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i write for sehun, and sometimes make my own characters! requests are not open at the moment. kpopfanficdirectory my lovely affiliate twelfthofmay~

[hiddenspring]

Meeeep! I'm a little later than usual (ToT) So I actually read your story three times before I could fully wrap my head around what was going on. I was greatly intrigued by the girl and her effect on Sehun. It almost felt like I was living through Sehun as he followed the girl willingly. I'm so curious as to how you formulated the plot and how everything fell in to place...

That’s alright! Really? I hope that’s a good thing… Since the story is so short, I think it leaves a lot of room open for interpretation as to what their relationship is, who she is, etc, etc. The plot started with the tidbits that enaasteria posted for inspiration as part of her writing contest. I chose the theme ‘exodus’, and here is what I started with:

EXODUS- pathcode: sehunexodus- a mass departure of people, especially emigrants (leaving your own country for another)‘you bury me’‘precious breath’

I took some details from Sehun’s pathcode–the darkness as he leaves the house, how he enters it, etc. And then I started figuring out associations and such, and phrases I liked that popped into my mind. Then, it kind of flowed together in my mind as I went from idea to idea. Here is another snippet from my outline document:

searching for somethinggirl//crumbling? desert? sand? earth parallel? she really isn’t there? like she is the earth?sky darkens, clouds over. giant dust storm that wipes out humanshe breathes her in, finally becoming one w hercommunicate through whispers in wind, a soft voice in his mind as he touches plants, the ground. when he looks to the sky, he can see her faintly. always wears sunglasses.and.. that’s how it happened, haha. I also named the girl Ara, though that never really made it into the story.. 

[hiddenspring]

Precious Breath

published for enaasteria’s writing contest (:

The wind pushes against his back—her small hands wrinkle the back of his shirt. The sun shines down on his hair—her eyes never leave his face. The clean air rushes down his throat—her words caress his lips. His sneakers scuff against the pavement as he lets himself be lead through the familiar, winding streets. The city grows around him, brick and concrete and steel and glass blocking the everlasting sun and watchful moon. He passes restaurants, pharmacies, grocery stores, homes. People slide past him on the sidewalk, their steps cautious and meek compared to his strong and purposeful stride. His dark glasses glint as the sun winks at him, sharing a joke. He smiles.

Turn here.

He slips down an alley, shadows stealing the place where the sun rested moments before. It doesn’t bother him—he reaches out to run his hand through their dark mass. Cold, calm. He takes a breath.

The corner house. Her laugh tinkles along after her words have come to an end.

“How is that even funny?” he responds, even as a chuckle escapes from his lips.

The alley ends, and again the sun warms his shoulders. He glances up, her faint outline seeming to appear in the clouds—a hand reaches out to push him along. Faster.

The plants in the window stop him—bright, green, blooming. He sets his hand against the window, and closes his eyes.

You found it, right? Her voice is playful.

—-

Growing up in the country, one was never without things to do to occupy the time. During the day, there was work to do—taking care of the chickens, the garden, the decaying house—and at night, stories were passed around as families gathered at the common house to share each other’s company. The stories told of the goddess of nature, who blessed their farms and fields, and cared for the forest, rivers and skies. He had heard the stories since he was young, and the conviction with which the adults spoke created something in him—devotion. Not even the concrete jungle of the city could take that from him when he travelled there for college. He took every chance he could to be outside, and in nature—with her. His first winter away, as the ferns and trees peeled away from the cracked sidewalks and cornered parks, he changed. He withdrew from his activities, friends, and instead he sheltered himself in his room, where he drew and wrote of his childhood memories. Simply put—he was homesick. At night, he took to the streets, searching for something, anything, that would revive him. One evening, with the guiding light of the moon, he traversed the streets, his hand trailing along the wall beside him. Suddenly, a gust of wind pushed against him, and he stumbled, loosing his balance. As he straightened up, he saw a soft glow emanating from around the next corner. He blindly followed its light, his steps quickening. And there she was. Sitting beneath a small tree, her hands trailing along its rough bark. Her hair shined in the moonlight, its russet shades flowing softly over her shoulders and down her back. He silently approached her, kneeling down in front of her, mesmerized. As he sat down, she looked up, her eyes a startling blue—so bright, so clear.

His breath was stuck in his throat.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded like water flowing through rapids, like thunder rumbling beneath the earth, like wind sweeping through a canyon. He nodded in response, almost mute.

“You’re Sehun, right?”

“Yes.” His reply was short, as he simply accepted the fact that she knew his name. Their words flowed together for the rest of the night, his replies getting longer just as the moon sunk lower and lower in the sky. As the sun opened its eyes, his eyes closed, and when he opened them later that afternoon, she was gone. And he was alone.

His spirits improved, and he began appearing at classes and events more often, spending more and more time with his friends. He thought little about the nighttime encounter, and accepted his improvement as simply and easily as he had accepted her words. But one day, when he was walking in a park, he heard her voice in his ears as the wind passed by. She whispered thoughts, jokes, and secrets to him, his laugh ringing alone in the warm spring air. And he was reminded of the stories of his youth, of the bountiful goddess who watched over the children of the countrymen, and he accepted it. She had spoken to him, chosen him, and he accepted it.

—-

Come on in, the water’s fine. Her voice sounds of spring, of rain.

He steps inside the house, the door opening easily at his touch. The halls are empty, stretching before him. He chooses one, and walks slowly down it. His head tilts, his eyes close. He is listening.

Breathe in, breathe out.

A door is open, a dark room is inside. He flicks the light on, and stands in the doorway.

Bright, dark.

Growth, stagnation. Life, death.

Breathe in, breathe out.

But he can’t. Because there she is.

She lies blue and faded, her flame-colored hair now that of dying embers, her clear blue eyes now shaded beneath thin lids. Her small hands lie by her side, curled up. Her thin legs break beneath the pressure of his gaze.

He walks forward. With each step, the hard wood beneath his feet cracks. With each step, small blades of grass are left behind.

He kneels in front of her, and this time she will never notice. His hand runs through her hair that shines no more, over her eyes that see no more. His hands circle her body, cradle her, protect her.

His body shakes as thunder rumbles around him, mimicking his wounded cry. Anger pulses through his darkened heart, and lightning flashes in the now-black sky.

He stands on shaking legs, her body in his arms. He walks.

