It's like a splash of cold water, a bucket of ice over his head, when Beckett Kang skids down the hall of the freshly abandoned dim halls, the rumor of a killer on the loose sending everyone else in a panic- running for every exit and ever door, just to find his best friend settled against some wall, a hand holding his bloodied side. They both look grimy- er, Beckett feels grimy, with his wild hair and even wider eyes, pupils trembling as they enlarge in fear. Not for the killer, of course. There's a basic first aid he stole from one of the other rooms in his grasp. Beckett already knows who's on the loose. He's not afraid of the boy on the loose, the only other boy in the building with him now.
He's holding his side, the other boy. Soren, Beckett's best friend, is holding his side. And oh. Oh, there's so so much blood. So much of the red fluid that seemed to flow from between the crevices of Soren's fingers. The hand that's holding his side is so so bloodied and--
Beckett feels a wave of lightheadedness wash over him. His vision feels hazy suddenly and his head spins with an attempt to grapple for anything- anything that'd keep him here. Present in the moment. So that he doesn't fucking pass out before even helping his best friend in some way. There's a panic that floods his senses and despite the tumble of his stomach and how fucking grimy he feels- all too fucking hyperaware of the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails and nonexistent dust clinging to his bare skin. It's all in your head, it's all in your head. Focus!
Shaky fingers reach for the box; Beckett Kang tries his best not to look at the fluids seeping onto the floor- that's his best friend's blood! He tries to suppress the nausea, as his fingers graze the various tools to suture a wound. He's gonna need stitches isn't he- oh god, Soren's gonna need stitches and Beckett feels like he's gonna vomit-.
He doesn't even know how to stitch someone together- let alone stitch up his best friend. Beckett's rarely been in a first aid setting in his life- er. He's rarely been on the other side like this in his life. It feels crazy.
And even though Soren's the one who groans in pain, holding his injured side, he's surely the braver of the two. The more jaded, less afraid of a lil blood or the slash along his side. It's Beckett who's looking pale. As if the color had drained from his face and was leaving his body the same way Soren was bleeding. It's a ghastly scene; and even though the thoughts that cursed Beckett seemed to drag out and prolong the panic and adrenaline, the time that passes is short. A few minutes at most, and even before Beckett's able to register what he's done, his hands have already worked to lay out a towel from the first aid, tools of various kinds between the two boys. Where did he even find it in his subconscious to know what to retrieve?
And to make matters worse, the thought of the needle sinking into his best friend's skin- Beckett doesn't know it, but he's broken out into cold sweat as a shudder travels down his spine.
Be brave for Soren. Be brave, you can do this, it's not a b-
Suddenly something flies over Beckett's head and his vision goes dark- dimmed, but not completely gone. The soft material of a towel whispers over his skin, flattens his hair, and Beckett blinks. He's still here. He's not simply gone. It takes the boy a beat or two more to register that Soren had thrown a towel over his head. The other boy's voice comes not long after, gritted and tight; must be from the pain. "Give me what I ask for and I can stitch it myself, don't throw up. Keep your eyes off, Beckett."
The studio room lights are dimmed to the lowest setting, the neon sign hanging on the wall brighter than even the LEDs in this moment. ‘LOVE TAP’ hangs across the wall in magenta pink. The room itself possessed an equally bright monitor, some equipment, and a couch in the back- it’s somewhat squished, to be honest. But the boys always called it cozy. Or at least- bearable enough for them to be present for multiple hours at a time.
Sitting in front of the aforementioned monitor, Connor Kwon fiddles with the keys of an oversized launchpad; buttons and knobs, slides and everything in between fit compactly onto a keyboard that sprawled across the desk. He’s dressed down and comfortable today, in some simple black sweater with no design or words imprinted into the fabric and raggedy gray sweatpants- the kind that doesn’t get worn outside of the comforts of a home, but is too cozy to simply give up and throw away. The other boys didn’t seem to mind anyway.
Finding a particular note that scratched an itch he didn’t know existed, Connor starts to play; he has something going in no time, but doesn’t expect more out of the session than maybe some vibing from the other two in the room.
But Cash has different ideas floating in his mind, because it doesn’t take long for the boy to pull a chair over and swivel to sidle next to Connor, shoulders bumping minimally upon contact. He grins, despite the playful side-eye the latter offers him. Dressed in a dark tee and adidas track pants, he doesn’t look too different from Connor regarding comfort. Save for the cap he also threw on- backwards.
“I think your girl, think your girl fell in love with me…”
A grin splits across Cash’s face when Connor finally turns to look at him properly now. A small snicker breaks across the boy’s own face as he keys in another note. Another sound that strikes a chord within both boys’ chests.
“She say my fuck and my tongue game a remedy~”
A gravel-edged voice joins with a slight chuckle. There’s a sparkle in Connor’s eyes as he turns back to his keys, a few more keys in now with renewed vigor.
“Oh yeah, yeah.”
