, he relaxes but remains slightly tense, trying to wretch his hand out of jhin's grip. there's a fluttering in jhin's chest when he doesn't actually do it. he knows baekhyun could, in a heartbeat, but he just stares at jhin questioningly.

"it's—" fuck damn it jhin, think!! "— it's a friend thing!!! like... calling these meetings a date. friends hold hands too, when they go out on dates. i just haven't told you until now because... I WAS WAITING FOR THE RIGHT TIME! you have to ask at the optimal time. it's essential to good friendship growing."

a look of skepticism flitters across baekhyun's carefully poised features, but it's replaced with a smile as soon as it comes. it's barely there, just an upward twitch of his lips, but it's the most genuine expression he's got out of baekhyun so far. he's managed to fall more in love with this enigmatic boy, and he thinks he's really starting to deserve this hell. maybe he's a masochist. there's hesitance in the way baekhyun pulls to link their fingers together, tentative touches with jhin sliding his digits between baekhyun's to finish what he started. now... now he could die happy.

—

baekhyun has proven to be a better student than jhin is a teacher. he's distracted easily and never tells baekhyun if what he's saying is right. most of what he wants to teach is nothing that baekhyun actually needs. the first lesson is on swears, so is the second and the third. by the end of the fifth, baekhyun's ready to curse out anyone, locked and loaded with yo momma jokes and a colourful vocabulary.

jhin only gives in when baekhyun whines.

"okay. the first thing you need to know how to say is... 'where are nyu's dorms?' you need to be able to come back here when you want to learn more." so i can see you.

baekhyun nods, looking happy that he's learning something more than 'yo momma's so fat she got baptised at sea world'.

"you say", jhin clears his throat and continues again, in english. "wassup motherfucker!!! where the nyu dorm bitches at? chop chop." he snaps once for each 'chop'. ( "the snapping is NECESSARY, baekhyun. if you don't do it they won't know what you're talking about." )

by the end of the lesson, jhin's halfway off his chair and sprawled on the ground laughing while baekhyun looks at him irately, mouth pinched into a frown as he musses his frustration-wrought hair.

"what the fuck am i doing wrong?!!"

"NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL! YOURE DOING FANTASTIC. now.. repeat after me", breaks into english, "AWWWWWWESOME MAAAAAAAN".

needless to say, baekhyun makes it back to him semi-safely every week. jhin's heart betrays him by hoping.

—

the first time he has completely nothing planned is in his final's week. he's tired, stinky and aches all over from having slaved over studying in all of his last-minute-jhin-cramming glory. when baekhyun pushes his dorm room door open, he's half dead, rotting while slumped over his work desk— he doesn't even notice him coming in until baekhyun positions his forefinger beneath his nose to check if he's still alive and breathing. he is, but he really really wishes he wasn't. a mouthful of deranged gibberish later, he's pushing his glasses on and trying to shift into a more presentable position. if he weren't dead in the brain and jelly in the limbs, he'd be more embarrassed at baekhyun catching him off guard and Uncool, but as soon as he processes everything his mind flies into panic and he flails like a fish out of water. he has nothing and nowhere to bring baekhyun to, and he can't conjure up any new swear words when he has a year-long research presentation tomorrow, something he had completely forgotten about until four hours ago.

he's running out of excuses to see baekhyun and he knows it. new york is fairly large, but with his term growing more intense, he's having trouble coming up with weird, unseen attractions he can bring baekhyun to because he's practically covered everything possible. ( "they're attractions because you make it! anything can be touristy!" ) the possibility of never seeing baekhyun again eats at him, because like the tour guide he is, they, too, have an expiry date, don't they? he can only hope that baekhyun is fine sitting here doing nothing while jhin tries to complete the rest of his music theory assignments.

and then baekhyun does the impossible. he laughs. jhin's heart stops in his chest. this is it, he's finally dead. he's gone to heaven. it was worth it, twenty-two years, it was a good run. he's always imagined that he'd go out smoking a blunt and flipping his father off, but this is infinitely better.

until he realises he isn't actually dead. he must've been pulling quite the expression for baekhyun to be laughing harder, halfway to slapping at his knee while watching him. jhin joins in after he's done being offended, and they spend minutes just laughing until their stomach hurts, for no reason at all. it's the closest they've gotten to being what they used to be, and when it's over it hurts. he's left grasping at loose threads with no one on the other side; he's tasted this little piece of heaven and now has to let go. the smile on his lips wanes at the corners; melancholic, maybe just a little forlorn, and he knows baekhyun can tell, but he's grown too tired to masking his feelings. he's hidden them all his life, and even if baekhyun isn't The One, he hopes they've grown close enough in the last few weeks to be considered friends.

"... i'm sorry, i'm going to have to postpone our date. i'm completely swamped", jhin starts, trying to push the weariness out of his voice. baekhyun stays silent, just staring. that's not a good sign—

"— if you want you can sta—"

"i can stay he—"

they continue, at the same time. jhin keeps baekhyun's gaze, even as the latter turns away. it's baekhyun who speaks first.

"can i stay here? if you don't mind..."

