Random notes, realizations and muse tidbits that have surfaced over the course of the past few days.
Yixing and Reim have been the loudest by far, with Show and Seunghyun coming right up behind them.
Most kids are generally in some sleepy state, but some occasionally wake up to ask about others (i.e: Sunggyu, Bingbing)
Seunghyun has shown an almost uncanny interest in holding conversations with Jiho. He might be silent on most days, but even his silence speaks a lot. On this note, I suppose I should make a page or something for him too.
The way I can sum up Reim’s moods as of late is: ridiculously gay and unbelievably straight. Jokes aside, he’s actually been throwing a lot of emotions at me in relation to himself, as well as Sharon and Break. His own thoughts are extremely loud every now and then, so that’s when I end up being hit by a wall of emotions. I definitely don’t regret picking him up as a muse, he’s quite wonderful.
Yixing is either a good and pure cinnamon roll or full on garbage. Sometimes evil!Yixing comes around and oh boy, that is always a freaking roller-coaster to have to deal with. Nowadays though, he’s rather quiet, contemplating over things that are happening. He really wants to reach out to Jaehwan and help but? Doesn’t know how, basically. And on this very note, it’s sinking in even more that he knows so little about Jaehwan to begin with. Like, even the smallest of things feel as if they are out of his grasp and he’s... questioning himself over it, I suppose. He doesn’t doubt his feelings, neither does he doubt Jaehwan but the guy can’t help but feel like an idiot for not having tried to learn more in the time that they had.
Jaexing have actually being growing up for nearly a year now and this is absolutely amazing to look back upon. I actually remember joining Advent and gazing distantly at Dragon before they even messaged me and it’s? Kind of funny how things even happened. They read over Yixing and Jaehwan felt an instant connection towards my son, whereas I can say it was the same here. The feelings weren’t there from the very beginning for Yixing but one thing was certain: he always felt the burning need to reach out to Jaehwan. It all grew from there.
I love Jaexing for all that they are, with good and bad sides. I love their dynamic, I love how two broken people gravitated towards one another and how they tried to each take a fall for one another, even if it means hitting the rock bottom. I could talk about them a lot, I just! Really, really love and cherish these two with all that I am. It’s not just them that I care about, though - I love my partner just as much and I am happy that this was one of the things which brought us closer together. Cdra has been and still is one of the people that I enjoy writing with most, as well as tackling various types of threads. Honestly, they are amazing beyond means and I? Love them a lot, I really do. It doesn’t all end on writing either, as they have been a wonderful friend to me through and through. Sigh.
I’ve taken such a long hiatus from krp, I really didn’t expect to meet the wonderful people that I came across in Advent. I’m grateful for each and every single one of them, no matter how much or how little we talk. It’s not always easy to reach out but I want to try to talk to everyone more and just generally, bond more.
Tldr; I love Cdra, Bun, Fluffy and Grey a whole lot. I don’t think I say or show it enough.
Sunggyu literally woke up for the millionth time to peek up, mumble something about Taekwoon and then go to sleep. Other people mentioned at various other points have been: Jieun, Heeyeon and Kiko. I think there was a slight mention of Daehyun and Chaerin too? Also some mumbled nonsense about wanting to do something about the Taekji situation. Good luck with that, kid.
Show is extra and gay, but that’s nothing new.
Once upon a time, he was having an argument with Bingbing and I remember that she whipped out some papers and her diploma to make a point, to which he literally deadpanned with something like: “And I have a penis, which means I am right by default.”
On that note, I still have things to discuss with Bun. I also owe them a starter, as well as one for Grey and Fluffy. I... should do these soon, yes. I’ll do it.
I’d say I have a decent idea for all of the starters, so it’s currently a matter of actually sitting down to write them. Some of the kids wrote tidbits of it in my mind, so this shouldn’t be too hard.
I feel like I had a lot more to say but idk anymore.
It’s impossible to process anything. It’s too much, not enough to actually latch onto, everywhere, nowhere, heavy, dissipating like steam – disorienting seems to be the only constant, a simple word with too many implications and variations to really be as singular as it sounds. Jaehwan has broken before, more times than he could count by now; he is a person made up of fragments, splinters of himself mixed with foreign debris, impossible to truly reform to whatever shape he could’ve had before the process of breaking began.
