[fic] The Bravest Fight Aloud
Title: The Bravest Fight Aloud
Length: 7,605 words
Pairing: Byun Baekhyun/Do Kyungsoo
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine except for the plot and the writing.
Summary: The air was thick with sultry anticipation and Kyungsoo's voice delivered the rendition of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered in such a way that Baekhyun wasn't sure how he ever going to give name to the feeling it evoked. After all, no Proles were designed for temptation and Baekhyun was such a flightless amateur when it came to romance. (1984!AU)
A/N: Originally posted here as a part of univerexo's first fanfiction exchange. (Too bad my recipient dropped out.) I love dystopia!au, but I have to admit that writing one was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. Still, this had been a fun write and I can't thank my beta, Nelle, enough for helping me out. Also, corrected the typos; why do I always make typo?
The sky is on fire. Baekhyun pushes himself up to standing and immediately got rammed into by some random person in an attempt to flee the scene, almost knocking him over again. I have to find him, Baekhyun thinks but can't will his legs to move; immobile and rooted to the spot, in his usual charade of the useless tool that he is. The officers who had just maneuvered him out of the club didn't even deem him important enough to question and just dumped his ass on the sidewalk, away from the commotion of the firefighters trying to put out the fire amidst the obnoxiously loud struggle of those who have been apprehended by the authorities.
Baekhyun feels a sudden surge of helplessness. People are screaming everywhere. The crackling sound of the wood being burnt to the ground cages him in like a hymn from his nightmare. Smoke billows around him and irritates his eyes. His lungs itch and he briefly considers coughing, but none of these register in his brain long enough to spark any action. Baekhyun has only one thing in mind―where is he? He takes a panicked look around him, glancing from left to right and right to left, but he can't spot him anywhere. He can't find Kyungsoo.
Are you awake? a voice rings clear among the uproar. Baekhyun looks up with surprise, turning around to try to identify where the voice came from, but he can't find the source, he can't find whom he is searching for. Kyungsoo's voices rings constantly in his ears nowadays; it even follows Baekhyun into his sleep as his dreams bleed into his waking world.
Baekhyun frantically searches every face but none of them are Kyungsoo. He shouts and screams, calling out his name over and over, but no one pays him any mind; after all, he’s not important. Even his job role is lacklustre; a newspeak archive worker. The shining silver crest on the police's uniform was more eye-catching, not the plain grey shirt and slacks on Baekhyun.
You're wrong. I've always been awake, Baekhyun thinks, balling his palms into fists, I'm awake and see clearly everything that happened, things that you made me see. I wish I hadn't.
The fire in front of him is bright, the color of it an angry red and so morbidly beautiful that Baekhyun can't keep his eyes off it. The fire is powerful, he thinks idly, and downright consuming―everything Baekhyun hates yet wishes he could be―the fire that dares to destroy everything until there's nothing left in its path; the fire that is a little like Kyungsoo the first night Baekhyun accidentally stumbled upon him.
It was a typical Friday night. Baekhyun had just gotten off work and he might indulge himself with a fine bottle of beer once in a while if the place near his standard-issued apartment looked promising. It wasn't unusual for Proles to frequent a bar, but personally Baekhyun found such an establishment not quite suited with his taste―either too loud or too depressing, the former he stumbled across quite more frequently than the latter, which was such a shame, since he could probably take depressing better than the loudness.
I'll just grab a bottle and be home in half an hour then, Baekhyun encouraged himself, but just as he was about to turn the usual corner at the fifth street, he spotted a strange sign that hadn't been there the last time he had used this shortcut. The sign invited passersby to come and enjoy themselves at the new bar, which was normal enough, coupled with a rough direction to some building three blocks away. It was nothing flashy or called for special kind of attention; still, Baekhyun felt the strange sort of curiosity that he hadn't experienced since early school day when he had been told that Proles mustn't entertain their own whims and whatnots.
Curiosity was one of the things that needed to be snubbed out as soon as the child started to develop its own mind, lest it would take root and grow into something that could not be cured, to the point that the Thought Police had no choice but to vaporize that individual to prevent the social contamination.
Baekhyun wasn't disheartened by this very much; after all, there was no merit to having or not having a thought of your own in this state of life anyway.
Yet, this sign managed to spark some emotion that Baekhyun so rarely felt, that the man had no choice but to take a closer look at the details that advertising stand had to offer. At the very bottom of it, there were two chalked lines written in a uniform fainted handwriting. The first line read If it's all an illusion, which was followed by Do you want to wake up now?
It was the intense intrigue that propelled Baekhyun to look up at the provided directions to the club painted at the top corner of the advertisement. This is bad, he silently chided himself while his feet carried him towards the destination illustrated on the advertisement; this new bar. Baekhyun wasn't a cat, obviously; nevertheless he feared that curiosity might be the end of him. Those two lines were dangerous, something that could lead to the least resistant part of one's thought that could very well foster into a thought crime.
Wake up, the words said, and Baekhyun thought, have I always been asleep?
He turned at the last corner, and hiding between two tall rundown buildings was a tiny inconspicuous place with bright neon sign spelling Beyond in vivid pink. Baekhyun hesitated again, hand hovering over the door's handle in an awkward pause. Why am I so anxious? He thought with an unshakable nervousness that seemed to manifest itself and grow stronger with every step it took to reach here. He shook his head and pushed his way inside; there was no point in coming all this way just to chicken out and turn back to the cold aloof comfort of his one bedroom cemented-wall prison.
The chime at the door rang, and Baekhyun steeled himself before walking in, left foot first for luck.
Inside, the interior wasn't at all as Baekhyun had anticipated. The place was plain enough to make Baekhyun feel silly for getting all worked up for no apparent reason. He looked at the wooden decoration and the small narrow stage at the center of the floor in a daze before getting snapped out of his trance-like state by a voice addressing him.
"Young man, you look lost," a man with a streak of grey hair called out to him from behind the counter. "Why don't you come in?" he asked in a friendly manner. Baekhyun took a look around the shop, a little unsure for a moment; there weren't many people inside, just a couple of lonely looking patrons occupying the table in the far back and on the stools near the exit. The man, or rather, the bartender huffed a little before reassuring with, "Don't worry. There’s nothing suspicious here. Just a normal bar, you see."
The man shifted his gaze to the stage with a small smile that Baekhyun would later be able to identify as pride. The former vacant area had now been occupied by a small man who seemed to be about the same age as Baekhyun. His jet black hair was kept short and tidy―a standard haircut that the majority of the Proles sported―and his shirt looked clean, albeit a little well-worn. His face was blank; nothing about him screamed spectacle. He looked just like a normal man, one that wasn't much different from Baekhyun, or so he thought.
But as soon as the pin touched the phonodisc on the record player and the music drifted through, the singer's expression shifted from impassive to a precise concentration, the jarring differences overwhelming.
The music that leaked through the speakers was unusual, not that it was bad, but perhaps not the kind of songs the Party would compose, and definitely not something they would approve of either. The melody floated around the room. The strange instruments featuring in the song vibrated along with each breath he took; the sound of the horns piecing and yet harmonizing. The singer's smooth voice seemed to dig deep, dove, and then plunged, pulling Baekhyun into an almost underwater-state, suffocated yet he felt free. Baekhyun was smothered; he couldn't quite catch his breath, seemed to be losing his footing somewhere and couldn't regain his sense of equilibrium. The singer sang with his eyes closed, giving in completely to the music surrounding him; but when the high note came, he opened his eyes and stared right back at Baekhyun.
"Amazing, isn't he?" the bartender said with a knowing expression. Baekhyun tried in vain to hold a conversation out of politeness but he couldn't take his eyes off of the singer, and he felt as if the other male's attention was solely on him, too, which did nothing but propel him to watch closer. The man did not falter even as the song rose into its crescendo, delivering it so precisely that a pro would have wept. Not that Baekhyun had ever had a chance to attend the real professional shows anyway, how could a Prole like him afford to, but the sentiment was there.
Baekhyun kept watching, the stool he unconsciously dropped himself on swiveled to the rhythm of the strange woodwind instruments. Is this what it feels like to be awake? he pondered as he witnessed the sombre expression of the people around him morph into that of reverence, excited faces leaning in close to speak, as hushed as the night creatures.
"You want a drink?" the bartender asked, and Baekhyun nodded his head, mumbling back maybe a couple more than one, I think, which earned him a hearty laugh in return.
