THE SHADES ALL AROUND AREN'T THE COLORS WE USED TO SEE
≀ classification. ㇀ +15.
≀ tags. ㇀ mental health Issues, references to depression, references to PTSD, introspection, therapy (but it simply doesn't work), character gave up on seeking help.
≀ characters. ㇀ Zhun Yunji (Honkai: Star Rail insert/original character)
≀ pairing. ㇀ none.
≀ writing type. ㇀ drabble
≀ word count. ㇀ 852
SUMMARY: He's not supposed to live having to listen to whispers. They think he's not listening, but the murmurs become deafening.
Of course, they only stop when he finally agrees to talk.
Not because he wants to; there's no doctor who can heal a wound in the soul.
“Alright, let's begin the session.”
Yunji's eyes look everywhere except at the therapist's face, just to make sure that this time it's real.
Clinically calm hands and the pen resting in the inkwell, only then... he dares to look up, just enough to avoid the other person's gaze, a crude imitation of decency; between the elegant hairstyle, two pointed ears remain serene, without trembling or instinctively reacting to any external disturbance.
It's a lie, the therapist must know, it's his job. Only Yunji knows much more than those basic attempts to calm a restless soul.
“Can you tell me your name?”
Silence, the therapist continues to look at him, he knows he’s being watched; only that the world is tinged with a soft greenish color, it feels less real that way.
Perhaps that makes him feel better, pretending that at this point, confirming that something is real is not to his liking. So he just adjusts his glasses, the gold of the frame sometimes feeling like lead, but now it's just gold as his fingers adjust it on his face.
“Zhun.” It's a lie, that's not his last name, he no longer deserves it. But he refrains from saying anything else, instead just resting his chin between his fingers, an elegant posture; however, his gaze is no longer up, but his peripheral vision is well trained and the glasses are the perfect armor for someone who doesn't really want to be seen. “Anything else?”
Whether or not that affects the therapist's perception, he doesn't let on, and he makes no effort to find out. It seems that nothing is yet worthy of note; his hands have not moved, and the pen remains in the inkwell, dark as night and as deep as fear.
“Well, Yunji, I'll skip the question you must be expecting.” He is grateful, but his expression does not change. "How is your appetite these days? Your father tells me that when it's time to eat, everyone usually goes to the table except you.”
It's always everyone except you.
When blood spurted from a mortal wound you caused, when you saw life leave the eyes of him after hours of agony and pain born of betrayal, what were you looking for? What was there in that second before your own life faded for a second among blood that was never yours?
That point of absolute calm, the heart-wrenching silence, what was there?
Was it everything? Was it nothing? Perhaps it had your father's soft voice, or your mother's ink-stained sleeves, did it look at you expectantly like your brother? Or was it just what you expected to see in the void?
Or was it just fiery? Hands that sparked, that tore you away from that place while he whispered words that were meant to calm, but only felt like a cruel mockery of fate, were they sweet? Perhaps he saw you for who you really were, and that scared you so much that it became your most precious treasure.
It wasn't his feathers, or the flames that stopped time when they enveloped them both. It was something more real, and because it was real, you were afraid.
You were afraid because you felt at peace, because between firm hands and gentle words, there was the devastation that pursued salvation. A creature of fire, gentle and cruel at the same time. It was the balance that was destroyed.
He manages to listen to nails drumming on the black wooden table, and even though that's what has taken it out of his mind, he doesn't let it show. The crystal of a turquoise that is not quite jade is good at hiding his soul, he knows he is waiting for an answer, and the clock has not ticked more than seven minutes since the question was asked.
“Ask my father.” His voice sounds the same, not monotonous, but bored. As if this were just a waste of his time, as if it were useless, which it is to a certain extent.
Only then does the therapist take out his notebook. It is upside down, but Yunji can see that he’s beginning to write something, he doesn’t dare to read it yet.
“Have you been sleeping well lately?”
Not days, not weeks, just… lately. That elicits a snort, the closest thing to a laugh he can be honored to hear.
“The last time I looked in the mirror, I didn't have dark circles under my eyes.”
There is a pause, and there lies his mistake. After so many years... he is still that stupid, clumsy kid, no matter how hard he tries to change it.
“When you look in the mirror, who do you see?”
He doesn't allow himself to digress. No more than usual, no more than when the nights grow long and he has to keep the lights off so they don't dare knock on the door; when the books feel repetitive and the stories of finding what he wanted feel unattainable.
“Myself, the rest is unimportant.”
izzy806
vaporwave
stormborns
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
kaledo-art
