hyun habaek is and has always been nothing but himself, no games, no illusions, no farces, no time to put on an act, to learn the shine of charm, to suffocate himself in a well-organized box so that others may feel more comfortable around him. he walks like a storm, breathes like a god, insatiable as a blackhole, a gravity well burning just under the thin seven layers of his skin that hold the chaos of him together. he is nothing of morning dew, nothing of collected mindsets, calm breezes or softness or hesitation.
blood hits the grass as soon as his fist meets the cheek of a stranger with too many opinions and not enough teeth, their backs striking the walls of a brick building not too far from the science center of the academy, but what this asshole lacks in brains, he makes up for in friends, having five more of them that habaek has, their retaliation coming in quick in the form of arms reaching and legs kicking. anger is a swift reddening, a coal-heated proponent of action and adrenaline, but for all his fury and abandon, they have him on the ground in a matter of moments.
he growls and curls, does his best to shove and hit and claw and bite, but he is not hyunjin, he is not beom, he is not impenetrable or indomitable or bloodless. he is human, dreamstuff crammed into the space between his ribs, all potential for magic, not the real thing, and the skin of his equilibrium shreds and tears just as easily as it would for any mundane citizen. and he hates it. he hates everything. he tries to break himself harder against the cement of their bones, hearing all sides crack and shatter and bleed, and through seeping lips and hissing teeth, he grins.
