wip dump [1/5]
hello. this is a post for everything i have in my laptop that i have written (a few lines, some paragraphs, some thousands?) that i may never touch again. since they're rotting in there, and i don't want to continue them even though people keep bothering me telling me to, so here's this:
hoaegi's mega wip dump!
(please be warned that this is a LOT)
(note: titles, summaries and ratings are all very deceptive. a lot of them were meant to be Real Fic. text underwent no formatting, so there are places where it is supposed to be in italics, i apologize for the confusion! also, some wips are fragmented/parts are not always coherent. i write like that. sorry :c)
-
1.
when the daisies shimmer gold
jongin/sehun
The life of a child of Hades is not always easy. Sehun is a lost soul who lives his life backwards.
“A son of Hades!”
Jongin walks into the Fields of Asphodel with his Stygian iron dagger clenched tightly in his hand and already regrets taking on the job when he feels the familiar tug at his ankles right from the first step he takes. There are fingers at his feet, he knows, although a normal human shouldn’t be able to see them, but Jongin isn’t normal anyway, so he sees them. Save me, he hears, invisible fingers winding themselves around Jongin’s tense legs.
He quietly shakes them off, and finds that there are marks on his palms where he had clenched on too tightly and his nails had dug too deep.
Jongin doesn’t know how it came to be, how he was claimed by his alleged ‘dad’, Hades, when he was attempting to smoke pot in one of the college washrooms and had jumped and yelped when Hades manifested in the toilet. He had disappeared from the mortal world (or so he knows) and had been on many, many journeys around the world, not as Kim Jongin, but as a son of Hades. A messenger. An errand runner. Working with the dead and interacting with them more than real living beings has turned Jongin sour, into a (mostly) heartless and emotionless person.
He’d been sent here, to the Fields to “sort the souls out” because he had stolen one of Persephone’s prized peaches (which had grown and been taken care of by Persephone herself) and refused to return it because a life of immortality can be quite mundane at times. Jongin personally thinks Hades is just a lazy dick. It was in the spur of the moment, in a moment of folly, which he had decided to sprinkle some life onto his miserable life which was destined to be spent together with people who are technically not living but breathing. Hades had been hopping mad, fire blazing in his eyes as he lectured Jongin on how he shouldn’t have infuriated Persephone, no matter what the circumstances are. Jongin merely shrugged, and Hades had put the job on his head out of sheer fury.
Jongin lets out a sigh, slashes his dagger into the dense air and walks along the huge plains aimlessly.
The Fields of Asphodel glimmer in a shade of perpetual gold. The flowers glow gold and the air is tinged with a hint of gold and even the eyes of the souls are often gold (if they’ve been here long enough). This was a place meant for people to spend the rest of eternity in, after they die, neither to heaven nor to the fiery pits of hell, but here. It’s a peaceful place, but when you have millennia and eons in front of you, you tend to forget. Many of the souls here don’t even remember or know their name, simply because they’ve spent too many years waiting and wandering in this vast plain of nothingness. Waiting for nothing, because there is no end to the wait. The souls that end up here will stay here forever, literally.
It’s often rumored that in the initial years of one’s long journey in the Fields, they show you your life. You get to see how your life has turned out, right from the end to the start, and although it sounds tempting, it really isn’t. Oh Sehun has been here for three years, eyes still dark brown by nature and he has seen many other wandering souls lose their memory of anything at all. They start by recalling how they had died, and to the things before that, and after a while, how they were born. And they don’t remember anything else after that, so it’s common for people to not know who they are.
Sehun has been here long enough to see many children of Hades pass by the Fields, sometimes looking for people they’ve lost in their lives, sometimes to complete quests by the gods, sometimes just for fun, just because they can. Gods and demigods (except for children of Hades and Hermes himself) weren’t allowed to enter the Underworld. For a whole year, not many children of Hades have come, but recently, however, a particular boy has been wandering in the Fields, a black dagger in his hand as he smoothly directs the traffic and flow of the souls here.
Three years hadn’t been enough for Hades to show Sehun his life just yet. He’d been here, memory fresh with vivid recollections of his past and waiting for the day where someone will take them all away. It might be Hades, it might be the golden dust in the air, and it might be this tanned boy with full lips and dark hair and eyes as deep as night.
“A son of Hades!”
Sehun doesn’t look up because he knows it’ll be the same boy again, frown perpetually embedded into the crease between his brows as he waves his hands like he was conducting an orchestra. An orchestra of souls, that is. Sehun watches as the boy regards each and every soul with big eyes and presses the tip of his dagger on the souls’ foreheads before the souls move in different directions. Ah, Sehun thinks, the boy is sorting the souls. Baekhyun, a guy Sehun’d met a few weeks ago, who also lost his memories a few days ago, walks up to the son of Hades with his eyes shimmering gold. The boy presses his fingers to Baekhyun’s temples for a while, and does the same thing with his dagger before Baekhyun bows and floats off to his left. It’s a little sad how Baekhyun doesn’t remember Sehun anymore, doesn’t remember anything anymore.
And the boy walks up to Sehun. Sehun wants to open his mouth and explain that he didn’t need sorting because technically he should still have the freedom to move to wherever he likes, by himself because he was still a free soul with a clear head. The boy presses his fingers to Sehun’s temples, and Sehun can feel memories rushing within him, threatening to leave his body and into the fingertips at his temples.
“Hey,” the boy says, voice shaking. “I haven’t met a soul as young as you. Do you remember your name?”
“Oh Sehun,” Sehun replies easily. It feels nice to talk to someone… real.
The boy huffs in annoyance once, but he doesn’t hold his dagger up against Sehun’s forehead like he did to everyone else. He just turns and walks away, but turns back in a swift motion. “Ah,” he says, “it isn’t your time yet. I’ll look for you again… soon.”
Sehun only watches wordlessly as the other boy kicks the ground gently and leaves the sphere where the Fields lie, disappearing into another world.
Jongin hasn’t met a young soul in a while, and when he feels Sehun’s memories rushing into him, he feels a little knocked off-balance. He’s so used to meeting and dealing with souls that have already lost everything they know and hold dear to in their lives and empty minds but Sehun is different. He remembers because it hasn’t been long enough, and his eyes weren’t gold like everyone else’s was.
He flies out of the Fields, up and away from the Acheron River, and breathes in air that isn’t colored gold.
Sehun has lost count of days and weeks and months but he knows it’s been long since someone had announced the arrival of a son of Hades. Half of Sehun wishes it was the same guy again, because he’d like to talk to someone again, but the other half feels sick at the thought of his memories being removed soon,
He kicks at a golden pebble on the floor, and jumps on the spot when black smoke appears and shifts to form the same boy from that day. “Hi, Sehun,” he says with a quirky grin and Sehun had already forgotten how chatting with a living person feels like. “I’m Jongin, do you still remember me?”
Sehun wants to retort that it hasn’t been that long, although the Fields show no indication of time or season because the sky (which is not the real sky, but like a ceiling to this big patch of land, like a lid of a pot full of trouble) is always, always a soft hue of gold. Flowers bloom and die in a repetitive cycle and Sehun knows it’s not because of spring or winter but because this is how life passes, too. “I do,” he just replies, and it surprises him when his voice shakes.
“I miss working with real and living people,” Jongin mutters, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m sorry, this may seem weird, but I just wanted to talk to someone who still knows who they are.”
“Are you tired?” Sehun asks.
“Tired of? Life? My job? My parentage? Yes,” Jongin replies.
“Tired of being involved with all of us here,” Sehun says, gesturing to the endless fields. Jongin stares in the direction of Sehun’s arm and groans.
“I am, but once in a while something interesting happens. I find people who are still living, people like you.”
“Oh,” Sehun sighs, “but you never know when I’ll just forget everything.”
“Can I talk to you until then?” Jongin asks, “My job doesn’t end until many years later.”
Sehun nods.
The beginning of Sehun’s end comes a few months after he had met Jongin. He still knows who he is, knows where he came from, and still knows the grades he had scored for his college entrance exams. It’s on a boring day that he feels it, head light and movements slow as he sees his memories escaping him in silver swirls of gas. It hits him in the face as he blacks out.
-
2.
low-cut, see-through shirts that make you
kai/sehun
nc-17 def
Sehun definitely signed up for this gym programme because he wanted to become more muscular, and develop those abs Lu Han was boasting about. He most definitely didn’t stay for his personal trainer.