Finally, the song came to an end. The singer let the last note out so softly Baekhyun feared it would melt into the stuffy air inside the bar and edge itself into his lungs to be a part of him forever. Loud cheers erupted from everywhere and Baekhyun was on his feet in an instant, clapping before he even realized his hands were doing it; this might be the first time that he had a justifying chance to ever clap for someone from the bottom of his heart.
The singer's mouth lifted to form a timid smile, but Baekhyun could tell by the way the man surveyed the crowd that he was full of pride; and he should be because Baekhyun had never came across someone as talented as him before. The man got off the stage, making his way to the counter to have a conversation with a bartender, who laughed even louder before handing him a glass of something sparkling, a champagne maybe. The singer looked sideways at Baekhyun for a short while, sipping languidly and shifting closer to where Baekhyun was sitting.
"You're new," the singer addressed him with a friendly smile. Baekhyun willed his mouth to smile back but he could feel it turn out all sorts of awkward instead. The man didn't seem to mind though since he continued the conversation; "I'm Kyungsoo by the way. Master told me you're here to hear me sing," he introduced himself before turning to wink at the bartender.
"Um, well, er...," Baekhyun stammered, heat licking at his face, "I'm Baekhyun, by the way," he replied instead, shaking Kyungsoo's extended hand and grimacing when he realized how sweaty his palm was. Kyungsoo just laughed while Baekhyun looked at him apologetically. And just like that, Kyungsoo claimed another stool for himself, the one on the left side of Baekhyun. Within the span of a minute, the bar became full of people and suddenly there were lives everywhere.
"You came a little early," Kyungsoo bent in closer to whisper when he noticed Baekhyun's bafflement, "We actually open at eight," his breath fanned warm across Baekhyun's cheekbone and smelled a little of alcohol and something sweet. The shiver travelling down his spine couldn't quite be concealed, but at least he managed not to accidentally knock his glass over, which was quite an achievement, considering how skittish he had become. Baekhyun wasn't a skittish person by nature but somehow being in an approximately close quarter with Kyungsoo changed that.
"The song," Baekhyun started, hesitating again, but with an encouraging tilt of Kyungsoo's head urging him on, he continued, "The song that you sang, what was it?"
Kyungsoo looked at Baekhyun for a moment, seemingly contemplating something, before glancing over at the record player which was now playing an instrumental music of the same kind, and answered, "it's jazz."
"Jazz?" Baekhyun echoed, though he meant not to; it was silly, the habit of repeating things or sentences he felt unfamiliar with, a habit that he tried to force down because it always got him into trouble with people who felt as if he was trying to challenge their authority. Or just that it was plain stupid for repeating everything the other person said. Kyungsoo laughed a little, the sound involuntarily rather than mocking.
"Yes, jazz," he assured, mirth dancing deep within his irises. "The thing about jazz is that it's ever changing, and it will never stop. It is restless but it's not messy. That's why I think jazz is amazing."
"It's rather...," Baekhyun started to say but could not find another word to describe the experience rather than, "different." He finished his sentence lamely.
Kyungsoo put down his glass, invading Baekhyun's personal space by leaning in even closer before asking, "Different good or different bad?"
Baekhyun gulped. "Huh? Uh, well, different different I suppose," he coughed on his answer. Kyungsoo squinted his eyes, but let out no sound other than humming his affirmation, which Baekhyun guessed could interpret as either he thought the answer was suffice or totally fatuous. So he quickly added, "but not bad. Never bad. In fact I think I like it."
"You do?" Kyungsoo smiled suddenly, the bright grin lighting his whole face lit up. He moved in even closer, voice excited, "We found them in Master's basement." He was talking about the records, Baekhyun soon realized. "They supposedly belonged to his great great grandfather or something, things left over before the rise of Oceania," Kyungsoo made air quotes like the whole existence of their nation was something overrated. Baekhyun felt a lick of cold touch setting on over him. This wasn't the first time Baekhyun had encountered a man without regards of their nation, but Kyungsoo might just be the first one to be expressing it outright.
"Anyway, Master said we could use them here and people seem to like them. I don't why they had to regulate them in the first place," Kyungsoo finished his explanation by emptying his glass in one gulp, his adam's apple bobbing to the rhythm of the saxophone.
"So it's not Party standardized then," Baekhyun inquired, a little worried.
Kyungsoo huffed and said, "Not by a long run but does it matter? It's just music." When he saw that Baekhyun still looked skeptic, he added with a playful voice, "Come on, admit it. This is far better than all that music composed by the Party."
It was true; Baekhyun was a little tired of listening to all those songs that had been playing all day everyday through the telescreen for as long as he remembered. Every one sounded the same; the same message, same sequence, same tune. Kyungsoo's song felt like a breath of fresh air, but it was an air that tinged with a rebellious nature that worried Baekhyun.
"Admit it that this has been an eye-opening experience," Kyungsoo teased a little, but Baekhyun had already shrunk back into the shell of himself and shuddered at the thought of what this experience might entail.
"I have to go," Baekhyun uttered urgently, getting up so fast he almost slammed his elbow on Kyungsoo's nose.
"You're leaving?" Kyungsoo ducked neatly and avoided Baekhyun's elbow as he asked in bewilderment, obviously hurt by Baekhyun's sudden attempt at departure. Baekhyun felt a little guilty; after all, it was much Baekhyun's flight-or-fight inclination that was at fault rather than Kyungsoo's fault for having his own opinion.
"I'm sorry," Baekhyun turned around to apologize―he liked Kyungsoo, that much was apparent, the bold and unconcerned nature of the man was intriguing and charming on its own, but it was also trouble, and Baekhyun's survival instinct warned him against all kinds of troubles. He met Kyungsoo's unfazed level gaze, a calculated scrutiny that made Baekhyun's hairs stand on end.
"Well then, come back when you feel like it. I'll always be here," Kyungsoo replied at last, his eyes becoming darkly mischievous.
Baekhyun doubted he would ever come back here for the second time; a voice in his head that sound suspiciously like Kyungsoo countered his defense. Oh, but you will.
The room smelled like rat. Baekhyun instinctively curled onto himself a little when he realized what room it was; light ran thick in this room, even shadow itself seemed to be thinner than usual.
A book lied open on the floor; Baekhyun turned away swiftly.
The pages kept turning themselves while Baekhyun was busy hiding his face in the safety of his palms. The book was blank, Baekhyun was sure of it, but he was too afraid to take a peek at what might appear there―thoughts running on red ink, hidden dreams spilling down like a wild blob of black on the stark white pages, concealed truth. Baekhyun had become afraid of reading books; it was the easiest way to let thoughts run astray.
Kyungsoo was with him though, standing so close to Baekhyun's back he could feel the heat that radiated off of the man's body, gripping him like vice. Kyungsoo reached out his hands pass Baekhyun's ears, took hold of his palms secured over his eyes, and pried them off with a strength that his small body shouldn't preserve.
"Look," Kyungsoo urged, voice insistent. "Open your eyes," his voice commanded, "look and see."
Baekhyun squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, too terrified to look, too shaken up to push Kyungsoo away. The grips tightened, if that was even possible, and Kyungsoo pushed in closer; his chest touched Baekhyun's sweat-covered back, his skin warm to the point of burning.
"Open your eyes," Kyungsoo's voice demanded, "wake up now."
Baekhyun opened his eyes to a white-washed ceiling of his bedroom, drowning in a cold sweat. The clock struck five am, the standard time to be woken up by the timer in order to prepare for work; Kyungsoo disappeared like light behind his eyelids.
Baekhyun spent the succession of his days in some sort of a trance.
There had been a new assorted shipment from the Records Department in the Ministry of Truth that Baekhyun put off sorting until the last minute because he didn't like handling documents of any kind. Information came and went but never stayed long enough to be dissected as true or false. There was only truth in Oceania; the rest was just inaccuracies that were made accurate.
Baekhyun had been naive and questioned it once. He never wanted to visit Room 101 again.
Starless night was what it was; the clouds had blocked out everything, even the moon, and the silence was reassuring. Baekhyun balled his hands into fists when he tasted the now too-familiar stench of denial at the back of his throat; the bile rushed up, though Baekhyun wasn't going to allow himself to puke out all of his desire.
It had been two weeks since Baekhyun had first stumbled into that bar, first laid eyes on Kyungsoo, and it was the first time in the long while that he dreamed of the stench on the cold floor of Room 101 and the weight that the cage set over his shoulders. Kyungsoo's unexpected laugh rang very close by, but never in sight.
The pink neon lights two breaths ahead were all it took for Baekhyun's self-resistance to crumble. It wasn't a fair fight to begin with, mused Baekhyun, when the only one burdened with temptation seemed to be himself alone.
