Caratober

1. Literary Figures

2. Fire

3. Jeonghan’s Birthday

4. Barbie

5. Greek Mythology

6. Forest

7. Birds of Prey

8. Witches and Wizards

9. Clown

10. Ocean

11. If the World Ends Tomorrow

12. Domino

13. Mad Scientists

14. Dust

15. Psycho

16. Haunted House

17. Free Space

18. Dream and Nightmare

19. Girl Group Concept Switch

20. Dungeons and Dragons

21. Limbo

22. Knights

23. Seventeenth Heaven

24. Fairytales

25. Dragon Ball

26. Angel and Devil

27. Steampunk

28. Amusement Park

29. Royals

30. Swamp Creatures

1. Literary Figures

2. Fire

3. Jeonghan’s Birthday

4. Barbie

5. Greek Mythology

6. Forest

7. Birds of Prey

8. Witches and Wizards

9. Clown

10. Ocean

11. If the World Ends Tomorrow

12. Domino

13. Mad Scientists

14. Dust

15. Psycho

16. Haunted House

17. Free Space

18. Dream and Nightmare

19. Girl Group Concept Switch

20. Dungeons and Dragons

21. Limbo

22. Knights

23. Fairytales

24. Dragon Ball

25. Angel and Devil

26. Steampunk

27. Amusement Park

29. Royals

30. Swamp Creatures

All the color has since been stripped from the wood and metal, leaving behind a patchwork of grimy black, white, and grey. Most of the bulbs have burned out, some of them nothing more than a few shards of broken glass — but a few still flicker from time to time, their dim light still clinging to the runes etched into the core.

Junhui's hands tremble as he trails them over what's left of the lead horse, slowly making his way to the door that leads to the pipe organ hidden inside the center. Unlike the rest of the carousel, the organ is pristine, the polished brass practically glowing.

His fingers gently caress the keys as he sits down on the well-worn bench, and then — just as he's done every day since the accident — he plays.

He plays, and the magic flows from his fingers and into the runes that cover every surface of the organ, lighting up the space with a sickly yellow glow.

And then he's not alone.

"Hi, Junnie."

"Hi, y/n."

It was hard, at first — only being able to see you and never being able to touch — but it's so much better than having nothing at all.

"I missed you," Junhui says.

For once, you don't immediately reply.

Junhui watches you furrow your brow, watches you pick at your acrobat uniform with white-chalked fingers before taking a deep breath.

"Jun," you start, and it's soft, the kind of soft that aches. "You need to let me go."

Junhui almost stops playing in his shock. "What? No. Y/n, what are you talking about?" No.

"You've kept me here for too long."

And it's true, Junhui knows it's true. But he refuses to accept it. He can't.

You continue, "For both of our sake, you need to let me go."

"No," Junhui immediately argues, frustrated in the way that is only borne of futile desperation. "I can't, you know I can't. I love you."

You sigh, so weary and heavy that Junhui feels like he's tied everything in his chest to a rock and dropped it in the middle of the sea.

"But you don't."

Junhui does falter this time, your form flickering before he quickly starts playing again.

"Of course I—"

"You don't, Jun." Your gaze is pity-lined steel. "You might love the idea of me, but you don't love me."

Bile rises swift and thick in his throat, and Junhui has to swallow a couple of times before he can speak. Even then, his question comes out barely loud enough to be heard over the pipes.

"How could you say something like that?"

You shrug, like you aren't trying to end Junhui's world all over again. "You don't even know me. I don't know me."

Junhui almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. "Of course I know you."

"No." You shake your head, vehement. "You know them — the person that I was before I died and before you trapped what's left of me here."

And oh, it's been a while since his grief roared so loud inside of him, leaving him breathless. Your name tumbles past his lips in a plea — for what, exactly, he isn't sure.

"I'm not that person anymore." Your voice is soft again, like you're talking to a scared animal. "I don't know who I am, but it's certainly not y/n."

And Junhui is scared, so so scared, tears starting to drip down his cheeks.

Because something inside him knows that this is it. This is the end.

"I don't know how to let you go," he chokes out.

"You need to do it anyway," you say, and then you look so sad that Junhui wants to lay down and never get up again. "Keeping me here is killing you, and I've already lost so much of who I used to be."

You're right. Junhui knows it, but— "I won't survive without you."

"You will, Jun. It'll hurt, but you'll survive."