(FOR ESTELLE'S BIRTHDAY I AM SO SORRY)
This is the fifth time in the week that Lu Han had rejected Sehun’s offer of a treat at the meat shop down the street by the park, insisting that he has to abstain from meat in order to get abs. It’s only Friday, and Sehun had offered every single day. He scoffs with a roll of his eyes before calling Chanyeol and ending up with a (slightly) bulging tummy after the meal. Lu Han eyes Sehun wearily when Sehun enters the apartment, smelling like burnt meat and soju and smoke and a whole ton of food-related bad decisions.
“Sehun,” Lu Han says, voice nasal because he has two fingers pinching his nostrils closed, “you smell like meat, go take a shower, I’m going to actually vomit all over you and your couch if you don’t.”
Sehun kicks his shoes off at the shoe rack beside the door and purposefully twirls around the living room, watching Lu Han bury his face into a cushion with a whine. “Hyung,” Sehun says, “it’s been three months and I think you’ve evolved from a mindset of wanting abs to losing weight.”
“Losing weight?” Lu Han replies, words muffled by the cotton.
“You sound like a girl.” Sehun runs away before Lu Han can get up.
Sehun spends the next few days wallowing in self-pity. Ever since Lu Han had visited the gym a few bus stops away, returning with a wide grin with a sudden dream to get ‘the perfect body’, he had watched his diet strictly, even removing all the junk food and carbonated drinks (and beer) from the fridge. Sehun had watched helplessly as Lu Han chucks all the packets of frozen chicken nuggets and frozen pan-fried dumplings into an ice box and gives it away to their neighbour Minseok (who accepts it with a bright smile), and Sehun had whined about eating healthy everyday. Sehun still makes it a rule to visit the barbecue place once a week, and keeping up with his fast food eating habits (it’s not his fault he likes to collect the collectibles they offer) despite the strict dietary rules at home.
However, as the days and weeks pass, Sehun begins to notice the change in Lu Han. The lean muscles of Lu Han’s legs have become more toned and firm (Sehun poked at it while Lu Han was sleeping once) and Sehun had seen Lu Han’s not-so-obviously obvious abs once, when Lu Han walked out of the shower looking for his towel, and Sehun places his hand on his tummy subconsciously.
If he finds himself at the gym place Lu Han had mentioned once a few days later, he’s pretty sure it’s Lu Han’s fault. Fucking peer pressure. Sehun purses his lips and scrutinizes the building from outside. The first floor has solid walls but the second floor has glass ones. Under the sunlight, the glass panels reflect light and Sehun’s momentarily blinded by the reflection. He shakes his head a bit to get rid of the light stuck in his eyelids, and bumps into someone as he walks.
“Sorry,” he says, not knowing where the other person is, but the other person just mumbles ‘it’s okay’ and walks away. Sehun regains his sight in time to see that the guy’s also walking into the gym, so he tucks his hands into his pockets and feigns nonchalance as he trails behind him.
The lady at the counter when he steps into the building smiles brightly as she regards Sehun with curious eyes. “May I help you with anything, sir?”
Sehun watches as the guy walks to the elevator and he turns back to the lady. “Uh,” he starts, not sure how to begin. “I want to be fitter?”
“Would you like a personal training programme? The schedule would be specialized for you and you get to choose what would be best for you,” the lady explains, and she looks like she’s trying to stifle a laugh. Sehun groans internally and hopes for a hole to open on the floor for him to slide into hell to.
“Sure,” Sehun just says, and digs out his wallet for his card. The lady busies herself with the card reader and when Sehun turns to look for the guy from earlier, he finds that he’s nowhere to be seen already.
-
3.
fearless (until you go)
chanyeol/kyungsoo
chanyeol is fire, and kyungsoo is the sandstorm that his strong flame sways along to. (mama-dystopian!au)
(ORIGINALLY FOR RUNANDGUN)
It is the year 2100, and life has never been so bleak like it has been in about two centuries ago. War has reduced major cities into rubble and crushed dreams, Broadway no longer bright and shining and the leaning tower of Pisa down to the ground. All around and above are the sounds of missiles that have no target except the entire world and gunshots that miss one person but get another person right in the heart. When the radio is turned on, all that pours out are news of destruction, destruction, and more destruction. Namsan Tower is all but a crumpled pile of broken padlocks in the shape of hearts (legend has it that lovers used to go up and write their wishes on the locks, but when Seoul grew progressively there was no such thing as “love” or “promises” anymore) and the Busan port a mangled mass of shipwreck and split wooden planks.
They say this power-hungry world did not arrive where it is now by itself, that this world of destruction has a real root; that this problem has had a real origin, and people didn’t cause this just for fun.
They say that somewhere fifty years ago, someone had shot to fame in one night because of his ability to tear through the layers of atmosphere and had come back down entirely unhurt. The world had kept silent in awe because he could fly, and he was able to breathe up in the heavy layers of atmospheric pressure. Superpowers. Some theories say that they existed some many centuries ago, but people kept mum because this could cause great trouble. Now that it had seen the light of day, and when humans had control over the elements, the law served no purpose after people started setting courts on fire and overthrowing weak governments of many countries.
Soon after, militaries had started to capture people with such powers in order to exploit them for their own selfish purposes. Burning down houses of innocent people, threatening to drown an entire city (Maldives, was it?) just for the country to surrender. Ever since, people have been on a constant run, and the overly frequent use of nuclear weapons has caused the spread of the superpowers to go haywire. Everyone had them, whether they liked it or not. A kid you knew since you were three, completely normal, could cook up a huge tornado with a wave of his hands just one day after one night.
Lives were at stake, and people started to learn how to survive instead of live.
Stale breaths.
Chanyeol isn’t even sure how long he has been running away anymore. His shirt is tattered and dirtied, a nice old maroon shirt he got during his school’s sports meet soiled by mud and dust from concrete and blood stained from dead passer-bys he had tried to save (to no avail). All he knows is that the sounds of the guns are loud above and he clutches his tattered backpack close to his chest. The thumping of his heart is loud against his ears and strong against his hands and he frantically swallows and tries not to make a noise because he can’t risk being caught.
When the noises and the heavy stomps of footsteps fade away, Chanyeol uncurls himself from his corner in the basement and rubs his shaking hands together. It’s a late night in the harshest of winters and it’s definitely not the season to be escaping, but he’s been experiencing this for too long he doesn’t even have the strength to complain anymore. He shivers once and snaps his fingers. A small flame sizzles at the tips of his fingers and he quietly increases the size, cradling the small fireball in his palm because it will never hurt him.
He has the fire element in him, and it had took him five years before he accidentally caused the wooden table at home to burst into flames and his parents had stared at him with large eyes and the next thing Chanyeol remembers is being sent to the asylum, his hands bandaged up because they were dangerous. He was dangerous. He had never seen his family ever again after being admitted.
Chanyeol meets a boy when he manages to escape from the hospital when he was seven, young and wild and believing that he’s not crazy. His name was Kris, and he had a dragon, a fire-breathing dragon, and Chanyeol wants to believe that the both of them weren’t crazy. Kris had flown away with a quick roll of his eyes, although the corners of his lips were turned up in a small grin. “We’ll meet again if we’re fated,” Kris had said, hair flying in all directions in the sweet autumn wind before disappearing in a quick sonic boom, leaving Chanyeol with an opened mouth and a thumping heart.
And they did meet again, in a dark alley in the rundown streets of Daegu one time, Kris with a stick of nicotine hanging loosely from his lips and Chanyeol with fire in his eyes and fire on the ground everywhere he steps. “You’re asking to be captured,” Kris said, the same smile hanging on the side of his lips.
Chanyeol wanted to ask a million questions, about how Kris could survive in such a laidback manner when he has the most prominent ability of flight, amongst others, but he all he said was, “I have a phoenix,” and Kris had laughed, a soft sound in the harsh silence.
“Okay, fine. Since I can’t guarantee we’ll meet again, so how’s this? I’ll name my dragon after you-”
“Chanyeol,” Chanyeol replies quickly.
“-Chanyeol, and you name your phoenix after me. Kris. Deal? And if we do meet again... well... that is truly fate, Chanyeol.”
There’s a really witty reply in Chanyeol’s head but before he gets it out, Kris is already gone in a quick gust of wind.
Chanyeol doesn’t think he’s met another friend after that. He isn’t even sure if Kris was counted as a friend, since he never looked like he cared about Chanyeol, except his dragon was named after Chanyeol. He slowly sinks back to the floor, watching his fire burn, and he summons his phoenix out of loneliness. “Kris,” he mutters to the bird made of fire, “I want a friend. Living alone in this world is really a tragedy. I miss Kris too, Kris... What do I do?”