Kyungsoo wasn't on the stage tonight. Rather, he was sitting on the same bar stool, looking like he was waiting for someone, fingers tabbing on the spotless counter's surface in some sort of a rhythm. There you are, Kyungsoo's expression seemed to convey upon spotting Baekhyun, or maybe it was only wishful thinking on Baekhyun's part.
The dream Kyungsoo and the real Kyungsoo morphed into one before Baekhyun's eyes, and Baekhyun thought, which one are you anyway? but perhaps, somewhere at the back of his mind, he was afraid to find out, because what if none of them were real and this was all just an illusion?
The bar was very lively tonight; people were having fun, laughing, engaging with each other with big smiles and eyes that twinkled. Baekhyun eyed the telescreen mounted behind the counter with apprehension before Kyungsoo stole his attention away from that ominous machine.
"I wish that every day could be like this," Kyungsoo leaned in close to usher softly, as if he was sharing something private with Baekhyun, as he looked around them with a content smile on the corner of his plush lips.
"This?" Baekhyun echoed, though he failed to see the attraction that the rowdy crowds brought; it wasn't that Baekhyun was opposed to the loudness, per se, but he had difficulty dealing with the unfamiliarity―he worked in solitary every day, sorting piles and piles of news into the City Hall's archive―so he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the merit of so much noise and chaos.
"Yes, this," Kyungsoo answered, finger toying at the rim of his frosted martini glass, "It's like we can truly be happy, like we're capable of laughing out loud without a care in the world."
"You laugh." Baekhyun bantered good-naturedly, finishing his drink in one gulp because being near Kyungsoo made him so thirsty for some reason.
"In here I do", Kyungsoo retaliated with a chuckle, a little exasperated as if he found Baekhyun to be a particularly difficult child. "But out there, yes, we can snicker, perhaps, or even huff and giggle; but laugh? Tell me, Baekhyun, when was the last time you actually laughed out there?"
To that Baekhyun had no answer to give. He wasn't unhappy, but perhaps, he didn't quite understand what a state of happiness truly was, either. He was educated to feel contentment, but in a way that was very unenthusiastic and bridled.
Kyungsoo waited for Baekhyun to reply, but at Baekhyun's continued silence, he let out a sigh and asked, "I have to go on stage now or I won't get paid. Will you still be here when I finish?"
Baekhyun thought about his closed-in apartment, the loneliness ceramic tiles that led on to the only opened window in his bedroom, and nodded yes. "I'll be here," he replied, with a smile.
Kyungsoo smiled back.
The air was thick with sultry anticipation and Kyungsoo's voice delivered the rendition of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered (Kyungsoo told him the title later with his dark dark eyes) in such a way that Baekhyun wasn't sure how he ever going to give name to the feeling it evoked. After all, no Proles were designed for temptation and Baekhyun was such a flightless amateur when it came to romance.
When Baekhyun closed his eyes, the sound of the piano haunted him in his sleep.
The day dragged on now that Baekhyun admitted to have something more important to look forward to during the night. The thought of Kyungsoo had never strayed too far from his mind; perhaps it was even too close as the voice in his head had taken to sounding very much like Kyungsoo himself. Still, he felt troubled by Kyungsoo's undisguised opinions. He knew better, really, and knew he should stay away, but even if he wanted to; Kyungsoo plagued him even in his sleep.
The dim, orange lights spread themselves languidly over the wooden counter when Baekhyun opened the door. He wanted to remind himself to feel dread―he shouldn't feel relieved over the prospect of meeting danger disguised as a lamb. Kyungsoo's attitude would lead to his own downfall, if not dragging Baekhyun along kicking and screaming with him―but the clamor of laughter and merriment sucked him in, and the walls were so warm and comforting that he no longer recalled the cold surface of his own bedroom.
"You look conflicted," Kyungsoo said before taking Baekhyun's hand into his, leading him easily and guiding him gently down on his usual stool. "Come sit. The professor is telling me about how awfully lacking the library at the City Hall is." And that sentence struck Baekhyun faster than lighting.
"Yes, yes. I was telling Kyungsoo that it only houses a sparse selection of literature and is filled with the newspeaks and propaganda from the Party, all the good kinds," the professor, one of the more frequented customers, excitedly relayed their conversation. "Kyungsoo thought it was very abnormal," he went on in the airily manner, seemingly not disturbed by the implication, or possibly completely unaware of how dangerous the implication was.
To this, Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and retorted, "Because it is. I was summoned to the Inner Party's Official Gala once and the place was filled with all kind of books. It's strange that we Proles are only allowed to read just a selected few."
Baekhyun didn't dare look up, the weight of the conversation was too heavy for him to even bear on his back and pretend he didn't notice what was written between the lines.
"Why are you talking about the library?" Baekhyun asked, voice hoarse though tried to cover it up by gulping down the drink offered to him by the bartender. The amber liquid burned his throat; Kyungsoo's steady gaze looked on while Baekhyun set his insides on fire.
"I was," Kyungsoo replied, "but now I'm not." The swift motion of his hand dismissing the others was heartless but Baekhyun was far too busy with his own thoughts to take note. Kyungsoo signaled the refill of his drink before continuing. "Tell me, Baekhyun, why does talk of the library bother you so much?"
"It doesn't," Baekhyun tried to deny because if nobody seemed bother by it, why should he be?
"It doesn't?" Kyungsoo replied with a raised eyebrow. It seemed that Kyungsoo believed in Baekhyun's own words even less than the man himself did.
"No, I...I don't know," Baekhyun fretted, "We shouldn't be talking about this," he tried to end the conversation, but Kyungsoo would have none of it.
"About what? About the library?" Kyungsoo questioned in puzzlement.
"About the lack of substances in the library," Baekhyun snapped, "about no books and only controlled publishing and just...it's trouble," his voice faded off to a whisper. "You will be in trouble," he looked at Kyungsoo, pleading with him to just drop it already.
"Nobody thinks anything of it," Kyungsoo pointed out in a placated manner. "Only you who thinks questioning the lack of choices is something grave enough to warrant a punishment."
"You do, too," Baekhyun argued, feeling more and more agitated as the conversation progressed.
"Do I? Did I say something to make you think I'm questioning the lack of choices we have, so to speak?" Kyungsoo interjected, but quickly amended his harsh tone by letting out a sigh and a small smile as soon as he saw Baekhyun's frown deepen. "Oh, come on, don't make that face. I'm not looking for any trouble I swear. I'm grateful enough they allow me to sing. Stop worrying, it's giving me heartburn."
It was Kyungsoo's way of apologizing, Baekhyun realized later; Kyungsoo never apologized, even though he was wrong, he would just brush it off and try to steer the conversation in a different direction to make amends.
He was doing it now, too, asking Baekhyun silly questions like what he had for lunch and if the flower beds on the City Hall's second floor were still in bloom. Baekhyun tried settling back down and letting the lure of Kyungsoo's voice carry him off to the world where having milk for lunch was the only concern he should be having.
Baekhyun woke up with a song in his ears―the phantom taste of metallic under his nose and that foul stench of rats and sweat and ironed-crisp uniform and leather boots; there were all a part of Room 101. Kyungsoo stood just behind the officer locking a cage over Baekhyun's head, face hidden in shadow, as he sang. It was the beckoning of memories, or perhaps fantasy―that one time he made a mistake and was re-educated and set free. Free. Baekhyun thought he had forgotten it all but he was wrong; the memories were like a song, it came back when you least expected it. Kyungsoo sang it so gently, and it held Baekhyun down under.
Baekhyun woke up to a song from the distance once, to find a part of him missing in the night. Other Proles begging for freedom, yet he felt just a little less of that urgency each time he was brought back to the waking world. The words that the officer said made less and less sense. Eventually, time eluded Baekhyun and the questions he harbored turned into a smoke, and he forgot why it ever mattered to begin with.
Baekhyun woke up with a song in his ears now, the song Kyungsoo hummed subconsciously when he thought no one was within an ear shot or when he forgot he had an audience. Baekhyun looked over to the clock at his bedside table; it was half part three in the morning, the time where silence fell the heaviest upon the night. He got up and looked out of the glassed encaged window; the loneliest moon reminded Baekhyun of Kyungsoo as he fell back to sleep on the windowsill, dreaming of the past that fused with the present that might hold the future for him.
Over the span of two months, Baekhyun learned the protocol for pretending Kyungsoo didn't say anything tendentious just for the sake of his peace of mind. Unfortunately, it worked just the same as trying to cover up your ears in front of a full-blasted speaker attached to an enormous sound system.