From the couch, a third voice ends their little melody and at the inclusion, both Connor and Cash turn to look over their shoulders.
The last boy, one with fluffy, freshly permed, poodle hair, is lounging on the singular couch in their studio room, a notebook and pen in hand. Dressed in some casual button up shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, he lounges against the cushions, the soft material practically swallowing him whole.
When silence fills the air, said boy, Kingston, looks up from his notes with a hum, eyebrow raised slightly in inquiry. “Hm? Don’t stop on my account, don’t mind me.”
“No, no- we should have done that on live is all-'' Connor shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders ever so slightly “That was a little too perfect, thanks guys.”
A thumbs up from Cash and King throws his own ‘okay’ sign up in response.
“Hold on, let me go call Kitty, maybe we can start a live now, if you guys want.”
“At 1 am?” It’s King with the rational mind.
“Yeah, I mean- I’m probably kicked out of my room for a bit, anyway. The real ones will be awake!”
Needless to say, the three boys start and end the live at ass o’clock, unfortunately for the local fans.
so maybe it was all meant to be, Huo "Casimir" Xue Yi
Abandonment wasn’t something that Casimir Huo often thought about during his time with the Veil- er, it was, but not in the same light as he once viewed it when he was a child.
As a child, Casimir was left alone, thrown to the government of Arcadia by parents who either didn’t want him to begin with, anymore, or wanted their son to thrive under the propaganda run city-state. Although the officials of Arcadia always proclaimed the latter of the three, deep down, even the child in Casimir knew that was a lie of protection for his own small body of big feelings. His parents didn’t want him- either anymore or to begin with didn’t matter to Casimir. His parents didn’t want him anymore. He was abandoned as a child, considered to be an orphan, despite believing that both of his parents were alive and well. Somewhere- he would never know, since he had never seen their faces before. (Although the boy thought that perhaps he would have inherited their genes, strong and distinct.)
His parents were Casimir’s first abandonment.
His second came in the form of emotional abandonment- by the very caretakers who used to let him grow and thrive. By those who raised him from boy to man, but eventually let their grasp on him go when he was struggling the hardest. When his power and status began to fall within the experiment and his health began to fail, it seemed like no one cared any longer. No one batted an eye in his direction or offered him the help he needed.
And under the burden of competition, he couldn’t seek the comfort of the very three who grew up with him.
Perhaps his third abandonment came then. When he began to distance himself from those he cherished and loved. When the attention no longer seemed as enticing as it once was. Or maybe his inner child began to abandon him. Fading away into the darkness as the years continued to pass, war waged both physically and mentally on his mind and body.
But perhaps the last abandonment wasn’t one made against him.
But rather, Casimir chose to abandon the one thing that he thought would mean the most in the world.
He abandoned the only home he’d ever known.
Joined the organization that wanted to oust the only home he’d ever known.
But in place of this sense of abandonment- Casimir reunited with the one man who he never thought would become his home.
‘Course, they grew up together, Casimir had always trusted his best friend with his life.
But leaving everything he’d ever known hadn’t been easy.
Knowing what he’d known hadn’t been easy. But leaving was even harder than.
How could his parents leave him all alone?
Did they not feel the sorrow he felt when he abandoned everyone?
Did his caretakers not care either?
They were questions that would haunt Casimir for months- perhaps even a year, after packing his belongings.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you today. I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.
I miss you.
I miss our summers together, spent running through the tall, grassy meadow just behind your house. I miss your laugh and your pretty hair and the way it’s so easy for me to turn you pink.
I always said that the rosy hue looked pretty, sitting high on your cheekbones. I never lied about that. And it’s true, but I miss it now. Kinda wish I could fluster you again, you know… make you question some of your choices- but in a good way, of course.
I miss your horribly accented Danish, the way you pronounce some of the words is my favorite. Even though it makes me laugh and I tease you for it. You know I mean well with it, right?
But either way, you haven’t stopped running through my mind today.
Even through the drills we practiced with and the rehearsals for the big day, the only thought that seemed to bounce around in my head is the thought of you. The idea that soon- very soon, I’d be on my way to that wretched school of yours. Hogwarts. The school for losers. But at least you would be there.
I’m not sure I would have wanted to go on this “field trip” if not for you, you know.
Life would have been easier if you just decided to man up and transfer to Durmstrang, too. It would be lots of fun. We could definitely rule the school, I wouldn’t even doubt it for a second.
But anyway- you know, writing letters isn’t exactly my forte and we both know my penmanship isn’t strong by any means. But allowing my thoughts to bleed onto the paper in dark inks, I find, helps me with missing you.
Do you feel closer, when you write?
I mean, I know I don’t sound nearly as sophisticated or eloquent. But I don’t mean to be.
Unfortunately for you, you only get to experience the raw, unpolished version of me.
But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. The same way I enjoy thinking about your presence, thinking about when the next time we could meet face to face is.