The fire phoenix bows its head in empathy and brushes its feathers against Chanyeol’s arm sadly. Chanyeol sighs, but he smiles because that’s enough. Nothing better than having a bird friend in flames consoling you in a crazy winter night (he’s positive the temperature outside is three million degrees below zero)! Nothing better-
The door bursts open and Chanyeol has to cover his eyes with his arm due to the sudden light. “What the fuck-”
“Oh my god,” a soft voice squeaks, “is someone in there?”
Chanyeol isn’t sure to reply or not, because it jolly well may be a soldier and he might be chained up and pulled to the prison for captives in the next minute. But the voice sounds scared enough, so he gives it a try. No harm, Chanyeol has killed many soldiers who tried to catch him with his fire anyway. No biggie. “Yes.”
There’s a click, and suddenly Chanyeol’s eyes are blinded by a beam of light. “Woah, slow with all the light attacks.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice replies, and Chanyeol can hear footsteps approaching him.
Chanyeol sighs and hurls his fireball up to the ceiling and increases the intensity so that the room is lit up and he sees the other person for the first time. He has short, cropped hair, a pair of large eyes, a soft nose and small bow lips. There’s a torch in his left hand and a small bag clutched tightly in his right. “Hi,” Chanyeol says, and when the other boy steps closer, Kris snarls and unfurls its wings before launching a fireball of a scary size and the other boy. Chanyeol quickly steps before Kris and blocks the fire with his back.
“Hey, Kris, don’t do that. He’s not an enemy,” Chanyeol chides the phoenix, which whimpers and flies out of the window. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he turns to the boy, eyes even wider now, and smiles sheepishly. “I’m Chanyeol. Nice to meet you.”
“I - I’m Kyungsoo,” the boy replies, and when they shake hands Chanyeol finds that Kyungsoo’s hands are still shaking.
“Come have a seat,” Chanyeol says, plopping down on the cold ground and patting the space beside him, “I have fire to keep you warm.”
Kyungsoo shifts his weight from one leg to another, unsure whether to trust this stranger, or not. He can’t take his chances, can he? His school just got invaded by the army and he barely managed to escape, with several bullets missing him by a millimetre - and this guy here holds a fireball like the blazing flames are feathers instead of tongues of fire.
“Don’t be scared,” he laughs, tossing the ball of fire from one hand to another. “I just ran away from the soldiers, too. I think we’re on the same boat,” he says, pointing to the open wound on Kyungsoo’s knee. Kyungsoo flushes and wishes he didn’t trip and fall over the step outside just now.
Instead, he crosses the distance and takes a seat beside Chanyeol, and winces visibly when he sits down, trying not to move his knee. Chanyeol sees this and he bites his lips, eyebrows knit together in a frown. If they weren’t in such a pathetic plight, Kyungsoo might’ve laughed at his amusing expression (just quietly, though, they just met after all), but they are, so he keeps his comments to himself and watches Chanyeol as Chanyeol watches him.
“Do you have any places you’re going after this?” Chanyeol asks when Kyungsoo shakily pours water over his wound, and Kyungsoo looks up.
“This?”
“Well - I mean - aren’t you just running away? There should be a place you’re headed for, right?” Chanyeol says, scratching the back of his head.
Kyungsoo shakes his head slowly, averting his eyes to the rough ground. “My house was destroyed. I just ran away from my school too, because it got attacked. Technically… I don’t have anywhere to go.”
There’s a short silence after that, and Kyungsoo busies himself with his wound while Chanyeol simply stares at him and keeps quiet. For a scary moment, Kyungsoo’s afraid that Chanyeol might have a place that he wants to go and he’s thinking about how to break it to Kyungsoo that he’d have to leave Kyungsoo here, because he needs to go. It’s a scary thought. Kyungsoo gulps silently and wraps his last stretch of bandage over his knee, before tucking his legs to his chest. Chanyeol is looking at him when he’s done, and they stare at each other for a while before Kyungsoo suddenly realizes that the fear in Chanyeol’s eyes is not a reflection of his, but Chanyeol’s own.
“That’s…” Chanyeol pauses, “good.” Kyungsoo’s eyes widen in surprise and Chanyeol chuckles. “I have nowhere to go either. I’ve been abandoned since I was five. I’ve been living on my own… I guess we can be companions?”
“It must’ve been lonely,” Kyungsoo says. “I can’t imagine living alone for so many years.”
“Hey, I’m not that old,” Chanyeol whines. “I’m only 20.”
“But you’re older than me.” Kyungsoo grins.
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, and it’s funny to watch because his eyes are so big so the action is exaggerated. “Whatever, man.” He reaches for his backpack, “hey, do you want food?”
By ‘food’, Chanyeol had meant canned food. Kyungsoo doesn’t know which genius invented this method from centuries ago, but in times like these, it’s food like this that gets them pass days. He’s had his fair share of days spent cooped up in cabinets, fingers dirty from the half-opened can of baby carrots he’d stuffed in his pant pocket before his workplace got rummaged by the military. The food didn’t taste very good, he admits, but it is quantity over quality when you can only either live or die in the next second.
Chanyeol stares at the can of peas wistfully, and his index finger goes ablaze as he sighs. Kyungsoo watches as he tries to melt the lid of the can, and stifles a giggle. “Come on, give it to me,” Kyungsoo says. Chanyeol gives him a confused look but passes the can over anyway, and his eyes widen to an impossible size when Kyungsoo pinches the side of the lid and lifts it up so the can opens just nicely.
“How-”
“Strength,” Kyungsoo interrupts in a small voice, hands folded neatly in his lap as he weighs his words. “My power.”
“That’s so cool,” Chanyeol whispers in awe, eyes looking up from the peas to Kyungsoo. “I’ve always wanted a power that’s not so… visible,” he says, staring at his hands with an indignant pout.
“Fire is cool,” Kyungsoo replies with a grin, pouring the peas into his mouth. He chews, and he flinches because ew, this tastes gross. Chanyeol tilts his head. “No, just - peas. I don’t really like them. Anyway, fire is cool! You get to actually look good while fighting. I look like I’m doing judo.”
Kyungsoo politely declines when Chanyeol passes the can over. I don’t like it, he mouths. “Does judo even still exist? I heard the sport went out of business decades ago,” Chanyeol mumbles in between mouthfuls of green.
Kyungsoo turns red again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just read a lot.”
Humming, Chanyeol nods. “Smarty-pants. Anyway, we should be safe here tonight. Are you tired? We can take turns. You can sleep first; I need to digest all the peas.”
Instinctively, Kyungsoo weighs the risk of falling asleep right here and now and the chances of Chanyeol killing him in his sleep, or worse, selling him off to the military or government or something like that. He tries to dismiss the thoughts, but it plagues his head and he can’t help it because that’s ingrained in him. He’s raised to be afraid of people who try to take control of him and his powers. Chanyeol could be working for the army for all he knows, right?
Wrong. Chanyeol looks over with worry in his large eyes and tilts his head in question. “Why are you staring at me? Is it too cold? I could split my fire for you if you need it to sleep-”
Kyungsoo’s heart is not thumping. “I’m okay,” he says, and he lies on the cold, hard ground, places his duffel bag below his head, and falls asleep to Chanyeol humming a soft tune to his phoenix, a soft orange glow outlining his back view from Kyungsoo’s line of sight.
When Kyungsoo wakes up, Chanyeol is not around. Definitely not around. No matter how drowsy he feels, he most definitely will not miss a person that tall in the room. He rubs his eyes sleepily, and the door swings open. For a horrendous moment Kyungsoo is about to stand up and stomp on the floor to cause a fissure, but he hears Chanyeol before he actually does anything. “Kyungsoo!” He calls out, and Kyungsoo plops back onto the floor.
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says. “It was on instinct.”
“It’s okay,” Chanyeol grins. “I went out to get us more food. Anyway, what were you planning to do just now? It’s not like your strength power could get the enemy from where you were standing, if he was at the door.”
Kyungsoo wonders if it’s okay to let Chanyeol on in his second power. That this is what makes him more powerful than the rest. That this is why the army has his name on the list of people they have to catch. That this, is why Chanyeol might have to lead a more dangerous life from now, if they decide to stick together. “I have a second power,” he blurts, only halfway done from his internal debate. Chanyeol raises a brow. “I can control the earth, too.”
Chanyeol laughs, and slaps Kyungsoo on his back. “Why do you sound so secretive? Although that does sound cool enough. Damn, why don’t I have all of these powers?” He sits down beside Kyungsoo, and scowls before retrieving a packet of packed white rice with kimchi and anchovies. “Here, your breakfast. Stop showing off.”
“I still don’t get why you would be envious of strength, or earth, if you had fire, Chanyeol. Not everyone gets to have flames at their fingertips without burning,” Kyungsoo blabbers as he shoves hungry spoonfuls of food into his mouth.
