YOU ARE HERE

he's not quite surprised as he is mildly puzzled. most accidental encounters are simple to clean up -- recited apologies followed by polie tilts of the head before separating. they've always been easy to manage, so it's a bit confusing to stay standing, listening as this young hospital volunteer introduces herself in detail that minseok's positive he didn't ask for. he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly in an effort to indulge her in attention.

his gaze falls from her face to the hand that's extended out in front of him. protocol dictates he shake it so he does, firmly, before pulling away and slipping his hand back into his jacket pocket. so she's an empath. and he has no doubts that she's seeing him quite transparently right now. it's kind of sweet, he supposes, how genuinely earnest she seems about cracking through his protective barrier to coddle him with consolations.

"kim minseok," he says politely, half of a smile on his lips. the thing with empathy, minseok figures, is that it's a mutation that he can't quite hide from. he doesn't have to maintain that half-smile and that level tone of voice when all he really wants to do is go home, take his handful of pills, and suffocate himself beneath tonnes of blankets. he's not in a good place right now, and he's sure ari can see that -- but there's a semblance of pride, of practiced obligation that lingers because kim minseok is the poster child of composure. "thank you for your offer, ari-ssi," he adds with a nod of his head.

and he is grateful, really, that there are some people out in the world who are entirely willing to utilize their mutations for the greater good. he could tell her himself that this isn't his forte -- that he's long since locked up half of his emotions out of fear and the other half out of bitterness. but he doesn't. he maintains the smile on his lips and takes a gaze around the hospital halls, dimly lit per usual and occupied by the squeaking of wheelchairs.

"you work at the hospital?" he inquires, because he knows that it'd be rude of him to cut out of the conversation now, after she's already gone out of her way to commit to it. minseok's avoiding the subject, really, avoiding having to talk further about what she sees and why the other people in the hall can't see it -- can't see that he's twenty feet underground while everyone else seems to be in the clouds. he wonders how she sees him, whether her mutation paints him as trapped in a tank full of water like he frequently dreams. "it's an interesting place to volunteer, i'm sure. i'm not a huge fan of hospitals."

childhood, signed away to a white-walled room with scratchy linoleum tiles. now, he's in the same hospital but in an entirely different constraining situation.

"it's a nice view," he replies smoothly, politely. his fingers are still curling around the fabric of his pockets because it's getting colder and minseok hadn't anticipated staying out -- staying awake for this long. he offers a small smile. "people look like beetles from up here," minseok explains, as though that's enough justification for why he was standing there. he's well aware that she knows his real purpose for coming but it's conversational etiquette to cloak his dwindling mental stability. he stays tactfully quiet when she continues talking, because there's no need for him to correct her.

her name is noted and minseok figures this is the right time and the right place for him to make his exit. it's a long walk home and he isn't in any position to make small talk in these sort of circumstances. even minseok has his boundaries. before he has any opportunity to politely say his farewells, however, sojin continues, proceeding to baffle an already listless minseok.

"sorry?" he says immediately, staring at the fingers clasped around his wrist. "i don't think that's necessary," he continues, a puzzled smile working its way onto his lips as a defense mechanism. this is an odd conclusion to a thoroughly dull day and minseok isn't sure whether he should humor her or take her words with a grain of salt.

there's an authoritative aura lingering around her, a disciplined sort of purpose as she tries to drag him to the exit. he's smiling, not because he's thoroughly happy, but because he's thoroughly confused.

there's a cocktail of pills waiting to be gulped down in the kitchen, he knows, but minseok's not too concerned. there are more important things at hand. for example, this mozart piece, the fact that he only has twenty-four hours to perfect it, the fact that --

his phone vibrates insistently next to the sheets of music he has so meticulously rearranged. minseok has a vague idea of who could possibly be texting him at this hour in the afternoon when he's positive classes at xavier's institute are still in session, but he's a man on a mission. his gaze is fixated on the music as lithe fingertips press against ivory keys carefully. there are a lot of emotional aspects to be considered in this particular sonata. technical details have never been an issue but performance --

minseok's train of thought comes to an abrupt stop as his phone continues vibrating.

the thing about this piano sonata -- 

more vibrating. he stops playing, a small sigh slipping past parted lips as he begrudgingly reaches for the phone. there are seven new text messages from (바보) and it'd be a complete lie to say this wasn't the person minseok was expecting. he sifts through the text messages absentmindedly before reaching the final text. interest piqued, he cranes his torso to peek over his shoulder at the window.

he rolls his eyes.

the expression he gives howon is particularly unimpressed. this is a frequent occurrence as of late and minseok wonders how much howon would whine if he just turned back around and continued working on the mozart but -- this is howon. and minseok always makes special exceptions for howon.

he takes his time walking to the window, tugging the glass panes to make an opening.