Is it weird to say I miss your warmth? Well, I do. I miss your voice and the way you complain, to be honest.
You definitely should have transferred to Durmstrang.
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well, I’ll have another one coming, that isn’t so hastily thrown together. I know this sounds rushed- I promise the only thing rushing is the plagued thought that we have more months before the summers arrive again.
The endings in your letters always makes me wanna puke with how mushy it is <3. But nonetheless, I wish you well all the same.
I love you.
Jun Song.
(p.s don’t throw your opportunities away for me, we have all the time in the world to spend together!)
(p.s again, I do in fact keep your letters. You can’t stop me 😊)
whatever i have, i’m glad you’re one of them, Bae “Nohea” Jaehyun
Soft pads brush against Nohea’s bottom lip as his eyes trained, sparkly and longing, up through his bleach blonde locks at another boy who seemed to be the center of his entire world in this heartbeat. His hair is messy and unkempt, having just woken up from a bedhead-worthy nap and his baggy tee shirt barely hangs off his deceivingly thin shoulders. He’s more filled out than he looks from a distance; his love for oversized clothing and material that doesn’t cling to his frame certainly didn’t help much either. Hidden below the duvets, he wore nothing but some pair of Calvin Klein boxers into bed, the silky sheets brushing tenderly against his inner thigh when he sits up a little farther on his ass.
The other boy, just slightly older than he, had just roused Nohea awake for a meal, warm and prepared by himself and one of their mutual friends. And although Nohea could smell the decadence that wafted through the heavy door of his living quarters, the blonde haired boy finds himself much more attracted to something else.
The dark orbs that were like pools of dark chocolate, warm and inviting. They swirled and regarded Nohea so respectfully, so dotingly, that he couldn’t help but be drawn; even in his sleep-ridden state.
But that wasn’t what caught his attention at the moment- er, a lie; it was partially the reason, perhaps, but there was something else.
Worry.
Concern for something.
A turmoil that swam in those dark eyes, shielded by thick, pretty lashes. Something was happening- had happened, and his best friend wasn’t happy about it. More than anything, the look is what pulls any lingering grogginess away from Nohea’s mind; effectively sobering him up.
“What’s wrong?” The blonde boy mumbles quietly, equally gentle hands reaching up to hold his company’s wrist. But it only wrapped delicately around smooth, warm skin. As if afraid that the other boy could shatter like glass or disappear if he held on too firmly. “Did something happen while I was resting? Are the others okay? Maddox?” He murmurs in question, while bringing the other boy’s palm to his lips so that he could press soft affections against his warmth.
The other, with sable brown locks and those dark eyes full of chaotic thoughts that were evidently not so well hidden, shakes his head and lets his shoulder sigh. The other man allows Nohea to continue with his affections, too burdened by everything else to protest- or maybe he wouldn’t have protested at all, regardless.
“Just wanted to check on you, is all. There’s a lot going on right now.”
“I know there’s more than that.”
“Well, you’re not well- that’s one. But I guess you’re right. Arlen wrapped himself up with the authorities again-”
“Again?”
“-Again. Cypress is still locked away in isolation because of the last attempt-”
“As it is expected.”
“-Mhm.. Maddox is physically okay, but he’s mentally exhausted, you know? Worrying about all of us like the type of dude he is. But most of all- I miss you. I wish I knew what was making you so sick.”
Again, Nohea presses another kiss to his best friend’s palm. The sentiment makes him tingle, from the place where his lips made contact to the sable haired boy’s skin, to every end of his body; through his veins, down his spine.
“It’s just how it is, you know? Can’t change the hand that’s been dealt.”
“But I wish I could! I wish you were healthy enough to be active, again.”
“Can you just stop being so goddamn stubborn for like two minutes and listen to what I have to say?”
“Yeah and what do you have to say that isn’t lecturing me all the time? That’s all I hear from you, you know. You did this wrong, you did that wrong- there’s never a time where we actually see eye to eye these days and it’s so fucking annoying- you’re so naggy and I hate that about you.”
“Well maybe if you stopped getting into trouble for two seconds and listened to what I had to say, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You think I want to nag at you? But what if Arcadia decides you are no longer worth anything? What if they decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth? What am I supposed to do if they take you and I can’t be there to stop it? Do you even know what you put Maddox through all the time too? You’re such a brat all the time these days and it’s fucking insufferable.”
Well the last bit there hurt.
Angry words and harsh pants from two young men going head to head echo and bounce across their shared bedrooms. No one else is present around them- everyone else has decided to hide from the terrors and the drama that they knew would explode from both the ever exhausted Harlow and ever irritable Arlen.
Arlen was always in and out of trouble.
Harlow was always stressed as hell.
They almost made the perfect family dynamic- with the stern older brother and the one who had nothing to lose.
Which meant that their arguments often blew in proportions until neither of them could handle being within even 10 feet of one another. Someone always ended up with more than they asked for- this time, Arlen was the one force fed the consequences of his actions.