Baekhyun should get away, run for his life and never look back, yet he stayed, stayed for a reason he didn't even understand. He should run away now, Baekhyun thought, now was the time.
"You can't just turn off the telescreen," one patron said, flabbergasted.
Kyungsoo shrugged and commented, "Why not?" His indifference was obscene and blatant; the judgmental look he gave was layered down by the dim light that managed to tone everything down to the softer hue. Still, nothing could conceal the flippancy in his voice and Baekhyun flinched at his tone.
The patron spluttered, hands moving everywhere in an attempt to sift through his choice arguments, but all he could come up with was just a very loud and childish, "Just because!" which Kyungsoo easily snubbed out with an unsympathetic twitch of the corner of his lips. "Then we have nothing further to discuss, do we?" he ended his argument with a lifted brow.
Later, while Baekhyun was walking home and Kyungsoo tagged along without really saying so, the midnight wind accompanied them like well-known friend, Baekhyun pulled at the other man's overcoat just before they arrived at the front door of his building.
"That was dangerous," Baekhyun murmured.
"Your point?" Kyungsoo hadn't even turned around. He only stopped long enough for Baekhyun to deliver his thought before continuing walking up the stairs in the languid manner like nothing could ever faze him. When he reached the top of the stairs, he waited patiently for Baekhyun to catch up before casually asking; "Can I come up?" as if his intention wasn't clear from the beginning.
Kyungsoo looked him straight in the eye and the smile he gave was poisonous. The pit of Baekhyun's stomach dropped instantaneously. It wasn't the surprise; he was more concerned by the sexual nature of his reaction than wary of Kyungsoo.
The night lasted long; Baekhyun sorted through his mind and conjured up all sorts of conversations he had with the dream Kyungsoo. None of them now fit with the Kyungsoo lying asleep on Baekhyun's favorite side of the bed. He glanced down, saw Kyungsoo with all the faults his dream could never pinpoint; Kyungsoo had so many of them―he was unsentimental, dismissive, poking and provoking. Yet, when Kyungsoo cracked open his eyes, a cold foot slowly travelling up Baekhyun's calf; it was the most exciting feeling Baekhyun had ever experienced and everything took less precedence than that.
Nothing good had ever come from being absentminded, Baekhyun had to remind himself of this notion when his supervisor called him into his office for the mismatched codes of the documents he put on the archive. Absentmindedness never lasted very long; nothing ever did.
Baekhyun went back to his station and threw himself into sorting through all the issued newspeaks he had gone through earlier that day, ignoring every little thing Kyungsoo whispered in his ears with his light teasing tone that the real Kyungsoo would never use. Everything looked the same, read the same; Oceania above all.
And in that moment, the repetitive motions of picking things up and putting things down faded to black along with all the papers prepped out for storing and disappeared down the drain, Baekhyun realized how meaningless it was to be responsible for protecting the conjured up lies people in the higher positions wanted to make truth.
Everything else was insignificant, less important. The most important part of the story was when Kyungsoo put down his palms flat against the table surface and said, "there is no freedom."
Baekhyun wriggled in his seat out of the discomfort that the complete silence brought. One minute they were all talk, then like the suddenness and alarm of a splash of cold water, everything halted to a complete stand still.
"Um...," one patron made a coughing sound, obviously lost, "what do you mean by that?" he asked in a voice filled with confusion.
The professor smirked then, as if he had been waiting for his cue all along, and replied, "Isn't it obvious? We have been living in a pre-designed life." Baekhyun had been told the man had retired himself from his position and now was looking into opening his own institution, but he was too afraid to ask for more details. In this world, the less you knew, the better chance it wouldn't come back and bite you in the ass.
"There's no going up or going down," Kyungsoo chimed in with his own opinion, "we're in this sort of limbo-like state where we can't decide anything on our own. Proles will always be Proles; we're born in it so we must live it. There's no advancement."
"Well, when you put it like that," another patron said, "It kinda feels restricted nowadays, doesn't it?"
One by one, people around their table started to agree, started to develop the mind of their own. Maybe, they all possessed one, an opinion; they were just too used to letting its voice die out to notice it. It was fine to have an opinion, as long as you knew to hold it close to your heart and guarded it so it wouldn't reach the authority's ears. These people had no idea how scary it was to be re-educated, or worse vaporized; but Baekhyun was too tired, and possibly too outnumbered, to warn them off now.
"But still...," another patron voiced out, "to question the role we uphold is like questioning the Big Brother himself," his apprehension colored him in pale white.
"But why do we live like a bird in a cage," Kyungsoo went on, "being told to fly freely but have nowhere to go." His hands balled themselves into fists, gaze heated and determined. "Don't you want to wake up now?" Kyungsoo asked, but the very confused, very surprised little noises were all he received as the form of agreeing from those around him.
Kyungsoo had made it a tradition to follow Baekhyun home every night he visited the other male at Beyond, trailing after or dashing ahead of Baekhyun but never left him far. It wasn't like Kyungsoo needed permission; Baekhyun could never prevent him from doing something he had already set his mind upon, and if Kyungsoo set his mind upon going home with Baekhyun every night, Baekhyun could only let this be.
They tried changing routes, experimenting on which street it took to get to Baekhyun's apartment the fastest, which route was the opposite. They tried wandering off aimlessly, following the road that levered off to the indefinite pitchforks, but none was far enough. They would always inevitably end up at the town square. The dead of the night surrounding them, street lights lit up in an ambient glow. Baekhyun wondered, was it really impossible to pave their own path, to make their own destiny?
"I'm afraid tonight I can't go further than this," Kyungsoo uncharacteristically told Baekhyun with a soft and apologetic smile. The moon should be bright tonight, but the clouds that took hold of the city forced it into a game of hide-and-seek, so Kyungsoo eyes reflected nothing but the flickering light overhead, which shrouded them in mystery.
Baekhyun always had a hard time reading Kyungsoo.
"Did something come up?" Baekhyun inquired, but Kyungsoo just shook his head.
"You should get a good night sleep for once. I don't want to impose." Kyungsoo answered instead. It was a little too late for that, Baekhyun thought wryly.
"You should stop," Baekhyun warned, begged even. He prayed it would get through to Kyungsoo, that he was playing with fire, that they were dangerous and capable of ripping Kyungsoo apart and make him anew, re-build him to fit their own image. Baekhyun wasn't ready to let go of this Kyungsoo; he didn’t think he ever would be.
Kyungsoo stepped in closer, lifting his arms and clasping his hands together behind Baekhyun's neck. "Do you know how to waltz," he asked lightly, already swaying to the beat inside his own head. Baekhyun wondered if it was something sweet.
"No," Baekhyun answered, but he too had already begun to sway his body to the rhythm of Kyungsoo's heart beats.
"Well, indulge me a little then. After all, there's nobody here and we can do what we want." Kyungsoo always tried to convince Baekhyun to do stupid things, so Baekhyun laughed because this was stupid―dancing together in an empty town square under the moonless night like some movie's characters. And if this was a film, Baekhyun imagined the background music would probably change to At Last even before Kyungsoo asked for his hand to a dance.
Yet, they swayed together, not quite caring if they were dancing to the same beat as long as they swayed in the same direction, not stepping on each other's toes.
"You're a terrible dancer," Kyungsoo complained with a laugh when Baekhyun purposely bumped into him. The other male was too busy counting steps inside his head, so he missed the opportunity to retort that Kyungsoo was no better than him because he was pretty sure he shouldn't step back this often if he was leading.
Kyungsoo huffed, before taking hold of Baekhyun's hand and spinning him around in three successive circles, as if getting revenge for a ram in the shoulder earlier on. Baekhyun bent ninety degrees backwards, before being pulled up into Kyungsoo's awaiting arms, his hand shot up to grip tight at Kyungsoo's bicep. Baekhyun laughed, laughed, and laughed, like this was the most fun he had ever had in his life, laughing freely without having to be conscious of anyone watching him, and Kyungsoo's eyes were so kind under the street lights, so bright and tender as if there were stars in them.
"You look happy," Kyungsoo pointed out with a smile, fingers tracing the stretch of Baekhyun's lips, and Baekhyun was floored to realize he was smiling like this―a big, fat, grin that stretched on to form the biggest smile in his living years.
"I feel alive," Baekhyun admitted with a full-on laugh. "I feel free," he tacked on a little hysterically, but mostly it was joy that had consumed him, enveloped him from head to toe and burned cold and warm at the same time.
