FOOLS.

the wound across her collarbone and down had been HAPHAZARDLY wrapped with what clean gauzes she had been able to scavenge from various shelves in the rooms she’s been in. and the wings, well, soojung didn’t know what to deal with those – leaving them ghosting the tiles and shedding bloodied feathers throughout her entire aimless path to SOMETHING.

death. a way out. a means to the end.

soojung honestly couldn’t care anymore – couldn’t feel any less DETACHED from her living hell ( & the increasingly bleak future ) as she now knows it. finding an exit didn’t seem to matter as much with the way she was losing blood, & every nerve ending set aflame with every little move. this was hell. and soojung lost interest in entertaining the notions a long time ago.

and so she wanders, breathing ragged and chest heaving, unaware of her surroundings till another grabs onto her shirt. and this where jung soojung hesitates, body tense and breath caught in her throat in that split moment as she allows the familiar face of ahn jaehyun to distract her–and by the time she’s had time to think–shove her into a nearby closet.

with the click of the lock behind her, soojung wastes no time to spin around, reaching out to curl talons around his neck as she shoves him back against the wall, face pale, eyes eerie red & jaw clenched in determination; eyes piercing as she fixates on him,  mouthing the words: don’t. move.

because he was too cowardly to do anything more.

never mind that facing the next day took courage and strength. all too often, he was left feeling empty. but that isn’t what he feels as he stares down at her; the figure capped in red—drenched in red, red, red—and encased in the shadows with him. there is only a fullness to his throat, a weight to his fingertips as he lifts his hands in a gesture of unconditional SURRENDER.

his lips form the words, lashes fluttering while bright browns focus solely on her face—i won’t.

yet.

beyond their door, the roar of boot to floor loudens; filling the room so easily that he feels the tiles ripple and rock beneath his feet. pale, tense features fill his vision just the same, while his pulse throbs wildly under the pressure of her fingertips.

and in the moments that follow, three things occur to han jaehyun.

first, he realizes just how deeply the both of them are damned—TO HELL AND BACK, ten times over—if either of them make a sound. second, the twitch of her fingertip sends a bloodied tip sinking into his skin; not deep enough to harm but hard enough to hurt. and third, the best muffle for any sound—sigh or breath or hiss—is the skin of another.

with fingers cradling her wrist, holding it away from his—bleeding—neck, the shapeshifter finds himself murmuring against the curve of her ear. her heart pounds against his, a dull thump he can feel through layers of clothing; in perfect disharmony right along with his own, “you’re okay, soojung. i’m not moving, i promise.”

he can barely hear his own voice.

his free hand slides under the burden of her wings, palm splayed over her back; making a careful trail up and down the curve of her spine, “we have to be quiet.”

she had not left the hospital unscathed ( the irony of it all, a hospital ), although perhaps considerably NOT as injured as the rest–still, it isn’t hard to spot that the youth was rattled, scarred beneath the surface rather than outwardly. suji had always been WEAK in that regard.

but she’ll be FINE, with hope, with a week’s worth of bedrest and cowering.

she’ll be FINE.

she’s too young to BREAK, after all.

though you’d think she’d LEARN after the entire night – to stray from shady looking figures. but perhaps lee suji possessed a bigger heart than she did common sense, for as passing eyes caught sight of a figure slouched against the fence surrounding the hospital, suji just couldn’t HELP herself. what if it was someone that needed help? that couldn’t make his own way home? surely, surely, this is a chance for her to finally be USEFUL.

                    ( to be a SUPERHERO. )

crying isn’t anything pretty.

it wasn’t when he was eight, nine, ten, thirteen, and it isn’t now. he’s never cared about his appearance—the ability to change it on a whim gave it little value—but for the sake of pretense; for the illusion of strength, he tries to gather the pieces of himself into one place and glue it all together. because there’s no mistaking, han jaehyun is shattered.

but he’s cried enough. the shapeshifter straightens his back, standing as tall as he always does—but feeling just that much smaller and helpless. when his gaze lowers to the face of the stranger holding his arm, he swallows the shame and musters up the will to speak beyond the knot in his throat. grief, like illness, ravages his body; leaving red-rimmed eyes and crescent-shaped cuts on his palms. the blood pools under his fingernails.

he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand instead.

