#*under the covers

joonmyun knows that he isn’t the answer to any question, the cure for any disease, the cop for any crime. but he tries as best he can, with head held high and smiles on his face that don’t always quite reach his eyes; his shoulder is always wet, and likewise, so is his pillow. life is both a tragedy and a masterpiece, boiled down to a moment that takes your breath away ( good or bad, it doesn’t matter. not really, anyway. ) joonmyun finds it beautiful, and terrible all at once.

and despite how terrible things are, despite the tragedies he’s seen and the destruction that he’s faced ( in the most recent events, and in events long since passed ), joonmyun still likes to believe that things can get better even if he lays in bed at night and feels slow and steady tears streaking hot across his skin. no matter how hard he tries, he can’t change things, but still, he thinks that he can get better. that he can be better for the world, that he can become someone that people really want and not just the person that they need. one day, joonmyun believes that the world can get better. it’s a tiny prayer in his heart, but it’s the loudest one that rings in his ears.

but he should know better. kim joonmyun is a sinner, not a saint, and for him things don’t get better.

it starts as an announcement in the paper. the pain in his torso seems to throb along with the memory ( paper bombs, searing flesh, blood trickling down his legs; shouted commands -- he remembers them all in rapidfire succession, and he has a hard time breathing with the pounding heart deep within his chest ). he sucks in a breath, tries to push it from his mind because he’s not in the middle of a battleground anymore and instead he’s recovering. he’s alive. joonmyun has to remember that. but the wounds he received from the discord won’t heal for the longest time, and he’ll be scarred for the rest of his life.

but his wounds and his pain -- all of it is nothing compared to the life of one takahashi kenta, age 9; cut far too short by pain and suffering he didn’t deserve.

memories that he wanted to push away start to flood his vision again, and it’s like he’s taken back to the scene of destruction, heart racing, blood racing through his veins. joonmyun remembers the first few moments after chaos struck, sees it in polaroids plaguing his mind -- blood that drips down his face that certainly isn’t his own, blinking it out of his eyes. hands shaking, mind twisting, sudden clarity. a child, trapped beneath fallen stage lighting; begging yifan to take him to the hospital, trying, failing, falling, battles. he thought the child would have been okay -- they got him out as fast as they could, yifan ran as fast as he could.

kim joonmyun realizes then that he’s naive.

sometimes, no matter how hard you try; bad things happen, even to good people, even to the most innocent. a child could never survive the injuries kenta faced, buried in rubble and crushed by searing metal. he should have known better. kim joonmyun has always known he doesn’t help people. he destroys. takahahsi kenta is really no exception, but god, joonmyun wishes he could have been.

the newspaper flutters from his hands and joonmyun feels sick, nausea making his stomach roil and tie into knots. this isn’t what he wanted. he tried, and he tried hard, but things still end badly. such is the way of the world. his eyes fill to the brim with unshed tears and a half cracked smile breaks upon his visage -- his eyes flick down to the newspaper on the ground, see the sight of the little boy with so much life left staring back at him, accusatory and sad and joonmyun cries. he’s so sorry, and he cries.

***