Leaving behind the confines of the thin, man-made house someone once called home. Leaving behind the pain trapped in delicate, shallow walls. Leaving it all behind.

The air is gritty, and he inhales. The sky is dark, and he rejoices. The wind is hot and strong, and so is he.

He breathes in the sandy air, and closes his eyes. As the storm embraces him, dust covers him, washes over him.

And he hears her voice. Bury me.

[hiddenspring]

Contagious

We're slipping off the course that we prepared

But in all chaos, there is calculation

Glory and gore go hand in hand

That's why we're making headlines

-Glory & Gore, Lorde

The gun cocked and she grinned. His hands were clasped neatly in front of him, no sign of stress or pain. They were calm.

“Please, I can fi-“

The bullet was fired, the body fell to the floor, blood stained the floor red.

“Good shot, darling. I always admire your aim.” His hands fell to his sides, before quickly hiding in the pockets of his suit jacket.

“That must be why they call me the best..” Her voice whispered through the air - a purr, a hum. It caressed and seduced the wind, which carried her words to his ears. A sigh left his lips.

—

The penthouse glowed in the darkness, illuminating the dark, cloudy sky, a pinnacle of safety high above the gory depths of the city. Inside, one could see two figures leaning against each other - a woman’s head on a man’s shoulder, a glass of wine in each of their hands. 

Her eyes glimpsed closed, fluttering against her pale cheeks. He glanced down at her, but one of affection or neutrality, no one could tell. 

—

The television played a report on the latest murder, three men killed in the night. Traitors.

The radio rumbled out scratchy words telling of the escaped criminal. He left right before his trial date.

The websites, newspapers, they all scream titles of the newest boss of the city. Known as the X-E-O.

—-

The door slammed shut, a loud bang in such a silent room. She glances up, her hair dropping down to her shoulders. The papers she was looking for shuffle in the stagnant room.

“What is it?” Her voice is direct, to the point.

“Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Sehun, be straight with me. I don’t fool around, you know that.”

She didn’t, he knew that. 

—-

His footsteps sounded loudly in the narrow alley. The dark night curled around him, and his hands once again hid in his suit jacked pockets. He glanced around him, nervous.

He was never nervous.

A door creaked open down the lane, light bleeding out. He scampered forwards, rushing inside. Warmth, happiness and joy greeted him. He wiped it away.

“Where is he?” His voice was blunt, it didn’t caress or seduce as her’s does. He was beginning to trip up.

“Upstairs.” The guard pointed the direction.

He nodded and rushed up the stairs, his feet clomping along. He was just so loud.

The stairs landed on a plush red carpet, cushioning his heavy feet, softening his hard edges. It was no wonder they made such a lovely duo - hard and soft, love and hate. But he seemed to have forgotten that tonight. 

He hunches over, instead of walking straight. His dark hair, cut short to his head, tries to fall out of place as he strides forward. Confidence is a facade.

A few twists and turns and he finds his destination. He lets himself in, finally in a familiar environment.

A man awaits him.

“Sehun? What do you have for me?”

“I have her plans, Junmyeon. All of them.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t know?” The man stands up from where he was languidly sitting, his eyes appraising Sehun’s covert figure. Little did he know, he stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t compromise myself, us. Our deal.”

“Mm..” The response was minimal, the plans were snatched from Sehun’s hands. Junmyeon skimmed them over, flipping through the thin documents. 

“This is good, but you know, you better not give us up. I don’t want to get on her bad side.”

“I would never do that Junmyeon. Trust me.”

Junmyeon’s head snapped around, his blonde hair landing in his eyes, trying to conceal the darkness of his gaze.

“Leave.”

—-

The lights in the penthouse were off tonight, the moon was full. She sat atop him on the couch, her hands on either side of his face. He looked straight into her eyes. He wasn’t going to break.

But it wasn’t what he thought.

“Sehun, my darling.” She ran a nail down his cheek, her eyes following her finger.

“Ye-“

“You know not to call me that.” Her attitude was immediately switched, her hand pulling away from his hard face. His eyes betrayed no feeling. That was his weakness.

“I’m sorry. Xeo. I know, I know.” His voice was frail, delicate.

“Xeo. That’s who I am. You know that.”

“I know, I know.” He repeated it over and over.

—-

She knew then, when he began to slip. He never slipped. He was always the first to call others out, the first to tell her when something was wrong.

He was her partner. He was her plaything.

He was hers.

But it seemed he had strayed.

And she knew it.

—-

This time, when he went to meet his man in the room carpeted with red, prematurely stained with blood, a shadow followed him.

It hid in the light where no one would see it.

It crept through walls, floated behind doors.

He never noticed. 

No one ever did.

—-

Her eyes glowed that night, her lips perfectly parted and dripping with disdain. She caught his attention and he couldn’t take his eyes away. No wonder he came to her that day. He never could restrain himself.

“Sehun, how have you been?”

Her voice echoed in the empty room. They weren’t in the penthouse that night. 

The concrete walls captured all sound, bouncing it back and forth as a joke. Dim lights left her secrets a place to hide, but her truth a pedestal to stand upon. Her teeth glinted, shining brightly. He couldn’t figure out how.

He didn’t answer her. 

She thought he might have figured it out.

He had.

“I can’t believe you’d do such a thing to me. I thought I was your world, your master, your ruler. But look at us. You standing there, looking like a sad little mouse, too afraid to take another step closer, yet too afraid to run. Maybe if you did run now I’d let you get away. You can’t do any harm, you never could. I never let you get that close.”

Her words wrapped around his throat, tighter and tighter they wound. He gasped. She raised her brows.

“You thought you could play me. Well, Sehun, you know no one can. You’ve seen what I do to traitors. Sadly, you are something more than that. I’d rather compare you to Judas. You know that story, I’m sure.”

“Say something.”

Her voice hit him up and down, while her hands rested softly by her side.

He tried to come up with strong words, intimidating words. 

“Kill me, then.”

He tried.

“Of course, darling. You needn’t even ask.”

She walked forward then, coming to stand in front of him. Her eyes were level with his, her stilettos clicked against the concrete floor. She walked around him, trailing a hand along his back.

He shivered.

“Get on your knees.”

He slowly lowered himself.

He was like that mouse, unable to stand strong, unable to move. He was frozen. His previous words hit the ground like ice, shattering into nothing.

