jackson wang. fever. 032894 (19).
body temperature manip. room #206.
"and you deserve your name on a crown, on a throne. i'll give you something to live for."
jung jihoon (rain) - - bright young things ! – replied, waiting
kim junsu ◄ afterglow. – owe reply
moon hyuna { SEEDLINGS ;; – waiting reply
park jiyeon ◄ patience. – waiting reply
shiraishi mai ◄ give you whatever i can. – waiting reply
plotting!
park jiyeon – city hall event
this is mostly for my sanity haha - my replies have been kinda slow lately and weekends tend to be my worst time... but! i'm sorry, and to saint: i'll try to get your reply done tomorrow! ;;
anyway, i think this is what i have going (let me know if i missed anyone/anything)? and if you wanna plot (event or not), leave me an ask or even like this post and i'll come at you.
{`as the lesson drew to a close he had deliberately made it more intense than jackson was used to, keen on pushing him further towards his limit without actually hitting it just yet. but more importantly he had sure to end it on a good note, so when the other landed a perfect hit after a tedious ten-minute back-and-forth spar he called it off and shut the hologram off } great job! you held your own for a very long time there. perfect. {`with that he went straight for the water bottle and tossed it towards jackson to catch, along with a small towel that he hung over the other’s shoulder once he got over to him. few things were as amazing than teaching students who were willing to learn, and the man to his side definitely fell into that category. overall he just felt genuinely blessed whenever he got reminded in just how high regard he was held by jackson. it was cool. especially to know that it didn’t exactly change even when he pushed him like crazy — such as during today’s lesson. after brushing his hands off against each other he sat down beside him with a content sigh and leaned his head to glance at the spent teen } any questions?
(/ a hit or two against his chest and then to his shoulder had him reeling slightly, the ghost of hands passing through his figure while moisture beaded against his skin. it was significantly harder this time – the man who stood at the sidelines nearing a merciless degree as he successfully dodged another swing, countering it with a forceful throw of his arm. knockout – a befuddled materialization of white noise where the head of the hologram once held, before it disappeared entirely. he stepped back, breathing heavy but steady, as he held himself against his knees. ) one sec. (/ requests after he catches the bottle, untightening the cap. things laid waste amidst his thoughts – questions really.. he had too many. ) hyungnim! er – (/ he fails to correct himself; he's too used to the term. ) you changed things this time, didn’t you? (/ he asks, a smile growing on his face as he looked towards the familiar male – familiar in that his appearance eased him, never failing. ) yeah, i think… there’s a few.
( * jiyeon pauses at the vibration in her pocket, halting in her chase (honestly, she's too lax with this — although seeing as people wouldn't be getting out of here any time soon, she's not too pressed) of the mutants she had spotted in favor of pulling out her phone, eyes flicking over the text before she taps out another ) ( sms ) i'm here too — they're going crazy over the mutants or something ( txt ) stay safe!
( / familiar faces pass by the screen above and things shut down – it happens so fast that jackson becomes rooted to his spot with an expression of utter confusion. but it turns quickly to something else, his eyes only noticing his phone from its flash of light – her words finalize his concern ) [ text ] you too ( / is all he manages to push out as paranoia settles and he searches desperately for someone he recognizes, pushing through people until he disappears )
It hardly took one breath for Jackson to hear those dreaded words confirming failed responsibilities. A reiteration of what would happen in the real world, had he been given the task to mend, to take care of – someone, potentially an individual within the second set of children, had succumbed to their illness with not a hand helped in their favor. A neglected patient with a family that’d no longer be able to see their son or daughter, a ghost dissipating in the air. Because he took too long to recoup, and he sat there on satin white sheets, the calm atmosphere contrasting sharply with his pulse. Clenched, and unclenched steadily, one hand facing palm up at him with a comforted fervor, his body finally settling at room temperature without the need for motivation.