"WHAT?! I MEAN— yes. yes of course...! your company is most definitely welcomed good sir," he babbles out of nervousness. baekhyun smiles his signature smile, faint and barely there, but one that jhin can identify a mile away.

baekhyun nods and makes himself comfortable beside jhin, scowling at the mess which is his table every once in awhile. he cleans up ( around jhin, the biggest mess ) without being asked to and asks questions about his course. he listens to jhin ramble on about music technicalities and lets jhin practice his presentation while acting like he understands the english. if jhin wasn't already in love before, he is now, hopelessly, utterly infatuated with his best friend, and doomed to a life of pure misery and heartbreak. somewhere between misplaced words and tacky souvenirs, he's fallen for a boy who brings more questions than answers, whose smile doesn't reach his eyes most of the time, but looks at jhin with all of his attention. someone who smiles at corn dogs and rock music, and looks like a child when brought to giant hyper marts. a boy who's so shrouded in mystery jhin isn't sure how to keep up. he decides he likes both sides of baekhyun; the enigma and the childhood friend. he really is a masochist.

he falls asleep to baekhyun humming a familiar tune under his breath, something he swears he's heard before. he can't place it, but the song makes his gut twist, even on the edge of wakefulness. it sounds too familiar, too dangerous and wrong. exhaustion takes him before he can think further, enveloping him in another bubble of blissful ignorance that he's all too happy to slip into.

when he wakes up baekhyun is gone and he is alone again.

#voxera #( * cold war au )#( * we were never made to be holy )#tw: drug use #tw: jhin is a fucking idiot

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deiemos · 7 years

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red.

within the first fifteen minutes of talking to him it’s already evident that the boy would be of absolutely no use to the investigation. no ties with his father, no knowledge of the war, no interest in the military. no, jhin isn’t tainted by any remnants of the hell baekhyun left behind. instead, he’s bright. he’s bright like the lights that shine times square and american billboards on the sidewalks. so infuriatingly bright.

and charming.

and funny and adorable.

baekhyun’s seen more than jhin without a doubt but he hadn’t seen a happy bubbly free-spirit since the last time he had looked into a mirror and seen strawberry syrup stains at the edges of his lips too. yes, he also used to be like this, right? every touch of jhin’s skin against his own reminds him of what had been and what could have been. and it worries baekhyun only because he knows that neither resentment nor envy would have caused a flutter in his chest.

he notices both the honesty in jhin’s voice and the hurt in his eyes whenever it’s not returned. jhin still knows him like the inside of his palm, picking up on every lie and slip of a poker face. baekhyun reminds himself of this whenever his phone starts to ring with that stupidly catchy pop song that jhin set as his ringtone. when a moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie

no, jhin is of no use to the investigation. when the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine

why does he still pick up? that’s amore

his chest soothes when he hears jhin’s voice again. how is this guy energetic at every goddamn hour of the day? jhin’s face lights up when he sees baekhyun, and baekhyun hasn’t smiled this genuine in a long time. when jhin talks, he’s long-winded, but he has a way of making even a library trip sound like an adventure. when jhin sneaks a glance of him, he’s subtle as if he’s shy. yet when he pulls baekhyun into a hug, he doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “it’s normal in america!” his loud voice declares, right at the top of the empire state building.

Keep reading

#voxera #( * cold war au )#( * saved )#( * we were never made to be holy )#{ you fucking destroyed me with your first piece after a year long hiatus #{ congrats #{ ALSO THE FUCKING RUSSIAN #{ i laughed #{ come on; comrade!#{ when a moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie is my favourite

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deiemos · 7 years

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the secrets you tell me i’ll take to my grave.

i know that you love me, even when i lose my head.

( guillotine, jon bellion )

#( * little mouse )#gondryque

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deiemos · 7 years

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your hands don’t know how to be gentle. think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise.

you wolf-boy, you war machine. you wouldn’t know how to hold something magic and not destroy it.

( cr. )

#( * we were never made to be holy )#voxera

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deiemos · 7 years

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threes.

they say all good things come in threes.

baekhyun falls into his life like they’re not complete, utter strangers with nothing in common more than a cup of coffee. mussed up hair, luggage in hand and a smile lifting at his lips. he introduces himself as the cute patron from the cafe. jhin calls him batman, his favourite superhero name that baekhyun’s used so far. forgetfulness isn’t why the digit-scrawled napkin feels like it’s going to burn a hole through the pocket of his sweats to expose him like the liar-pants-on-fire that he is, but lying to himself about forgetting to call baekhyun is easier. if batman is disappointed, he doesn’t show it, settling for making himself comfortable in the mess that is jhin’s apartment. he looks strangely at home for someone who’s visiting for the first time, already asking what jhin’s favourite brand of ramen is while throwing himself across the sleeping bag on the ground and complaining about the rattling from the heater. normally it’d be a pain, so it’s strange how jhin’s laughing along and explaining everything.

