“x”
(i liked you better when you were silent.)
jun ran his fingers through white locks, twirling and playing with it. he didn’t care to listen, but didn’t care enough to stop his (acquaintance) friend from talking either. mental health was never brought up as an issue in his family. if you were sick in the head, you denied and repressed it all.
if it was really bad, you’d sleep for sixteen hours straight, wake up. slap yourself in the fucking face and go to church smiling like the heartless, brainless wax figure you were. that’s what jun was taught to do anyway. his mother dealt with her unhappy marriage with gambling. his father with endless nights in love hotels. his brother? he’s unsure.
“thanks for the advice, but as a celebrity, especially in korea. you can’t just come out and say that you suffer from mental health issues.”
“if not a career killer, it would at least still be be detrimental to my future works.”
he doesn’t care about the money, it’s the fame that he likes so much. sin of pride incarnate. “it’s not easy, you know.” being dashing and charming all the time. “living without privacy.”
his fingers hit the table, the metal ring clanking the wooden surface a bit too loud. his eyes veer towards the window, then back at baekhyun. he has no issue telling the truth. “before i got out, i rode along the river styx for a dante’s inferno type of tour. it was cool, hot, all sorts of humid. i sought some sort of pleasure seeing others suffer pain. i’m a bit of a sadist, you see. oh, right. i digress.”
“i thought you might be interested in something i saw. your soul was wandering along a layer in hell.”
“looked a bit drugged out. exhausted. an expression of agony without a body to feel.”
“could’ve been your twin brother though. or an ancestor. seeing how fucking old you might be. but it, whatever it is — definitely looked like you.”