Yet his stubborn nature kept him from apologizing or even trying to seem apologetic for the problems he caused. It wasn’t his fault! They were suffering because of the facilities!
He wants so terribly badly to scream at Harlow. To yell at him some more for being equally stupid- uh, stubborn, for not seeing the physical and emotional tolls.
But Arlen finds himself clamping his jaws shut at the mention of Maddox.
Maddox Kang.
Their poor friend who, although didn’t seem like he batted much of an eye at any of his questionable choices, often suffered the most while pulling strings behind the scenes to get him out.
Even if Maddox tried to hide his pain, Arlen knew of it too.
The same way Harlow was aware- too aware, almost.
The thought of Maddox makes Arlen swallow harshly, to try and rid the knot growing in his throat at the thought of his friend’s suffering. He tries not to think about how his consequences always hit Maddox hardest- like the sharpest slap on the cheek. He tries to swallow down both his stubbornness and pride.
For Maddox. Not Harlow.
“Fine… maybe you’re right just this once.” He concedes simply.
Still finding it too shameful in his headass to admit more.
Harlow takes what he can from Arlen, regardless.
Both boys shut up as Harlow tips his head slightly in acknowledgment.
Standing across the busy street, a cup of coffee in his grasp, Casimir watches as another man disappears into the crowd. With his wine red hair and handsome features only a fleeting scene- and then he’s gone. As if he never existed in the first place. Like a whisper of Casimir’s memory and nothing more; even if he knew that the other man was alive and well. And celebrated, even. By the ever centralized government that controlled the entirety of his city-state in their grasp.
And Casimir Huo realizes that he couldn’t have been freed without letting go of his desperate grasp first.
-
“Where are you going?”
“Back home. Where we belong- alongside the others. You know, as protectors of this city.”
“But what if that was a lie all along?”
“When will you see that we will just continue to be used and hurt?”
“We won’t. We aren’t. Don’t doubt my loyalty to Arcadia.”
“I’m sorry.”
-
Without an emotional goodbye or even a hug filled with sorrow, two young men parted ways from one another.
That was months ago now.
The seasons have changed from summer to winter once again.
And although Casimir hadn’t realized how much weight would be lifted from his shoulders then, he never felt more free in the coming frigid months. Away from the ever suffocating smell of a too eerily pristine facility and left to his own devices. For good, this time.
And although it was terribly difficult to find the separation between himself and those he had become so accustomed and attached to, the long months that pushed space between these connections made it so… much easier to move forward.
And suddenly, his goals changed. His future changed. And so did his purpose. There were no more ties to those who held him back.
Rather, he strengthened the ties that kept him fighting forward, marching onward to protect those who had become his only breath.
And he meant it- truly. To know that he still breathed with purpose (other than keeping his physical body alive, ‘course), and he served his purpose each day with bright eyes and less heartache.
It… dulled the initial pain of feeling as if he’d ripped himself away from the only people he’d ever known.
-
And now Casimir stood here. Among those who he regarded higher than those who left… who he left behind.
Perhaps he would have liked to think of the incident as being left behind by the people he cared for most. (And perhaps, at least emotionally, he was left behind by those said individuals.)
But deep in his chest, the young man knew the truth of the situation.
He left them behind in the facilities. With the very government he now so enthusiastically rejected.
Maybe if they followed in his footsteps, they could have still been kept together. Or even reunited along the way, as he was with his best friend.
-
So perhaps you leaving made my options clear and my consequences a smaller pill to swallow.
The pain fades away like the warmth of summer when autumn begins to settle in.
dauntless for the ones i love, Kang “Maddox” Jihyuk
Laying in his friend’s arms, Cypress Yang stares aimlessly up at the ceiling fan above. The one that creaks ever so slightly with every swivel of one of those sad, decrepit looking blades. It’s not even on, but the fan is loose enough that even the slightest disturbance in the air is enough to send one of the aforementioned blades turning achingly slow. The ceiling of their- er, Cypress’, room doesn’t look like it even fits with the rest of the facility at this point. From the run down looking fan just barely hanging by the wire on the ceiling to the discolored walls- the boy’s convinced he’d been thrown in here by punishment.
And he has. For choosing to talk back in one of the most recent check-ins just a couple weeks ago. Now the government of Arcadia had an even more ever watchful eye on him. From the cameras carefully placed in this room that was not his to the ever-unkempt state of the room, they were absolutely intending to punish him by making his living conditions worsen by the day.
And it was kind of working, to be honest. Except maybe things didn’t seem as bad whenever Maddox decided to stay over with him, against all odds.
The facilities didn’t seem to mind that the older boy had chosen his own fate by staying even for a moment in the room. They saw no harm in allowing him the… luxury of equally terrible conditions.
And Cypress was ever grateful for his older friend, who never hesitated to come to his rescue. In fact, Maddox hadn’t left his side for longer than a couple hours at a time now, choosing to come back with him at every whim.
