storm: ii.
joonmyeon is forced to watch as the strangers all around him slay and slay and slay. (except he isn’t quite sure that they are all unknown; as his sight continued to clear, he was sure that sehun’s face was attached to a murderous body, killing without even so much as a flinch. he tries to either forget or reason about it -- the things aren’t real, he has become aware, and sehun may be able to accept that more than he, himself, is able to, or perhaps it simply isn’t him. despite reason, he hopes dearly for the latter.)
he doesn’t expect his own turn.
it’s almost like being stuck in his own bubble, being able to watch without interacting, and so he had cut himself off from the events surrounding him, as horrible as they often were. as if looking through a screen, he separated himself from the savagery, ready to sit and wait it out.
unfortunately, he isn’t ever so lucky.
what makes him snap to attention is the appearance of his sister in front of him, looking just as she had when she ran off to leave him alone with electra. a wide smile pulls at his lips, first, worries of what had happened to her that rampaged in the back of his mind dissipating, but after the glow of relief fades he remembers the mirages that had come upon is comrades and notices the grin upon her face that is much too out of place.
“oppa,” her voice comes, sweet as always, but now sickly. it isn’t her, it isn’t her. caramel drips from every word, yet it’s unbearable. “oppa, you couldn’t even protect me.”
joonmyeon isn’t sure if he’s suddenly enveloped in his own visions or if it’s what she’s forcing on him, but he’s suddenly engulfed in a hundred and one ways of jinye being in danger, all because he wasn’t there. each one ends gruesomely and bile rises in joonmyeon’s throat. it’s all he can do to not spit it out, to swallow it down, as queasy as it makes him, because he needs to appear strong, at least in front of something that isn’t real--
“how do you know i’m not real?” her head tilts slowly, as if out of a horror movie. joonmyeon wishes that he could laugh. “you weren’t watching over me -- who knows what could have happened?” he suddenly finds himself with his lips pursed, teeth digging into the skin until it breaks, desperately trying to keep a grip on reality.
“you left by yourself,” he insists. it’s a horrible excuse and he hates himself for it -- he should have not let her out of his sight, he knows -- but jinye is just as determined on her own accord and she would have persisted until he let up. or so he convinces himself, pushing away a tight band of guilt that constricts his chest and throat. it’s getting hard to breathe.
“i suppose you’d have been useless, anyway, oppa,” she continues as if he had been completely silent, and it’s followed by a laugh that makes joonmyeon’s eyes water. how could something be so akin to his sister, yet so deprived of her bright innocence? “you were right there when jaein died, yet you did nothing but watch...”
his tongue runs dry but he still fights to find words, lips parted as he searches for any explanation. “i-- i couldn’t have done anything,” he settles on, sounding pathetic but ignoring it in favor of explaining himself. “i wasn’t even a magical hero then, so how could i--?” he pauses, licks his lips, and closes his eyes. “you were there, too.” he hates himself. how could he expect young jinye, young, traumatised jinye, to have done anything? he’s the eldest, he should have--
the mirage seems to agree. “you’d rather put the blame on me than face your own incompetence?” another laugh. joonmyeon feels like his heart is being pulled out from his chest.
“that’s not-- i mean--”
“let’s play a game, oppa.”
joonmyeon opens his eyes once more to the sight of jinye with a dagger, much closer than before. he finds that his own pair rest heavy in his hands, holding a looming sense of responsibility and danger.
“you can come over here and kill me -- i won’t put up a fight -- or, if you take more than five minutes to decide, it’ll be you who falls.”
he almost chokes, eyes blowing wide and staring at her, uncomprehending of the reality. he knows she’s not real. he knows. so why is it so hard to close the distance and end her? he lifts one weapon to the edge of his vision and notices his hands shaking. after that, it’s the realisation that his entire form is shaking, far from the strong image he wished to convey.
“pathetic,” jinye spits, and joonmyeon raises his head to see a scowl on his face. “all that you’ve done and you can’t even kill me, come on, oppa.” he wants her to shut the fuck up. you aren’t jinye, you aren’t real.
in a split second, she’s sweet once more. “aw, oppa... you want to protect me, don’t you? even if it cost your life.” minutely, he nods. he hasn’t been able to result in anything, has he? but jinye -- she has positivity, radiance, potential. everything he wanted but lost. if he had to choose between the two of them... he’d sacrifice himself for her success every time. he doesn’t even have to consider it.
“four minutes, oppa.”
joonmyeon gulps. he’s nauseous and dizzy, stuck on a bridge between reality and imagination. he knows she’s not real. he knows, he knows. so there’s no need for his death, while the killing of an illusion is nothing -- but he still feels unbearable weights holding him down, restraining his hands and feet and pulling him down into a darkness he’s never felt before, ripping at his chest and heart, tearing up his emotions.
she isn’t real. she isn’t real.
so he gets to his feet -- when had he sunk? he’s not too sure, memories blending together -- and takes steps to approach the image. while he’s avoiding looking at her face, knowing that any shred of emotion would stop him in his tracks, he still notices her eyes widening, either in surprise or fear. he stops in front of her, though his eyes are glued down at their feet, before speaking.
“jaein...” he swallows hard, pushes back tears. “there was nothing i could do. not you nor i have the responsibility to torment me for something out of my control.” years of nightmares are remembered with the words, years of holding himself accountable. “you’re also... your own person, now. i can’t... control you because i’m afraid of losing you. you’re strong on your own.”
“how funny.”
his gaze snaps up to her and finds her amused.
“you’re your own biggest enemy, oppa.”
in a second there’s a blade on his neck and she’s closer than ever, seeming to speak into his mind, rather than out loud. her words are laced with poison and pain, but he cant stop listening.
“you get too close to people. you annoy them. you’re co-leader and yet who have you protected? there are many braver and stronger than you, yet you take that place. all you do is patch up wounds that you couldn’t prevent. you can’t count the number of dead bodies you’ve seen -- bodies that have died under your care.”
a wrecked sob pulls from joonmyeon’s throat, ripping through as it escapes. she’s right, she’s right. they’re all thoughts he’s had on this own and shed a tear over, yet coming from her mouth they’re like needles and knives, taking their time with ripping him to shreds.
“three minutes, oppa.”
he finds himself frozen in his spot as her dagger digs in further, not yet even drawing blood but weighing heavily on his skin, dangerous.
i have to--
through his trembling he manages to match her position, the tip of his own blade resting over a spot he knows as fatal. he can’t lose, but winning might just kill him.
“jinye--”
“oppa, you’re boring.”
seemingly tired of the game, jinye pulls back with a speed joonmyeon has never seen before lurching forwards to strike. terrified but not pulled from his instincts, joonmyeon aims for the heart as she shoots forwards -- and, by a stroke of luck, it’s his weapon that reaches first.
it’s wrong, how her body is stopped as the handle of his dagger reaches her chest, crimson soon seeping through her clothes. joonmyeon can’t speak, can’t breathe, his chest is burning, his cheeks are soaked through with tears, and he has his sister on his knife, choking and losing her life.
“jinye--”
his voice is weak, broken, as he pulls the weapon free and catches her body. it disappears under his touch and he’s tortured by the urge to cry, scream, yell, because he knows that’s not the real jinye, but it well could be when he doesn’t know when or how she is.
two sister lost. both his fault.
ironically, it seems to have made him free. he’s directed to a staircase, and he climbs without thought. he’s numb. he’s weak. he’s undeserving.