Absentmindedly, Chanyeol snaps and there is a whisper of wind before fire tickles the side of Kyungsoo’s cheek, and he suddenly realizes how close they are. Kyungsoo sits up and clears his throat while swallowing a huge spoonful of rice and anchovy, and Chanyeol’s flames go a bit stronger than before.
They eat their breakfast in silence, and they pack up their stuff in the afternoon (it’s not a lot, honestly) before bidding their sanctuary-of-the-night goodbye.
There’s never a place safe enough, Kyungsoo thinks as he shuts the rundown wooden door behind him. When they walk away, the sunlight infiltrates the mouldy cracks from the door and lands on Chanyeol’s back and Kyungsoo finds himself being unable to look away.
-
Kyungsoo falls asleep, and this time he dreams.
Kyungsoo is seven and still blissfully ignorant, and the dreaming Kyungsoo watches on with a pounding heart as the kid Kyungsoo wakes up in a flurry of clean white sheets and the sound of his door clicking open. It’s his mom. Kyungsoo shakes because this scene feels so real he’s almost living it instead of reliving it, the memory of the day burnt deep in his mind like red hot iron on dry flesh.
Kid Kyungsoo doesn’t think twice before he quickly wolfs down the slice of bread with a piece of ham wedged neatly between the half-fold, but the dreaming Kyungsoo knows and knows this too well. Today would be the day. The lines on his mother’s forehead are a sign of what Kyungsoo has brought to their family: fatigue, and endless worry. And yet, kid Kyungsoo smiles brilliantly, ham poking out from the corner of his lips, as his mother smiles back gently.
In an hour, they would come.
They would come to take Kyungsoo away, Kyungsoo with his ability to uproot trees from the otherwise empty yard behind his school, Kyungsoo with his ability to pick up a boy who was bullying his friend Lu Han in school, with just two fingers. They would come to take their family’s sore thumb and their sole problem away. When Kyungsoo is gone, they would live happier.
His dream flickers, and what he sees is the horrendous aftermath of his choice. His dad used to tell him to never surrender because his powers are worth more than anything, so he had outright refused the people from the Order when they wanted to take him with them. Apparently, he had missed out on the part where they had threatened him with his family.
Maybe if he had accepted the offer, despite his mother persuading him with lines after lines of ‘Kyungsoo, honey, you don’t have to force yourself,’ - maybe if he had allowed himself to go with the fierce-looking soldiers, to defy his mother and maybe if he had realized what could’ve happened if he went, he might’ve chosen the alternative-
Kyungsoo wakes up with blood pounding in his ears, loud and unstable and pulse racing in his veins. When he looks down in the dark, he sees blood stains on his shaking hands and it takes everything in him to not scream as tears stream down his face for the rest of the night.
-
“In the asylum they kept me in, we learnt about… a lot of things. That there were kids like me. Kids who could whip up a tornado if so they wanted, kids who could move things with their minds. They taught us how to keep our powers in check so we don’t get caught too easily, they taught us how to handle people because none of us had wonderful childhoods, and they taught us etiquette - but they didn’t teach us what to do if we fell in love,” Chanyeol says, watching the fire crackle under his stick of marshmallows.
“That’s assuring to hear,” Kyungsoo replies, gnawing on one marshmallow with his eyes locked on the ground. “That’ll make my teaching easier,” he says with a huge grin, and although the fire is casting an orange hue on Kyungsoo’s face Chanyeol can see his cheeks turn a pretty shade of red.
Chanyeol manages to hide his grin and holds up his chain of marshmallows to Kyungsoo. “I’ll be looking forward,” he says, and Kyungsoo scrunches his nose up as he picks one candy off the stick, corner of his lip upturned in a chuckle.
-
“Forever is a very long time,” Kyungsoo says quietly, large eyes looking into Chanyeol’s, and Chanyeol hadn’t summoned his power, yet his heart feels so much like it’s on fire.
“It is,” he just says, eyes boring into the side of Kyungsoo’s face, beats later after Kyungsoo looks away and if he focuses he can picture a forever for them, sitting in a cute café in the streets of Myeongdong with two cups of hot chocolate, snuggly beanies and intertwined hands, watching the world pass by, but the image shatters when he blinks. “Very long indeed.”
-
“I’m breaking,” Kyungsoo says, breaths shallow. There’s a small smile clinging onto the corner of his lips as Chanyeol holds on to Kyungsoo’s shirt with shaky hands and feels Kyungsoo’s frantic heartbeats under his fists. Kyungsoo doesn’t elaborate, just continues breathing deeply while humming a soft tune.
“I know,” Chanyeol replies, stuttering, and the first drop of tear falls hot on Kyungsoo’s dirtied plaid shirt when Kyungsoo’s eyelids slowly flutter shut and the world turns silent as his heartbeats stop.
-
4.
today’s a winding road
chanyeol/kyungsoo
Time slips through Kyungsoo’s fingers like sand, like water, and the lines between the past and the present is blurred when he loses control of his grasp on time. When you don’t have forever, a second is all it takes to make the greatest difference. (time-travel!au)
(SECOND RUNANDGUN PLOT)
Kyungsoo definitely hates summer. The first few days of summer had been undeniably great, with melting popsicles, nights spent with his eyes glued to his laptop screen, and a screwed sleeping routine, but his school decided to ruin it by calling him back to their summer classes.
Later that day, he gets a text from his best friend.
I hope we don’t get Mr. Byun for Chemistry. He sucks at teaching.
Maybe if you stop staring at his ass, you’ll understand something, Kyungsoo replies. Minutes later, Zitao replies with a long string of profanities and Kyungsoo deletes the text before slipping the phone back into his pocket with a smug grin on his face.
The sun beats down relentlessly as they drag their feet to their first class. Time passes slower than it would be when Zitao’s in the bathroom, Kyungsoo muses and cracks a smile before their Literature teacher asks him to answer a question for ‘smiling at himself’. Zitao snorts very loudly from the neighboring desk.
They had been sufficiently bored enough in school, and come Chemistry class, Kyungsoo is already a shaking mess of boredom, and he’s currently trying to ignore the prominent patch of tummy their teacher had been showing to their entire class unknowingly, arm stretched up to scribble the laws of the ideal gas on the board.
“You’re staring,” Kyungsoo tells Zitao when he’s had enough of trying not to doze off. Zitao snorts again, loud enough for their classmate to turn and shoot them both a dirty glare.
“My attraction for our teacher is practically like that assumption,” Zitao replies, long finger jabbing in the direction of the board where Mr. Byun had been writing ‘assuming attraction forces between gas particles are negligible’.
Kyungsoo huffs a sigh and rests his cheek on the table. “You’re actually paying attention. My life is going downhill.”
“And you’re going to get pimples from the table. Get up and listen.”
“How old is our Chemistry sub?” Zitao asks when Kyungsoo is halfway through swallowing a huge gulp of chocolate milk.
“I’m not choking,” Kyungsoo manages as he splutters with a red face. “I forgot who said he was totally not attracted to him.”
Zitao hisses, a piece of lettuce sticking out from the corner of his lips, “I’m just asking. He doesn’t look that old, so.”
Kyungsoo clicks his tongue and stares at his milk packet curiously. He’s aware that Zitao is staring right at him, but he doesn’t say anything. “I could show you if you’re curious too,” Zitao says quietly, eyes darting around warily if it was a secret. Kyungsoo processes the line until he almost jumps out of his seat.
“You could show me?” Kyungsoo whisper-shouts from across the table, milk packet clutched tight in his hand. “You already have photos of him younger? Oh my god, Huang Zitao, you have lost -”
“No,” Zitao says after clamping a hand over Kyungsoo’s mouth out of sheer desperation. “No. Okay? Follow me.”
The rooftop has always been one of their favorite places to go to, especially if the cafeteria’s filled up after their teacher lets them off a minute too late, or if Zitao fails a test and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Right now, Kyungsoo is staring at Zitao with his heartbeat a little too fast and Zitao is staring right back at him with some apprehension.
“Kyungsoo, I’m going to tell you a secret.”
“Don’t tell me you have a stash of porn under your bed, because that can’t be, I’ve searched there before.”
“I can time-travel.”
Kyungsoo gapes wordlessly. “What did you say?”
“Kyungsoo, I can show you how our teacher looked like ten years ago because I can travel through time,” Zitao says, eyes downcast.
“I knew it was a wrong decision to leave the rest of the carton of coffee at your house,” Kyungsoo sighs, “did you even get enough sleep last night?”
With a sigh, Zitao grabs Kyungsoo’s hands and before Kyungsoo can react, he blacks out.