He was worthless.

Her hands waved through his hair, caressing the soft locks. 

“Oh, I suppose I’ll find someone new.”

Her voice ran along his eyes, coaxing a tear to fall.

He had made a mistake.

He knew that now.

Scissors clipped away a lock of his dark hair. The snip of hair sounded like the snap of a bone.

“Since you meant quite a bit to me, Sehun, I suppose I’ll spare you the casualties. You appreciate that, I’m sure.”

The barrel of a gun was pressed to his forehead - so cold, so cold.

“Oh, darling. . .”

Her voice slipped into his mouth, drowning out his cry.

—-

The penthouse glowed in the darkness, illuminating the dark, cloudy sky, a pinnacle of safety high above the gory depths of the city. Inside, one could only see a single figure, leaning against the window - a woman, a glass of wine in her hand. 

Her eyes glimpsed closed, fluttering against her pale cheeks.

Took a shiner from the fist of your best friend (go figure)

It's clear that someone's gotta go

We mean it but I promise we're not mean

-Glory & Gore, Lorde

[hiddenspring]

Dead Girl in a Museum Gallery, Part 3 [Final]

Part 1, Part 2

After waking up from the dream that was you

This morning of reality feels so empty

It’s over, my love.

-Empty, WINNER

My vision problem has progressed so much that I can barely see normally anymore. I can’t go to work, and opening my eyes to look in front of me is a useless disservice to my numb state. I can’t even paint anymore. The one thing I truly love to do has been taken from me by this unnamable and incurable ailment.

I’ve tried going to doctors, but it’s useless.

They all say the same thing. It’s your brain, it’s not your eyes. Go see a neurologist.

The neurologists say there is nothing wrong with me, I’m perfectly fine.

Little do they know, that’s not the truth.

Sometimes, as I walk slowly around my apartment, my hand on the wall as a guide, I suddenly loose feeling in my fingers, my legs. It feels as if my leg, or hand is just gone.

And once I opened my eyes to see, and my hand was truly gone. But then I blinked, and it glitched back into place.

Like in a video game.

---

I am sitting in a chair by the window when I hear the doorbell ring. No one has visited me since the last doctor came to see me, to tell me that I was hopeless.

I shake my head and stand up, shakily and slowly moving towards the door. 

As I move my leg forward, I feel as if my leg is suddenly gone, for when I go to put weight on it to move forward, I fall. My eyes snap open in surprise, and my vision is met with bright colors, static and a blurred image of what is in front of me. 

I let out a cry in surprise. 

Because through the chaos of my vision, my leg really isn’t there. But then I blink, and it’s back. I blink again, and it’s gone.

I open my mouth to cry out again, but another voice calls out first.

“Minji?! Minji, are you ok? What happened?!” his loud voice reverberates through the wooden door, his fist banging to be let in.

“Sehun? Is that you? ..I.. I’m ok, I just fell, hang on.” 

I close my eyes, refusing to think about what I just saw, what I just felt. I hesitantly stand up, and slowly try to put weight on the leg that wasn’t there a few seconds before. And I don’t fall, it has returned to me. I set my mouth in a straight line, and fumble my way to the door, opening it slowly to let him in.

“Are you ok for sure?” His question is the first thing that comes out of his mouth as the door swings open, but another soon follows, “Why are your eyes closed?”

“I’ll tell you once you come inside.”

After he had visited my apartment, we had taken to hanging out together often, meeting at parks, bookstores or coffee shops, and walking around the city, talking about whatever came to mind. Sometimes he’d come to watch me paint, reading a book and glancing up every now and then.

He was comforting, safe. Trustworthy.

I hear him step inside, slipping off his shoes in the doorway. I step back to give him room to come in, my back hitting the wall. I hear as the door closes, presumably by his hands.

I turn to make my way back into the living room, but before I can move, I feel his hands wrap around me, one on my shoulder and one on my waist.

“I’ll guide you.” is all he says.

I don’t reply as he gently directs me towards a chair, helping me sit down. 

“I’m gonna sit next to you.” he says as he settles on the edge of the couch next to me, separated by an end table with a small lamp on it, “Why don’t you tell me what happened to you?”

I tell him. I start at the very beginning, the day I cut myself and he came knocking on my door. The day my vision first blurred. I tell him of my endless trips to the doctor, my leave from any sort of work, my confinement to this small apartment, these few walls that I call home.

He listens, offering a quiet ‘hmm’ or ‘go on’ every now and then. And at the end of all my talking, he tells me to open my eyes.

“Why? I can’t see anything, really. It’s just...worthless. Even though it doesn’t really hurt, it gives me a headache.”

“I want to show you something.” His voice sounds confident, yet cautious.

But somehow I feel like what he’s saying is worthwhile, that I will be able to see whatever he wants to show me. And so I open my eyes.

At first my vision is as it normally is, unintelligible, frenzied, bright and then dark, but I can make out his hand moving up in front of my eyes, darkening my vision completely. 

And when his hand moves away, I can see again. Clearly.

There are no glitches in my vision, no fluctuation of value and color, and no distorted shapes.

“Sehun..what did you do?” My startled eyes stare at him, and I notice the details of his face and person that I haven’t been able to make out for so long. I notice his familiar blonde hair, messily styled atop his head. I notice his delicate hands settled on his legs.

But as I begin to look closer, I notice things that are different from when I last saw him. His eyes are a bright blue instead of the soft brown they used to be. A tattoo stains the side of his neck, a dark triangle with a dot sitting inside each corner. I glance down to his wrists, and as if he is reading my mind, he turns his wrist outward, showing me a long scar running the length of his forearm.

“..Sehun? What’s going on? What happened to you?” My voice is shaky, unsure.

“This will require a bit of explanation, if you don’t mind. It might take awhile.” One thing that hasn’t changed is his voice, and the familiar sound calms my racing mind. I nod.

“Kyo Minji, that’s you, right? Well, as you know, I’m Oh Sehun. But that is not your real name, and this is not my real name, at least anymore. Your real name is Ahn Sooyun, and I don’t have a conventional name. I’m called the Architect. This world that you’re in is not the real world, as you might think. It’s a world of my creation. But the people in it are all real. I was real once as well, but not anymore. This is where I am now.