( shin. that’s not your bed. i never claimed my apartment was any good, all i said was that you can stay. )

baekhyun smiles that one smile which is impossible not to return, and suddenly they’re not just two strangers rooming together. jhin doesn’t have a penchant for picking up strays; they’re difficult and tiring, and he’d rather be discarding than adopting, but baekhyun lingers dangerously close to his heart in a way that should really be alarming. maybe baekhyun hasn’t been taken in by jhin as much as the converse.

with baekhyun comes his deplorable living habits. two slobs living together speaks for itself: there are stacks of unwashed dishes lining the sink by day three because jhin has to learn ( the hard way ) that baekhyun will never do them, and by the end of the first week, they’ve lost the apartment to a strange smell that he’s almost eighty percent sure is from a dying rodent of some sort.

living with baekhyun is, to put simply, an adventure.

he spends his last few dollars on an extra sleeping bag and more packs of ramen. providing for two should feel like a burden, but when they’re short of money baekhyun always pulls the cutest faces, complete with confused noises he swears doesn’t sound like a puppy. suddenly eating two less spoonfuls of rice and forgoing the last piece of spam is easy. he’s always been a heavy eater, spending more than half of his pay on food that barely tides him over a month, and complaining he’s hungry when he’s forced to save on the last few days of food. things grow simple with baekhyun. going to sleep on a half-empty stomach isn’t very difficult if it means baekhyun can bring that extra meat bun to school.

they go from not doing the dishes completely to spite each other, to washing up together while belting out along to whatever’s on the radio. jhin learns that baekhyun can recite any girl group’s lyrics at will, but he goes out of the way to sing way off-pitch just to annoy him, despite the couple of times jhin’s caught him singing the very same songs melodiously, only to catch his gaze and go back to screaming the lyrics. baekhyun learns that jhin can sleep through a natural disaster, and waking him up is a job reserved for the brave and unrelenting after the third time he tries suffocating jhin with a pillow to wake him up, only to realise he’d probably just die instead of getting up.

although they might not speak much of their families or what two teenagers like them are doing living alone, somehow, it grows to matter very little. baekhyun’s past doesn’t bother him more than his present. instead of learning about their sisters, they talk about how they share a mutual love for spicy food. instead of education, their dreams. they’ve built a relationship that’s so inherently stemmed in both the things they know and those they don’t. with their present lives woven together in fine silk, it’s only a matter of time until their futures grow entangled in the webs they’ve spun around each other, like fate has somehow bound them together. intricate and oh-so-fragile.

they lapse into deep-seated familiarity, veiled only by the pretext of being strangers. truth is, they understand each other far deeper than what they let on. behind each seemingly nonchalant action speaks of the great grasp they have of each other. baekhyun doesn’t have to tell him he’s afraid of the dark for jhin to start lighting candles when the electricity’s forced off. there are simply moments where words fall short of their intent, superficial to whatever it is they have. it’s easier to drape the extra blankets over baekhyun’s sleeping form than to tell him not to catch a cold. the unspoken words have a way of taking his heart hostage on particularly quiet nights, when they threaten to choke him up and fill his head with questions. ( what is this? what have you done to me? ) but baekhyun’s laughter fills the apartment the second they surface, and he sits as comfortably as he can in this ignorance that he calls bliss.

it’s not to say they’re quiet, because they’re anything but. silences are filled with movie commentary and play-fights.

“what the fuck. he can’t possibly get abducted by aliens AFTER getting run over by that car!! did you not see the look in his eyes?! he’s obviously going to die and be reincarnated into the bodies of creepy identical twins for the continuation of his psycho killing spree.” the static from the shitty, old computer grows louder, but jhin’s growling loud above it.

“there was a frying pan in the first scene and that was obviously trying to hint at a flying saucer later in the movie!!” baekhyun bites back just as hard, and it takes everything in jhin not to wrestle him into his sleeping bag and zip it all the way up so he’ll shut up for once. baekhyun seems to see the murderous intent in his eyes, because he’s plastering a shit-eating grin onto his lips seconds later.

“i’m in charge of the plot so you either shut the fuck up or i’ll make you. STICK TO YOUR AUDIO JOB, ROOKIE.”

he thinks he’s won when baekhyun allows him to continue telling his epic tale, but barely minutes after, he’s making loud alien noises over whatever jhin’s saying.

“MOTHERFUCKER… YOU COME HERE AND I’LL FUCKING SHOW YOU WHO’S BOSS—“

they forget about the movie and spend the rest of the night trying to out-shout each other, laughing until dawn breaks and jhin has to rush off to another shift. a smile lifts at his lips even as he’s dozing off at work and getting yelled at by his co-workers. he gets fired and finds another job within days. it doesn’t matter where he works or what he does. successfully finding a new job has become something he looks forward to because of the lengths baekhyun goes to to celebrate. reused homemade paper party hats, a lone donut that he has to share, the candle that’s been lit and relit so many times it’s reaching it’s end: it’s turned into a tradition that he’s now strangely attached to. baekhyun always sings like it’s his birthday, not the off-tune that he usually carries to annoy jhin, but the sweeter one, throaty and melodious. a voice that has jhin more than mesmerised. it’s why he’s so certain baekhyun will make it big one day. pure, unmasked talent behind a blindingly beautiful smile. looking so perfect there illuminated by a single candle, standing in a slightly bent, uglily decorated hat that he’s insisted to wear instead of jhin’s slightly better ( still very ugly and cheap looking ) hat because he’s “the man of the hour”. he looks perfect sitting across the small table jhin picked off the streets when he first moved in; so small and so obviously made for one that their knees knock under it. and most of all, he looks perfect in this mismatched apartment that they both now call home.

everything feels lighter than it’s ever been, yet simultaneously heavy and foreboding. somewhere, in the back of his mind, bears the weight of every small exchange. he keeps it stored so he doesn’t have to think about them any further, and hopefully keep this bliss he’s been holding onto so tightly and refusing to let go. and before he can back paddle and steer into a different direction, baekhyun becomes an anchor. the thought doesn’t comfort as much as it is terrifying.