"you're skipping class again," minseok says with a half-hearted frown. "and you interrupted my practice time." it's like a practiced speech, the words that come flowing out of his mouth naturally. he's chastised howon multiple times before but to no avail. both of them know better than to think minseok's even moderately upset. it's a genuine concern that howon's cutting class but it's nothing that minseok thinks he could actually control or regulate. his precious practice time, however, is never quite a concern when it's howon who's interrupting it. some interruptions, after all, are the type to be enjoyed.

he hasn't been outside at all today so he takes this time to peek above howon's head at his surroundings. the sky is a beautiful shade of blue and the leaves, a gradient of warmth, contrast nicely against the clouds. it'd be nice if he could walk around outside or read in the garden without having to pack on two more layers over his dress shirt. minseok hums thoughtfully.

he moves on quickly though because verbal chatter isn't quite his most favorite thing in the world anyways. he's about to ask for confirmation, clamp a hand over his mouth to mime muteness and then ask bluntly, forwardly (because minseok knows nothing but raw honesty), 'no words?' but before he even has the chance to move, the young man stops flipping through notebook pages to give minseok the most scandalized expression he thinks he's seen in a while. he smiles a little in spite of himself, thoroughly amused before he shifts closer to the stranger to take a peek at the rapid scrawl that follows.

the young man's handwriting is neat, slanted a bit but evenly spaced and careful. it matches his face and minseok finds that amusing too. before he has a chance to properly answer his question, however, the man is already bent over the notebook again, ink trailing across the page in streaks minseok can barely identify.

without even thinking, minseok wordlessly plucks both the pen and the notebook from the young man's hands before writing his own answers next to the questions and harried statements.

you're the pianist? yes.

it's not safe to go around placing band-aids on strangers. i take calculated risks.

what if i'm just waiting to strike at the right moment? nah, i'm kidding. you look pretty terrifying~

thank you though. you're welcome. if i'd met you earlier i would have given you pororo.

but i just had a bad fight with the concrete today. i think i lost though. next time.

are you sure you want to be talking to me right now? does any part of me not look sure?

but my name's baekhyun by the way. what's yours, oh great pianist? kim minseok.

the scribbling is a nice, welcome noise. he realizes belatedly that it's only baekhyun who can't talk -- not minseok, whose vocal cords are very much so in tact. but he doesn't make much of it, just dropping the notebook gently on baekhyun's lap and the pen on top. it looks interesting, the contrast in their writing. baekhyun's rightward slant and minseok's rigid hybrid of cursive and print.

baekhyun, with his cuts and badly treated bruises, is incredibly unassuming. it's comforting, kind of, and minseok's willing to let himself indulge in such momentary respites even if it's obvious that they're from two entirely different worlds. he's much too well-acquainted with the prejudiced people that frequent this neighborhood to believe baekhyun's carefully printed lie but he doesn't point it out. it's none of his business. and on top of that, they're still virtually strangers. minseok isn't supposed to measure his concern for strangers.

"so you like piano?" he asks. the two seconds that follow his inquiry are when minseok realizes he's a bit disappointed that he can't hear baekhyun's voice. it's an odd sort of arrangement, one that could be borderline uncomfortable considering minseok's hovering, just barely leaning against baekhyun's chair for a dash of support. he's been sitting all day though so he doesn't mind much. company is nice. never mind the fact that it's getting dark out and he should probably be heading home sooner rather than later.

he dismisses those thoughts, peering curiously at baekhyun.

faint red marks against the pale flesh of his skin. cuts littered against his cheeks, jaw. a particularly painful looking bruise blossoming on his wrist. minseok can't help but wonder who it was that baekhyun ran into.