When I was younger, maybe around 15, I slipped, and cut my forearm wide open. I would have died, I was home alone and I couldn’t reach the phone. I was bleeding profusely, but then, right before I passed out, and left the world, I awoke, here. My arm was sewn up, and I was older. I was 17 when I woke up, and I’m not quite sure what happened in those two years, but here I am now. I awoke to a completely white room, with a single book in the center that told me how to create this world. I’m not sure why I was placed here, why I wasn’t allowed to die with my body, but I’ve been here ever since. I’ve stopped aging though, and that was ten years ago. I still look like a teenager, right?” 

He chuckles as this, a small smile pulling his lips up.

He then stands up, and comes to me, pulling me up with him. I am too startle to react, and instead I just stare at him as he waves his arm in front of him, pulling up a shimmering line.

“I really didn’t think this would happen so soon..” I hear him whisper, and I hear something sad and hopeless in his voice that I’ve never quite noticed before.

Before I can ask what he meant, he pulls me forward, and suddenly we are in a completely white room. Two chairs sit facing each other in the center of the room. The room is empty otherwise, with no windows or doors. He leads me to one of the chairs, and I slowly sit down, my confusion growing as I take in my surroundings. He sits across from me and continues his story.

“I pull people from the real world when..when their time in the real world is limited. The time in this world doesn’t pass as it does in the real world. Time here fluctuates. It is suited to the individual, really. It’s so very interesting, yet I’ve no idea how it truly works.

But Sooyun, does that name sound familiar to you? Ahn Sooyun?”

I open my mouth to immediately say no, no of course not, my name is Kyo Minji. But as I begin to think on it a bit more, I remember the hint of it, like a lingering scent of someone after they’ve left a room. It sounds familiar, I feel as if I remember it.

“See, you do, don’t you? It must be quite the shock, right?”

His simple words get lost in the labyrinth of my mind as I try to sort through the information he is giving me, frantically trying to find the truth in the words I feel must be, but sound so false.

“But Sooyun, you can only stay in this world so long. Your time isn’t forever here. The trick to leaving it when you first hurt yourself. That starts the process, and it works quite fast from there. Remember when I came over that one day, when you cut yourself with your palette knife? I had a feeling something would happen that day, and that’s why I decided to knocking on your door, posing as a campaigner for a political candidate that doesn’t exist. And it did, you cut yourself. I noticed when you flinched later, and I knew it was beginning to creep up on you. It made me sad, because you know what, Sooyun? I really like you, I really do. I’ve enjoyed the days we’ve spent together, it’s been so fun. It was almost like I was back in the real world, that I had never left. 

And that’s why I’ve decided to explain it all to you, even though it is quite pointless, to be honest. I want yo u to know the truth, even if you may not believe it. I didn’t want to lie to you, directly, at least. I wanted to provide you with what closure I could.”

But one phrase stays inside my mind after he finishes speaking, quite pointless. Why would it be pointless? What’s so pointless about this?

So I decide to ask him.

“Because, Sooyun, you’re almost dead. Seconds from it.”

I stare at him, silent.

Dead?

How?

He stands up again, and comes over to me. He stands in front of me, a nervous expression on his face, as he reaches out his hand.

“May I finish my story, Sooyun?”

I take a deep breath, and look up into his new, blue eyes. They shine with something I’d like to think might be tears, battling to stay contained within his eyes. He looks sincere.

And, besides, if I’m already dying, what’s the worst that could happen?

I reach out my hand, grasping his. I hear him mumble a thank you under his breath.

With his other hand, he taps the air in front of him, and a small menu pops up. I watch as he travels through options until he lands on an option titled ‘EXIT’. His finger wavers over the small button, and finally he taps it, shaking slightly as he does so.

The white room disappears, and we now stand in a museum.

A familiar museum. 

It’s the museum where I saw the dead girl.

I remember this entrance, that desk where the receptionist is sitting. I remember these walls as Sehun leads me past them, weaving through the galleries.

People walk past us, never giving us a glance.

When one man even walks through me, I realize we cannot be seen.

We stop outside a single gallery, and I look up.

It’s the gallery where I saw the dead girl.

And as we slowly walk in, his hand in mine, I tighten my grip, for I think I know the end to this story.

I’m the dead girl in the museum gallery.

“Sooyun, I’m really quite sorry. Sometimes I wonder why I take them, why my world selects them and drops them in my little white room to be given a new identity. I wonder why I was the one chosen to have that job. I wonder why it chooses those in comas, who will eventually wake and go back to their lives in the real world, and also those on the brink of death, giving them an entire life within the span of a few seconds here. I wonder about it all, and I realize I have no control, really. There is no way for me to leave my little world, and I’ve come to peace with that in a way.

I never would have met you if I wasn’t in charge of that world, and I’m really glad I did. You’ve given me a taste of the life I so miss, and I’ll cherish that forever. You know, I don’t usually take most on this long trip? I usually just visit them, and send them back before they realize what happened. But you’re different, and I wanted to give you something special to..remember me by, I suppose. I do hope you have a nice time after this, Soohyun. Death isn’t all it seems to be, I’d guess.”

As he speaks, I glance over to look at him, and I notice that he has changed. While my body is whole in this world, his is broken up slightly, little pieces missing, gone. His hand wavers in and out of visibility, sometimes disappearing altogether for a millisecond, just to pop back up again, his fingers wrapped tight around mine. I grip his hand even tighter, afraid that letting go would make him vanish completely.

“Sehun..why would you not have met me? You never know really, we could have bumped into each other somewhere, y’know?” I ask in a soft, nervous voice. Because I think I know the answer.

He looks at me then, his eyes boring into mine, as he answers.

“Sooyun, I’m dead in this world. I died when I was 15 years old. My body from this world is gone, buried deep in the ground in a graveyard along with thousands of others. It was only my consciousness that kept on living.”

He looks away then, a determined look having come over his eyes. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath.

“Sooyun, I’m so sorry.”

His hand gently pries itself away from mine, and his body flickers slightly and becomes transparent, but stays in this world. His mouth opens as if he is saying something, but no sound comes to my ears. His eyes follow mine as I continue staring at his saddened face, my own one of startled confusion.

“Sehun-”

Before I can say anything else, my vision changes and I realize I’m lying on a floor, looking up at paintings above me. I can feel my legs curl around my vulnerable body, I feel my arms resting around me, I feel my hair spread around my head like a halo.