The first time Kyungsoo travels through time is obviously not Zitao’s first.
two / three / four / five
hoaegi's mega wip dump!
(please be warned that this is a LOT)
(note: titles, summaries and ratings are all very deceptive. a lot of them were meant to be Real Fic. text underwent no formatting, so there are places where it is supposed to be in italics, i apologize for the confusion! also, some wips are fragmented/parts are not always coherent. i write like that. sorry :c)
-
1.
when the daisies shimmer gold
jongin/sehun
The life of a child of Hades is not always easy. Sehun is a lost soul who lives his life backwards.
“A son of Hades!”
Jongin walks into the Fields of Asphodel with his Stygian iron dagger clenched tightly in his hand and already regrets taking on the job when he feels the familiar tug at his ankles right from the first step he takes. There are fingers at his feet, he knows, although a normal human shouldn’t be able to see them, but Jongin isn’t normal anyway, so he sees them. Save me, he hears, invisible fingers winding themselves around Jongin’s tense legs.
He quietly shakes them off, and finds that there are marks on his palms where he had clenched on too tightly and his nails had dug too deep.
Jongin doesn’t know how it came to be, how he was claimed by his alleged ‘dad’, Hades, when he was attempting to smoke pot in one of the college washrooms and had jumped and yelped when Hades manifested in the toilet. He had disappeared from the mortal world (or so he knows) and had been on many, many journeys around the world, not as Kim Jongin, but as a son of Hades. A messenger. An errand runner. Working with the dead and interacting with them more than real living beings has turned Jongin sour, into a (mostly) heartless and emotionless person.
He’d been sent here, to the Fields to “sort the souls out” because he had stolen one of Persephone’s prized peaches (which had grown and been taken care of by Persephone herself) and refused to return it because a life of immortality can be quite mundane at times. Jongin personally thinks Hades is just a lazy dick. It was in the spur of the moment, in a moment of folly, which he had decided to sprinkle some life onto his miserable life which was destined to be spent together with people who are technically not living but breathing. Hades had been hopping mad, fire blazing in his eyes as he lectured Jongin on how he shouldn’t have infuriated Persephone, no matter what the circumstances are. Jongin merely shrugged, and Hades had put the job on his head out of sheer fury.
Jongin lets out a sigh, slashes his dagger into the dense air and walks along the huge plains aimlessly.
The Fields of Asphodel glimmer in a shade of perpetual gold. The flowers glow gold and the air is tinged with a hint of gold and even the eyes of the souls are often gold (if they’ve been here long enough). This was a place meant for people to spend the rest of eternity in, after they die, neither to heaven nor to the fiery pits of hell, but here. It’s a peaceful place, but when you have millennia and eons in front of you, you tend to forget. Many of the souls here don’t even remember or know their name, simply because they’ve spent too many years waiting and wandering in this vast plain of nothingness. Waiting for nothing, because there is no end to the wait. The souls that end up here will stay here forever, literally.
It’s often rumored that in the initial years of one’s long journey in the Fields, they show you your life. You get to see how your life has turned out, right from the end to the start, and although it sounds tempting, it really isn’t. Oh Sehun has been here for three years, eyes still dark brown by nature and he has seen many other wandering souls lose their memory of anything at all. They start by recalling how they had died, and to the things before that, and after a while, how they were born. And they don’t remember anything else after that, so it’s common for people to not know who they are.
Sehun has been here long enough to see many children of Hades pass by the Fields, sometimes looking for people they’ve lost in their lives, sometimes to complete quests by the gods, sometimes just for fun, just because they can. Gods and demigods (except for children of Hades and Hermes himself) weren’t allowed to enter the Underworld. For a whole year, not many children of Hades have come, but recently, however, a particular boy has been wandering in the Fields, a black dagger in his hand as he smoothly directs the traffic and flow of the souls here.
Three years hadn’t been enough for Hades to show Sehun his life just yet. He’d been here, memory fresh with vivid recollections of his past and waiting for the day where someone will take them all away. It might be Hades, it might be the golden dust in the air, and it might be this tanned boy with full lips and dark hair and eyes as deep as night.
“A son of Hades!”
Sehun doesn’t look up because he knows it’ll be the same boy again, frown perpetually embedded into the crease between his brows as he waves his hands like he was conducting an orchestra. An orchestra of souls, that is. Sehun watches as the boy regards each and every soul with big eyes and presses the tip of his dagger on the souls’ foreheads before the souls move in different directions. Ah, Sehun thinks, the boy is sorting the souls. Baekhyun, a guy Sehun’d met a few weeks ago, who also lost his memories a few days ago, walks up to the son of Hades with his eyes shimmering gold. The boy presses his fingers to Baekhyun’s temples for a while, and does the same thing with his dagger before Baekhyun bows and floats off to his left. It’s a little sad how Baekhyun doesn’t remember Sehun anymore, doesn’t remember anything anymore.
And the boy walks up to Sehun. Sehun wants to open his mouth and explain that he didn’t need sorting because technically he should still have the freedom to move to wherever he likes, by himself because he was still a free soul with a clear head. The boy presses his fingers to Sehun’s temples, and Sehun can feel memories rushing within him, threatening to leave his body and into the fingertips at his temples.
“Hey,” the boy says, voice shaking. “I haven’t met a soul as young as you. Do you remember your name?”
“Oh Sehun,” Sehun replies easily. It feels nice to talk to someone… real.
The boy huffs in annoyance once, but he doesn’t hold his dagger up against Sehun’s forehead like he did to everyone else. He just turns and walks away, but turns back in a swift motion. “Ah,” he says, “it isn’t your time yet. I’ll look for you again… soon.”
Sehun only watches wordlessly as the other boy kicks the ground gently and leaves the sphere where the Fields lie, disappearing into another world.
Jongin hasn’t met a young soul in a while, and when he feels Sehun’s memories rushing into him, he feels a little knocked off-balance. He’s so used to meeting and dealing with souls that have already lost everything they know and hold dear to in their lives and empty minds but Sehun is different. He remembers because it hasn’t been long enough, and his eyes weren’t gold like everyone else’s was.
He flies out of the Fields, up and away from the Acheron River, and breathes in air that isn’t colored gold.
Sehun has lost count of days and weeks and months but he knows it’s been long since someone had announced the arrival of a son of Hades. Half of Sehun wishes it was the same guy again, because he’d like to talk to someone again, but the other half feels sick at the thought of his memories being removed soon,
He kicks at a golden pebble on the floor, and jumps on the spot when black smoke appears and shifts to form the same boy from that day. “Hi, Sehun,” he says with a quirky grin and Sehun had already forgotten how chatting with a living person feels like. “I’m Jongin, do you still remember me?”
Sehun wants to retort that it hasn’t been that long, although the Fields show no indication of time or season because the sky (which is not the real sky, but like a ceiling to this big patch of land, like a lid of a pot full of trouble) is always, always a soft hue of gold. Flowers bloom and die in a repetitive cycle and Sehun knows it’s not because of spring or winter but because this is how life passes, too. “I do,” he just replies, and it surprises him when his voice shakes.
“I miss working with real and living people,” Jongin mutters, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m sorry, this may seem weird, but I just wanted to talk to someone who still knows who they are.”
“Are you tired?” Sehun asks.
“Tired of? Life? My job? My parentage? Yes,” Jongin replies.
“Tired of being involved with all of us here,” Sehun says, gesturing to the endless fields. Jongin stares in the direction of Sehun’s arm and groans.
“I am, but once in a while something interesting happens. I find people who are still living, people like you.”
“Oh,” Sehun sighs, “but you never know when I’ll just forget everything.”
“Can I talk to you until then?” Jongin asks, “My job doesn’t end until many years later.”
Sehun nods.
The beginning of Sehun’s end comes a few months after he had met Jongin. He still knows who he is, knows where he came from, and still knows the grades he had scored for his college entrance exams. It’s on a boring day that he feels it, head light and movements slow as he sees his memories escaping him in silver swirls of gas. It hits him in the face as he blacks out.
-
2.
low-cut, see-through shirts that make you
kai/sehun
nc-17 def
Sehun definitely signed up for this gym programme because he wanted to become more muscular, and develop those abs Lu Han was boasting about. He most definitely didn’t stay for his personal trainer.
(FOR ESTELLE'S BIRTHDAY I AM SO SORRY)
This is the fifth time in the week that Lu Han had rejected Sehun’s offer of a treat at the meat shop down the street by the park, insisting that he has to abstain from meat in order to get abs. It’s only Friday, and Sehun had offered every single day. He scoffs with a roll of his eyes before calling Chanyeol and ending up with a (slightly) bulging tummy after the meal. Lu Han eyes Sehun wearily when Sehun enters the apartment, smelling like burnt meat and soju and smoke and a whole ton of food-related bad decisions.
