The one who suffers. The one who only knows how to inflict suffering. A broken doll that's been used until its broken again and again. A broken doll that lays still by her side now, hooked up to an unfathomable amount of monitors and drips which Hyuna cannot make sense of.
There's a strange part of her that wishes to rip all these cords out. To silence the steady beeping that indicates Luka's life. At least then Hyun Woo's death would be appeased. At least then their failed plans would all be...
But that's a lie she tells herself, caught between the thin veil of love and hatred, and she's always been pulled towards love.
Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. She limps closer and settles herself by his side, weight dipping the bed. Dark strands spill over her shoulders and tickle his fingers, lying open and still by her.
She looks at them for a second, then back at Luka. Her heart twists, and something angry and sweet and forlorn blossoms in her chest. The others don't like him, don't trust him, and tell her that she should feel the same.
But then she reaches out without thinking, and intertwines limp fingers with her own.
"Luka," she whispers again, and it sounds like a prayer.
ㅤ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐌 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 — 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄, 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐓, the unbearable brightness of overhead lights that stung his irises. A slow, dragging thud… then another. Each beat a stubborn echo scraping its way through the hollow cavity of his chest. half-aware of the tubes that webbed across his arms like invasive vines. One carried the viscous green serum Heperu praised as “corrective.” The other — thinner, colder —dripped a diluted red compound meant to “stimulate.” Luka didn’t know what half the substances were, only that they burned going in and left him feeling... odd. He breathed shallowly behind the oxygen mask, each inhale fogging the plastic. the guardian liked to call them “adjustments,” “fine-tuning,” “necessary calibrations.” Luka, in those moments where he had felt them force his heart to stop. that abyssal plunge of his heart stopping — truly stopping —before a shock, and a sharp intake of breath. it was one of the many intense regimens he had to endure.
His heartbeat beeped steadily on the monitor—a low, controlled BPM forced by years of training, drilled into him until he could regulate the rhythm. steady , predictable && mechanical. Sometimes, during the worst of the experiments, Heperu would force his heart into arrhythmia just to watch how long Luka could fight his body back into line. Heperu called it refinement. tension modulation. He practiced keeping his heart no higher than a steady, obedient rhythm, even when tubes pumped foreign substances through his veins. He forced his breathing to stay slow, controlled, careful — A heart conditioned to stay within a range that HEPERU deemed “optimal.” A perfect BPM. A perfect idol. A perfect performer. A human polished to perfection. heperu's masterpiece.
Hyuna....Even thinking her name made his pulse spike against the monitor—an involuntary betrayal of his training. The machine chimed sharply in response, the rising BPM unmistakable. So when he felt a presence near him, warm, trembling, familiar — his first instinct was to reach for the light. He forces his eyes open. And there she is. Light in human form. His sacred light. His... beloved hyuna. His quiet salvation. A devotion bordering on worship.Her dark hair falls forward, brushing the back of his hand, the strands gliding like silk across skin that still remembers restraints. The sensation is slight — barely pressure at all — but to Luka it is overwhelming. She whispers his name again—soft, trembling, almost a prayer. Her fingers reach for his. Her touch is warm and the moment her fingers slip between his, his pulse jerks violently, the monitor’s beeping accelerating in frantic bursts. Heat floods his neck, his cheeks, the tips of his ears.
Something feverish and greedy unfurls in his chest.
A vine wrapping around his ribs, his throat, his heart— She had vanished. Disappeared without a word. And he was left behind. stayed and grew without her in anakt garden. 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. His universe.
his blue fingertips twitch the moment hers slide between them—weak, but desperate, tightening with whatever strength he has. The monitors spike. His heartbeat leaps from its controlled pattern into something erratic, wild, painfully alive. He tries to speak, but the oxygen mask keeps his words trapped against plastic. A frustrated sound escapes—half-whine, half-breath. His throat strains. His lips part under the mask, wanting to shape her name, wanting to tell her a thousand things he never could. The muscles in his arm pull weakly as he lifts his hand—slow, shaking—to trace her wrist with his fingertips. He can’t stop the heat that blooms across his cheeks. He can’t stop the smile that breaks softly beneath the mask. Slow, trembling at the edges, but real. God, he missed her..
ㅤ⠀ㅤ⠀ㅤ ❛❛ …Hyuna… ❜❜
His fingers tightened around hers, barely, but enough that she would feel it.
was talkin about gnosia ships to my mom and she just randomly said "you shouldn't romanticize so much" what ARE you TALKING about ROMANTICIZE WHAT?? and then she was like "i dont want a man to say the right thing to you thatll get you sprung" ?//WHAT IS THE CORRELATION im still thinking about this several minutes after it happened and its driving me insane
yunmeng shuangjie be like "I don't want you to say sorry / I want you to come home" and "remember the pact of our youth / there is no me without you" and "it's split it won't recover / just frame the halves and call them whole"