I hear the frantic sounds of people running to come help me, but it’s too late.

Strangers’ voices overlap, their cries for help unheard as I feel myself fading away. My eyes close and I let my body go limp.

As my mind runs to black, I hear a soft whisper in my ear, something that is barely there.

My name, in Sehun’s gentle, comforting voice.

“Ahn Sooyun, I hope to see you soon.”

As his whisper ends and fades away, so do I, my consciousness shutting down and everything going black.

---

My eyes open to a room of white, the color startling to my sensitive eyes.

“Welcome to The Edifice. My name is Oh Sehun, what would you like your name to-

Sooyun?”

[hiddenspring]

Wishes

Warning - abusive relationship

His hands traveled around her neck, caressing the soft skin hidden under even softer hair. His breath hit her cheek as his lips grazed her eager skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, in simple bliss. Her hands crept around his back, hesitant, but confident as they gripped his shirt, pulling him closer.

As his lips met hers, his eyes closed as well, yearning to shut out everything so he could feel everything. Her sigh met his lips, and his excited exhale grabbed ahold of it, shaking it, trying to feel more alive. His hands moved into her hair, gently playing with the strands that seemed to disappear as soon as he picked them up.

Their kiss deepened and their movements became hastier as everything faded to black.

You look up, your view blocked. The television went on in the background, sounds of hands, fabric, and voices muffled.

He looks down at you, his eyes hazy, aggressive, alluring.

You don’t know what to do.

Where to go.

You just let it happen. 

You let him destroy you. Oh Sehun.

His carefully manicured hands grab ahold of you, pull you onto the floor. His beautiful lips curve into an evil grin, so well-crafted that it seems worthless to you. His hair falls into his face, obscuring his incensed expression.

What have you done?

Nothing.

As you lie on the floor, hands sticky with blood, you wonder how the young boy you feel in love with turned into someone so cruel. How his genuine laughs and joyful expressions changed into something so filled with hate and disgust.

How did it all happen?

How did it all happen to you?

You don’t quite know, and as your eyes close you remember the happy couple on television.

A fantasy you wish you could have lived.

[hiddenspring]

love drabbles. hope you get some good idea submissions!

hopefully ill have time to write some later! ive been super busy because im at this really intense camp..so we'll see. <33 i hope you're doing well!

[hiddenspring]

Since summer is almost here, I figured I'd put out a request for inspiration or drabble ideas! I won't have a lot of time to write until August, but until the 15th of June I'll have some time to write little stories. So send me your ideas via my submission box! (: No guarantee that I'll do all of them, it depends if I like the idea or not. 

[hiddenspring]

Dead Girl in a Museum Gallery - Part 2,

Part 1

The blue ocean that the red sun used to wash its face turns black,

The white sky that had clouds and rain and the wind turns grey,

I leave the darkness that finds my heart.

Even the cold shadow that covers the night starts to harden.

-Melted, Akdong Musician

The canvas is covered in dark paint, the light floating along its edges, casting a soft glow over her form. Her limp body rests simply on the floor, the silhouettes of picture frames surrounding her as she dips into an eternal sleep.

My brush dips into the paint, fixing small errors, correcting overlooked mistakes. I furrow my brow as I look harder into the inky paint, trying to find something that isn’t there. The stench of oil paint hovers in the air, sunlight streaming in from a small window. I ignore it all, and continue to stare at the composition in front of me. 

At her.

There is something missing. Something I can’t get right, no matter how hard I try. I’ve been at this for weeks, trying to capture her silent grace, her stubborn will that finally gave in. But I can’t get it. No matter how much paint I slap on to this canvas, no matter how long I stare at it, nothing pops out at me. Nothing looks any different.

All my criticism aside, it looks good. Her anatomy is correct, the lighting is excellent. The paint is applied, every detail thought of. But still, she looks empty. She looks like an empty husk of a girl, unlike the girl I saw at the museum, the one who had been so full of life slowly seeping away. I saw it that day, her consciousness leaving her, I noticed something special about her. But I can’t seem to capture it. I cannot paint what I saw.

And it makes me mad.

I grimace, and grip my paintbrush tightly in my hand. The wood presses against my soft skin, and I feel the grain of the wood scrape lightly against my palm. I let out a harsh breath, and slam my brush on my palette. My fingers slip, letting go of the brush, and slide against the cold edge of my palette knife. The metal cuts into my skin, leaving a trail of blood behind on my fingers. I curse, and pull my hand away, bringing my fingers to my lips. I wince, and press my bloody hand to my lips as pain courses through them. I can feel my pulse beating through my fingers, pressing against the veins, dying to escape. I squeeze my eyes shut.

The ring of the bell startles my eyes open after a few seconds, and I glance to the open doorway of my studio room. The path to the door remains empty, as it should. No one is here to answer the door but myself. I should know that..

I curse again, and wipe my fingers against my pants, a decision I will probably regret later, and quickly get up to answer the door. Brushing my fingers against the denim of my pants causes them to begin to sting, and I clench my jaw in annoyance.

Why did I have to do that.

So dumb. So dumb.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I reach the door, grasping it with my uninjured hand, and tug it open. Cold air from the hall breezes in, and I am met with Sehun. 

“Hello, my name is Sehun and I’m here to talk with you about the upcoming election. It is important to know about-” 

He stops talking when he realizes it is me. He shuts his mouth quickly, staring at me for a second or two. I stare back at him, my hand still on the doorknob.

“Why do you have blood on your pants? Or should I not ask?” He questions, again beginning our conversation with an inquiry. 

“Oh..” I glance down, “I cut my hand on my palette knife and wiped it on my pants.” I hold up my injured hand for proof, blood still slowly seeping out. 

“Why are you just standing around answering the door then? You need to bandage it up.”

“How am I supposed to bandage it up when you keep asking me questions and keeping me here?” 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah.. That’s true. Well, I guess I’ll just mark your house off on my list and get on my way then. Is it weird that I know where you live but I’ve only met you once?”

He keeps asking such odd questions.

“No, it’s not weird, as long as you don’t plan on stalking me-”

“I don’t,” He quickly answers.

“And if you want, you can come inside and see what I’m working on. Since you were with me when I was sketching it. At the coffee shop.”