"I think I understand what it’s like to be awake now," Baekhyun smiled, and Kyungsoo silenced him with a lingering kiss and his imaginary background music faded to the song of Kyungsoo's breathing against his ears.
The sky is on fire. One minute, Baekhyun was inside, listening to Kyungsoo sing, and the next, he was being thrown out of the club that was set aflame.
Nobody touches him after he was getting escorted out of the way, not even when he runs back inside the circle, demanding to know why they have captured all the patrons that were spending time there, putting them in handcuffs and throwing them inside the awaiting vans; but not even one Thought Police pays him any mind.
People start to disperse after they realize what is happening, no one wants be a casualty of the resistance arrest, and those who linger around are either stupid or suicidal―Proles that live for far too long, jaded and seeking every opportunity for a chance at excitement.
Baekhyun's body shakes all over; he hears the screams everywhere, but Kyungsoo is nowhere to be found. Please, don't let me be too late, don't let him get arrested, Baekhyun prays to every gods that would listen. But there is no divine intervention; Baekhyun is alone.
Suddenly, all the officers stop dead in their tracks and, one by one, start making a salute to the same direction.
"Sir," someone says so Baekhyun looks over, following everyone's line of sight.
And Kyungsoo―now with his pristine Thought Police uniform draping across his shoulders, the assurance way he carries himself, the assertiveness when he breaks through the barrier of the uniform wall―snubs out the littered cigarette with the sole of his shinny leather boot and, with it, Baekhyun's soul.
With just a dismissive signal from his hand, all the officers scatter, bringing with them the horde of the crowds yelling, screaming for mercy, becomes a mere buzzing in the distance. Kyungsoo looks around him, and when he deems it private enough, he stride across the field, stops dead in front of Baekhyun, who is too stunned for words, too numb to come up with any remarks.
Why does this feel so familiar?
Baekhyun squeezes his eyes tight, trying to block everything out. This must be just another dream, Baekhyun thinks desperately, wake up now, he begs himself, wake up.
Wake up, the authoritative voice says, and when Baekhyun opens his eyes, rat cage being lifted away from his head, the officer in Thought Police uniform looks down at him with eyes concealed in the dark, only the silver crest on his uniform that visible from the light that it catches.
Baekhyun closes his eyes once again and re-opens them; the heat from the fire is back. He finds himself still in front of the bar, with fire raging on now that Kyungsoo dismissed everyone else, almost as if he decides to let it run its course, to burn everything down, leaving no trace. Tomorrow, Beyond will be just an illusion.
"Are you awake now?" Kyungsoo asks―If it's all an illusion, do you want to wake up now?―and Baekhyun realizes they are the same person after all, the officer in Room 101 and Kyungsoo, has been the same person all along.
"Why?" is all Baekhyun could muster past his constricted windpipe.
And Kyungsoo smiles then, the same smile he gave Baekhyun last night, before answering, "to keep peace, we need water to nurture the hidden seed so we can detect it and plug it out," his face the serenity of a mask, the same kind the Inner Party would wear when Baekhyun sees them on the telescreen, artificial and unbending; this is not the Kyungsoo that Baekhyun has come to know and become fond of.
"In four months' time," the replica of Kyungsoo goes on, "there will be a new club opening at the town square," he pauses to peer at Baekhyun, the same inquisitive look he always used on the other male, now looks alien on his porcelain face, before continuing, "You should go take a look."
"Will you be there?" Baekhyun croaks out. Everything hurts and he doesn't know how to make it stop.
Kyungsoo smiles again, warmer this time, the flicker of fire alternating between casting him in the shadow and revealing him in the light, and he replies, "No, Baekhyun. This time, you'll be the one singing."
And the cage that sets upon his face this time is not the same cage that housed the rat in Room 101, but the synthetic kind that Baekhyun could easily get used to because he saw it on Kyungsoo's face all the time, the familiarity hideous and welcoming.
"Welcome to the club, Baekhyun," Kyungsoo takes hold of Baekhyun's trembling hands, caging them in the secure of his palms and doesn't let go.
Baekhyun's laugh runs in rivers of tears.
Started: 140602
Finished: 140803
Length: 7,605 words
Pairing: Byun Baekhyun/Do Kyungsoo
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine except for the plot and the writing.
Summary: The air was thick with sultry anticipation and Kyungsoo's voice delivered the rendition of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered in such a way that Baekhyun wasn't sure how he ever going to give name to the feeling it evoked. After all, no Proles were designed for temptation and Baekhyun was such a flightless amateur when it came to romance. (1984!AU)
A/N: Originally posted here as a part of univerexo's first fanfiction exchange. (Too bad my recipient dropped out.) I love dystopia!au, but I have to admit that writing one was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. Still, this had been a fun write and I can't thank my beta, Nelle, enough for helping me out. Also, corrected the typos; why do I always make typo?
The sky is on fire. Baekhyun pushes himself up to standing and immediately got rammed into by some random person in an attempt to flee the scene, almost knocking him over again. I have to find him, Baekhyun thinks but can't will his legs to move; immobile and rooted to the spot, in his usual charade of the useless tool that he is. The officers who had just maneuvered him out of the club didn't even deem him important enough to question and just dumped his ass on the sidewalk, away from the commotion of the firefighters trying to put out the fire amidst the obnoxiously loud struggle of those who have been apprehended by the authorities.
Baekhyun feels a sudden surge of helplessness. People are screaming everywhere. The crackling sound of the wood being burnt to the ground cages him in like a hymn from his nightmare. Smoke billows around him and irritates his eyes. His lungs itch and he briefly considers coughing, but none of these register in his brain long enough to spark any action. Baekhyun has only one thing in mind―where is he? He takes a panicked look around him, glancing from left to right and right to left, but he can't spot him anywhere. He can't find Kyungsoo.
Are you awake? a voice rings clear among the uproar. Baekhyun looks up with surprise, turning around to try to identify where the voice came from, but he can't find the source, he can't find whom he is searching for. Kyungsoo's voices rings constantly in his ears nowadays; it even follows Baekhyun into his sleep as his dreams bleed into his waking world.
Baekhyun frantically searches every face but none of them are Kyungsoo. He shouts and screams, calling out his name over and over, but no one pays him any mind; after all, he’s not important. Even his job role is lacklustre; a newspeak archive worker. The shining silver crest on the police's uniform was more eye-catching, not the plain grey shirt and slacks on Baekhyun.
You're wrong. I've always been awake, Baekhyun thinks, balling his palms into fists, I'm awake and see clearly everything that happened, things that you made me see. I wish I hadn't.
The fire in front of him is bright, the color of it an angry red and so morbidly beautiful that Baekhyun can't keep his eyes off it. The fire is powerful, he thinks idly, and downright consuming―everything Baekhyun hates yet wishes he could be―the fire that dares to destroy everything until there's nothing left in its path; the fire that is a little like Kyungsoo the first night Baekhyun accidentally stumbled upon him.
It was a typical Friday night. Baekhyun had just gotten off work and he might indulge himself with a fine bottle of beer once in a while if the place near his standard-issued apartment looked promising. It wasn't unusual for Proles to frequent a bar, but personally Baekhyun found such an establishment not quite suited with his taste―either too loud or too depressing, the former he stumbled across quite more frequently than the latter, which was such a shame, since he could probably take depressing better than the loudness.
I'll just grab a bottle and be home in half an hour then, Baekhyun encouraged himself, but just as he was about to turn the usual corner at the fifth street, he spotted a strange sign that hadn't been there the last time he had used this shortcut. The sign invited passersby to come and enjoy themselves at the new bar, which was normal enough, coupled with a rough direction to some building three blocks away. It was nothing flashy or called for special kind of attention; still, Baekhyun felt the strange sort of curiosity that he hadn't experienced since early school day when he had been told that Proles mustn't entertain their own whims and whatnots.
Curiosity was one of the things that needed to be snubbed out as soon as the child started to develop its own mind, lest it would take root and grow into something that could not be cured, to the point that the Thought Police had no choice but to vaporize that individual to prevent the social contamination.
Baekhyun wasn't disheartened by this very much; after all, there was no merit to having or not having a thought of your own in this state of life anyway.
Yet, this sign managed to spark some emotion that Baekhyun so rarely felt, that the man had no choice but to take a closer look at the details that advertising stand had to offer. At the very bottom of it, there were two chalked lines written in a uniform fainted handwriting. The first line read If it's all an illusion, which was followed by Do you want to wake up now?