And yet Yixing is there, he’s there – Jaehwan can feel him, and yet, everything about that feeling seems somehow wrong.
He knows – that’s the end of what Jaehwan can truly hear, that he knows what’s happened and it’s weighing him down the same way that it’s threatening to rip Jaehwan apart from the inside. Yixing is soft; something is broken in him, too, but that is soft as well, something buried and weak beneath where he tries to be strong, parts missing from the foundation of his spirit. He isn’t made of shards and splinters the way Jaehwan is, painful and cutting edges barely glued together – he isn’t insane the way Jaehwan is sure that he has to be by now, just a little broken, a little damaged.
(It would take so little to change that – just a tap, really.)
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There’s something unsettling about the atmosphere in the room, about the silence that fills the space in between the walls; in between them. It’s not comforting, not as it usually would have been and it feels more like a warning – now is your time to go, run.
Yixing doesn’t run and even if he did, then he wouldn’t run away from Jaehwan but to him.
So, he stays and racks his own mind for answers – how to compose himself, what to say, what to do and a million other questions that come and go by too quick for him to grasp. His arms wrap themselves a little tighter around his form, head falling forward until his forehead connects with his forearm. Mind rushes, stomach churns and tears well in his eyes, all while words seem to hang at the tip of his tongue. What would he begin to say, past what has already been said? It’s been sufficient, though not in the way one would expect; it sufficed to bring up the past, to rattle one’s lungs and pulls at the strings of their hearts.
If their bones could further constrict around them, if their thoracic cavity could give in and collapse, then perhaps the suffocating feeling could be justified by it. Alas, it’s not – it’s not the body that is at fault, but the mind; scarred, broken down to smithereens time after time without being offered the necessary time and means to heal.
This is where irony lies for the person who is supposedly capable to take away the harm done to others, to undo all that has been broken by hands, objects or even words; Yixing can’t tamper with his own mental instability, as his ability only extends to his physical body. He might heal from a large variety of injuries that are inflicted on him, but his mind is left to carry the burden left in their aftermath. His psyche gets taxed out double the amount when he reaches out to others and although he often claims that he can cope with the backlash – he does, or at least tries to as best as he can – it doesn’t change the fact that each experience whips over him and leaves its mark.
Episodes of dissociation caused by trauma have been no stranger to him, not with how often he’d suffer from them in the very beginning. The touch felt on his skin by fingers lightly spidering down along his arms, the stubs of not-yet-put-out cigarettes burning into the skin of his hands – they were not real, they were not part of him and yet they haunted him as if the memories were his own. It used to make Yixing shudder, skin crawling at the mere recollection of it but now, there was nothing there but large, vacuous space that only seemed to grow.
But then all of his synapse pull together, as does he – it only takes a touch, one which startles him out of the grasps of his own mind. Fingers are run through his hair slowly, carefully and it makes him hold his breath; he doesn’t dare breathe too loud, doesn’t move in fear of having Jaehwan draw back. Selfishly, he doesn’t want him to. The gesture takes Yixing back to the times of his childhood, when he’d lay his head in his mother’s lap as she weaved her fingers through his hair. She would always hum or sing to attempt to get him to relax and hopefully sleep – he remembers the soft tune by heart, he does.
Jaehwan doesn’t hum, neither does he sing.
Yixing doesn’t know if the other can sing (there is a lot he doesn’t yet know about Jaehwan, which causes his heart to sink a little) but he catches himself before lips part and quietly request for it. It’s only timely that the other begins to speak, though not as favorable as Yixing may have hoped. Each word spoken, the uncertainty carried in them and all that’s left to linger in the air as another pause ensues causes tension to rise again.
By the time his head lifts so he can look at Jaehwan, Yixing almost misses how the younger’s hand had been brought to rest on his shoulder. The look on the other’s face is the least concerning when the silence between them is filled by thoughts that are louder than what words can convey – fragmented, yet loud. Yixing no longer knows what exactly finger-bangs at his heart, what pulls his strings and he’s barely cognizant of their surroundings. Everything gets drowned out by waves of negativity that unintentionally wash over him.
He fails to notice when Jaehwan’s fingers wrap around his neck and, for a while, he questions if it’s his skin that fingers press against.