Bodies fill the ward once more, their harried sounds accompanying their hatched presence – he had really made no progress at all as he looked around him and found familiar faces again suffering from ailments and gauntly appearances that he had remedied only moments before. But, he knows this – it was a game that was all or nothing, anyway.
But he’s ready this time. First half of four: one child with relative chills, three children with varying degrees of high fevers, one of which was not critical and continued to watch him with curious orbs, the same who offered him a glimmer of encouragement through a small grin. He remembered this time to offer one back, a finger coming up to split his lips with light comic relief – hang tight, everything would be okay. Jackson’s skin was already emanating a mild heat, and he again, wrapped himself in a cocoon of sheets until he could feel them absorbing all that they could.
Stick with what worked, he thought.
“Wrap yourself tightly in this, okay?” he quickly advised, a slight departure from his second round. Fabric fanned out over the child like a replayed memory, and she tucked herself in obediently until all that was visible was the crown of her head.
Now, he was able to ready himself for the temperature change. A physical and mental preparation that stood like a stone wall against extirpation; a polar opposite bite constricting his veins and causing him to cough out a wisp of what was left within his lungs. He does it again, rolling the bed toward its partner with all his strength, colliding them without disrupting the occupants. And his hands took ahold of the steel on both, a frigid air taking form so fast that it coats the solid with a visible layer of white.
Jackson turned to the fourth child, and pointed to him with a forward tilt to his head. “You,” he targeted, lips straightened into a solid line – poker face. “.. are not allowed to smile. That’s your mission, alright?” A faithful nod follows suit as he took possession of the boy’s hand, touching the other to his forehead. The child looked up at him with curiosity, yet he obeyed the command with a mouth slightly agape – until Jackson quickly stuck his tongue out and looked away as if nothing had happened.
A small giggle sounded before the boy plastered his hands over his face as if it had betrayed him. “No, it’s okay. Laughing is allowed. I just said no smiling,” he stated factually with relaxed eyes. “… how do you laugh without smiling?” The question comes through as the first real words he’s heard since he’d been in the room, non-mechanical, and a hint of surprise crosses his expression before it’s pushed away just as fast as it came.
“Like this.” The corners of his mouth downturn and he forces out a high-pitched chortle before stopping and staring, deadpanned. The boy subsequently laughs again before pulling on his own face. “You’re weird.”
“I was born this way.” A conclusion he already knew. Hands remove themselves from heated flesh, and Jackson knew he had instilled enough distraction and will power within the child to step away, disappearing behind a second set of curtains as he continued on with the task.
He’s done it no more for the sake of the sick than he did for himself – those short minutes allowed him to settle his core temperature to something manageable; complacent. The hairs on his head thawed and reinvigorated, blue veins expanding once again. His mind eased with the display of joy in an environment that was so dead against such.
But he could hear increased coughing and moaning – someone is crying. And he focuses on a sight that is much more extreme than what remained behind him.
All four children are new him; respectively so. But they neglect a glance in his direction as their demons haunt over them as if visible to the naked eye. One bed caught his attention especially – a girl with all the color drained from her skin, damp with pearls of sweat. Yet she rolled uncontrollably beneath heavy blankets, jaw jutting from its points as her teeth clenched. It’s a display that renders her the highest priority as he stood next to her bed, grabbing her hand to calm her. Cold as death – it makes him wonder how she was still even alive.
That doomed sound of warning that etched itself within his eardrums came out once again. It gave Jackson no time to think on what to do, and he ended up just doing. Heat reignited and burned his chest, pupils nearly glowing with both palms on either side of the child’s face. She had no response and continued to shift her legs with restlessness. It’s only until he ends up pulling her body to him, close and with arms wrapped securely, did he realize that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
It wasn’t working.
She became limp with the final tone of her pulse.
And he’s left frozen in place, holding onto a corpse.
SIMULATION J-397, THIRD ATTEMPT: FAIL.
The room dissolves. He leans against the wall and slides down it with charcoal at his heart.