I don’t even know what words are coming out of my mouth, but they make him smile a bit, which I guess I like. It is kind of cute, and I think I should draw him sometime. 

“Oh, really? I don’t want to impose anything on you. If you’re sure, then I guess I can pretend I went to the rest of the homes on my list. There are only a few left anyways.”

“Sure, come in. It’s no problem..”

I step back and watch him quickly walk into my apartment. It’s a bit small, but nothing to be ashamed of. My parents helped me save for it, and it is a lovely space, with a view of the street outside. The building also has a roof garden, which I like to sketch in during the summer. 

I close the door behind him, and wander in to the kitchen to wash off my hand. I let cool water run over it for a few seconds, and turn to look at Sehun, who has trailed behind me into the kitchen. His eyes flit everywhere, trying to absorb as many details about the space as possible. Yet, he doesn’t look nervous. Instead, he looks calm, collected. 

I don’t get it.

I shake my hand lightly, and turn off the faucet. I turn, and pull open a drawer, extracting a few band-aids, which I wrap around my injured fingers. Problem solved.

“So, what were you doing? Campaigning for a candidate?” I ask as I lead him to my studio.

“Oh, that? Yeah, I do that sometimes to fill my weekends so I don’t just sit at home, doing nothing, and never going outside. It also gives me some exercise, which is good. I have to admit, I’m not that passionate about the candidate or the election really. I suppose it’s a bit cruel into making people think I am, but it doesn’t really matter..” He trails off towards the end as we enter my small studio space. 

There aren’t any windows, and the walls are covered with blots of paint and various sizes of drawings and sketches that I’ve decided I enjoy and hung up on the wall to display. I have a mess of papers spilling out of the drawers that cover the far wall, and random supplies litter one of my tables. My current painting rests on an easel, a dirty palette resting next to it, with the palette knife sitting on the edge, the culprit of my injury.

I move to stand in front of my painting to show him, but when I glance towards the entrance, I see him just standing there, his eyes roaming the walls in wonder. His mouth hangs open a little, and his eyes are wide as he searches the walls, but he remains composed otherwise.

“..Sehun?” I voice softly, attempting to catch his attention.

“Hmm? Yeah?” He jerks himself out of his distraction, glancing at me, his eyes slowly focusing on my form, “Did you say something?”

“No..I was just wondering if you’re ok? Are you shocked or something? C’mere.”

“I’m not shocked, it’s just that there is so much to see. And it’s all so good, I could never do anything like this, though I’m not a very good artist in the first place. I’ve never seen anything like this before..” He murmurs as he carefully walks next to me, paying attention so that he doesn’t disturb my ‘artistic’ mess.

“Maybe you should just visit a few museums, my art isn’t much different from other contemporary work. But that’s not the point, come look.”

“No, no, your work is different, it’s good.” His answer slowly comes to a stop as he lays eyes on my painting. Again he quiets as he inspects the work in progress. I watch as his eyes trace over the girl’s body, her hair, her limp arms, her slim form. I watch as he takes in the dark background, simple forms leaving much to the viewers imagination. And I watch as his face turns towards mine.

When his eyes meet mine I see him grimace, his brows furrow, his eyes turn dark, almost sad, as our views collide into one.

“Sehun? Are you ok?” I ask, raising my brows in question.

He just shakes his head, his expression of bewildered sadness disappearing in an instant. He turns his head away slightly, and when he looks back towards me, all I see is his usual expression of calm covering his features.

“I-I’m fine.. But this, this is really good. It looks so real, and I feel like there is a lot left over for the viewer to wonder about. Why is she lying there? Is she dead? Why isn’t anyone else there? I like it, I like it a lot.” His encouraging words spill out of his mouth, like an overflowing river that can’t stop itself.

“Yeah, I guess. I feel like it’s missing something though, don’t you think?”

“Hmm..” he glances at the painting again, but quickly shakes his head decisively, “I just think you need to finish painting it, and then it’s gold. Good to go.”

“Really? Hmm..” I turn my head to stare at it again, lost in thought. As I trace over the familiar lines of paint, my vision blinks out, and I see nothing but white, but then the painting comes back to me, its simple texture in focus and clear. I blink again, yet my vision again blurs, then glitches, just as a broken television or old movie might. I shake my head slightly, and blink again, trying to clear whatever must be in my eyes.

But I don’t feel a thing.

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask this, but Minji, are you ok?” His comfortable voice brings me back to reality, and I quickly turn to look at him, my vision instantly clearing as I study his arms, neck, face, then eyes.

“Ah, no..I think there must have been something in my eyes. It’s nothing.”

“Oh, ok..” He looks at me intently, as if he is  trying to detect something that is hiding just beneath the surface. I watch as his eyes bore into mine, searching, searching….

---

The door shuts behind him, and I breath a sigh. I didn’t realize how tired I was as I spoke to him, but now it hits my like a wave, and I feel the sudden urge to take a nap. A long, nice nap.

I slowly make my way to my bedroom, but as I meander towards the room, my vision begins acting up again.

The hall turns upside down, and I stumble. The world in front of my crumples and smoothes out, it turns white then black, it shakes, it grinds against its surroundings. It blurs, then sharpens, it brightens and darkens. All within a second or two. And I wouldn’t think anything of it normally, I would equate these odd symptoms to my crushing tiredness, but I remember this happening earlier, when I was looking over my painting. I remember that brief vision of complete whiteness, and the glitch of my eyes that changed my vision so.

And I remember looking to Sehun and seeing a clear, perfect image again.

---

He walks away from her closed door, worried. He could see it in her eyes as she flinched and shook her head that it had begun to happen. Her vision has started to fall apart, he thinks. He fishes in his pocket for his phone, and quickly types the date and a few notes of today’s visit. He has to remember when this started, just to try and postpone the inevitable end. He has to, he has to. Because he doesn’t want to see her go.

And instead of using the steps to exit the building as anyone normally would, he drags his arm through the open air and disappears, through an unseen door. All that is left behind is the lingering scent of the cologne he usually wears, floating in the stale air of the empty hallway.

[hiddenspring]

The elevator dinged as you reached the third floor. You were on your way to visit your boyfriend, Chanyeol, in his dorm. You hadn’t had a chance to spend some quality time with him, and you were excited to have a chance to talk and joke around with him. Maybe share a kiss or two.

