truth be told, jongdae always had wondered why he cared just so much for others. it was both ethically and morally right, to be honest, to be kind and cordial to other human being. since he’d experienced, quite personally, the desolate sort of sentiment that one could experience from such humanistic rejection, jongdae had vowed to become some sort of a paradoxical savior, much like a martyr, to help others avoid such a lonesome ordeal. and along the way, undoubtedly, he’d made some unforgettable memories and a motley crew of extraordinary friends (though, in retrospect, the ‘extraordinary’ aspect sounds a little damning) that intensified his belief that being cordial was good.
but he hadn’t quite realized that he was worrying so much for others because it lessened the strain of concern on himself. in a way, it was laughably ironic—he’d learned so many things along the way, but he hadn’t learned to say ‘no’ just yet. in some situations, he knew that what he was doing was stressful on his own body and mind; though he was setting himself up for an inevitable fall, he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of others. he would never admit to this, nor would he wish to; because in a world of valiant heroes and gallant champions meant to conquer and change the world, jongdae was fine being the mediocre backdrop (as long as he was a part of it all).
when he worried for others and their wellbeing, he could place himself out of the equation. jongdae didn’t want to admit to it, to submit to such a ruinous thought, but it was true. how many times had he found himself waking from the cold floor to greet the brisk morning air after he’d blacked out from overuse of his technopathical stimuli? could he truly, with a honest-to-goodness, cross-his-heart sort of confidence say that he did half the things that he told others to do? the answer is clear in his mind, reverberating with a desperate murmur, but jongdae tries to drown it out. he loathed trying to face this sort of confrontation, because it only strengthened the feeling of being a hypocrite—
he’s startled out of his incriminating thoughts, quite thankfully, when he feels jiyeon flee into his arms. he may have opened his mouth to talk, but jongdae can’t hear anything in the air, so he must’ve stopped himself from voicing out his sentiments. her apologies are frantic, wired up by the abrupt information that he’d set up on her just moments before, and he can’t help but to feel immensely apologetic right back. his eyebrows slant outwards, drooping, as he tries to calm his dear, dear friend. he had known that he’d have to let out the fact that he’d been connected, now, to all sorts of technology, to his friends; truthfully, though, he hadn’t found that time to have crept up on him so soon. he bites his lower lip, nibbling slightly, as he raises his hand to brush through her soft, pleasant locks.
“it’s okay, jiyeon, i’m okay,” he says, his other hand rubbing placid circles into the small of her back as he tries to catch a glance of her face (an impossible feat, really, since her face is pressed into the warm junction of his shoulder where it meets his neck), “—my fault for putting it out. and not telling you. or the others. about this.” it’s odd to hear such disconnected, fragmented words slip out from his mouth; he’s aware that he’s forming the words with his teeth and tongue, rolling and moving to create the diction that he’s worked so hard to build up, but jongdae pushes that aside for now. the quality of his priority-setting was rarely proven erroneous, and at this exact moment, he knew that his number one concern was jiyeon.
“it’s alright. i think we can classify this a learning experience, for both of us. i didn’t know the extent of this technopathic bond, to be honest. i knew that i was spending more and more time becoming connected, but … i didn’t think that it’d be this intensely-wired. and it didn’t hurt, really.” jongdae places a necessary emphasis, but he does mean it to a genuine degree. “—just a little zap. like when you short cir—i mean, when you feel a little static. it just came out of the blue, you know? wasn’t expecting it. that’s all!”
he wracks his head for a further explanation, but he can’t really pull out a similar feeling. the pain, at the heat of it all, had been acrimonious, excruciating; but coming down from it, all he felt was a dull spark that’d settled, baseless and coiled around his ribs like a wronged serpent. he tries to tug her away from his shoulder, even just for a second, to glance into her eyes (and wipe away any tears if caught sight of any). the corners of his lips are arced, pleasant and gentle, and his voice takes on a soothing timbre.
“hey. it wasn’t you. i won’t be too cliché and finish that phrase, but i mean it. if anything, you taught me a great lesson—one that i couldn’t even dream to learn from anywhere else.” jongdae breathes, pulling her back into a warmed embrace. honestly, he can’t imagine telling the others about this predicament of this technopathic bond, but he feels less fearful with jiyeon here. he decides to deal with that gargantuan mess of a dragon when it rears its ugly head.
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
stormborns
gamechangershow
vaporwave