It’s difficult to discern between what is real, what words leave Jaehwan’s lips and which are his thoughts; they are equally loud, just like the sound of his own heartbeat that rings in Yixing’s ears. It’s overwhelming and it makes him feel powerless against this - reminds him of just how sensitive he truly is to negative emotions. Caught up in his own negativity, then having that of another weigh down on him only makes Yixing close in on himself. No, it causes him to collapse mentally.
A switch is flicked and Jaehwan’s hands are no longer around his neck.
Maybe it’s an adrenaline rush that has him act or perhaps it’s despair, for Yixing musters up all of his strength while uncoiling his arms from around his body and uses them to give Jaehwan a push. Brusque, rough - he’s on all fours as the other’s pushed away and he clambers up on top of him, straddling Jaehwan’s hips and bringing both hands to press down on his shoulders. He hovers above the younger male, breathing heavy and lips parted while brown eyes bore into the other pair; the faint sheen of blue is still there, they are still connected and it’s uncertain whether this is good or bad.
“W-Why--” Yixing starts, with words quickly dying out in his throat right before they properly make it out. Fingers press just a bit harder into Jaehwan’s shoulders, nails digging into the material and into the skin beneath. He wants to ask just why he’d do such a thing to him, but refrains himself from doing it; these questions didn’t have to leave his lips, no words needed to, because Jaehwan would know of them regardless.
“I’m... tired too,” he speaks quietly, carefully. Just like his hands, which have long formed into fists and have grasped at the fabric of Jaehwan’s shirt, his voice is shaky and his thoughts consist of a jumbled mess. Fragments, pieces of sentences that he can’t make much sense out of. Yixing no longer knows which of those thoughts belong to himself and which are the other’s - they are intertwined like this, knowing both nothing and everything about one another at the same time.
“I’m tired,” he reiterates in attempt of finding his pace, of going back on track with the point he was trying to make - was there even such a thing to begin with? Did it make sense to refer to it as such? It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t stop Yixing from trying; for himself, for Jaehwan and for the others too. “But I... d-don’t want to stop fighting. I don’t want to give up,” the second sentence sounds more secure than the first, comes off less shaky - it’s an admittance, a confession made to them both of them.
‘I don’t want to give up on you’ and ‘I don’t want to give up on us’ go hand in hand with the admittance and, although left unsaid, there’s a twinge of hope that they reached through to the other side. Yixing’s able to say this even as gruesome images flash through his mind, causing him to shake. His stomach turns and he feels sick. He wants to cry, wants to stay but wants out of this situation, too.
“J-Jaehwan... Please,” he begs, desperately pleads but can’t look at the other to try and check for some sense of confirmation that he’s listening, that everything is being registered. With his chin tucked into his chest and eyes shut tight to prevent tears to resurface, Yixing struggles not to choke on his own words. “I don’t want you t-to give up or give in. Please--”
‘This isn’t like you.’
Pause.
‘You’re stronger than this.’
Another pause.
“Let me help you,” is all that Yixing requests, quietly and almost hesitantly.
The ticking of the clock echoed through the office, accompanied by the quiet sound of scribbling upon sheets of paper. Words are written away, filling up one of the many empty lines of the report – on the side, the mountain of documents has shrunk down to half of its initial size. Nevertheless, it remained standing there, awaiting to be gone through; the task would inevitably befall Reim, much as it often did nowadays.
In the absence of one of the many associates of the organization, the task of sorting out their work fell into his hands - willingly, one should note. This wasn’t the first time that he took up extra workload upon himself, though it’s always justified by reasons pertaining to the good and efficient functioning of things within the establishment. Complaints rarely leave the man’s lips, they are always swallowed back, internalized - if anything, they display outwardly through the darkened circles beneath his eyes, by furrowed brows that mark a thoughtful expression and creases that only seem to deepen on his forehead.
He avoids mirrors on most days and carries out as usual, maintaining a straight posture and his head held high.
However, behind closed doors, in the sanctity provided by the office, is where Reim allows himself to have a breather. His eyes lift from the report, momentarily settling on the remaining papers and he exhales at the sight. The pen is closed before it gets set to the side, the spectacles which rest atop his nose being pushed upward before a hand is brought to rub at his eyes. The distance between him and the desk lengthens as his back leans into the rest of his seat, legs pushing it away enough for the male to rise up to his feet.