—

the first time he admits he likes baekhyun out loud is an honest mistake. it slips from his lips when he’s alone before he can help himself, and before he knows it he’s repeating it like it’s the only thing he knows. i like baekhyun, i like baekhyun, oh fuck i really like baekhyun, don’t i? it becomes more real every time he says it, something tangible and hope-giving, no longer confined to the crevices of his mind where he’s kept them to rot. now his own conscience betrays him by giving him hope and a smidgen of longing, and he’s royally fucked.

he should’ve seen it coming when he started treating baekhyun like he was a permanent resident, and not like his place was temporary lodging to a desperate stranger. it was wrong of him to imagine the things they could do together in his dingy apartment; like finally buying a bed together, and burning food that isn’t ramen in every imaginable way, and lazy weekends spent curled around each other on his ratty old sofa with the television playing obnoxiously loud pop music in the background. like creating a life together in the midst of this hurricane of subtle codependence where they’re so interlinked it’s hard to tell what is whose— it’s just theirs collectively. he’s started to see what they have as something lasting when it’s obviously not, and he feels stupid for holding onto the webs that keep them together when the silk is bound to break.

permanence has always been something he detested. routine is overrated and wrongly glorified. jhin is used to living in the moments between closing his eyes and walking straight into entirely new situations, but it’s grown to be different with baekhyun. he longs for permanence, for routine, to see him before leaving for work, to hear him scream-singing in the shower. his heart aches when he realises the nights they spend kissing is a countdown to when baekhyun finally decides to leave. that this is, to him, nothing but a stepping stone to something greater, and jhin will always remain as that one idiotic wannabe film-maker who he crashed with for a couple of months before his rise to stardom; a tabloid piece for the pristine star who slummed it out shortly before joining the ranks of the rich and famous. there is a world outside just the two of them in this crappy apartment in the outskirts of seoul, and maybe he has no place in baekhyun’s world, other than a sob story of humility plastered all over gossip websites. after all, it had been the foundation of their relationship. an understanding that there were some things better left unsaid, and rocks left unturned. jhin starts to think he doesn’t quite know baekhyun. what is his family like? how does he do in school? why did he come to me? he swallows the questions and let them make him sick. it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he’s left feeling strangely empty even though he can still make out baekhyun pretending to do his homework in the corner of his eye. he could ask, but although they may be barely a couple of steps apart physically, jhin’s starting to see the sheer size of the fissure that exists between them. it’s not a gap that can be bridged with just the knowledge how much hot sauce to put in baekhyun’s food, or naturally matching up to any of his other idiosyncrasies.

it’s unfair that baekhyun gets to do this— all of this— without feelings. because ever since jhin’s accepted that he’s probably in love with the guy, everything feels like he’s a freight train with no brakes, choo-chooing straight into disaster because he can’t fucking help himself or his feelings. it’s unfair that baekhyun has far greater dreams than them, jhin’s faded guitar and their speed song quizzes. and it’s unfair that jhin understands that it’s irrational to get upset at this because he’s heard baekhyun sing with pretty much everything as a mic (spatula, mop handle, toilet plunger, jhin’s own forearm) and it’s fucking beautiful. when jhin sees the sun hit him right he can imagine them as stage lights, and if it’s any indicator, baekhyun is obviously meant to be on stage. finally, and most of all, it’s unfair that baekhyun will never come close to returning his feelings and jhin’s stuck in this time loop where he can’t get over the butterfly wings against his chest whenever he catches baekhyun’s eye. it’s fucking pathetic, and he really needs to get out of the apartment that baekhyun’s decided to make his own ( temporary ) home, but he always looks confused when jhin walks in the opposite direction and it hurts more to see him hurt. it’s just unfair.

jhin is a serial hoarder, and he supposes this is just another one of those things. he keeps memories of them obsessively: keeping old ticket stubs and refusing to throw out old stuff toys. he takes pictures of the precious moments, when baekhyun isn’t looking, so he will never forget. he holds onto baekhyun for as long as the other will let him. he knows well enough to know that he will have to let go eventually, but this is fine for now; to guide baekhyun to where he needs to be until he’s ready to leave.

it’s why he prepares the party with just a twinge of sadness. baekhyun’s finally gotten a gig as a trainee in a fairly well-known entertainment company. they had both been ecstatic to hear that he’d been called back for another round of auditions, and the blinking screen of his phone tells him that baekhyun’s did it. he’s going places. pride swells deep inside his chest, and he goes around knocking at every single one of his neighbour’s doors just to shout and proclaim the news. their dirty looks don’t deter his spirits in the slightest, still fishing out the paper hats from behind one of their cupboards and putting up familiar decorations while humming another one of those pop songs that baekhyun’s got stuck in his head. it only really begins to hit him when he’s taping the worn happy birthday banner to the stained wall. baekhyun signing means they have run their course. soon enough he’ll be too busy performing at concerts to remember their bubble tea dates. he smiles then, bittersweet, and continues setting things up. the least he could do is to celebrate this for baekhyun like he did, all those times before.