That was one of the things that made him weak, those frequent occurrences of simply underestimating things too difficult to break. It was embedded in the nineteen-year-old’s character – and then he had to tell himself again that those figures that were surrounding him weren’t real. The child who had died at his hands a mere couple of seconds ago: they weren’t real.
The simulation had shut down, only a high-pitched sound rang amidst a shower of white noise to his hearing. Eeriness encompassed the room. He took a deep breath, thinking that he was okay despite the one heartbeat that came irregular, tapping against his chest as if asking to be let out – ignored. He cleared his throat into a clenched fist and he spoke aloud. “Again. Restart!”
And it all shifted back into a familiar setting, the same girl from before looking at him with a curious tilt to her head. You’re back. But he doesn’t take his time with this round as he felt his fingers tingle, the sensation spreading through all four limbs and setting his core aflame with a heat that he hadn’t forced in so long.
Jackson had a plan this time – or so he thought. The way that the moisture on his skin rose to the air advertised that fact, one hand grasping a set of unused, folded blankets while the other tossed them over the entirety of his figure. It doesn’t take long for the fabric to adopt his temperature, the smell of warm cotton and the threat of melting polyester filling his nostrils. He shrugged them off as quickly as he could before splaying them over the first girl – her shivers from earlier gave her away, something that he had remembered.
She nestled her head as comfortably as she could against her pillow, and he figured that she would be fine.
The hardest challenge was dealing with those with the light fading from their eyes – a simple warm blanket wouldn’t be enough, too insignificant of an impact to ease the aches that reverberated from their depths. The same boy that garnered his focus and resulted in his first failure appeared just as lifeless as he did before – eyelids heavy with the sand of eternal sleep. But before he decided to move forward, he surveyed the bed next to him –
And it was a good thing that he did. A girl, this time, that looked more entrenched in her illness than the other few, had thrown sheets off of her body, her mattress soaked nearly to its springs, chest heaving, eyes starting to roll to the back of her head…
No, no. Stay with me.
Her gasps became disturbing, and the beats of her life ticked down at an increased pace. A rush to the feet of her bed and Jackson’s expression is frustrated, panicked, because he was still too hot to touch. It’s a mental slap to the face because he realized that he shouldn’t have put so much effort on the first bed – again, his eagerness had got the best of him. But despite this, he suddenly took ahold of her bed's frame and rolled it forward until it’s joined with the individual’s next to her.
He hadn’t a clue on whether it would work – it’s an idea that would look absurd, almost comical on paper. But hands clamped down on both railings, and what he subsequently forces takes more strength than he has, leading him into the negative. A spindly network of ice coat the metal workings until it creaks, and it cackled at the hardship until the frost crept across sheets and ultimately, beneath their persons.
It’s not instant, no. One continued to nod their head from side to side, a pendulum accompanying the continuous rhythm that existed in the backdrop – the other remained motionless, but their mouth was no longer gaping. A sense of calm progresses until it revealed the desired reality that allows him to peel his palms away. A sigh of relief is heaved, and he nearly trips over his own two feet when he steps back.
They’re okay –
But he’s not. Yet he kept going with frozen fingers settled against a fourth child. They suffered from the heat as well, but at least they were able to gaze up at him, wide-eyed, until something connected and a small smile crossed their lips.
There were four more left still, but his thermostat was broken. Polar opposite temperatures attempted in a less than five minute margin was another one of Jackson’s shortcoming. A struggling intermediate with a relatively controlled hold on his power was really more of a joke than it was a fact. He thought about the hypothetical situation of actually being there at the time of Busan’s destruction, with school peers and close friends. And how he could have figured out how to be useful with what God, the universe, whatever, really, had given him.
But --
What a joke, the thought repeats, until a familiar voice sounded.
She answers, but he’s still not sure. He tilts his head slightly, noting that she looks.. off. Not in such a way that it disrupts her feat of upholding that certain air about her, but in the way that no longer were her lines as fluid, no longer natural to the shape of her person. He’s not sure if he should state the observation out loud though, but he keeps his eye on her for the time being – an elbow, offered even, with a baiting look… take it. Take it and hold on.