"What if I don't want to?" The question punches out of him, cracking and grief-heavy.

"There's not much that I can do about that," you reply with a shrug. Then you look at Junhui, really look at him. "But I do know that the person I used to be loved you with everything they had, and they'd hate to see you throw your life away."

The place where Junhui's heart used to beat burns.

"Will they—" A sob cuts through. "Will you wait for me? On the other side, will you wait? Both of you?"

Finally, finally, your lips curve up into a smile. "Of course, Junnie. take your time."

Junhui continues to play a few more moments before he's crying too hard to do anything except clutch at his chest and watch through his tears as the ghost of his love fades away for the final time.

The tiny little cottage he's renting is quaint, not even on Jeju proper, but instead on the itty-bitty island of Changwido. It's a place almost completely isolated from the rest of civilization and only accessible by ferry twice a day. (When he'd taken the ferry over, he was the only person with any kind of luggage, and the only person not decked out in fishing gear.)

It's a perfect destination for the peace and quiet that he's seeking. And when he settles into bed that night, all he expects to hear is the quiet serenade of the waves against the shore, maybe a little rain and thunder if the storm decides to finally break.

Except.

Except, when the heavens do open up with a mighty crack loud enough to shake the house, he hears it.

A song — a haunting melody that reaches past the cacophony and sinks into Wonwoo's skin until it settles in the marrow of his bones. He doesn't know what could possibly make such a beautiful, soul-wrenching sound, but he is helpless to its whims.

The next thing he knows, he's thigh-deep in the churning ocean, pajamas soaked with rain and saltwater and the shore a distant memory. Rain pelts down on him as the storm continues to rage, wave after broiling wave crashing into his torso and threatening to knock him over.

Above all of this, the song persists.

It tugs at something deep within him, something like heartstrings but deeper, and it makes Wonwoo want. He doesn't know what he's looking for exactly, out here alone in the chaos — only knows that he's desperate to find it, the source of the music. It's the kind of desperation that feels like panic, that feels like it'll swallow him whole and crush him under the weight of his yearning.

A wave crashes into Wonwoo's chest and then—

"I'm sorry."

He gasps in a breath that feels like his first in years, saltwater stinging the back of his throat and sending him into a coughing fit. He looks around wildly and sees nothing but black — black sky, black water, black fear.

"I'm sorry," he hears again, your voice hoarse and cracking with a bitter kind of sorrow. "Please don't listen, please go back. Please."

Wonwoo keeps looking, a different kind of recklessness starting a fire in his veins, and he finally catches a flash of white in the tumultuous black. He keeps himself as steady as he can against the unrelenting waves and stares in wonder as the blip of white reveals itself to be the pale face of you.

You're only a few yards away, your black hair plastered across your forehead and midnight eyes staring at Wonwoo with a startling amount of emotion — sorrow, Wonwoo's instincts tell him.

Your gazes meet, and the music reaches a deafening crescendo.

Both of you flinch and bring your hands out of the water to cover your ears, and that's when Wonwoo notices.

Your hands are black and shiny — scales, his brain tells him — and even in the dark, he can see the way your long fingers taper into sharp points.

Claws.

The music stops suddenly, as does the raging storm, and Wonwoo slowly lowers his hands. He doesn't dare take his eyes off of you. Even though the waves have calmed to a gentle rocking around you, he feels like he's standing at the edge of a precipice.

The rain is now a barely-there drizzle, and it's as if the entire world has stilled.

Wonwoo swallows, wrapping his arms around himself when his body is wracked with a shiver. It's only partially from the cold.

Solid black eyes continue to stare into his.

He hadn't felt like he was drowning before, but he does now. It's not a bad feeling.

"Hello?" Wonwoo calls out tentatively.

You startle like you've been slapped.

"No." Your voice comes out strangled, scared, and before he can even blink, you're gone with a quiet splash, a tail blacker than ink the last he sees of you.

A heavy breath shudders out of Wonwoo's lungs, and not because of the previously icy waves. Previously, because he realizes the water has become surprisingly warm. It almost feels like the sea is trying to give him a hug.

The trudge back to shore is quiet, as is the slow, freezing walk back to his little cottage.

He takes a hot shower, letting the water warm up his trembling muscles in silence. Noiselessly, he slips into a new pair of pajamas and climbs back into bed.

The quiet is what he’d wanted before — was the whole reason he’d even come to this island.

Now, though. Now, he doesn’t know what he wants.