Turning away from the workload that awaited, he paced towards the large window at the back of his desk and drew the curtains open. Surprise overtakes his features if only a slight at the realization that most of the day had already passed. The hues of red and orange blending together in the horizon and the setting sun gave Reim enough of a hunch on what the time was - he’d gotten so absorbed into work again that he forgot about the surrounding reality, of how time ticked by.
It did no well to think that his hours in the office were only cut down to half, at best. Another sigh leaves his lips, the thought being pushed aside in favor of something else. Not that it does him much well, as his well-known nervous tic of cleaning his glasses surfaces as a particular person comes to mind. Xerxes Break, an individual whom Reim can peg only as being curious - interesting in his own manner, but curious nonetheless.
The to and fro motion of fingers gliding along the glasses ceases as a third sigh leaves the male’s lips, concern rapidly surfacing - it causes a feeling of unease to rise to his stomach, tying it up in a knot. A distinct tightness is felt in his chest as thoughts flood his mind, a mix between fragments of memories, conversations shared and the worries which the present situation raises. Half of Reim expects the man in mention to push open the door to his office at any given moment and saunter in without a care in the world or, perhaps, it would be more characteristic for him to appear unexpectedly - the cupboard on the side being a place that he often emerged from. The other half of him knows that such an occurrence is impossible.
It didn’t put an end to the feeling of longing, one which is often suppressed nowadays. Swallowed down along with the knot that formed in his throat, Reim slips the spectacles back on and pushes them up his nose, fixing them into place. The spot at the desk looks all but inviting, with the papers stacked up atop it. There would be a time at a later point where he can let guilt well up at work left unfinished but, for now, he casts it all away.
He is out the door in a heartbeat, lured towards a different wing of the headquarters by a dire need of reassurance; does this make him selfish? The question gnaws at his mind, backed up by a mixture of emotions which swirl in his chest. Ribs constrict around his lungs, causing his breath to become labored; the tightness heaves, his mouth runs dry and his step quickens. By the time he reaches of of the Eastern wing’s corridors, he looks as if he’s been running a marathon - disheveled, quietly panting while slight coloration dusted over his cheeks. The remaining steps that separate him from the entrance to the chamber of the person he sought takes longer than imagined, each step growing slower and his movements becoming heavier as he advanced.
Guilt seeps in early, mixing in with fear.
Reim’s hand hovers above the knob of the door, the continuity of the movement blocked by a simple question: what did he expect to find on the other end of the door? The options are few in number, but his mind fixates on the worst of them all. A vigorous shake of the head draws him out of that thought and the casts away the grim possibility - fingers reach around the knob and twist it, opening the door with a small ‘click!’. Pushed open slowly, he slips past the entrance and finds his way into the shrouding darkness of the chamber. The door is pushed shut and although it was pitch black in the room, he finds little issue in navigating his way towards the side of the bed; Reim has been here more times than he’s willing to admit, so he knows the room like the back of his hand.
The lamp from the nightstand is switched on and light invades part of the chamber, leaving to notice that nothing changed since his last visit. There is uncertainty on whether that is a good or a bad thing. Instinctively, he knows that Lady Sharon has been crossing the threshold, watching over Xerxes as he slumbered peacefully - this will be a thought that he will visit again at a later point, making a mental note to discuss with her when the opportunity arises.
Such an ironic sight to see, one which Reim cannot adapt to. Even as the days pass, his worries are all but soothed, the prolonged waiting time doing nothing but serving to breathe life into possibilities that one normally wouldn’t dare consider. Teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip, biting at it anxiously while gloved fingers search for something to fiddle with. They find their way to the buttons of his coat and, one after another, they get popped open. The long, signature coat of Pandora’s personnel is slipped off his shoulders and down along his arms, getting draped over the backrest of the chair placed by the man’s bed. The vacant spot then gets occupied, hands are brought together at the front as the usual, straight posture is traded for a hunched one - he leans forward a slight, lips twitching as if wanting to part.
They never do and whatever Reim may have intended to say gets swallowed back down.
A few hours have passed from when the visit was initiated, the Sun having long traded its place with the Moon. It stood up high in the night sky, surrounded by a multitude of celestial orbs of varying sizes. Its light shone down upon the land, though it didn’t make way into the room that Reim currently resided - the thick curtains were still pulled and all the light he and Break were provided with was artificial.