“That’s alright. As long as you’ve saved my number?” Because if she hadn’t, she’d be getting a lot of unknown phone call and texts – to warn her of it seems futile, because she was the type to do whatever she wished no matter the outcome. He’s already figured this. So his lips press together in silence, sneakers tapping rhythmically against the pathway until a shrug rolls off his shoulders to accompany his response. “I couldn’t sleep,” he states simply, glancing up at the sky filled with a vague dispersion of clouds, sun continuing to shine through.
“.. and I usually sleep well,” he tacks on. Jackson doesn’t know why he tells her this – he’s generally not well with voicing his little life issues with those around him, even the ones he could call best friend. Two reasons; the sense of unnecessary burden and forced condolences, and the newly found sense of potential betrayal. His status as “unhuman”, the things that he hears coming from news reports, from authorities and general citizens – the trust from before, the little fear that he had once, didn’t have the room to exist anymore. There were only a certain couple of people he could do that with, and… she wasn’t one of them.
“But… it’s just one of those things…” Y’know. His eyes find her and his lips curve before he looks away again. “And what about you? Are you usually out here so early?”
He pulls his earbuds out to which they dangle, neglected, against the fabric of his shirt. Another curse crosses his mind, but he bars it from sounding. Not at the other, no, never, because in fact, Jackson doesn’t remember being so clumsy, so idiotically unaware of his surroundings that he’s holding back being apologetic as he gazes ahead of him, almost as if in some sort of daze. Sweatpants already muddied, he gingerly shifts himself into a kneeling position, examining his hands before dusting them off to the best of his ability.
His head throbs with an increased pain than before. Though he was labeled an intermediate (but what did that even mean?), he never failed to experience the shortcomings of his gift – the way that aches gripped his body when he toyed with his temperature too often, those chills from earlier causing his breath to come out like ice now that he’s abruptly put at rest. A daily learning game, the scope of his ability having its blurry boundaries, and he rubs the back of his neck with shut eyelids, arm stretching, fingers massaging.
Until he snaps back to reality with a single touch.
Pressure is applied on his shoulder to signal his attention again, looking up at the older male with an instant rehash of what he should’ve said only seconds after their run-in. “Hyung -- ! Hyung, ah, I’m so sorry,” he spoke with a newly found vision, accepting the other’s hand and pulling himself up with the aid. “I wasn’t paying attention, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there… you okay and all?” His eyes observe his figure, spotting the stains on Junsu’s well-pressed pants and causing him to bite his lip in regret. “I hope those aren’t ruined. They look expensive and damn, I am so sorry again.”
It’s happened so fast that he nearly forgets to smile, his expression growing before it’s interrupted as a hand is placed against his forehead. The heat is so significant on his cold skin that he forces out a light laugh in hopes to distract him. Already, the older is too wise – too kind – for his own good, an individual that he couldn’t help but admire from the moment they had first met. “I’m fine! Really!” He waves him off, squinting with a grin and assuming he’s felt nothing. “What are you doing out here? Can’t say it looks like you’re doing the same thing as me.”
Weekends were notoriously busy in the church, simply because it was the more popular days of the week for them, meaning that since early in the morning, Jiyeon had done nothing but wiped down all the benches down twice (just to be sure, the sister in charge was a perfectionist like that) before moving onto the marble floors and pillars.
In short, it was a hell (even in a place like this, it was alright to say in her mind, right?) of a lot of work for free room and board.
But the sister was as intimidating as she was demanding, reminiscent of another unni she knew – although what this sister lacked in centimeters she made up with thousands of tiny wrinkles (it would have been a remotely friendly face if not for the fact that she had sharper eyes than a hawk).
She truly hoped that Chaeyoung unni wouldn’t turn out like this.