“Sehun,” Lu Han says, voice nasal because he has two fingers pinching his nostrils closed, “you smell like meat, go take a shower, I’m going to actually vomit all over you and your couch if you don’t.”
Sehun kicks his shoes off at the shoe rack beside the door and purposefully twirls around the living room, watching Lu Han bury his face into a cushion with a whine. “Hyung,” Sehun says, “it’s been three months and I think you’ve evolved from a mindset of wanting abs to losing weight.”
“Losing weight?” Lu Han replies, words muffled by the cotton.
“You sound like a girl.” Sehun runs away before Lu Han can get up.
Sehun spends the next few days wallowing in self-pity. Ever since Lu Han had visited the gym a few bus stops away, returning with a wide grin with a sudden dream to get ‘the perfect body’, he had watched his diet strictly, even removing all the junk food and carbonated drinks (and beer) from the fridge. Sehun had watched helplessly as Lu Han chucks all the packets of frozen chicken nuggets and frozen pan-fried dumplings into an ice box and gives it away to their neighbour Minseok (who accepts it with a bright smile), and Sehun had whined about eating healthy everyday. Sehun still makes it a rule to visit the barbecue place once a week, and keeping up with his fast food eating habits (it’s not his fault he likes to collect the collectibles they offer) despite the strict dietary rules at home.
However, as the days and weeks pass, Sehun begins to notice the change in Lu Han. The lean muscles of Lu Han’s legs have become more toned and firm (Sehun poked at it while Lu Han was sleeping once) and Sehun had seen Lu Han’s not-so-obviously obvious abs once, when Lu Han walked out of the shower looking for his towel, and Sehun places his hand on his tummy subconsciously.
If he finds himself at the gym place Lu Han had mentioned once a few days later, he’s pretty sure it’s Lu Han’s fault. Fucking peer pressure. Sehun purses his lips and scrutinizes the building from outside. The first floor has solid walls but the second floor has glass ones. Under the sunlight, the glass panels reflect light and Sehun’s momentarily blinded by the reflection. He shakes his head a bit to get rid of the light stuck in his eyelids, and bumps into someone as he walks.
“Sorry,” he says, not knowing where the other person is, but the other person just mumbles ‘it’s okay’ and walks away. Sehun regains his sight in time to see that the guy’s also walking into the gym, so he tucks his hands into his pockets and feigns nonchalance as he trails behind him.
The lady at the counter when he steps into the building smiles brightly as she regards Sehun with curious eyes. “May I help you with anything, sir?”
Sehun watches as the guy walks to the elevator and he turns back to the lady. “Uh,” he starts, not sure how to begin. “I want to be fitter?”
“Would you like a personal training programme? The schedule would be specialized for you and you get to choose what would be best for you,” the lady explains, and she looks like she’s trying to stifle a laugh. Sehun groans internally and hopes for a hole to open on the floor for him to slide into hell to.
“Sure,” Sehun just says, and digs out his wallet for his card. The lady busies herself with the card reader and when Sehun turns to look for the guy from earlier, he finds that he’s nowhere to be seen already.
-
3.
fearless (until you go)
chanyeol/kyungsoo
chanyeol is fire, and kyungsoo is the sandstorm that his strong flame sways along to. (mama-dystopian!au)
(ORIGINALLY FOR RUNANDGUN)
It is the year 2100, and life has never been so bleak like it has been in about two centuries ago. War has reduced major cities into rubble and crushed dreams, Broadway no longer bright and shining and the leaning tower of Pisa down to the ground. All around and above are the sounds of missiles that have no target except the entire world and gunshots that miss one person but get another person right in the heart. When the radio is turned on, all that pours out are news of destruction, destruction, and more destruction. Namsan Tower is all but a crumpled pile of broken padlocks in the shape of hearts (legend has it that lovers used to go up and write their wishes on the locks, but when Seoul grew progressively there was no such thing as “love” or “promises” anymore) and the Busan port a mangled mass of shipwreck and split wooden planks.
They say this power-hungry world did not arrive where it is now by itself, that this world of destruction has a real root; that this problem has had a real origin, and people didn’t cause this just for fun.
They say that somewhere fifty years ago, someone had shot to fame in one night because of his ability to tear through the layers of atmosphere and had come back down entirely unhurt. The world had kept silent in awe because he could fly, and he was able to breathe up in the heavy layers of atmospheric pressure. Superpowers. Some theories say that they existed some many centuries ago, but people kept mum because this could cause great trouble. Now that it had seen the light of day, and when humans had control over the elements, the law served no purpose after people started setting courts on fire and overthrowing weak governments of many countries.
Soon after, militaries had started to capture people with such powers in order to exploit them for their own selfish purposes. Burning down houses of innocent people, threatening to drown an entire city (Maldives, was it?) just for the country to surrender. Ever since, people have been on a constant run, and the overly frequent use of nuclear weapons has caused the spread of the superpowers to go haywire. Everyone had them, whether they liked it or not. A kid you knew since you were three, completely normal, could cook up a huge tornado with a wave of his hands just one day after one night.
Lives were at stake, and people started to learn how to survive instead of live.
Stale breaths.
Chanyeol isn’t even sure how long he has been running away anymore. His shirt is tattered and dirtied, a nice old maroon shirt he got during his school’s sports meet soiled by mud and dust from concrete and blood stained from dead passer-bys he had tried to save (to no avail). All he knows is that the sounds of the guns are loud above and he clutches his tattered backpack close to his chest. The thumping of his heart is loud against his ears and strong against his hands and he frantically swallows and tries not to make a noise because he can’t risk being caught.
When the noises and the heavy stomps of footsteps fade away, Chanyeol uncurls himself from his corner in the basement and rubs his shaking hands together. It’s a late night in the harshest of winters and it’s definitely not the season to be escaping, but he’s been experiencing this for too long he doesn’t even have the strength to complain anymore. He shivers once and snaps his fingers. A small flame sizzles at the tips of his fingers and he quietly increases the size, cradling the small fireball in his palm because it will never hurt him.
He has the fire element in him, and it had took him five years before he accidentally caused the wooden table at home to burst into flames and his parents had stared at him with large eyes and the next thing Chanyeol remembers is being sent to the asylum, his hands bandaged up because they were dangerous. He was dangerous. He had never seen his family ever again after being admitted.
Chanyeol meets a boy when he manages to escape from the hospital when he was seven, young and wild and believing that he’s not crazy. His name was Kris, and he had a dragon, a fire-breathing dragon, and Chanyeol wants to believe that the both of them weren’t crazy. Kris had flown away with a quick roll of his eyes, although the corners of his lips were turned up in a small grin. “We’ll meet again if we’re fated,” Kris had said, hair flying in all directions in the sweet autumn wind before disappearing in a quick sonic boom, leaving Chanyeol with an opened mouth and a thumping heart.
And they did meet again, in a dark alley in the rundown streets of Daegu one time, Kris with a stick of nicotine hanging loosely from his lips and Chanyeol with fire in his eyes and fire on the ground everywhere he steps. “You’re asking to be captured,” Kris said, the same smile hanging on the side of his lips.
Chanyeol wanted to ask a million questions, about how Kris could survive in such a laidback manner when he has the most prominent ability of flight, amongst others, but he all he said was, “I have a phoenix,” and Kris had laughed, a soft sound in the harsh silence.
“Okay, fine. Since I can’t guarantee we’ll meet again, so how’s this? I’ll name my dragon after you-”
“Chanyeol,” Chanyeol replies quickly.
“-Chanyeol, and you name your phoenix after me. Kris. Deal? And if we do meet again... well... that is truly fate, Chanyeol.”
There’s a really witty reply in Chanyeol’s head but before he gets it out, Kris is already gone in a quick gust of wind.
Chanyeol doesn’t think he’s met another friend after that. He isn’t even sure if Kris was counted as a friend, since he never looked like he cared about Chanyeol, except his dragon was named after Chanyeol. He slowly sinks back to the floor, watching his fire burn, and he summons his phoenix out of loneliness. “Kris,” he mutters to the bird made of fire, “I want a friend. Living alone in this world is really a tragedy. I miss Kris too, Kris... What do I do?”
The fire phoenix bows its head in empathy and brushes its feathers against Chanyeol’s arm sadly. Chanyeol sighs, but he smiles because that’s enough. Nothing better than having a bird friend in flames consoling you in a crazy winter night (he’s positive the temperature outside is three million degrees below zero)! Nothing better-
The door bursts open and Chanyeol has to cover his eyes with his arm due to the sudden light. “What the fuck-”
“Oh my god,” a soft voice squeaks, “is someone in there?”