“yes, i’m okay.” jaehyun is standing. he’s breathing. pained breaths, as though his lungs have been seized with sickness, but he is alive and that’s the most that he could ever for.

isn’t it?

he’s never felt so WRETCHED.

but as he watches her, this strange girl offering him something—he doesn’t know what—the warmth of her fingers; of skin peeking through the torn fabric of his shirt; leaves him sore, aching. he’s not okay.

a familiar voice cuts through the noise; she still carries that smile from before, turning to look at him, a couple of steps continuing on forward, going back (paradoxically as it may sound) before she finally stops, hands in pockets, kicking dirt, as if there’s nothing better to do.

“look who it is.” comes her response, laced with newfound amusement to go with the occasion. “heading back already?” 

not that anything other than subdued humor shows on his face.

hands in his pockets and boots grounded on the concrete against the howling of the air, jaehyun watches her expression with something of a smile—a hum, “want to come along?” it isn’t a question. more like a statement posed in the way that questions often are—with intonation and uncertainty—he ignores the others lingering in the distance and takes a step backward.

her out is with him, of course.

jaehyun isn’t stupid.

“i’ve got a bottle with your name on it.” and i know you don’t want to be here. maybe he has a bottle, maybe he doesn’t and it’s all a lie framed by his usual bluntness—who’d believe anything different when he’s outright stealing her away? surely she wouldn’t be blamed if she were to accept his offer.

the thought is enough to have his lips twitching into a semblance of a smile as he casts a glance down the car-strewn road; backed up with fancy cars on their way to a destination unknown.

he’s almost jealous.

(...)

the door to his dorm is open, swaying lightly with the shift of the air current, when nayeon decides it’s time to peek in and check on the fruits of her labor. perhaps her intention originally was making the whole situation into one big joke, given that jaehyun is in a good enough mood to be willing to humor her. she finds the room empty, though, bare, with only the black fuzzy silhouette of a cat curling in the corner of one of the beds, head resting on the pillows and eyes half closed.

naturally, she goes to pick it up, because who doesn’t like cats? the problem comes the moment she holds it up and gazes inside his eyes and, wait, there’s something unsettlingly familiar in this feline’s stare. has she seen it before? no, that can’t be…

at least until he feels the familiar itch of shifting skin.

it isn’t him. jaehyun registers this with a growing sense of horror. the shifting of his bones—shrinking, bending—causes nothing short of alarm; and the fact that he can do nothing to stop it sends the shapeshifter into an outright panic. without a single person around, the first grunt to escape sealed lips is unheard. and when, at last, there’s nothing but a little black cat perched on his bed—panting lightly in the solitude of his room—there is no there to witness the irritated flicking of the long, slender tail at his back.

tiny paws claw at his blankets, sinking through threads to grasp through the pain of a full body shift.

and then comes the knock at the door.

really, there was nothing to do but watch as nayeon stepped through, rendered silent by a dawning sense of utter betrayal. her timing is, of course, too soon to be purely coincidental. or so the paranoid portion of jaehyun’s thoughts declared as he’s scooped with a nearly soundless mew.

I could kill you for this.

and that is the thought that dominates his mind; slitted amber eyes narrow on her face from his perch on the bed. the feline circles a spot before he curls up, waiting—

what for? he doesn’t know.