They both know the room isn’t safe. They were both damaging their bodies- one without a choice and the other intentionally, by choosing poison over clean.
“You know, you could go back to Harlow, right? I know you’re doing this for me, but it’s just hurting you too.” Looking up with large owlish eyes, the innocence of a boy is clear as day.
Maddox knows the young boy meant well. But how could anyone leave him behind? In fact, if it weren’t Maddox who volunteered to stay with Cypress, then Harlow would have offered.
He wouldn’t have that either. Maddox was never one to allow any of his family to suffer, especially in place of himself. He’d promised to shoulder the burden and the pain and- he was absolutely going to be upheld to it on his own terms. And the “middle” sibling of too-many lost boys was certainly all too stubborn on this subject of matter.
And between Arlen and Cypress, the trouble was just never ending. A cycle of hurt, betrayal, rebellion, punishment, and repeat. And somehow, either Harlow or himself would be involved one way or another- whether it was out of protection or inadvertently dragged in.
Still, the older boy tightens his hold on Cypress and lets a deep exhale escape his lungs. A clear sign that he was not letting up any time soon.
Maddox wasn’t giving in just because Cypress had asked him to.
“We both know you know the answer to this. Let’s not have this conversation now unless you’re about to tell me you’ll stop being such a damn brat with the authorities.” He swerves without easing up.
It’s an effective method to shut the younger up, though.
Cypress almost too enthusiastically snaps his jaws shut.
They both knew that was out of the question; as long as someone was being wronged, Cypress would stand up.
they wanna put me six feet underground, Yang “Cypress” Seung-Hun
Holding a small blue flower in his hands, a young man looks up at the dark sky above him. It’s cloudy tonight. With wispy white-gray clouds floating through, hazing whatever pretty stars that would have been sparkling just behind the thin layer of obstruction. The moon is but a sliver of a crescent tonight- also covered by the same gloomy weather. The wind also blows gently and with a tinge of humidity in the air- it’s a storm impending, for sure. Quite uncommon for a utopia like Arcadia, which usually experienced only the most perfect conditions for each season. Hot and dry in the summer months, chilly with a layer of thick, fluffy snow in the winter. Perfect conditions, as if right out of the storybooks- the children that didn’t live in the government facilities of Arcadia often delighted themselves in the fairytale fantasies.
So tonight with the gloomy sky and the barely there stars was certainly out of the blue.
And a sign for Arcadia that something was impending- perhaps doom, if the government wasn’t prepared for whatever was to come in the next couple months. A coup maybe. A rebellion. Or maybe someone would finally internally speak up for the others within the government facilities- Cypress Yang wasn’t so sure exactly what would happen.
But holding the delicate little symbol in his hands- a symbol of justice and wishful victory, the young man took it as a sign nonetheless.
A good one.
He doesn’t say anything, however; not to himself, not out loud, he dared not even think too deeply on such betrayals. There were eyes of the government everywhere. Cameras, spies, people who sympathized, but never truly showcased their intentions, unless they could receive something in return. The greedy ones who wanted ascension without the hard work that others were putting in.
Cypress Yang keeps his mouth closed.
He knows where he stands within the facilities. He’s supposed to be on the side of Arcadia with the other young men.
He knows he couldn’t have these thoughts that occasionally floated across his mind.
But deep in his heart, the boy knew he yearned for justice and the overthrowing of corrupt power.
To avenge those who had been wronged by Arcadia.
He yearned to protect his friends that protected him.
(There were still nights that Cypress would crawl into his bed and remember the way his older friends would tuck him in and coddle him for the night. Only for the young boy to be haunted by recurring nightmares of their punishments. The yells in protest from Arlen, the pleads for mercy when things had gotten way too out of hand by Harlow, and- the howls of pain and torture whenever they’d lash out too roughly at poor Maddox, who had only ever acted out of his strong need to protect.)
Holding the flower close to his chest, Cypress readies himself for another night at the facilities; but before he could gently lay the flower down and stomp it into the dirt before someone saw, a hand lands on his shoulder- firm, but comforting.
It makes the young man jump nonetheless.
But whipping his head around, familiar eyes met his own.
“There you are. Ready to head in before someone catches you?” The voice is soft and reminds Cypress of home. Without hesitation, the boy nods and allows the flower to fall into the dirt. And without a word, he allows Maddox to guide him back into the facility where he’d grown up in.
can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars, Zhang “Raphael” Yong Cheng
An engine revs almost angrily up the paved, hilly roads, the uneven ground and dirt kicking up every so often when a particularly aggressive acceleration on the gas pedal has the engine roaring in protest.
But the driver doesn’t seem to mind. A boy in his early or mid twenties with a thirst for power- the horsepower kind, and an agenda to follow, regardless of what the environment threw at him. No, perhaps that was an inaccurate assumption- Raphael Zhang never truly had an agenda to follow or any focused pre-plan to adhere himself to.