Chanyeol isn’t sure to reply or not, because it jolly well may be a soldier and he might be chained up and pulled to the prison for captives in the next minute. But the voice sounds scared enough, so he gives it a try. No harm, Chanyeol has killed many soldiers who tried to catch him with his fire anyway. No biggie. “Yes.”
There’s a click, and suddenly Chanyeol’s eyes are blinded by a beam of light. “Woah, slow with all the light attacks.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice replies, and Chanyeol can hear footsteps approaching him.
Chanyeol sighs and hurls his fireball up to the ceiling and increases the intensity so that the room is lit up and he sees the other person for the first time. He has short, cropped hair, a pair of large eyes, a soft nose and small bow lips. There’s a torch in his left hand and a small bag clutched tightly in his right. “Hi,” Chanyeol says, and when the other boy steps closer, Kris snarls and unfurls its wings before launching a fireball of a scary size and the other boy. Chanyeol quickly steps before Kris and blocks the fire with his back.
“Hey, Kris, don’t do that. He’s not an enemy,” Chanyeol chides the phoenix, which whimpers and flies out of the window. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he turns to the boy, eyes even wider now, and smiles sheepishly. “I’m Chanyeol. Nice to meet you.”
“I - I’m Kyungsoo,” the boy replies, and when they shake hands Chanyeol finds that Kyungsoo’s hands are still shaking.
“Come have a seat,” Chanyeol says, plopping down on the cold ground and patting the space beside him, “I have fire to keep you warm.”
Kyungsoo shifts his weight from one leg to another, unsure whether to trust this stranger, or not. He can’t take his chances, can he? His school just got invaded by the army and he barely managed to escape, with several bullets missing him by a millimetre - and this guy here holds a fireball like the blazing flames are feathers instead of tongues of fire.
“Don’t be scared,” he laughs, tossing the ball of fire from one hand to another. “I just ran away from the soldiers, too. I think we’re on the same boat,” he says, pointing to the open wound on Kyungsoo’s knee. Kyungsoo flushes and wishes he didn’t trip and fall over the step outside just now.
Instead, he crosses the distance and takes a seat beside Chanyeol, and winces visibly when he sits down, trying not to move his knee. Chanyeol sees this and he bites his lips, eyebrows knit together in a frown. If they weren’t in such a pathetic plight, Kyungsoo might’ve laughed at his amusing expression (just quietly, though, they just met after all), but they are, so he keeps his comments to himself and watches Chanyeol as Chanyeol watches him.
“Do you have any places you’re going after this?” Chanyeol asks when Kyungsoo shakily pours water over his wound, and Kyungsoo looks up.
“This?”
“Well - I mean - aren’t you just running away? There should be a place you’re headed for, right?” Chanyeol says, scratching the back of his head.
Kyungsoo shakes his head slowly, averting his eyes to the rough ground. “My house was destroyed. I just ran away from my school too, because it got attacked. Technically… I don’t have anywhere to go.”
There’s a short silence after that, and Kyungsoo busies himself with his wound while Chanyeol simply stares at him and keeps quiet. For a scary moment, Kyungsoo’s afraid that Chanyeol might have a place that he wants to go and he’s thinking about how to break it to Kyungsoo that he’d have to leave Kyungsoo here, because he needs to go. It’s a scary thought. Kyungsoo gulps silently and wraps his last stretch of bandage over his knee, before tucking his legs to his chest. Chanyeol is looking at him when he’s done, and they stare at each other for a while before Kyungsoo suddenly realizes that the fear in Chanyeol’s eyes is not a reflection of his, but Chanyeol’s own.
“That’s…” Chanyeol pauses, “good.” Kyungsoo’s eyes widen in surprise and Chanyeol chuckles. “I have nowhere to go either. I’ve been abandoned since I was five. I’ve been living on my own… I guess we can be companions?”
“It must’ve been lonely,” Kyungsoo says. “I can’t imagine living alone for so many years.”
“Hey, I’m not that old,” Chanyeol whines. “I’m only 20.”
“But you’re older than me.” Kyungsoo grins.
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, and it’s funny to watch because his eyes are so big so the action is exaggerated. “Whatever, man.” He reaches for his backpack, “hey, do you want food?”
By ‘food’, Chanyeol had meant canned food. Kyungsoo doesn’t know which genius invented this method from centuries ago, but in times like these, it’s food like this that gets them pass days. He’s had his fair share of days spent cooped up in cabinets, fingers dirty from the half-opened can of baby carrots he’d stuffed in his pant pocket before his workplace got rummaged by the military. The food didn’t taste very good, he admits, but it is quantity over quality when you can only either live or die in the next second.
Chanyeol stares at the can of peas wistfully, and his index finger goes ablaze as he sighs. Kyungsoo watches as he tries to melt the lid of the can, and stifles a giggle. “Come on, give it to me,” Kyungsoo says. Chanyeol gives him a confused look but passes the can over anyway, and his eyes widen to an impossible size when Kyungsoo pinches the side of the lid and lifts it up so the can opens just nicely.
“How-”
“Strength,” Kyungsoo interrupts in a small voice, hands folded neatly in his lap as he weighs his words. “My power.”
“That’s so cool,” Chanyeol whispers in awe, eyes looking up from the peas to Kyungsoo. “I’ve always wanted a power that’s not so… visible,” he says, staring at his hands with an indignant pout.
“Fire is cool,” Kyungsoo replies with a grin, pouring the peas into his mouth. He chews, and he flinches because ew, this tastes gross. Chanyeol tilts his head. “No, just - peas. I don’t really like them. Anyway, fire is cool! You get to actually look good while fighting. I look like I’m doing judo.”
Kyungsoo politely declines when Chanyeol passes the can over. I don’t like it, he mouths. “Does judo even still exist? I heard the sport went out of business decades ago,” Chanyeol mumbles in between mouthfuls of green.
Kyungsoo turns red again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just read a lot.”
Humming, Chanyeol nods. “Smarty-pants. Anyway, we should be safe here tonight. Are you tired? We can take turns. You can sleep first; I need to digest all the peas.”
Instinctively, Kyungsoo weighs the risk of falling asleep right here and now and the chances of Chanyeol killing him in his sleep, or worse, selling him off to the military or government or something like that. He tries to dismiss the thoughts, but it plagues his head and he can’t help it because that’s ingrained in him. He’s raised to be afraid of people who try to take control of him and his powers. Chanyeol could be working for the army for all he knows, right?
Wrong. Chanyeol looks over with worry in his large eyes and tilts his head in question. “Why are you staring at me? Is it too cold? I could split my fire for you if you need it to sleep-”
Kyungsoo’s heart is not thumping. “I’m okay,” he says, and he lies on the cold, hard ground, places his duffel bag below his head, and falls asleep to Chanyeol humming a soft tune to his phoenix, a soft orange glow outlining his back view from Kyungsoo’s line of sight.
When Kyungsoo wakes up, Chanyeol is not around. Definitely not around. No matter how drowsy he feels, he most definitely will not miss a person that tall in the room. He rubs his eyes sleepily, and the door swings open. For a horrendous moment Kyungsoo is about to stand up and stomp on the floor to cause a fissure, but he hears Chanyeol before he actually does anything. “Kyungsoo!” He calls out, and Kyungsoo plops back onto the floor.
“Sorry,” Kyungsoo says. “It was on instinct.”
“It’s okay,” Chanyeol grins. “I went out to get us more food. Anyway, what were you planning to do just now? It’s not like your strength power could get the enemy from where you were standing, if he was at the door.”
Kyungsoo wonders if it’s okay to let Chanyeol on in his second power. That this is what makes him more powerful than the rest. That this is why the army has his name on the list of people they have to catch. That this, is why Chanyeol might have to lead a more dangerous life from now, if they decide to stick together. “I have a second power,” he blurts, only halfway done from his internal debate. Chanyeol raises a brow. “I can control the earth, too.”
Chanyeol laughs, and slaps Kyungsoo on his back. “Why do you sound so secretive? Although that does sound cool enough. Damn, why don’t I have all of these powers?” He sits down beside Kyungsoo, and scowls before retrieving a packet of packed white rice with kimchi and anchovies. “Here, your breakfast. Stop showing off.”
“I still don’t get why you would be envious of strength, or earth, if you had fire, Chanyeol. Not everyone gets to have flames at their fingertips without burning,” Kyungsoo blabbers as he shoves hungry spoonfuls of food into his mouth.