( vkvie )

phobias and nightmares—sometimes, it’s rather best to keep it locked in the bottle, never to open it. much like pandora’s box, sooyeon would never open up about her deepest, darkest fears to just about anyone. discretion was her flow of life, never opening her duct-taped lips until she’s convinced or believes that she has to. plus, it’s rare that she’s heart-to-heart close with anyone ( with the exception of a few ). she’s almost like nobody, a lone wolf ( not that her pack choose to neglect her ). she’s always favoured walking her own path alone, without having to burden anyone.

but sometimes, she took their hand in hers. she’s keen aware that she can’t be alone forever at present day, she can’t live life as throwing herself as an astray puppy. the past’s a sensitive topic, though, explanations seem to be at the tip of her tongue. sometimes, she owes more words to a few others. one of them was jayehyun albeit the long years. 

she muses to herself, at times dejected and glum, whatever came between them? she’s never given herself a chance to explain to him the reason why. the two left off with what sooyeon considers a “bittersweet” goodbye, the memories still linger and they sting like hell.

regardless, she’ll always smile no matter what.

even when it couldn’t be the same anymore.

her mouth’s dry, she’s not exactly sure how to convey her message or her thoughts. maybe using her power’s the best—for now. nah, it’s only an excuse for her not to speak in the first place. better than nothing. seeing jaehyun right now, she wants to run away and reset—relive the moments again when they were so happy. an attempt to speak, she opens her mouth but doesn’t pull through.

but it’s already too late. han jaehyun is indelibly scarred.

with a slide of fingertips over chapped lips, the male flips the next page of his textbook—well aware that he can’t read the words even if he tried; with thoughts scattered, trapped between death and dismay—and offers her nothing more than a glance. at least at first. when the moments pass too slowly to be ignored, jaehyun closes the cover and molds his features into the closest resemblance of a smile that he can offer.

for all the pain that insik had inflicted on him—the raw, tormenting fear—he can’t help but mourn the loss of the fleeting minutes between. protection and play-times that seemed like a dream looking back, faded at the edges and hazy with the passing of time. when it seemed as if his older brother loved him.

there aren’t any tears left to cry.

and while sooyeon was standing right in front of him, he’d already mourned her absence; even if it’d been his fault.

“hello.”

never has a single word sounded so stale on his lips. like a box tucked away in the deepest corners of his heart, the subdued sentiment contained within bears a layer of dust from disuse. without mercy, jaehyun digs it out and holds onto it; a treasure among trash. “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

try as they might, no one forgot their best friend.

“doesn’t matter. as long as we get out.” they’re right.

– & in some twisted card of fate set the two a pair again.

except this time, jaehyun isn’t crying out for mommy every five minutes. they’re grown, they’re responsible & he himself had learned to keep his cool. maybe he was chilled a little too much. whatever the fuck attacked him had him wrapped around their fingers good. so damn good that his little brother had to save his ass. well, now it was his turn.

“since this place is SO FUCKED UP. we need a few things.” time is not their friend so he focuses the best he can, letting go of them arm as he stares at the space between their feet. once moment it’s nothing but grime & concrete, the next he blinks & little gifts sprouts to their hands. ( of course, his head is throbbing – he ignores it ). 

a sword for his little brother, two daggers for him. kicking it old school, sure, but these creatures seemed a little more hands on. 

“let’s go.” he makes the choice of moving to the door they once opened before, the thick aroma of BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD fills the air again. for a second his smiles, but jaehyun’s watching him, he has to keep pretending that this sick ride was scaring him.

try as he might, he couldn’t get the picture out of his head, even as his feet carried him away from the cafeteria and the spirits descending upon it. his head ached with the beginnings of a migraine, his heart pounded; adrenaline coursing through each and every vein to drip from the open cut at the crown of his head.

in his rush, he couldn’t guess how he’d gotten it.

instead of focusing on it however, he dabbed away the blood in his hair and shifted the dark strands nearby into a bandage of sorts. his fingers reached for the offered sword, wondering at the sharpened edge with equal parts appreciation and confusion. without any clue of what he was dealing with, he wasn’t eager to fight—he didn’t even know how to use a sword.

swing.

“thanks.” he murmured in answer, fingers curling around the hilt of his weapon; dark eyes flicked over the elder’s face—no, he wasn’t at all surprised that the man’s panic had faded so quickly; nor was he surprised that insik was already calling the shots.

it was only natural for him.

“lead the way.”

his sword arm lifted, pointing to the door held open; into the darkness beyond it.

try as he might, he couldn’t un-see insik as he had always been to the likes of his younger brother.