"it was mozart today," he says instead, avoiding those perilous thoughts, yet again, in favor of focusing on something safer, simpler. "tomorrow will probably be chopin, depending on my mood." minseok smiles faintly. it's more of an invitation than anything else -- a direct ok that it's perfectly fine with minseok that baekhyun likes to sit here and listen. 

he should walk home but he thinks he'd rather make sure baekhyun gets home first without another unnecessary encounter and a plethora of unneeded battle scars. he doesn't say anything though, taking a measured pause so baekhyun can scrawl out whatever it is he has to say.

the admission in itself slips past minseok's lips before he has the opportunity to steel himself. it's kind of odd how unsuspecting this stranger is, really, but minseok's sort of gotten used to it. the people of seoul are a jaded kind of friendly, a fucked up kind of amicable. and he figures that's what this encounter is -- minseok, perfectly situated to fall into the waters and this stranger, perfectly content with the situation. he had no complaints if the stranger didn't though.

"how do you know for sure if i'm not that type?" minseok finds himself asking out loud, mirth lingering in his tone even as the wind beats a little more frantically against the drawstrings of his jacket. it's cold. it's always cold. but company makes things a little warmer. he's teasing, not really expecting an answer as he presses his legs back up against the railing for added support. he's not worried about falling. those infectious, dangerous thoughts left him fifteen minutes ago -- now isn't a time for him to continue his self-destructive party for one. he has company. it's only polite to pretend to have a semblance of sanity remaining.

"i wander around when i need to think," he says simply. it's not much of an explanation but he isn't in the mood to explain anything. minseok isn't in the mood to do anything but exist, for now. it's a tentative plan. he doesn't think it's normal for him to tell a stranger that he wandered here on his own accord to see if he might test the capacity for water in his lungs -- to see if he might document what it feels like to fall. "my wandering brought me here." the water is tempting beneath him, tiny ripples crashing against each other in a frenzied rush spurred by the wind. he's thinking about swimming lessons but those don't really work when too much activity means an unnecessary trip to the hospital.

he's silent for a moment, contemplating what he's supposed to be doing right now to be deemed socially acceptable. it almost makes sense for him to swing his body over the railing so he doesn't seem to be caught between unfortunate but inevitable death and stable footing.

"and what about you?" he inquires, pushing aside his flurry of thoughts to focus on the stranger. minseok cranes his head briefly to reevaluate the man standing next to him. he doesn't look much younger or older than minseok is. what he notices is the tiyn curl of the stranger's lips that makes it seem as though he's perpetually smiling. it's eerie. and doubly fascinating.

the faint glow of the lights hanging high above the bridge makes minseok feel as though this is a spotlight. the chilling silence of the city at this hour proves there's little to no audience. he smiles lightly, just barely, faintly, because he's never had a penchant for acting on a stage anyways.

"i'm minseok, by the way," he manages to add. his tone is even, level, and frighteningly cool despite how unnerving the circumstances are. any stranger walking by might call someone for help but --

minseok doesn't say anything. he moves though, taking a step back on the ledge so he isn't so precariously close to impending doom. he lets his hands linger in his pockets as the voice, a woman, behind him continues to lecture him. there's actually quite a small smile on his face though the stranger can't see it. he's amused. there's a foreign concern that seeps through her tone that minseok can't quite understand because simply put, they're strangers. why on earth would she be concerned with a stranger's secret demons?

hesitation isn't something that minseok recognizes. he likes timing things perfectly -- a well positioned ritardando, a snug crescendo. he likes it when things happen at the right time. it's 2:59 AM. he can read it off of his watch. it's a shame, really, that 3:00 AM never got to arrive in all of its glory for him.

he could still jump. he could. he could do a lot of things. but he doesn't.

minseok finally turns around after his watch reads 3:00 AM because it's no longer a planned time for him to fall into the city; it's time for him to fall back into mediocrity. so he does, hopping off of the ledge with a measured serenity that lingers as he leans against it, gaze fixated lazily on the woman in front of him and the embers fluttering from her flimsy cigarette.

"your timing's impeccable," he says. "i don't think you should be so quick to jump to conclusions, though," he adds with a light smile.

he has things he could be saying. clarifications, corrections to her hastily thrown remarks. but he doesn't because he feels a little apologetic that this is what their first meeting will amount to.

"kim minseok." the introduction seems a bit oddly placed but he wants to get pleasantries out of the way so he can leave as soon as possible, so he can drown on his own in his contemplation for a better execution of his plans. jumping, falling reminds him of another piano piece. master the coda. play a beautiful cadenza. master the timing. fall freely but beautifully. "it's nice to meet you." he wants to add that he should leave, that he really should go even though he has plenty of time. he doesn't really have a place to be but he isn't sure if he'd like to be supervised today.

maybe he should tell her that he probably would have survived the fall.