It was the intense intrigue that propelled Baekhyun to look up at the provided directions to the club painted at the top corner of the advertisement. This is bad, he silently chided himself while his feet carried him towards the destination illustrated on the advertisement; this new bar. Baekhyun wasn't a cat, obviously; nevertheless he feared that curiosity might be the end of him. Those two lines were dangerous, something that could lead to the least resistant part of one's thought that could very well foster into a thought crime.
Wake up, the words said, and Baekhyun thought, have I always been asleep?
He turned at the last corner, and hiding between two tall rundown buildings was a tiny inconspicuous place with bright neon sign spelling Beyond in vivid pink. Baekhyun hesitated again, hand hovering over the door's handle in an awkward pause. Why am I so anxious? He thought with an unshakable nervousness that seemed to manifest itself and grow stronger with every step it took to reach here. He shook his head and pushed his way inside; there was no point in coming all this way just to chicken out and turn back to the cold aloof comfort of his one bedroom cemented-wall prison.
The chime at the door rang, and Baekhyun steeled himself before walking in, left foot first for luck.
Inside, the interior wasn't at all as Baekhyun had anticipated. The place was plain enough to make Baekhyun feel silly for getting all worked up for no apparent reason. He looked at the wooden decoration and the small narrow stage at the center of the floor in a daze before getting snapped out of his trance-like state by a voice addressing him.
"Young man, you look lost," a man with a streak of grey hair called out to him from behind the counter. "Why don't you come in?" he asked in a friendly manner. Baekhyun took a look around the shop, a little unsure for a moment; there weren't many people inside, just a couple of lonely looking patrons occupying the table in the far back and on the stools near the exit. The man, or rather, the bartender huffed a little before reassuring with, "Don't worry. There’s nothing suspicious here. Just a normal bar, you see."
The man shifted his gaze to the stage with a small smile that Baekhyun would later be able to identify as pride. The former vacant area had now been occupied by a small man who seemed to be about the same age as Baekhyun. His jet black hair was kept short and tidy―a standard haircut that the majority of the Proles sported―and his shirt looked clean, albeit a little well-worn. His face was blank; nothing about him screamed spectacle. He looked just like a normal man, one that wasn't much different from Baekhyun, or so he thought.
But as soon as the pin touched the phonodisc on the record player and the music drifted through, the singer's expression shifted from impassive to a precise concentration, the jarring differences overwhelming.
The music that leaked through the speakers was unusual, not that it was bad, but perhaps not the kind of songs the Party would compose, and definitely not something they would approve of either. The melody floated around the room. The strange instruments featuring in the song vibrated along with each breath he took; the sound of the horns piecing and yet harmonizing. The singer's smooth voice seemed to dig deep, dove, and then plunged, pulling Baekhyun into an almost underwater-state, suffocated yet he felt free. Baekhyun was smothered; he couldn't quite catch his breath, seemed to be losing his footing somewhere and couldn't regain his sense of equilibrium. The singer sang with his eyes closed, giving in completely to the music surrounding him; but when the high note came, he opened his eyes and stared right back at Baekhyun.
"Amazing, isn't he?" the bartender said with a knowing expression. Baekhyun tried in vain to hold a conversation out of politeness but he couldn't take his eyes off of the singer, and he felt as if the other male's attention was solely on him, too, which did nothing but propel him to watch closer. The man did not falter even as the song rose into its crescendo, delivering it so precisely that a pro would have wept. Not that Baekhyun had ever had a chance to attend the real professional shows anyway, how could a Prole like him afford to, but the sentiment was there.
Baekhyun kept watching, the stool he unconsciously dropped himself on swiveled to the rhythm of the strange woodwind instruments. Is this what it feels like to be awake? he pondered as he witnessed the sombre expression of the people around him morph into that of reverence, excited faces leaning in close to speak, as hushed as the night creatures.
"You want a drink?" the bartender asked, and Baekhyun nodded his head, mumbling back maybe a couple more than one, I think, which earned him a hearty laugh in return.
Finally, the song came to an end. The singer let the last note out so softly Baekhyun feared it would melt into the stuffy air inside the bar and edge itself into his lungs to be a part of him forever. Loud cheers erupted from everywhere and Baekhyun was on his feet in an instant, clapping before he even realized his hands were doing it; this might be the first time that he had a justifying chance to ever clap for someone from the bottom of his heart.
The singer's mouth lifted to form a timid smile, but Baekhyun could tell by the way the man surveyed the crowd that he was full of pride; and he should be because Baekhyun had never came across someone as talented as him before. The man got off the stage, making his way to the counter to have a conversation with a bartender, who laughed even louder before handing him a glass of something sparkling, a champagne maybe. The singer looked sideways at Baekhyun for a short while, sipping languidly and shifting closer to where Baekhyun was sitting.
"You're new," the singer addressed him with a friendly smile. Baekhyun willed his mouth to smile back but he could feel it turn out all sorts of awkward instead. The man didn't seem to mind though since he continued the conversation; "I'm Kyungsoo by the way. Master told me you're here to hear me sing," he introduced himself before turning to wink at the bartender.
"Um, well, er...," Baekhyun stammered, heat licking at his face, "I'm Baekhyun, by the way," he replied instead, shaking Kyungsoo's extended hand and grimacing when he realized how sweaty his palm was. Kyungsoo just laughed while Baekhyun looked at him apologetically. And just like that, Kyungsoo claimed another stool for himself, the one on the left side of Baekhyun. Within the span of a minute, the bar became full of people and suddenly there were lives everywhere.
"You came a little early," Kyungsoo bent in closer to whisper when he noticed Baekhyun's bafflement, "We actually open at eight," his breath fanned warm across Baekhyun's cheekbone and smelled a little of alcohol and something sweet. The shiver travelling down his spine couldn't quite be concealed, but at least he managed not to accidentally knock his glass over, which was quite an achievement, considering how skittish he had become. Baekhyun wasn't a skittish person by nature but somehow being in an approximately close quarter with Kyungsoo changed that.
"The song," Baekhyun started, hesitating again, but with an encouraging tilt of Kyungsoo's head urging him on, he continued, "The song that you sang, what was it?"
Kyungsoo looked at Baekhyun for a moment, seemingly contemplating something, before glancing over at the record player which was now playing an instrumental music of the same kind, and answered, "it's jazz."
"Jazz?" Baekhyun echoed, though he meant not to; it was silly, the habit of repeating things or sentences he felt unfamiliar with, a habit that he tried to force down because it always got him into trouble with people who felt as if he was trying to challenge their authority. Or just that it was plain stupid for repeating everything the other person said. Kyungsoo laughed a little, the sound involuntarily rather than mocking.
"Yes, jazz," he assured, mirth dancing deep within his irises. "The thing about jazz is that it's ever changing, and it will never stop. It is restless but it's not messy. That's why I think jazz is amazing."
"It's rather...," Baekhyun started to say but could not find another word to describe the experience rather than, "different." He finished his sentence lamely.
Kyungsoo put down his glass, invading Baekhyun's personal space by leaning in even closer before asking, "Different good or different bad?"
Baekhyun gulped. "Huh? Uh, well, different different I suppose," he coughed on his answer. Kyungsoo squinted his eyes, but let out no sound other than humming his affirmation, which Baekhyun guessed could interpret as either he thought the answer was suffice or totally fatuous. So he quickly added, "but not bad. Never bad. In fact I think I like it."
"You do?" Kyungsoo smiled suddenly, the bright grin lighting his whole face lit up. He moved in even closer, voice excited, "We found them in Master's basement." He was talking about the records, Baekhyun soon realized. "They supposedly belonged to his great great grandfather or something, things left over before the rise of Oceania," Kyungsoo made air quotes like the whole existence of their nation was something overrated. Baekhyun felt a lick of cold touch setting on over him. This wasn't the first time Baekhyun had encountered a man without regards of their nation, but Kyungsoo might just be the first one to be expressing it outright.
"Anyway, Master said we could use them here and people seem to like them. I don't why they had to regulate them in the first place," Kyungsoo finished his explanation by emptying his glass in one gulp, his adam's apple bobbing to the rhythm of the saxophone.
"So it's not Party standardized then," Baekhyun inquired, a little worried.
Kyungsoo huffed and said, "Not by a long run but does it matter? It's just music." When he saw that Baekhyun still looked skeptic, he added with a playful voice, "Come on, admit it. This is far better than all that music composed by the Party."
It was true; Baekhyun was a little tired of listening to all those songs that had been playing all day everyday through the telescreen for as long as he remembered. Every one sounded the same; the same message, same sequence, same tune. Kyungsoo's song felt like a breath of fresh air, but it was an air that tinged with a rebellious nature that worried Baekhyun.