Absentmindedly, Chanyeol snaps and there is a whisper of wind before fire tickles the side of Kyungsoo’s cheek, and he suddenly realizes how close they are. Kyungsoo sits up and clears his throat while swallowing a huge spoonful of rice and anchovy, and Chanyeol’s flames go a bit stronger than before.
They eat their breakfast in silence, and they pack up their stuff in the afternoon (it’s not a lot, honestly) before bidding their sanctuary-of-the-night goodbye.
There’s never a place safe enough, Kyungsoo thinks as he shuts the rundown wooden door behind him. When they walk away, the sunlight infiltrates the mouldy cracks from the door and lands on Chanyeol’s back and Kyungsoo finds himself being unable to look away.
-
Kyungsoo falls asleep, and this time he dreams.
Kyungsoo is seven and still blissfully ignorant, and the dreaming Kyungsoo watches on with a pounding heart as the kid Kyungsoo wakes up in a flurry of clean white sheets and the sound of his door clicking open. It’s his mom. Kyungsoo shakes because this scene feels so real he’s almost living it instead of reliving it, the memory of the day burnt deep in his mind like red hot iron on dry flesh.
Kid Kyungsoo doesn’t think twice before he quickly wolfs down the slice of bread with a piece of ham wedged neatly between the half-fold, but the dreaming Kyungsoo knows and knows this too well. Today would be the day. The lines on his mother’s forehead are a sign of what Kyungsoo has brought to their family: fatigue, and endless worry. And yet, kid Kyungsoo smiles brilliantly, ham poking out from the corner of his lips, as his mother smiles back gently.
In an hour, they would come.
They would come to take Kyungsoo away, Kyungsoo with his ability to uproot trees from the otherwise empty yard behind his school, Kyungsoo with his ability to pick up a boy who was bullying his friend Lu Han in school, with just two fingers. They would come to take their family’s sore thumb and their sole problem away. When Kyungsoo is gone, they would live happier.
His dream flickers, and what he sees is the horrendous aftermath of his choice. His dad used to tell him to never surrender because his powers are worth more than anything, so he had outright refused the people from the Order when they wanted to take him with them. Apparently, he had missed out on the part where they had threatened him with his family.
Maybe if he had accepted the offer, despite his mother persuading him with lines after lines of ‘Kyungsoo, honey, you don’t have to force yourself,’ - maybe if he had allowed himself to go with the fierce-looking soldiers, to defy his mother and maybe if he had realized what could’ve happened if he went, he might’ve chosen the alternative-
Kyungsoo wakes up with blood pounding in his ears, loud and unstable and pulse racing in his veins. When he looks down in the dark, he sees blood stains on his shaking hands and it takes everything in him to not scream as tears stream down his face for the rest of the night.
-
“In the asylum they kept me in, we learnt about… a lot of things. That there were kids like me. Kids who could whip up a tornado if so they wanted, kids who could move things with their minds. They taught us how to keep our powers in check so we don’t get caught too easily, they taught us how to handle people because none of us had wonderful childhoods, and they taught us etiquette - but they didn’t teach us what to do if we fell in love,” Chanyeol says, watching the fire crackle under his stick of marshmallows.
“That’s assuring to hear,” Kyungsoo replies, gnawing on one marshmallow with his eyes locked on the ground. “That’ll make my teaching easier,” he says with a huge grin, and although the fire is casting an orange hue on Kyungsoo’s face Chanyeol can see his cheeks turn a pretty shade of red.
Chanyeol manages to hide his grin and holds up his chain of marshmallows to Kyungsoo. “I’ll be looking forward,” he says, and Kyungsoo scrunches his nose up as he picks one candy off the stick, corner of his lip upturned in a chuckle.
-
“Forever is a very long time,” Kyungsoo says quietly, large eyes looking into Chanyeol’s, and Chanyeol hadn’t summoned his power, yet his heart feels so much like it’s on fire.
“It is,” he just says, eyes boring into the side of Kyungsoo’s face, beats later after Kyungsoo looks away and if he focuses he can picture a forever for them, sitting in a cute café in the streets of Myeongdong with two cups of hot chocolate, snuggly beanies and intertwined hands, watching the world pass by, but the image shatters when he blinks. “Very long indeed.”
-
“I’m breaking,” Kyungsoo says, breaths shallow. There’s a small smile clinging onto the corner of his lips as Chanyeol holds on to Kyungsoo’s shirt with shaky hands and feels Kyungsoo’s frantic heartbeats under his fists. Kyungsoo doesn’t elaborate, just continues breathing deeply while humming a soft tune.
“I know,” Chanyeol replies, stuttering, and the first drop of tear falls hot on Kyungsoo’s dirtied plaid shirt when Kyungsoo’s eyelids slowly flutter shut and the world turns silent as his heartbeats stop.
-
4.
today’s a winding road
chanyeol/kyungsoo
Time slips through Kyungsoo’s fingers like sand, like water, and the lines between the past and the present is blurred when he loses control of his grasp on time. When you don’t have forever, a second is all it takes to make the greatest difference. (time-travel!au)
(SECOND RUNANDGUN PLOT)
Kyungsoo definitely hates summer. The first few days of summer had been undeniably great, with melting popsicles, nights spent with his eyes glued to his laptop screen, and a screwed sleeping routine, but his school decided to ruin it by calling him back to their summer classes.
Later that day, he gets a text from his best friend.
I hope we don’t get Mr. Byun for Chemistry. He sucks at teaching.
Maybe if you stop staring at his ass, you’ll understand something, Kyungsoo replies. Minutes later, Zitao replies with a long string of profanities and Kyungsoo deletes the text before slipping the phone back into his pocket with a smug grin on his face.
The sun beats down relentlessly as they drag their feet to their first class. Time passes slower than it would be when Zitao’s in the bathroom, Kyungsoo muses and cracks a smile before their Literature teacher asks him to answer a question for ‘smiling at himself’. Zitao snorts very loudly from the neighboring desk.
They had been sufficiently bored enough in school, and come Chemistry class, Kyungsoo is already a shaking mess of boredom, and he’s currently trying to ignore the prominent patch of tummy their teacher had been showing to their entire class unknowingly, arm stretched up to scribble the laws of the ideal gas on the board.
“You’re staring,” Kyungsoo tells Zitao when he’s had enough of trying not to doze off. Zitao snorts again, loud enough for their classmate to turn and shoot them both a dirty glare.
“My attraction for our teacher is practically like that assumption,” Zitao replies, long finger jabbing in the direction of the board where Mr. Byun had been writing ‘assuming attraction forces between gas particles are negligible’.
Kyungsoo huffs a sigh and rests his cheek on the table. “You’re actually paying attention. My life is going downhill.”
“And you’re going to get pimples from the table. Get up and listen.”
“How old is our Chemistry sub?” Zitao asks when Kyungsoo is halfway through swallowing a huge gulp of chocolate milk.
“I’m not choking,” Kyungsoo manages as he splutters with a red face. “I forgot who said he was totally not attracted to him.”
Zitao hisses, a piece of lettuce sticking out from the corner of his lips, “I’m just asking. He doesn’t look that old, so.”
Kyungsoo clicks his tongue and stares at his milk packet curiously. He’s aware that Zitao is staring right at him, but he doesn’t say anything. “I could show you if you’re curious too,” Zitao says quietly, eyes darting around warily if it was a secret. Kyungsoo processes the line until he almost jumps out of his seat.
“You could show me?” Kyungsoo whisper-shouts from across the table, milk packet clutched tight in his hand. “You already have photos of him younger? Oh my god, Huang Zitao, you have lost -”
“No,” Zitao says after clamping a hand over Kyungsoo’s mouth out of sheer desperation. “No. Okay? Follow me.”
The rooftop has always been one of their favorite places to go to, especially if the cafeteria’s filled up after their teacher lets them off a minute too late, or if Zitao fails a test and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Right now, Kyungsoo is staring at Zitao with his heartbeat a little too fast and Zitao is staring right back at him with some apprehension.
“Kyungsoo, I’m going to tell you a secret.”
“Don’t tell me you have a stash of porn under your bed, because that can’t be, I’ve searched there before.”
“I can time-travel.”
Kyungsoo gapes wordlessly. “What did you say?”
“Kyungsoo, I can show you how our teacher looked like ten years ago because I can travel through time,” Zitao says, eyes downcast.
“I knew it was a wrong decision to leave the rest of the carton of coffee at your house,” Kyungsoo sighs, “did you even get enough sleep last night?”
With a sigh, Zitao grabs Kyungsoo’s hands and before Kyungsoo can react, he blacks out.
The first time Kyungsoo travels through time is obviously not Zitao’s first.
two / three / four / five