But it was by a stroke of luck that one of the usual kitchen staff had stepped out for the day, leaving her with the chance of volunteering to deliver lunches to those on the street. Of course, it did take a little more than the norm of kissing up (seeing as her and Sister Julia both knew the chances of her inhaling those lunches is just as likely as rain for the rest of the weekend), but in the end, it is with a victorious (and nearly smug) expression did Jiyeon find herself nudging open the church’s doors, stepping out with a satisfied sigh as the bags of boxed lunches hangs off her fingers.
It takes only a second to spot him then.
And Jiyeon takes even less to greet him, hopping down the stairs two at a time as her lips twists into a bright grin, eyes curving slightly.
“Hey!” She exclaimed, coming to a perfect hopping stop in front of the male as her head leans to the side slightly, taking a chance to look him over before she poses her question. “What are you doing here?”
Though, naturally, Jiyeon tries not to think about the fact that his name has slipped her mind once again – even if she did greet him like an old friend.
He hardly has the moment to think when doors swing open before him, his eyes widening, startled, as he instinctively steps back from the sight. But upon recognition of her face, he finds himself counting his lucky stars as it’s just the very person he’d been seeking – “Jiyeon.. !” A grin accompanies the exclamation as she approaches him, glad to see her well. “I was in the area, and I thought I’d stop by and surprise you?” A small fib that makes him feel slightly guilty.
It’s always been hard, ever since Jackson had arrived at the institute. No longer was he allowed the carelessness of his childhood, his adolescence, the emptying of a mind too open and too trusting. Discretion was needed and it was enforced, for the welfare of himself and for the other individuals that he only recently identified with. So when she looked up at him with the innocent ignorance of what he was hiding, it made the pit of his stomach stir with a mild discomfort.
“Are you busy? Here! Let me help you?”
His hands reach out in offering after noticing the bags she’s currently loading. Peculiar – slightly curious as to what they held, and why she had so many – ah. They’re called dosirak in Korean, he remembers and then it makes sense. Because behind her, stands a cross during times where people needed it the most, and squared lumps through the fabric become discernible. “Do you have to take these somewhere? Two pairs of hands are better than one, y’know,” he states in a rather matter-of-factly tone, disallowing her any objection before taking more than half off her hands.
Hood still wrapped tightly around the circumference of his face, he smiles at her with questioning eyes. “Where to?”
Crisp air filled his lungs and set his nerves alight – because even though winter was increasingly losing its hold, nights and evenings continued to reflect what once was its unforgiving wrath, before allowing spring to set into a full swing. But, at least, no longer were landscapes painted with frost, and he could plant a foot against pavement without the conscious fear of slipping.
Earbuds plugged in, hoodie pulled up, and his surroundings are subsequently muted. It’s the first time in months that he’s able to do this, jogging outside along pathways that found themselves even in the most obscure areas of campus – places that he didn’t know even existed. Intervals were illuminated by the occasional lamp post, a yellow glow against a not yet black pitched skyline. He could still spot the school buildings in the distance without any aid, despite the fresh appearance of the moon.
This, was easily his favorite time of day.
Things started to hum in a relative atmosphere and adopt fuzzy halos, muddled outlines before everything would finally fade into mutual longings for sleep. A place rocked by tragedy, injected with paranoia – everything, ultimately, deserved its rest. Nothing but the sound of his sneakers hitting concrete, breath coming out in destroyed wisps of steam, music playing loudly within his ears, now came to his senses.
Things were getting hot, and Jackson tells himself to cool down. Breathe – good strength and focus training as he spreads a chill from within his core and through his limbs, fingers tingling with adjustment. He weaves through the few students occupying the same path, grass spongy beneath his feet, getting further away from the main campus and into a parting of trees.
He realizes that it's darker than before; it's only moments before he runs into someone.
Damn. His hands feel dirty and his knees are wet, but it’s the least of his worries. He feels foggy and he feels like shit – he looks up to find a remotely familiar face.