things don’t quite go as planned. everything is perfectly in place ( as perfect as they can be with a slightly deflated, barely hovering helium balloon ) when baekhyun steps into the apartment. jhin screams surprise and breaks into a long ramble congratulating him like he hasn’t already been telling everyone and their mother about baekhyun signing. it’s midway through his monologue that he notices baekhyun is unsettlingly silent and fidgety, having made no move to shift further into the apartment.

“baekhyun?” he calls out. he’s confused, and above all, unsure.

when baekhyun lifts his head to meet his gaze, jhin’s heart fractures into a million tiny splinters. there’s no need for words. he closes the distance between them and engulfs him in a hug, holding him against his aching chest with a breathless exhale. he pretends not to notice the way baekhyun flinches away from his touch for barely a tenth of a second, or the wetness that’s starting to seep through the cotton of his shirt.

he should’ve known when he first compared baekhyun to a star in his mind. it had meant nothing more than to describe how brilliant he shines, but now it carries a whole new different meaning. when stars run out of their required elements, they do everything they can to fuse compounds to continue burning, desperate and on the verge of death. they eventually run out and their core turns to iron, taking away its ability to burn completely, and rendering them unable to shine. stars die through collapsing by their own gravity, with their layers crumbling inwards and further crushing their very core and existence. the shock and immense heat builds up to an explosion, a supernova, where new stars grow, all twinkling brighter than what had once existed. for something greater to be born, stars destroy themselves and die. baekhyun is the same. he loses a bit of his brilliance after that night.

it happens in stages. jhin watches as his dreams become reality; vocal training sessions, etiquette classes, basic introduction to foreign languages. he loses baekhyun in the flurry of new activity, but that’s not what makes his tightness of his throat persist. it’s not like they weren’t busy with their own lives in the past, it’s just how the threads that hold them together are starting to loosen. like paths diverging at a crossroad. where jhin has always been on one steady path, baekhyun’s finally pulling the switch to go elsewhere, in the direction of his own life. he reminds himself that he had known this all along, that it shouldn’t hurt this much to hardly see baekhyun around the apartment anymore, but it does hurt. it still does. what makes things worse is that he sees it all and can’t do anything about it. baekhyun is being torn apart, so much so that he loses a little of himself in the process. his already loose morals spiralling into a life of deception, and it’s what is expected of an idol, but jhin sees how dangerously good baekhyun is at it, how the youthful innocence has started to ebb away into bitterness. he’s sworn to protect baekhyun. it’s hard to do that when the very person you’re trying to protect is destroying themselves. jhin can only watch on as he turns himself evil: cruel and opportunistic. baekhyun doesn’t change very much around him, still the same loudmouthed, cocky brat that had no qualms about staying over at a total stranger’s apartment, but it’s obvious in how he treats everyone else differently. he’s cautious and weary, like the world’s shit all over him and he doesn’t trust it to do him any good. the light of optimism’s just a shadow of what it used to be.

he throws himself into work. the celebrations are the only rare occasions where he sees baekhyun smile as of late. he quits as soon as he receives the first pay check, and skips between any job he can get his hands on. manual labour is the most taxing, but jobs are easier to come by and he can treat every new project as a new hire. the celebrations are the same, still the same worn decorations and flimsy paper hats. baekhyun still sings all husky and beautifully, closed-eyed and painfully sincere. it’s the only time he ever sings around the apartment anymore, and jhin would kill to hear him belt out a tone-deaf version of genie. he settles for the birthday song in the quietness of dawn, when he finally ends a shift. the exhaustion eats away at him, but baekhyun smiles whenever he gets a new job and it makes everything worth it.

jhin picks up the pieces the only way he knows how, gathering the each shard of baekhyun and threading it into the web that connects them. the link is loose, and it threatens to destroy the little they have left, but it’s worth a shot if it works towards potentially putting baekhyun back together.

they say all good things come in threes, but what they fail to tell you is bad things do, too.

#voxera #( * we were never made to be holy )#( * past )#{ it's fucking 3 in the morning and this is 3.4k words so lets just not

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deiemos · 8 years

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tagged by: @vuranos tagging: @voxera @gondryque @morteums @sapphodites

❛ Repost & BOLD which lines of famous poetry apply to your muse.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month. // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends. // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood. // whose woods these are i think i know, // let us twain walk aside from the rest. // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely. // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose. // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me // it was many and many a year ago // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art- // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

#plays puppeteer on strings of misled beliefs

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deiemos · 8 years

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ten.

night bleeds into dawn and baekhyun’s exhausted, asleep in his arms. there are nights where they stay up talking about the universe in echoless whispers, but tonight he lays awake alone in his own thoughts. the anger from before has been hidden, but not forgotten— it comes back with a vengeance when baekhyun’s breathing finally evens out.