"Admit it that this has been an eye-opening experience," Kyungsoo teased a little, but Baekhyun had already shrunk back into the shell of himself and shuddered at the thought of what this experience might entail.
"I have to go," Baekhyun uttered urgently, getting up so fast he almost slammed his elbow on Kyungsoo's nose.
"You're leaving?" Kyungsoo ducked neatly and avoided Baekhyun's elbow as he asked in bewilderment, obviously hurt by Baekhyun's sudden attempt at departure. Baekhyun felt a little guilty; after all, it was much Baekhyun's flight-or-fight inclination that was at fault rather than Kyungsoo's fault for having his own opinion.
"I'm sorry," Baekhyun turned around to apologize―he liked Kyungsoo, that much was apparent, the bold and unconcerned nature of the man was intriguing and charming on its own, but it was also trouble, and Baekhyun's survival instinct warned him against all kinds of troubles. He met Kyungsoo's unfazed level gaze, a calculated scrutiny that made Baekhyun's hairs stand on end.
"Well then, come back when you feel like it. I'll always be here," Kyungsoo replied at last, his eyes becoming darkly mischievous.
Baekhyun doubted he would ever come back here for the second time; a voice in his head that sound suspiciously like Kyungsoo countered his defense. Oh, but you will.
The room smelled like rat. Baekhyun instinctively curled onto himself a little when he realized what room it was; light ran thick in this room, even shadow itself seemed to be thinner than usual.
A book lied open on the floor; Baekhyun turned away swiftly.
The pages kept turning themselves while Baekhyun was busy hiding his face in the safety of his palms. The book was blank, Baekhyun was sure of it, but he was too afraid to take a peek at what might appear there―thoughts running on red ink, hidden dreams spilling down like a wild blob of black on the stark white pages, concealed truth. Baekhyun had become afraid of reading books; it was the easiest way to let thoughts run astray.
Kyungsoo was with him though, standing so close to Baekhyun's back he could feel the heat that radiated off of the man's body, gripping him like vice. Kyungsoo reached out his hands pass Baekhyun's ears, took hold of his palms secured over his eyes, and pried them off with a strength that his small body shouldn't preserve.
"Look," Kyungsoo urged, voice insistent. "Open your eyes," his voice commanded, "look and see."
Baekhyun squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, too terrified to look, too shaken up to push Kyungsoo away. The grips tightened, if that was even possible, and Kyungsoo pushed in closer; his chest touched Baekhyun's sweat-covered back, his skin warm to the point of burning.
"Open your eyes," Kyungsoo's voice demanded, "wake up now."
Baekhyun opened his eyes to a white-washed ceiling of his bedroom, drowning in a cold sweat. The clock struck five am, the standard time to be woken up by the timer in order to prepare for work; Kyungsoo disappeared like light behind his eyelids.
Baekhyun spent the succession of his days in some sort of a trance.
There had been a new assorted shipment from the Records Department in the Ministry of Truth that Baekhyun put off sorting until the last minute because he didn't like handling documents of any kind. Information came and went but never stayed long enough to be dissected as true or false. There was only truth in Oceania; the rest was just inaccuracies that were made accurate.
Baekhyun had been naive and questioned it once. He never wanted to visit Room 101 again.
Starless night was what it was; the clouds had blocked out everything, even the moon, and the silence was reassuring. Baekhyun balled his hands into fists when he tasted the now too-familiar stench of denial at the back of his throat; the bile rushed up, though Baekhyun wasn't going to allow himself to puke out all of his desire.
It had been two weeks since Baekhyun had first stumbled into that bar, first laid eyes on Kyungsoo, and it was the first time in the long while that he dreamed of the stench on the cold floor of Room 101 and the weight that the cage set over his shoulders. Kyungsoo's unexpected laugh rang very close by, but never in sight.
The pink neon lights two breaths ahead were all it took for Baekhyun's self-resistance to crumble. It wasn't a fair fight to begin with, mused Baekhyun, when the only one burdened with temptation seemed to be himself alone.
Kyungsoo wasn't on the stage tonight. Rather, he was sitting on the same bar stool, looking like he was waiting for someone, fingers tabbing on the spotless counter's surface in some sort of a rhythm. There you are, Kyungsoo's expression seemed to convey upon spotting Baekhyun, or maybe it was only wishful thinking on Baekhyun's part.
The dream Kyungsoo and the real Kyungsoo morphed into one before Baekhyun's eyes, and Baekhyun thought, which one are you anyway? but perhaps, somewhere at the back of his mind, he was afraid to find out, because what if none of them were real and this was all just an illusion?
The bar was very lively tonight; people were having fun, laughing, engaging with each other with big smiles and eyes that twinkled. Baekhyun eyed the telescreen mounted behind the counter with apprehension before Kyungsoo stole his attention away from that ominous machine.
"I wish that every day could be like this," Kyungsoo leaned in close to usher softly, as if he was sharing something private with Baekhyun, as he looked around them with a content smile on the corner of his plush lips.
"This?" Baekhyun echoed, though he failed to see the attraction that the rowdy crowds brought; it wasn't that Baekhyun was opposed to the loudness, per se, but he had difficulty dealing with the unfamiliarity―he worked in solitary every day, sorting piles and piles of news into the City Hall's archive―so he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the merit of so much noise and chaos.
"Yes, this," Kyungsoo answered, finger toying at the rim of his frosted martini glass, "It's like we can truly be happy, like we're capable of laughing out loud without a care in the world."
"You laugh." Baekhyun bantered good-naturedly, finishing his drink in one gulp because being near Kyungsoo made him so thirsty for some reason.
"In here I do", Kyungsoo retaliated with a chuckle, a little exasperated as if he found Baekhyun to be a particularly difficult child. "But out there, yes, we can snicker, perhaps, or even huff and giggle; but laugh? Tell me, Baekhyun, when was the last time you actually laughed out there?"
To that Baekhyun had no answer to give. He wasn't unhappy, but perhaps, he didn't quite understand what a state of happiness truly was, either. He was educated to feel contentment, but in a way that was very unenthusiastic and bridled.
Kyungsoo waited for Baekhyun to reply, but at Baekhyun's continued silence, he let out a sigh and asked, "I have to go on stage now or I won't get paid. Will you still be here when I finish?"
Baekhyun thought about his closed-in apartment, the loneliness ceramic tiles that led on to the only opened window in his bedroom, and nodded yes. "I'll be here," he replied, with a smile.
Kyungsoo smiled back.
The air was thick with sultry anticipation and Kyungsoo's voice delivered the rendition of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered (Kyungsoo told him the title later with his dark dark eyes) in such a way that Baekhyun wasn't sure how he ever going to give name to the feeling it evoked. After all, no Proles were designed for temptation and Baekhyun was such a flightless amateur when it came to romance.
When Baekhyun closed his eyes, the sound of the piano haunted him in his sleep.
The day dragged on now that Baekhyun admitted to have something more important to look forward to during the night. The thought of Kyungsoo had never strayed too far from his mind; perhaps it was even too close as the voice in his head had taken to sounding very much like Kyungsoo himself. Still, he felt troubled by Kyungsoo's undisguised opinions. He knew better, really, and knew he should stay away, but even if he wanted to; Kyungsoo plagued him even in his sleep.
The dim, orange lights spread themselves languidly over the wooden counter when Baekhyun opened the door. He wanted to remind himself to feel dread―he shouldn't feel relieved over the prospect of meeting danger disguised as a lamb. Kyungsoo's attitude would lead to his own downfall, if not dragging Baekhyun along kicking and screaming with him―but the clamor of laughter and merriment sucked him in, and the walls were so warm and comforting that he no longer recalled the cold surface of his own bedroom.
"You look conflicted," Kyungsoo said before taking Baekhyun's hand into his, leading him easily and guiding him gently down on his usual stool. "Come sit. The professor is telling me about how awfully lacking the library at the City Hall is." And that sentence struck Baekhyun faster than lighting.
"Yes, yes. I was telling Kyungsoo that it only houses a sparse selection of literature and is filled with the newspeaks and propaganda from the Party, all the good kinds," the professor, one of the more frequented customers, excitedly relayed their conversation. "Kyungsoo thought it was very abnormal," he went on in the airily manner, seemingly not disturbed by the implication, or possibly completely unaware of how dangerous the implication was.
To this, Kyungsoo rolled his eyes and retorted, "Because it is. I was summoned to the Inner Party's Official Gala once and the place was filled with all kind of books. It's strange that we Proles are only allowed to read just a selected few."