But he did enjoy the thundering sound of his engine until he made it up the hill. Grassy, lush, and green; fresh with the new rainfall that had just soaked into the soil not too long ago. The strong storm of a week or so ago faded away slowly, unveiling the furled blades of new grass and fresh wildflowers that soon overtook the rolls of hills.
Raphael steps out of the car as soon as he’s messily parked, taking no mind in the way that he may have now smooshed some of the aforementioned new leaves under the heavy tires of his vehicle.
He does, however, step out gently and closes the door to his vehicle before finding a soft spot in the grass. The wildflowers- some still yet to fully open, sway in the disturbance of the air and for a moment- Raphael almost feels like a disturbance.
But he knows better.
Especially when the boy settles down in the only slightly damp grass in front of his low-lying car and leans the rest of his weight there instead. His shoulders come into contact with the chilly metal and it sends the all too familiar shivers down his spine. But he doesn’t mind.
In fact, Raphael doesn’t think much of it at all when the young man tilts his head up to look up at the twinkling stars; each one so clear and bright when there was no artificial light to intrude on the quiet or outshine the natural beauty of space.
It’s nice. And quiet. Like this.
Away from the chaotic lifestyle of racing, away from the other boys for just the moment. Although the Chinese boy wouldn’t admit it, he knows he would miss his boys; if he were ever away for too long.
It really doesn’t seem like Raphael could get away from said boys for long though- whether he liked it or not.
Because, despite the boy drifting off slightly in the quiet, another boy was quick to make his arrival known.
In particular, when a mop of familiar sable brown hair and sparkling eyes invade Raphael’s already hazy vision.
“I knew I would find you here. This has become your personal quiet spot, hasn’t it?” The lighthearted voice of his best friend is what truly jolts Raphael’s mind awake again.
“Go away.” He grumbles on instinct.
But Atticus refuses, simply disregarding anything Raphael has to say with a shrug of his shoulders. His lips quick slightly with amusement, but Atticus offers the other young man nothing more as he settles down beside Raphael.
“Meh.”
Despite the infuriating indifference, Raphael shifts to properly catch the gaze of his best friend.
They’re bright and amused; twinkling with what seemed to be the reflection of the millions of stars above their heads. Pretty. Enchanting. Mesmerizing.
Quite literally like starlight and stardust, Raphael thinks.
reach out your hands i will be there for you, Wen “Jace” Hui Ning
Starry eyes and rosy cheeks and hair softer than the finest strands of silk, a young man stood in his little space, even as the rain poured from the dark sky above. Sable colored hair stuck matted to his temple, and his clothes clung to his frame; but nothing seemed to matter when the soft hands of another brushed against Harlow’s cheekbones and tilted his chin oh so gently.
It didn’t seem to matter that it was storming, that the rain was pouring and that both men would eventually be so cold, they’d end up shivering in the rain– or have to huddle inside to avoid sickness. It didn’t seem to matter that thunder rolled in the distance, or that there might be impending lightning too.
It didn’t seem to matter when Harlow looked up at the man that was not much taller than he and all he could see was the kind of adoration he’d been yearning for. Doting, but not too soft- but soft enough for Harlow’s knees to buckle under his own weight, if not for the strong arms wrapped around his waist, holding him up from absolutely crumbling.
Unspoken words hang on both men’s tongues, but neither of them were particularly one for mushy sentiment. No one hesitated, yet no one wanted to speak the words that hung in their thoughts when in the presence of another.
I love you in every universe. Perhaps, someone wanted to proclaim.
If there was a parallel world, there would be another me for another you. Maybe the other would have reflected.
But no one said anything; the pair only stood together in silence, under the pouring rain.
While love watched them with his own set of adoring eyes.
Happy to speculate on the fruits of his labor.
Although Jace hadn’t been entirely sure of himself of the two- a rare flash of insecurity, really, amid his usually confident self, he could see it now.
Like a movie with their lives unfolding in front of the lovebirds– oh it could be so sweet.
A romance that bloomed like the prettiest flowers, they could live their lives together in each other’s company, reminded that despite the hardships and the unfairness of the world, they would have one another to rely on; another shoulder to cry on, another heart to carry.
Hidden from the mortal view, but with his chin resting in his palm, propped by an elbow, love loved it all.
But realizing all too soon that these ‘kids’ would eventually catch something from being out in the cold for far too long- as romantic or enticing as kissing in the rain could be, Jace almost mentally wills them inside.
And thankfully- it kinda works. When he sees one of the two- Torrence, point for the house, before the two begin to move.
Again, Jace watches the two young men.
But as soon as they were out of sight, love stepped out into the open too, allowing the still pouring rain to soak him to also soak him to the bone.
A toothy grin when no immediate response is offered is the only response Song Junsoo gives his friend as they stand in the hallway. With Junsoo’s arms crossed and a smirk sliding across his face at the way Hanse freezes.