It’s warm, and the air is filled with the buzz of casual chatter. It’s a spur of the moment kind of thing – Jackson does this sometimes, his fingers pressing against ghosts on a small screen, a request for the girl to come out in the city sent from within a café because he’s already been here for a while. A necessary outing from the confines of campus boundaries; he’s appealing to both physical and mental vacations.
Click.
[ text ] meet me in fifteen minutes then?
His last text from a series is sent before the little electronic slips back into his pocket. A barista offers a cardboard slip, but he rejects it with a friendly shake of his head -- his fingers are oddly cold to touch today, rarely allowing them to drift from anything that gave them a heated color. Two small cups are accepted with naked palms, and they act in place as they spread a new sense of warmth through the extense of his flesh.
Thoughts had been growing by the day lately, a gradual accumulation of things that hadn’t been sitting well with the nineteen-year-old. Too many to name, too vague to pinpoint, about events, and about individuals – things that collided and failed to come in staggered intervals, forcing rather familiar and uncomfortable feelings upon him. But at least amidst his burdens, life, finally, was seemingly gradually repairing itself.
A foot out the door of a seafront shop, and he was already in the presence of rolling waves, gentle enough to get close without wetting toes. A fair environment to invite the girl, only having last seen her with remnants of dread in her eyes and exhaustion at her lips – he sits himself against a bench and sets things aside, until he hears footsteps increasing in volume behind him.
A turn of his head, expression neutral until he finds himself smiling lightly. “Oh, you’re here?”
A transition of seasons sends raindrops falling over the cityscape, staining twisted structures and remains with darkened spots. But it’s bearable, the sheer in his coat sending moisture skidding off in orbs as he wandered through a crosswalk. The city is not quiet, but it’s more than it’s ever been after the few, brief times he’s returned to see for himself. A disaster, at first, to a recovering community, to the shining glimpses that everything would be okay… it really has to be, he hopes, as he pulls drawstrings tighter around his face.
The weekend welcomed Jackson with open arms – another excuse to go exploring, completely content with the fact that he’s solo today. Yet he’s kidding himself when describing it as an exploration, seeing that he has one goal in mind, trudging through puddles with a sense of purpose, of direction. Because from what he knows, a church continues to stand tall through the now historical chaos, and shelters a peculiar individual that he’s grown quite close to – or, as close as two could be after only a couple of meetings.
Which is why he is given the excuse to stand there now, right in front of the entrance, gazing up at its architectural point. Luckily, there’s a break in the sky and the rain has stopped, but is she even here right now? What if she’s gone out? Questions easily answered by opening the doors but… he can’t. Not another step is taken, his legs frozen to the spot for reasons he’s not willing to speak of. An invisible barrier keeps him from entering –
Exhale, she really, feels, better now. Alone in a wasted Winter land, she marches with no goal in particular, fingers threaded behind her back as she goes.
It’s early, and tomorrow is already a subject of concern
Eyes peeled open; they never rested that night. It would be the first time that Jackson would accept a task, a confirmation of his worth at the school. Seven months provided him with basic knowledge and skills, but it was hardly enough to keep his heart from thumping loudly, nervously, within his chest at waking. A grip of his sheets, and he pulls himself upward, blinking at an empty room cast with faded shadows from closed curtains. He rubs his face and pulls on his jeans before he rips them open to allow illumination.
It’s nice today. He figures this because the sun greets him with a full force, and he decides that he’s not going to stay in. Not his usual routine before the start of his first class – instead, cleaning himself up quickly before fitting a snapback over his head and calling it good. Besides – fresh air to fill his lungs would be a healthy start to clearing his head. But someone catches his eye and heavy thoughts invade what little space is left as he stood with feet immobile against concrete.
She’s here again. He should be avoiding her at such a delicate time, but he just… can’t. He twirls his fitted backwards before he finds himself calling out, “Hyuna -- !” And with a casual jog, he’s at her side within seconds, peering at fresh features he’s never forgotten. “Ha… you’re here.. “ -- as if she were real? “Sorry… ah, did you get my text?”
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