‘i’ll protect you. i’m sorry, i’ll protect you this time’, whispered like a prayer against the boy’s temple; a mantra he repeats to himself until his mouth bleeds gospel. he slips out of baekhyun’s embrace with a knife in hand. the weight feels different against his palm today. he’s killing out of absolute hate— something so unlike everything he’s done before. but he can’t bring himself to slow down, not when the anger that’s been simmering beneath the surface threatens to bubble forth and overflow.

the man’s not hard to find, and even easier to disarm and knock out. jhin can only laugh when he sees the fear in his eyes when he wakes up bound, and in the middle of nowhere. it’s not the first time he’s seen the expression. countless of victims with faces he can barely remember have donned the exact same look, fleeting as he slices their throats and the light leaves their eyes. tonight, however, he allows himself to savour the terror that settles onto the man’s features when he finally comes to, just to sate his own sadistic desires.

his anger shows itself in the way he moves: swift and purposeful, an edge to his words and an eerily calm smile lifting at his lips. he takes pleasure in the way the man begs for mercy when his blade is unsheathed. jhin can’t hear him over the way his blood sings with pure, unadulterated rage. how fucking dare he lay his filthy hands on baekhyun, how dare he make him cry, how dare he break the love of his life and threaten to do it once more. there are no second chances; jhin will not take the risk, neither will he let him go again.

hell is a place he’d go, all too willingly, if he’d get a chance to make sure this man rots in the inferno alongside him.

“i’m going to have fun with you tonight.”

jhin takes his time to play with him; all shallow stabs and purposefully nonfatal blows. one for each bruise he’s imagined on baekhyun, every twist of his blade for the sadness he’s memorised on his features. he wants to draw it out, needs to see him suffer in every way possible before he meets his demise. it’s barely a fraction of what the man’s done to baekhyun, and jhin does it with a smile, the kind that has his canines showing.

crimson coats every surface, and usually, he’d crave more, but for once, the bloodlust fuels him more than it overcomes. the thought of the man being one of his masterpieces makes him sneer— no, he didn’t deserve to join the rest of his artwork and be left on display to be admired. this man deserved nothing but grit and pain, and it’s exactly what jhin carves out into his skin and lets bleed out.

when the crying and screaming gets painfully annoying, jhin fishes the rolls of cigars the man keeps in his front pocket. the lighter is tempting, and jhin watches him through the flickering flame as he toys with it. he scoffs when the man lets out another guttural scream.

“i told you to shut the fuck up, but you’re no good at taking orders. you’re good at taking what you want, but you’re not so mighty now, are you?” the taunt ends with another manic laugh, and jhin lights himself a cigar, blowing the smoke directly into his face with a glint in his eye. when the man figures out what’s the come, the begging resumes, more frantic now with the millions of dollars he’s willing to give up for another chance. jhin pretends to contemplate it, “can you take back everything you’ve done to baekhyun?” the man’s eyes widen in trepidation, and he goes back to shouting that he’d give jhin anything he wants. jhin lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug— a stark contrast from how vehemently he’s grabbing the man’s bloodied face and forcing his mouth open. “i’m not interested, then. there is nothing i want more than that.” smouldering ash against blood crusted lips, tongue and throat. the smell of burning flesh is acrid, but it smells sweet to a man killing for revenge.

every part of the process is vicious; walls marred with large slews of red, chunks of flesh discarded like waste— the scene gruesome in all sense of the word, but he remains unbothered by the almost flamboyant display of cruelty. rather, he allows the rest of his anger to show itself in his wrath, delighting in dragging the sharp end of his blade across every surface that could’ve touched baekhyun, not sparing even the most jarringly sensitive parts. to every open wound he says: he didn’t like it when you touched him here, or here, or here. he does this until his blade grows dull and blood coats every part of himself.

the man’s breathing slows, and jhin can tell his time’s almost up. a pity, he deserved so much more agony. the knife is worn and blunt, but he wipes it clean on the man’s mangled face impassively before putting it to use. brute force, even with a dull knife, should work.

one, two, three, four, five. the man screams.

six, seven, eight, nine, ten. jhin laughs.

zero fingers left on a stump of a hand.

no more hurting. i’ll protect you, baekhyun. he will never lay another finger on you again.

he takes a step back to let the weight of reality sink in— the source of their anguish is dead. the metallic tang of blood is nothing compared to the bitterness that sits on his tongue and the sheer joy of triumph. these mixture of feelings leave him confused and weary, but he’s exhausted, both mentally and physically. there are underlying consequences to this that he doesn’t want to think about, not right now when all he wants to do is slip back into bed and pretend the red that stains every inch of his skin is his own— purified and sanctified by ignorance.

the room falls silent, except for his heavy breathing. he leaves it as it is and leaves as he is. bloodied and condemned.

#plays puppeteer on strings of misled beliefs #( * we were never made to be holy )#tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: gore

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deiemos · 8 years

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Send me '♬' and I'll make a playlist for our characters.