His best friend doesn’t say anything for another heartbeat or two.
If Junsoo hadn’t known this boy for most of their academic childhoods- from the mere age of eleven, pretty much, the Durmstrang boy would have thought he said something wrong. But knowing the boy for almost half their lives, Junsoo is unashamed in his ways. He loved poking fun at the expense of his poor best friend, who’d been struggling with some girl problems that Junsoo himself couldn’t even comprehend.
“You’re disgusting, you know that? And if Chase heard that wrong, I think he would actually have my head- so sh! Don’t get me in trouble like that, you asshole.”
“Aw, look at you. You care so much for that girl, yet I can’t see it. Her brother is a bore and she’s miss prim and proper… and you’re not.”
Reaching over, Hanse gives the honey haired boy a quick smack in the arm- a showcase of clear displeasure for his ways.
“What were you trynna do anyway? Something to impress Chase with? Or… because we both know if anything, you’re gonna have to win Diana’s brother over first…”
A simple shrug from Hanse tells Jun clearly that he really has no idea what he’s doing or what he wants.
But it’s normal for the boy and really- Jun shouldn’t have been surprised by the lack of inspiration on his best buddy’s part.
Unfortunately for Hanse, Jun equally doesn’t know what to do with the request at hand- and he feels bad, no doubt.
But they really were like tweedle dee and tweedle dum, stupid best friends, the idiot duo- whatever one could think of.
He feels bad for the sad look in Hanse’s face; something akin to the despair of a kicked puppy. And so the young man with honey locks and round eyes gives in so easily.
Easily surrendering and offering his best friend a pat on the shoulder in moral support, Junsoo begins to make his way towards the end of the corridor; only taking a single glance over his shoulder back at Hanse in an offer for him to follow.
“Come on, maybe one of the other boys would have something for ya. I may not be able to help you, but I think someone with a soft, romantic heart would- like Saint, y’know.”
Nodding slowly, Hanse concedes and begins to make his way over to Junsoo as well.
“Maybe you’re right. But I was thinking, maybe I could recreate a scene from one of those stupid muggle movies or something- you know. How some of them find it romantic to stand in the rain and kiss?”
“Okay, but- one, how are you gonna make it rain, it’s literally sunny as hell outside. And two- is she even gonna kiss you, dude?”
“Shut the fuck up and stop ruining my fantasies will you?”
i swear, if you don’t wash those vegetables, Ahn “Arlen” Jaeun
The soft squeak of bare feet across laminated floors is the only sound that exists in a mostly silent, dark apartment. It’s maybe around three in the morning and most of the boys had long gone to bed for the night. Tucked away under their covers- as the trio tried to do, when they weren’t cramming for their one final and all. All seems quiet.
Until a fridge door creaks open, the light from within the fridge easily flickering to blind a certain boy with a little too much of an appetite for so early in the morning. His hair is messy and his pajama top is but an oversized, baggy muscle tee that barely hung onto his frame; outlining just how lean he was- though not thin, with the way his muscles flexed under smooth, pale skin.
The soft rustle of some bag coming out of the aforementioned fridge is the next noise to echo faintly through the room. But not for long, when a voice calls from down the hall.
“Eating so late into the night? You know that’s bad for you.”
A voice pulls Harlow Lim from his thoughts and causes the young man to jump abruptly from his place. He wants to squeak, but pushes it down for the sake of not waking up his roommates. The one that wasn’t currently catching him red handed, anyway.
“Jesus christ- you scared the living shit out of me.” Harlow grumps as he holds out the bag of carrots in one hand and condiments in the other. Closing the fridge door gently, he turns to look at the other man- Arlen, who had accidentally invaded his little… escapade in their shared kitchen.
“My bad, man.” Arlen laughs, loud and unabashed until Harlow hushes him for fear of rousing Maddox from his slumber too. It didn’t need to be a party in the kitchen right now. It wasn’t Harlow’s goal. “But you really weren’t that subtle, you know. You really were squeaking like some mouse rummaging through our pantry, with all that noise you were making. ‘D make a bad robber, that’s for sure.”
The eye roll Arlen receives in response is earned.
But both boys eventually settle into their dining table together, pulling out seats, as Harlow sets the bag of carrots and the jar onto the table. Arlen finds himself automatically grabbing a plate too. Unfurling the bag, Harlow doesn’t think twice when he dips his fingers in to grab the first orange bit out of the bag. He gives the bag a good shake and allows them to fall into the plate as well.
And all seems fine- Harlow all but shoves a piece into his mouth, while Arlen watches on in mild disgust. “Dude, are you not gonna wash them first? Do you not wash these first? Give me that!” Without waiting for a response, Arlen is quick to swipe the plate from in front of Harlow and beelines for the sink; even as his buddy continues to crunch the one between his teeth.
“You’re gross dude. Wash your veggies, even if they come in bags!”
