#dthpl

Wade’s psychedelic, standing somewhere between the half-awake and half-dead transition. He’s speaking more than he’s supposed to, palms outstretched (–and for once, not to touch the light but instead–) to ask for a hand. It’s foolish, and he’s not supposed to, but he has the hands of someone familiar, and he’s giving him the moment – and he’s taking it.

“You can sleep now, you said. You said that. I had a dream where you said that. Thanks for saying that. You weren’t supposed to.” 

He talks so much. But he’s listening because he cares: he’s pitying, sympathetic, maybe he’s just as drunk on the night. Maybe he’s in love with him for the weekend. And loving someone means sophistry in all it’s fallacy. 

“I know what it’s like.” Lie, and they both know it. 

“So you’re not alone.” Lie, but better, and he feels better saying it; it sits better on the bit of his skin that hasn’t calloused just yet. “We’re here right in the now, and maybe, maybe,” He doesn’t look at him in the eyes ever, because it doesn’t feel right. “Maybe that’s enough.”

“I know where you come from.” It’s true, and they both know it. “And you know where I come from.” 

@dthpl / first encounter starters / ACCEPTING!

he’s only here for the engines. the rapidfire click-click-click of the crankshaft, buried beneath the hiss of an alternator working overtime, all but static amongst the steady thrum of thirty-five-hundred pounds of metal, glass, and rubber come to life. albeit far from familiar, there’s something comforting in that mechanical sonata, how the humming resonates in his very bones like the instinct that moves them. he has a piece of his own just beneath him, a modest quartet amongst the orchestral compositions which surround him, but it’s all his own. gifted out of convenience and fine-tuned from months of equal parts trial-and-error and hard-learned lessons, this bike is one of the few things kyungsoo can easily call his.

it had sounded fun at first, the idea of getting together with a handful of other grease-heads in the name of automotive appreciation. but now that he’s actually here, all he wants is to go home. according to his younger sister, a few people apparently translates to practically an entire block of bodies fueled on booze and bass-boosted beats. in one ear, he has to listen to some god-awful electronica remix of a song he’s heard playing on every street corner this week; the other, bombarded with the raspy whining of a decade long gone, of tortures turned trifles over the years. perhaps if he’d been able to stick by his sister’s side all night, he wouldn’t have this splitting headache, but she disappeared with her own friends not five minutes after arriving. so here he is now–sat on his bike with a package of chocolate biscuits in one hand and not a single desire to mingle at this party.

naturally, then, his first instinct is to grimace after hearing the stranger’s request. firsthand experience tells him that all sorts of crowds are gathered here tonight, some less friendly than others, and kyungsoo has half a mind to look away until the stranger just.. leaves. but another part of him–the half that knows nothing but the earth that raised him, loved him (for a time)–knows so achingly well the sort of trouble that can only be remedied through the kindness of strangers. holding out the chocolate treats to his new “friend,” kyungsoo puts on the best smile he can muster from nothing and exhales with a quiet chuckle. amongst the mess of lights and bodies and souped-up sports cars, it’s difficult to pinpoint what the person in front of him is avoiding (especially when kyungsoo finds the entire ordeal somewhat unpleasant), but it couldn’t possibly hurt to help a stranger, right?

“Why is it you always look like I’ve wronged you, every time I come to you almost dead? You know I can’t die, you know that better than anyone else.”

Wade’s musing, and he has nothing sharp in the way he talks.

“Is it because I remind you of them? Of the people you’ve had to lose? Or is it because this is just so gory and rated R for your eyes?” His hearty laugh that comes after proves it, the bullets lodged in his chest moving around a few layers beneath the skin of his suit when he does. “Or is it because you’re afraid I maybe won’t rebound from death one time? Is it because you’ll really, secretly miss me?” The space goes quiet. They listen to the sound of the cars passing somewhere far off, but close enough to flood the alley they stand in.

“You’re almost acting like you care, Juwon.” Wade laughs again and in response, a tear rolls down Juwon’s cheek.

Wade’s whole body tenses up at the sight. “Alright, you’re scaring me a little now.” His feet are quick to close the space between them, only to move back a step when he lifts his hands towards him.

Wade hesitates, because they are defined by these very moments of hesitation – and this moment is just the same amongst the rest.

Another tear escapes and covers Juwon’s cheek, and it’s only then that Wade pulls the mask off himself. The mask gets stranded on the floor somewhere, while Wade focuses on placing his hand on Juwon, smearing a bit of red as he swipes the tears away. “Say something.” His thumb now traces circles on his cheek, and Wade gets closer. “Say anything. Anything at all, Juwon. God, now I just seem like a complete – no, a whole asshole. Not the place, but pun intended.”

When he gets close enough, Juwon observes him. He’s stared before, but he’s never given him a real look – the kind where your eyes begin to notice the shapes the dots on his face make, or the types of things his eyes seem to reflect, and the rest of the world that doesn’t appear on his hues. He takes a good look at him, because he’s finally given up on the notion of denying him his hands, and more importantly, half a heart, and whatever else is left of him that he can still call a body.

“Say something, Juwon.”