#( * play )

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deiemos · 8 years

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some things are better left alone but thanks for the concern.

misadventures sentence starters || accepting.

all he remembers is the sound of gunfire in the dead of night. there were no screams, no cries for help; an utter, devastating silence. he remembers feelings more than events. the uncertainty in ten year old baekhyun’s gaze when he held onto jhin’s hand like his life depended on it. confusion, when they were ripped apart, his door slamming open and baekhyun being dragged out of his bed. the authority in his father’s commanding voice telling him to go back to sleep. helplessness, at the disappearance of his best friend and his entire family, shrouded in a facade of indifference that he was expected to muster. if there’s one thing he’s grown to master, it’s feigning obliviousness. he never speaks of it, and they never tell.

when they’re moving back to seoul, jhin stands at baekhyun’s door and waits for him. a light flickers on, one that tells him there’s life behind those familiar doors, and his heart stutters with hope. baekhyun never comes out to say goodbye, and pyongyang leaves jhin with more questions than answers.

growing up thirsting after your father’s approval is especially pathetic when he’s a military official. jhin is everything he hates: free-spirited, loud and flamboyant, lacking any sort of rigidity or staunch moral compass. he’s conditioned to be everything his father wants, but it’s easier to go along with it pretending that it’s something he wants for himself. father mentioned once that he liked classical music, and he mastered everything he could get his hands onto. he’d be at the piano for hours at a time, even after they moved to the north, playing until his fingers were numb, playing until his father so much as glanced at him. the only time he turned was to scoff when jhin sprained his pinky perfecting his favourite piece.

he hears his mother crying before the static of the television drowns out her tears. jhin watches as the announcer speaks solemnly into the microphone, alerting the people of the country, his people, that fighting has broken out, and they’re likely to be invaded by communists in the north. it’s the first time he’s asked for something and he gets onto his knees and begs for his father to let him fight alongside the korean people’s army— the very same one his father’s put in charge of. this country is mine as much as it is yours, he pleads. and it’s not much, but he’s trained in combat and possesses enough tactical skill to be a soldier. jhin isn’t spared a glance when his father walks over him, but his commanding voice rings clear in jhin’s head. “you’ll be nothing but a liability; a disgrace to me.”

jhin is nineteen when the ticket’s forced into his hand. they tell him that he’ll finish his tertiary education in america alone, and is not to come back until the war is over. he hasn’t spoken since his father’s words, but when his mother hugs him goodbye, all he can ask is if baekhyun’s going to be okay and if he’s safe here. it’s the first time he’s spoken of the boy in nine long years, and she’s caught off-guard with the mention. he crosses jhin’s mind more than he’d like to admit— protecting south korea also meant protecting his best friend. the sheer amount of how much he still cares about someone that dropped off the grid, without a trace, makes him want to laugh. nine years is a lot of time to spend longing for someone. he’s kept his mouth shut for long enough, but she doesn’t offer him more than a smile and a nod, he’ll be fine. the ache of ignorance stings deep.

he leaves to new york on the earliest flight, alone to explore a foreign country with a language he doesn’t speak. it’s painfully lonely, and he barely makes it through the first couple of months without understanding the language, but he manages. america is the land of freedom, he soon learns, after acquainting himself with enough english to hold an intelligent conversation. how apt; he had moved here to be an eyesore somewhere else, away from his father, and now he’s finally being granted the choice to do whatever he wants.

their first meeting in twelve years is in an especially dubious back alley behind his campus. jhin’s high on something— he’s not quite sure what the blunt contains, but smiles at the girl who passes it over and takes another drag, either way. she’s one of many that he’s charmed his way into; sex and drugs weren’t hard to come by, even in school. his parents would be furious to know that the college they’ve sent him to is overrun with things of the sort, but they’re not here and they don’t need to find out. it’s easy to fall into mindless pleasure, with her back against the wall as their tongues meet in a messy lip lock, but all he can think about is how her hair’s too long, and lips too plush. and although he’s fucked boys too, none of them quite fit what he’s looking for, but they’re eager enough and quick to spread their legs, and he’s not one to shy away from indulging them. she’s the same, all wanton mewls and feverish touches. it doesn’t matter that they’re in broad daylight, not when he already has his hands under her skirt— they’re interrupted by the sound of books dropping. jhin doesn’t bother with it initially, still smiling smugly against the columns of her neck while she shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the stranger’s gaze. and just when he’s about to ask the newcomer if they want a good show, his eyes lock with his. it’s pair of unmistakably familiar orbs, and jhin’s stepping away from the girl and heading in the other’s direction so fast it gives him whiplash, with a name upon his kiss-swollen lips, one that he expected never to say again.