Remained sat in the chair, with his back reclined against the backrest, Reim had long been overcome by slumber. Albeit far from comfortable, his head was tilted to the front a slight, glasses having slid down the bridge of his nose due to the posture he currently found himself in. Hands remained clasped at the front, resting on his lap and shoulders slumped - his chest rose and fell slowly, rhythmically. Occasional breaths of air were exhaled somewhat noisily, but the sound barely made it out.
With fatigue having caught up to him, it didn’t seem as if he would wake up anytime soon.
Everything is falling apart; there is no longer any avoiding that.
Jaehwan’s curse is seeing things too clearly, standing front and center even when all he wants is to run and hide; again and again this pattern has manifested in different ways, but the worst of them is the obvious, is the one he’s suffering from now.
Emotions run high all around him and it’s stifling; he can feel it as though it’s circling around his neck, sinking claws into his lungs. He wishes he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed today so that he wouldn’t have to see a thing, wouldn’t have to know – that’s the kind of logic by which he operates, flawed and fruitless as it is. But instead he’s here, back pressed against a wall as all he wishes is that he could get away – but the voices are everywhere and it’s loud, much too loud, and he’s frozen.
It’s one mind, then another, but they all say the same thing: panic, panic, what the hell is going on here?
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The pressing feeling on his chest and shoulders doesn’t get as bad as when Yixing is in Jaehwan’s direct presence. This feeling, much similar to being suffocated, isn’t unknown to him – he knows it all too well, what it feels like to be entirely overwhelmed; to feel as if you are drowning, even when there isn’t a single droplet of water in sight.
To call the sight of Jaehwan heartbreaking feels like a misunderstanding and yet, words don’t do one justice when it comes to feeling things to such an intensity. This connection that the two of them share remains strong, regardless of the time spent away – there is always a subconscious knowledge over one another, even though it’s felt differently on both ends. Yixing doesn’t deny that his senses are less acute in that regard, when compared to those of Jaehwan, but he takes things as they are; after all, he would much rather know as much as he can about the other, so he can figure a way to reach out.
That is exactly what he does.
Drawn out of those few moments of silence, where time seemed to freeze and everything turned picture-still, Yixing takes a few steps forward and closes the space between them. Being asked why he’s there, although knowing well enough the intention behind the question, leaves him feeling heavy-hearted; there’s a reminder somewhere that it’s not purposely asked and that he isn’t unwanted there. It’s merely a misunderstanding, it’s the root of all that is presently going on.
“I… I came here because I was worried,” from his end, the words come out mumbled too as he descends down onto one knee. A hand’s brought to his face, sliding upward until it meets with his hair, where he lets his fingers ruffle through the curly locks of darkened hair. “I don’t know the whole story, since I didn’t get to see anything, but a colleague told me that some footage was leaked on the news. It was from—“ talking about it makes him feel sick, but he tries to push through the nauseating feeling that rises up his esophagus, “…From that haunted house.”
It’s all which he can bring himself to say before a few moments of silence ensue as his head drops and a heavy sigh leaves Yixing’s lips. Although the events date back to October of last year, the months which separate them from the night of Halloween feel as if they don’t exist. Everything feels surreal, as if time had been skipped and they were somehow tossed in the present, left to deal with the aftermath of a situation which they didn’t know how to tackle. The greater issue is that nobody wanted to deal with it and Yixing made no exception from the rest – the painful memories of that night were forced back, put under lock and key, all with the hope that they wouldn’t ever have to surface again.
It was all in vain.
Yixing still feels the sting of the blade that protruded through his skin – his body shakes and he falls backward, landing in a sitting position, with both arms coming to wrap around his sides. There’s warmth but there’s also coldness that washes over him, each wave following after another. His breathing grows heavy, lids draw themselves shut and he curls in on himself as much as the current position allows him.
This is both where he wants to be and not, anchored to reality only by the fact that Jaehwan is there. It’s all that keeps him going, really – the slight push that he needs to try and force himself out of such a pitiful state. Truly, Yixing was dependent of those around him in order to maintain stability.