Wade’s never been more serious, and Juwon’s sure he’ll never be anymore serious than now. He savors the moment, and etches into his mind the way Wade’s brows are, and the fine lines he’s never noticed besides his mouth. “I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything, without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something.“ Wade’s thumb swipes under his chin, to lift his head up. Their eyes meet when Wade pleads, “Please.”

“I’m afraid.”

He’s never heard his voice like this. Even in the alleyway, his voice seems so quiet, and he feels so small. He can’t remember the rush of running on water, and instead, fear is what grapples every bit of him, even down to his feet and toes. His legs get chained down by it, fright being the heaviest metal he’s been bound by to date.

“Everything reminds me of everything I’ve lost. It’s not that. I’ve seen things much more grotesque than the bullets you come home with – and it’s not that either. I know there’s nothing that can kill you, and how tragic that is above all else. So it’s not that.”

He bows his head, and Wade’s hand falls to the side. The alley fills up with noise again, and the cars seem much closer to them now, suffocatingly so. Juwon’s lips part then close, a couple of times as if it is difficult to confess it, his whole body uneasy with what is about to fall from his mouth.

“I’m afraid… because one day I’ll get used to losing you. Because one day this will become a habit, and losing you to almost-death will no longer affect me. Because there’s going to be one day when suddenly I don’t feel anything even when you’re dead, Wade.”

Even in his psychedelic state, tripping on colors, sounds, and unable to focus — he’s able to register Juwon. Juwon who keeps multiplying and each new copy look at Wade as if he’s someone they want to forget.

(I won’t let that happen.)

Wade keeps talking, most of what falls from his mouth are random words with absolutely no correlation to one another. His language is broken thrown out in stuttered patterns after rough intakes of breath to accompany rough exhale of breaths. “I think… I think some fucker tried to — I was poisoned.” Wade manages with a heaving chest.

And he probably was, most likely by something that he drank, by someone in plain sight who managed to slip under his radar. The poison is slow traveling, made to shut down a normal person’s blood flow by reversing it but it has a different effect than intended when Wade’s body fights against it.

He keeps talking to reassure himself that he is alive, continues to talk because his eyes are unfocused and he can’t feel the tips of his fingers but he mainly talks to make sure Juwon is still there. He isn’t afraid — but this is the closest he’s felt to fear since he left weapon x.

“You can sleep now, you said. You said that. I had a dream where you said that. Thanks for saying that. You weren’t supposed to.” Wade keeps repeating this yet he doesn’t know where the words come from, if they’re even his. Regardless he’s unable to communicate what he actually wants to say but he keeps talking, repeating the same nonsense.

(Why do you want to forget.)

(Let’s not talk about it, let’s just not talk.)

One the edges of his vision he can see Sori’s fingers, electric green, playing that damn music on a multicolored spiral of piano keys. He can see his eyes as he plays the climax of one of his pieces as red and intense as the music echos in his ears morphing with the theme song of some children’s show he used to watch as a kid.

The whistling is driving him crazy, the fact he’s not feeling grounded despite thinking of Sori is makes him grind his teeth together, thoughts going between murderous and angry to shaky to helpless.

He grabs the nearest thing that is stable. He grabs Juwon by the wrists, holding on too tight, shaking, creating bruises from his grip as he still refuses to say how much it hurts because he won’t give anyone that satisfaction so he keeps talking until the poison filters out and his body heals itself.

“And you’re wrong.” He says, forcing himself to focus on Juwon despite not being able to see him clearly. “You’re the one beautiful fucking thing that came from that place.”

Wade takes his hands before he can deny them for the third time. Even if his eyes settle elsewhere, he’ll catch the trembles caught in between their palms. Wade’s fingers come around his wrist, with his nails soon digging into raw skin. He numbs himself to it, and the way his hands are beginning to feel like hands in Wade’s grasp, and how it’ll be the same for Wade -- this is as destructive as it looks. 

His eyes fall too fast for him to lead them astray, and they’re looking at him again, and that’s the start of everything. A single look and he’s watching Wade on his knees, hands wrung amongst his own being deconstructed from the inside out. 

“Well -- I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

From somewhere, he finds the will to empty his conscious, and vacate the heart. In another space they’ll be good, and they’ll be better, and perhaps they are even good together, better as them instead of one. Wade’s speaking of dreams but he’s moved beyond them, unable to stay asleep long enough to begin another. 

He wonders if Wade is waiting for the words, the right ones, to lull him. There are things he can say, then there are things he should say, and amongst it all, there is so much he wants to tell him, dream or not. But he’s tried that, three times too many, when he tells him something like you can sleep now and the night will pass and the morning will come if you just close your eyes -- but nothing changes.

Nothing ever changes and they still wake up to survive a world that does not want them.

“Even in your dreams, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

It’s easier to say let’s forget about it and let’s not talk about it, because anything is easier than this.

"Look at me.” He cuts in between Wade’s grunts, a hand escaping to clutch at his chin. He tugs on his jaw, as if allowing his lips to part -- as if giving his voice the permission to scream the truth of the pain. 

“Every bit of this hurts, and you can’t lie and you can’t say it doesn’t.” There’s a breath in between every other word, and every word hurts and he can’t lie and say it doesn’t. “It hurts but you’re going to survive it, even if you’re damn tired of surviving it just like you survived today, yesterday, and the day before.” His words are settling into his skin where it hurts, and he sees it in Wade’s eyes.