“baekhyun.”

korean feels foreign on his tongue. he hasn’t conversed in anything but english since arriving in america, the language— no matter how broken in the first year or so— tiding him over his entire stay. and as much as he’d like to hide behind the image he’s built for himself here, including his obnoxious use of american slang in every way imaginable, it’s obvious that baekhyun doesn’t speak a word of it. they’re forced into a conversation in his mother tongue, and jhin thinks maybe it should feel uncomfortable, but baekhyun has a way of tearing his walls down without uttering a single word, even after all these years of silence. he may have been conditioned to be oblivious, but doesn’t miss the way baekhyun tries to pretend like he didn’t know or remember him, which quickly ebbs into complete recognition when jhin speaks to him in english. it’s confusing and suspicious, but he’s too giddy with happiness to question it.

he’s here to study and flee from the war, just like jhin. there’s hesitance in his gaze when baekhyun says this, and it’s exactly where jhin’s discomfort lies. he doesn’t know what he expected; twelve years is a lot of time to spend longing for someone, and it’s plenty to change a person. baekhyun is everything he’s wanted for more than a decade, and he’s exactly what jhin envisioned him to be on the surface, with the same wide eyes and easy smile. and maybe he’s reading too much into things, but there’s a certain spark that he’s missing, replaced with a placidness that’s thoroughly off-putting and quite frankly, makes jhin want to shake baekhyun until he gets a reaction. he has to remind himself, ever so often, that they’re strangers and he shouldn’t expect baekhyun to return his advances, especially since he’s been so immersed in western culture that he forgets hugging people isn’t exactly a form of greeting in korea, or any excessive show of affection for that matter. it feels good when baekhyun pushes himself up to wrap his arms around his neck, whispering a quiet “it’s good to see you too”. but despite this, it feels foreign and devoid of warmth; very unlike how ten year old baekhyun used to cling onto him while he played the piano, singing loud and angelically as accompaniment.

they catch up over coffee, and much to his delight, some things haven’t changed. baekhyun still puts an unhealthy amount of sugar and creamer into his coffee, and throws a snarky remark at him when jhin fails to hide a smirk against the edge of his mug. it’s the banter he’s used to, and he starts thinking maybe he had been too quick to judge before. baekhyun breezes over twelve years without pausing, and if jhin wasn’t too busy staring at how his lips formed each syllable, he would’ve picked up that it sounded completely scripted, like he had memorised the words for this very purpose— short, succinct and concise, without any room for questions: his family had been roused in the middle of the night and he had to return to seoul immediately, without saying goodbye. he didn’t keep in contact because he had no idea where to begin; his father and jhin’s had a falling out and he didn’t know where to start, even though he wanted to look for him. the superficial reason is enough to put him at ease. it’s enough to know that it wasn’t one-sided, and baekhyun had been looking for him, too. they lapse into comfortable conversation, and jhin starts to see more of the baekhyun he used to know behind the hardened gazes. he laughs the same, painfully loud with each ‘ha’ separated by a sharp intake of breath. it’s the kind that he’s missed, the kind he knows is genuine and not carefully subdued like everything he’s learnt new baekhyun to be.

but there are moments like this, when the tiredness in baekhyun’s stance is obvious, and the smile he dons doesn’t reach his eyes, forced and tight. there is something cold and unfeeling within him that’s unfamiliar, and jhin doesn’t quite know how to handle it. it’s evident in the way he’s constantly on-guard and looking around, hyperaware of his surroundings, like something’s going to jump up on him at any moment. and how he grows strangely protective of their hometown and refuses to talk about it other than a couple of snappy remarks. it’s all too easy to fall back into old habits of feigning obliviousness, despite promising never to do it outside of korea, and jhin finds himself hating how much baekhyun reminds him of home. he’s spent three years away from his family without a twinge of homesickness, but three hours with baekhyun brings up the nostalgia and melancholy of being away from home, and all the feelings he swore he’d leave behind.

he pushes these feelings aside, instead surfacing the question that he’d been wanting to ask since the beginning of their conversation.

“how’s your sister? i haven’t seen or heard from her for a long time.”

baekhyun seizes up considerably, fingers wrung tighter around the handle of his mug. it takes awhile, and he would’ve thought baekhyun didn’t hear him if it wasn’t for how white his knuckles were turning, but the answer comes eventually, clipped and unfeeling.

“some things are better left alone but thanks for the concern.”

jhin’s stunned into silence.

and there lies the same proclivity towards finding out more that’s gotten him into trouble many times before. baekhyun is an enigma that he can’t figure out, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach. a paradox of someone who feels so close and familiar, but simultaneously foreign.

he doesn’t say anything further, and whatever banter they had going on dies along with baekhyun’s smile. baekhyun looks out of the window with a mixture of unreadable emotions that jhin wish he understood. jhin used to know him like the back of his hand, once upon a time, but he doesn’t understand baekhyun anymore, and all these ‘used to’s make him decidedly wistful.

there are lies that even jhin has worn with overuse. he knows when they start sounding like something that his mother would say to assure him that his father is proud of him. it dawns upon him that he’d do anything to see baekhyun smile again, and that even after being separated for twelve years, he still holds an important place in jhin’s heart, despite the sentiment not being returned. the innocence of youth is something he doesn’t have the privilege of, not anymore. they’ve grown past ten and having combat training with baekhyun’s dad in his backyard, they’ve outgrown the kisses jhin bestowed upon baekhyun’s bruises, ones that formed in the wake of their playful brawls. and most of all, jhin should’ve grown out of these feelings he has for baekhyun.

there are some things that even twelve years cannot change. but the saddest, most awful truth is that he’s the only one trapped in this time warp, and maybe he’s longing for someone that’s no longer here.

#voxera #( * we were never made to be holy )#( * cold war au )#tw: drug use #nsfw #{ this got out of hand; 2.2k words out of hand

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