“J-Jaehwan,” a quiet murmur, a plea, “I… I’m scared. I don’t know what to do and I’m really afraid about what will happen to us,” to Hongbin and Wonshik as well, though he leaves the pair out of mention due to the turn which events took. “…What are we going to do?”
Unsuspecting of the events that are to occur later on during the day, Yixing heads out of Daybreak’s grounds and follows the usual route towards his work-place. Nothing seems out of the ordinary and, ultimately, why would anything mundane feel any different from what it normally is? There is no reason for that, not unless the subject in mention breaks from the paradigm of what society deems to be regular.
The hours pass with relative ease and as noon starts to roll in, there is a clear shift in the atmosphere within the restaurant. Both the staff and those present inside to serve a meal or have a chat over a cup of coffee halt from their doings, falling silent as their attention gets drawn to the television mounted up on the wall. The regular program was interrupted by urgent news, accompanied not only by information given but also by footage leaked by an unknown person in regards of the events from the night of Halloween.
On the screen, people screaming in terror are displayed but that is by far one of the lighter scenes to see – individuals being attacked, beaten, mutilated and put through various other gruesome things until they would breathe their very last breath. It isn’t just the hulking monsters of the haunted house that draw attention, but also ‘people’ that hold something different to their appearance or those that look regular, but seem to be able to oppose their pursuers with aptitudes known only to be part of fiction.
The images get replayed once, twice, thrice and then several times more to make everything sink into the viewers’ minds. There is little other that the man on the news is capable to say, aside from the fact that investigations are currently being made by the police to figure out even more details about the events from that night, as well as the bizarre footage sent in. In the meantime, people are advised to be careful while they are out and remain mindful of their surroundings and the people that they come across – should anyone prove hostile or even remotely odd-looking in any shape or form, the police should be contacted immediately.
The news then cut off, leaving the people in the locale to stare at one another and whisper, to forge theories based off of what they had only just seen. Yixing never makes it up front to see things on TV, but the moment he emerges from the back, he is immediately taken aback by the heavy atmosphere from the restaurant. He’s perceptive enough to not make an entrance with a bad joke and instead makes his way to the colleague by the cash register, whom he then asks what happened. “There was something on the news, I don’t— even know how to put it, to be fair. Some stuff related to the haunted house from Halloween and some wacky shit with Hulk-like people and the Fantastic four,” the information is relayed in the form of a whisper and although most of it has been worded wrong, the mention of the haunted house is enough for Yixing to piece everything together.
The events from that night still haunt him at night and the mere mention of it makes his skin crawl and causes his stomach to churn. A lot has been repressed, forcefully pushed to the back of his mind in the hopes of being forgotten. Sometimes, it feels like he’s successful in managing to do just that but the reality of the matter couldn’t be any different – demons and monsters always show up at night, after all.
Gratitude is conveyed hastily, after which Yixing rushes to head out of the restaurant. It didn’t matter that some of the people there were looking funny at him being in such a rush, his mind was focused on entirely different matters. If such footage was leaked on the news, then there was a clear risk of mutants being exposed and that didn’t sit well with him. Maybe most of them could pass up as regular people – there’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he thinks of that – but there are others that don’t have such a luxury. Wonshik, even someone as bizarre as Changsub – what would become of them, who have a distinct appearance? Heaven knows he’d not want to think of the worst, but it’s a fact that has to be taken into consideration so that a solution would be found. He hopes with all that he has that Daybreak would be two steps ahead and would sort out this problem.
It takes less than half the time he normally spends travelling in between the restaurant and Daybreak in order to get back and although his mind was focused on certain individuals, it’s not their doors that he shows up at. No, it’s room F2 from the Male Hall that Yixing finds himself facing for the millionth time, hands balled up as he knocks insistently at the door while calling out the name of the person which he sought out. “Jaehwan! Jaehwan, are you there? It’s me, Yixing—“ there’s a pause where he tries to catch his breath, though barely. “Something happened and I really need to talk to you— It’s really, really urgent!”
But not urgent enough for him to try the knob any sooner, to figure out that the door which he’d been relentlessly hitting against has been open this entire time. The entrance is swung open with force and had it not been for the little Gudetama-shaped door stopper, the knob would’ve hit against quite hard the wall. “Jaehwan—“ he calls out again while entering the dorm room, mouth dry and his breathing erratic from having run. “The news— We need to talk—“