You walked up to the door and reached into your bag for the key. He had trusted you with a key to EXO’s dorm for your six month anniversary. While some saw this as moving a bit fast, both of you saw it as something completely rational. Your relationship with Chanyeol had grown quickly from the day you two met on the street, and your personalities simply clicked. With such a trusting relationship, the next step was logically the sharing of keys, and you two saw nothing wrong with that.

As you slipped the key into the lock, you thought you detected the sound of music behind the door, but thought nothing of it. The guys liked to listen to music a lot, and it had never bothered you, or seemed out of place. 

Neither of them heard you close the door and slip off your shoes.

“Hey, Baekhyun, what are you doing, stealing away my boyfriend?” You yell from the entryway, putting down your bag and walking over to the jubilant pair. Chanyeol gasped and tried to turn around, but half-slipped and leaned back against the couch to catch his balance, a laugh escaping his mouth.

“Now, now, I think you should place the blame on your boyfriend here, who was clearly seducing me.” Baekhyun attempted to defend himself as the song finally ended, and the music faded away.

You turned your attention to the awkward Chanyeol, who was trying to stand up, while doubling over with laughter. It wasn’t quite working.

“Chanyeol, what were you doing?”

“We..- we were just singing. It was nothing..” His laughter penetrated his speech, causing short pauses as he attempted to gasp for air.

“Nothing? You were proposing marriage! But you know what, I think I can forgive you if you tell me why two grown-ish men were singing a song from a children’s movie. That song is so corny and silly! Why do you even like it so much?”

“Woah, woah, now don’t go insulting Frozen. This is a cinematic masterpiece. It won an Oscar.” Baekhyun quickly began to defend the movie, his amused expression transforming into one of complete seriousness.

“That doesn’t justify this behavior… I should just give up on your two.”

“Don’t give up on me, I can be fixed. But look at this kid, he is totally helpless. He can’t stop laughing, he can’t get himself together. How do you expect to marry someone like this, who can’t be serious in such a delicate situation?” 

Both you and Baekhyun looked down to Chanyeol, who was collapsed on the floor, his eyes shut in joy as he tried to control his laughter once again.

His gasping laughs could be heard for minutes, and soon your soft giggles could be detected along with his loud cries.

I've been watching too much Roommate. Episode 4, here I come.

[hiddenspring]

I'm working on the second part of Dead Girl in a Museum Gallery tonight! Hopefully it'll be up over the weekend. (:

[hiddenspring]

Hello ! so im new to your blog ( awesome blog btw ) and i just read "Lover to Lover" and boy i cried my eyes out . I cried for like fifteen minutes straight . I just have to say that it was probably the best one shot i've ever read like seriously it was perfect and the feels OH MY GOD Thank you for this masterpiece , you are amazing <3

Wow, thank you so much. ;a; I write as a hobby, and so it means a lot to me that you enjoyed my writing and it actually got to you and effected you in such a way. You are so welcome, and I will definitely do my best to put out some new reading material soon. (: Just gotta get through these next four weeks, and I'll be done with testing, so I will have lots more time to write. <3

[hiddenspring]

Book #6-16

wow i've missed 10 days someone punch me in the face why am i so busy

06 - A book that makes you sad;

Battle Royale

07 - Most underrated book;

Ruins of Lace by Iris Anthony

08 - Most overrated book;

Harry Potter (i dislike this series strongly..). Also, Divergent is pretty overrated.

09 - A book you thought you wouldn’t like but ended up loving;

Recently, no book that I thought I'd dislike has been really good. I can't think of anything really. Every book I've read that I thought I'd dislike, I've disliked.

10 - Favorite classic book;

The Great Gatsby

11 - A book you hated;

Oh my god. I got this book for free and I was like 'ok I'll read this I guess..' and I finished it, but just for the laughs. It is sooo bad - cliche, stereotypical. I could predict the whole plot from start to finish. Shadows by Paula Weston.

12 - A book you used to love but don’t anymore;

Divergent

13 - Your favorite writer;

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Haruki Marakami, and Maria Snyder

14 - Favorite book of your favorite writer;

I'll go with Murakami to answer this question. 1Q84!

15 - A favorite book cover;

1Q84, and Flight From Berlin by David John.

16 - Favorite female character;

Takako Chigusa from Battle Royale.

[hiddenspring]

Book #2-5

woooo i'm bad at remembering to do these

02 - A book that you’ve read more than 3 times;

Ha. I don't reread books ever really. Or I haven't yet..

03 - Your favorite series;

Hmm..Does 1Q84 (by Haruki Murakami) count as a series even though all the parts are in one book? I guess I'll go with..His Fair Assassin (Robin LaFevers)? I really like assassins, and medieval assassins are even better. I haven't read anything in a series in forever. ;a;

04 - Favorite book of your favorite series;

Grave Mercy..the series isn't over yet, I believe there is one more book to come. 

05 - A book that makes you happy;

Recently, I'd go with After Dark by Haruki Murakami. (Though, gotta say Hunger Pains and Nighlight are pretty funny too)

[hiddenspring]

01 - Best book you read last year:

Ugh..I read so many good books last year. ;a; I'll have to go with Battle Royale though. I had wanted to read it for so long, and it definitely matched up with my expectations. It's one of my favorite books, and it's really stuck with me, which is pretty rare for a book (I tend to forget most books I read, and I read quite a lot..)

[inariellebliss]

[hiddenspring]

01 - Best book you read last year; 02 - A book that you’ve read more than 3 times; 03 - Your favorite series; 04 - Favorite book of your favorite series; 05 - A book that makes you happy; 06 - A book that makes you sad; 07 - Most underrated book; 08 - Most overrated book; 09 - A book...

[hiddenspring]

Dead Girl in a Museum Gallery - Part 1, An Introduction

“This is a lullaby that wakes up your soul

Go up high and look down on yourself”

-MTBD, 2NE1

Today I went to a museum.

Today I saw a dead girl in an art gallery.

Today is when I stood there, staring, at her dead body - her hair creating a dark puddle around her head, her arm leaning on the curve of her side, her legs curled up around her, as if to protect her from some unseen enemy.

Too bad she was already dead.

A guard eventually tore me away from my interesting view, my view of something new and interesting. I had gone there to draw old masterpieces, but instead I found something much more inspirational, something that peaked my interesting a way that nothing else had in awhile.

