❝ — ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ. ( feat. @orionin )
The reverberation of interminable taps pervaded the room as their bodies lithely moved along to the rhythm of the music. Taeyong and Marco have been dancing for well over two hours now, repeatedly running through a choreographic sequence that they composed awhile back. However, the duo were not dancing for a purpose. No, they were dancing because they simply wanted to. At times like these, he usually thought of how his life could seem considerably standard as he engaged in normal human activities. No knives, no blood, just dance. He often wonders how his life would have turned out if he weren’t bound by his step father’s immoral rule, but then again, that was neither here nor then. His gaze remains trained over the mirrors whilst he monitors their routines, observing each movement down to its nitty gritty. So far, they look good, they haven’t fucked up. He tears his attention away from their physiques as he swivels on the ball of his foot and completes a three-eighty turn, his arm right arm thrown into the air and his index finger pointed toward the ceiling. It’s their ending pose.
His body immediately sinks onto the hardwood floor once the song comes to an end, finger slipping beneath the strap of his mask, he removes it from over his mouth so he could elevate his breathing. Face reddened due to the increased rate of capillaries dilating within him, an incessant flow of blood streams through them in an attempt to flush the heat his movement created. Taeyong props his arm onto his knee and he takes this moment to rest, to prepare himself for whatever Marco may want to run through in the future. “Good job.” His acknowledgement was near breathless, words slightly slurred due to the lack of water in his system. His tongue is somewhat dry. He needs something to drink, something to re-hydrate himself, but not now. Soon; he just needed three minutes of peace.
Running his fingers through his hair, each strand feels damp against his skin. Sweat. It’s our bodies’ way of rewarding us after a long, exhausting workout. Taeyong hates being sticky; hates being dirty. He wants to shower, but can’t. Not when he has other plans in mind.
Kim Jongin. He goes by the name Marco. Your task is simple. Befriend him, gain his trust, and when the time is right, strike. Strike when he least expects it.
His step father’s words cut through his thoughts as he stares off in the other’s direction. No words, no sounds, just silence. Taeyong has hidden behind the label of a friend for little over a year now, and in that year, Marco taught him many different things. He almost wonders whether he can do it; whether he can bring himself to end the elder’s life.
Sighing, the brunette rests his forehead atop his forearm and closes his eyes. Tonight’s going to be long.