“Yes, so if you look here, you will find the famous painting of…” the voice of one of the museum curators drones on without end. The rest of the crowd is silent, minus the murmurings that happened to float on between those who brought their loved ones and friends with them to the exhibit today.
Lian isn’t one of them, as he often finds himself alone among the greatest pieces of art in the world, surrounded by the bygone past, but no one of his present. He finds that he absorbs the artistry better this way, the legacy that’s passed down through the pieces of art from the brush of the artist’s talented hands. He wore a simple ‘fit, today; of a white hoodie and some pair of skin-tight jeans that accentuated his already slender physique. The text on the hoodie was in bold typeface- “with a handshake, your loving Vincent” from shoulder to shoulder. Across the entirety of his back, but hidden by the ‘hood’ of the hoodie that laid flat. His hair wasn’t messy, kept nice and brushed for the occasion, but it wasn’t fancy or styled. Not in the way that some of the other patrons had decided to dress up, anyway.
He didn’t bother with all the fluff.
Usually, anyway.
But standing before this fancy muse, dressed in what seemed to be an orange sleepwear of some sort, Lian feels a bit bad for not dressing up. He didn’t look like he fit in the imagery provided by the artist. He didn’t belong in the dreamy state of the piece, if he were to dress so casually.
They were beautiful in the painting- truly, the artist had outdone themselves. From the vibrancy of her dress to the vivid contrast of the red fruit or foliage in the background- the composition of the piece left many breathless and in awe.
Lian was one of the spectators.
The drone of the curator truly does fade into white noise when Lian allows the crowd to walk away from him, the lead herding the crowd in some opposite direction while the boy allows himself to be left behind.
Left behind to take in the artistry on his own.
Vibrant colors and fine details, splotches of paint, and a story behind those closed lids- surely never dreaming of all the onlookers who would eventually gawk at their form laying curled in that loveseat.
Taking a peak around at the disappearing crowd, Lian smiles softly to himself. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he pulls the camera up to the painting; taking care in turning off the flash- as the wall sign had requested.
He holds up a finger heart in focus of the camera and makes work to take a quick snapshot.
Sleeping beauty in the frame, heart.
Captioned jokingly, before sending it to some of his friends that he knew would equally appreciate the beauty of the painting.
Truly, the woman in the piece was a work of art to be speculated upon.
Soft gala-esque music sung through the great halls of the palace-like residence. A luxurious chandelier hung from the very top of the dome-shaped ceiling, crystals cascading light down the staircase in rainbow colors whenever the sunlight would hit in just the right angle.
Paintings hung from the walls, each signed by well known names and hung in gold frames. Varnished into almost high-definition photography, despite the very obvious excess oil paints that rose from the flat surface of the canvases with three dimensional depth.
But these weren’t the most grandeur of the possessions that this castle possessed. In fact, the most notable centerpiece of it all was actually the set of twin staircases that intertwined on either sides of the building- reminding Maddox Kang of the Titanic ship, if nothing else. Maybe it was the exact replica from the movies- or maybe the movies were set here, in this grand castle. Maddox wasn’t sure about either, but it sure looked like it.
Standing in a crisp suit and tie, Maddox Kang didn’t seem quite out of place at all. With his hair styled, slicked back, shoulders clean and shoes shining under the artificial light. Even if he didn’t quite belong with the rest of these guests, all adorned in wealth and status, he sure blended in with the crowd, nonetheless.
“May I have this dance, my good sir?” A pitched, feminine voice approaches Maddox from behind. Some unnamed young lady with owlish eyes and curly hair invades his field of vision not a moment later. Dressed to the nines in her ball gown, jewelry sparkling just like everyone else’s. Even her makeup had been perfect- very clearly dolled up for the gala event tonight.
Unable to reject the intruder to his thoughts without seeming like a scoundrel, Maddox decides to concede; nodding, before taking her hand towards the ballroom dance floor. Where others were still dancing away to a song that was midway over.
Without hesitation, the pair blends into the crowd, and although this type of environment isn’t necessarily Maddox’ favorite, he takes on the challenge, anyway.
“I must say, you are very nimble on your feet, my lady.” He murmurs- his best attempt at being gallant. Maddox doesn’t think he succeeded, body only swaying semi-awkwardly amidst the other moving bodies; he’s noticeably more stiff and not at all relaxed.
“As you are very charming… though you can choose to relax a little bit if you would prefer. Just follow the flow of the music and let your body move without thinking too hard.” Comes the reply.
Although the young woman makes it sound easy, Maddox knows it’s harder than that. And he struggles to keep up with her advice, even when he tries to let go.
It’s still awkward. As awkward as he always believed a formal dance to be. But the woman seemed to ease into it easily.
He wants to be like her, he realizes. To offer the same effect as she offered him, with her beautiful hair swaying with the movement, perfume wafting off of her shoulder every so often. It would have been nice, if he could.
But Maddox finds that he doesn’t have the background. It’s not as feasible of a task as he would have liked (it to be).