A dead girl.

Am I morbid? Is this fascination wrong?

I don’t know.

All I know is that I was inspired in that moment, when I first laid eyes on her. At first I didn’t realize she was dead, she just looked like she had suddenly decided to take a nap in front of a famous painting. She seemed so lonely, yet so content, and for awhile I just stared at her. I didn’t think to call security, or shout for help.

I just looked.

I haven’t seen a dead body before. Even though many of my relatives have died, no one ever had an open casket, or if they did, I was too young to view the body. My parents thought I would be afraid, and wouldn’t understand it. That a person can be dead. Gone. 

But I understood it. I understood the crying faces, their sad tears and soft wails echoing off the thin walls of the funeral home. I understood what they were feeling, but I guess I didn’t feel it myself. I was six then, during my first funeral. My aunt had died. My mother stood next to me, shaking silently with tears creeping down her face. And I held her hand, trying to drum up one thing I would miss about my aunt. 

I couldn’t think of anything.

When the guard moved me away, I didn’t protest, and slowly walked away, looking back once to catch a final glimpse of her, surrounded by frantic policemen and stunned security personnel. 

I’m sure they were wondering ‘Why is there a dead girl in an art gallery?’

---

The coffee shop was bustling with people when I entered, but I didn’t mind. It provided noise to block out my own thoughts, which I didn’t want to focus on yet. I didn’t want to let out any detail of what I had just seen, I wanted to remember it all. 

So I could draw it. 

I stood in line, money in hand, and quickly ordered a coffee. The woman who took my order looked frazzled and tired, and her frizzy hair reminded me of the dead girl’s hair, spread around her in wisps and curls. I smiled a little. The woman thought I had smiled at her, and offered me a tired smile in return. I didn’t bother to correct her.

I found a seat in the far back, at a table for two. I sat my bag in the chair opposite me, and brought out my sketchbook. I quickly found a pencil and began writing and scribbling, finally letting all my thoughts come loose. I wanted to transfer every single thing I remembered onto my paper, I wanted to engrave it in stone, I wanted to remember it forever. 

My pencil covered the page, filling every single white space with tiny words, phrases and images. In the center of my page I had created a simple sketch of her pose, how she was laying there all alone, surrounded by beautiful works of art. The new, different, almost unseen beauty of her dead body juxtaposed against the recognized, traditional beauty of the masterpieces I had been hoping to see.

Instead I laid eyes on something entirely different, and even more amazing.

But before I could finish transcribing all my thoughts, a rough, mid-toned voice broke my concentration.

“What are you working on?” it asked, and I looked up to see a young man, about my age, standing on the opposite side of the table, looking down at me. He was quite tall, with dyed blonde hair swirled above his head, and black-framed glasses seated atop his nose. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, and rested the other on the back of the chair with my bag sitting on it.

“An idea.” I answered curtly, not appreciating his intrusion into my state of concentration.

“What are you drawing, though? It looks like a person..” he continued to ask, his eyes searching my paper for a clue as to what I am doing. I glanced down at my work, before looking back up to him.

“I’m drawing a dead girl.” 

“A dead girl?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. A dead girl.”

“Hmm…” he pursed his lips before opening them again to ask yet another question, “Can I sit here?” He motioned to the seat where my bag rested.

“I guess, just move my bag onto the floor.”

He slid into the seat across from me, nimbly moving my bag to the floor and setting his cup of coffee on the table. He quickly reached inside his jacket and brought out a small notebook and pencil, and started writing. I watched as he filled the page with words and moved on to the next one. He didn’t seem to notice my gaze upon him, and kept writing diligently. I took one last glance at him before returning my attention to my own sketchbook. 

---

It was almost 4pm when I realized my coffee cup was finally empty, and that the stranger across from me was standing up to leave. He stood and threw away his empty cup, before coming back to collect his notebook. He placed my bag back on the chair he had just vacated, before turning to face me.

“Thanks for letting me sit with you.” He smiled slightly at the end of his sentence and offered me a small bow. I nodded my head in response.

“Sure. No problem.”

He nodded in response, and turned, beginning to leave. His steps were slow put precise, the sound of his shoes almost nonexistent against the soft background noise in the cafe.

He was about to leave, reaching to touch the door with his hand, his other hand stuffed in a pocket.

But I stood up, knocking my chair into the wall behind me.

“Wait, what’s your name?” I called over the chatter of the people around me. No one bothered to look up, too absorbed in their own little worlds.

But he heard me, and turned around to look at me, standing in the corner of this tiny cafe, looking straight at him.

“Sehun, Oh Sehun. You?” He responded, raising his voice to be heard.

“Kyo Minji.” 

“Well, I’ll see you later, Minji.” He waved and disappeared into the throng of people outside.

I sat back down, and quickly picked up my pencil, scribbling his name in the corner of my page. I had a feeling I should remember it, that it was something important.

I’ll see you later, Minji..

What did he mean by that? See me later? How does he know that we’ll ever meet again? In such a large city, with millions of people wandering the streets every day, how does he know?

I felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension as I pondered his words, my eyes unfocused and my mouth set in a straight line. As I remembered his messy hair and dark glasses, I was reminded of the dead girl. Her disheveled hair and dark silhouette, lying, alone, on the floor. His light eyes filled with curiosity, glancing down at my drawing, her empty eyes, glancing up at the paintings above her.

Was there something similar about them, or was I just putting together unconnected facts?

I didn’t know, and I didn’t particularly care at the moment.

I just had a little feeling I’d see him again, just as he’d said.

---

In a cold, metal coffin, the dead girl is resting on her back, her eyes shut and her mouth closed. Her legs are set straight, her toes pointing up, to the locked lid of the coffin. Her arms are placed across her chest, as if she is in prayer. But not even the strongest wish, desire or prayer could bring her back.

She is long gone, and her body now rests, empty, in a single metal compartment, in the city’s morgue.

Alone.

---

Kim Minji is also alone, though she won’t be for long. She will meet a nice man and have a nice life, but little does she know, there is something dark swirling around her, threatening to pull away the pieces of her life that make it livable.

Because Kim Minji looks exactly like the dead girl at the museum. 

Enjoy! I haven't  proofread all of this, so if there are any mistakes, please point them out! I hope you guys like the first part of this little story.. (:

[belleresources-blog]