Baekhyun didn't dare look up, the weight of the conversation was too heavy for him to even bear on his back and pretend he didn't notice what was written between the lines.
"Why are you talking about the library?" Baekhyun asked, voice hoarse though tried to cover it up by gulping down the drink offered to him by the bartender. The amber liquid burned his throat; Kyungsoo's steady gaze looked on while Baekhyun set his insides on fire.
"I was," Kyungsoo replied, "but now I'm not." The swift motion of his hand dismissing the others was heartless but Baekhyun was far too busy with his own thoughts to take note. Kyungsoo signaled the refill of his drink before continuing. "Tell me, Baekhyun, why does talk of the library bother you so much?"
"It doesn't," Baekhyun tried to deny because if nobody seemed bother by it, why should he be?
"It doesn't?" Kyungsoo replied with a raised eyebrow. It seemed that Kyungsoo believed in Baekhyun's own words even less than the man himself did.
"No, I...I don't know," Baekhyun fretted, "We shouldn't be talking about this," he tried to end the conversation, but Kyungsoo would have none of it.
"About what? About the library?" Kyungsoo questioned in puzzlement.
"About the lack of substances in the library," Baekhyun snapped, "about no books and only controlled publishing and just...it's trouble," his voice faded off to a whisper. "You will be in trouble," he looked at Kyungsoo, pleading with him to just drop it already.
"Nobody thinks anything of it," Kyungsoo pointed out in a placated manner. "Only you who thinks questioning the lack of choices is something grave enough to warrant a punishment."
"You do, too," Baekhyun argued, feeling more and more agitated as the conversation progressed.
"Do I? Did I say something to make you think I'm questioning the lack of choices we have, so to speak?" Kyungsoo interjected, but quickly amended his harsh tone by letting out a sigh and a small smile as soon as he saw Baekhyun's frown deepen. "Oh, come on, don't make that face. I'm not looking for any trouble I swear. I'm grateful enough they allow me to sing. Stop worrying, it's giving me heartburn."
It was Kyungsoo's way of apologizing, Baekhyun realized later; Kyungsoo never apologized, even though he was wrong, he would just brush it off and try to steer the conversation in a different direction to make amends.
He was doing it now, too, asking Baekhyun silly questions like what he had for lunch and if the flower beds on the City Hall's second floor were still in bloom. Baekhyun tried settling back down and letting the lure of Kyungsoo's voice carry him off to the world where having milk for lunch was the only concern he should be having.
Baekhyun woke up with a song in his ears―the phantom taste of metallic under his nose and that foul stench of rats and sweat and ironed-crisp uniform and leather boots; there were all a part of Room 101. Kyungsoo stood just behind the officer locking a cage over Baekhyun's head, face hidden in shadow, as he sang. It was the beckoning of memories, or perhaps fantasy―that one time he made a mistake and was re-educated and set free. Free. Baekhyun thought he had forgotten it all but he was wrong; the memories were like a song, it came back when you least expected it. Kyungsoo sang it so gently, and it held Baekhyun down under.
Baekhyun woke up to a song from the distance once, to find a part of him missing in the night. Other Proles begging for freedom, yet he felt just a little less of that urgency each time he was brought back to the waking world. The words that the officer said made less and less sense. Eventually, time eluded Baekhyun and the questions he harbored turned into a smoke, and he forgot why it ever mattered to begin with.
Baekhyun woke up with a song in his ears now, the song Kyungsoo hummed subconsciously when he thought no one was within an ear shot or when he forgot he had an audience. Baekhyun looked over to the clock at his bedside table; it was half part three in the morning, the time where silence fell the heaviest upon the night. He got up and looked out of the glassed encaged window; the loneliest moon reminded Baekhyun of Kyungsoo as he fell back to sleep on the windowsill, dreaming of the past that fused with the present that might hold the future for him.
Over the span of two months, Baekhyun learned the protocol for pretending Kyungsoo didn't say anything tendentious just for the sake of his peace of mind. Unfortunately, it worked just the same as trying to cover up your ears in front of a full-blasted speaker attached to an enormous sound system.
Baekhyun should get away, run for his life and never look back, yet he stayed, stayed for a reason he didn't even understand. He should run away now, Baekhyun thought, now was the time.
"You can't just turn off the telescreen," one patron said, flabbergasted.
Kyungsoo shrugged and commented, "Why not?" His indifference was obscene and blatant; the judgmental look he gave was layered down by the dim light that managed to tone everything down to the softer hue. Still, nothing could conceal the flippancy in his voice and Baekhyun flinched at his tone.
The patron spluttered, hands moving everywhere in an attempt to sift through his choice arguments, but all he could come up with was just a very loud and childish, "Just because!" which Kyungsoo easily snubbed out with an unsympathetic twitch of the corner of his lips. "Then we have nothing further to discuss, do we?" he ended his argument with a lifted brow.
Later, while Baekhyun was walking home and Kyungsoo tagged along without really saying so, the midnight wind accompanied them like well-known friend, Baekhyun pulled at the other man's overcoat just before they arrived at the front door of his building.
"That was dangerous," Baekhyun murmured.
"Your point?" Kyungsoo hadn't even turned around. He only stopped long enough for Baekhyun to deliver his thought before continuing walking up the stairs in the languid manner like nothing could ever faze him. When he reached the top of the stairs, he waited patiently for Baekhyun to catch up before casually asking; "Can I come up?" as if his intention wasn't clear from the beginning.
Kyungsoo looked him straight in the eye and the smile he gave was poisonous. The pit of Baekhyun's stomach dropped instantaneously. It wasn't the surprise; he was more concerned by the sexual nature of his reaction than wary of Kyungsoo.
The night lasted long; Baekhyun sorted through his mind and conjured up all sorts of conversations he had with the dream Kyungsoo. None of them now fit with the Kyungsoo lying asleep on Baekhyun's favorite side of the bed. He glanced down, saw Kyungsoo with all the faults his dream could never pinpoint; Kyungsoo had so many of them―he was unsentimental, dismissive, poking and provoking. Yet, when Kyungsoo cracked open his eyes, a cold foot slowly travelling up Baekhyun's calf; it was the most exciting feeling Baekhyun had ever experienced and everything took less precedence than that.
Nothing good had ever come from being absentminded, Baekhyun had to remind himself of this notion when his supervisor called him into his office for the mismatched codes of the documents he put on the archive. Absentmindedness never lasted very long; nothing ever did.
Baekhyun went back to his station and threw himself into sorting through all the issued newspeaks he had gone through earlier that day, ignoring every little thing Kyungsoo whispered in his ears with his light teasing tone that the real Kyungsoo would never use. Everything looked the same, read the same; Oceania above all.
And in that moment, the repetitive motions of picking things up and putting things down faded to black along with all the papers prepped out for storing and disappeared down the drain, Baekhyun realized how meaningless it was to be responsible for protecting the conjured up lies people in the higher positions wanted to make truth.
Everything else was insignificant, less important. The most important part of the story was when Kyungsoo put down his palms flat against the table surface and said, "there is no freedom."
Baekhyun wriggled in his seat out of the discomfort that the complete silence brought. One minute they were all talk, then like the suddenness and alarm of a splash of cold water, everything halted to a complete stand still.
"Um...," one patron made a coughing sound, obviously lost, "what do you mean by that?" he asked in a voice filled with confusion.
The professor smirked then, as if he had been waiting for his cue all along, and replied, "Isn't it obvious? We have been living in a pre-designed life." Baekhyun had been told the man had retired himself from his position and now was looking into opening his own institution, but he was too afraid to ask for more details. In this world, the less you knew, the better chance it wouldn't come back and bite you in the ass.
"There's no going up or going down," Kyungsoo chimed in with his own opinion, "we're in this sort of limbo-like state where we can't decide anything on our own. Proles will always be Proles; we're born in it so we must live it. There's no advancement."
"Well, when you put it like that," another patron said, "It kinda feels restricted nowadays, doesn't it?"
One by one, people around their table started to agree, started to develop the mind of their own. Maybe, they all possessed one, an opinion; they were just too used to letting its voice die out to notice it. It was fine to have an opinion, as long as you knew to hold it close to your heart and guarded it so it wouldn't reach the authority's ears. These people had no idea how scary it was to be re-educated, or worse vaporized; but Baekhyun was too tired, and possibly too outnumbered, to warn them off now.
"But still...," another patron voiced out, "to question the role we uphold is like questioning the Big Brother himself," his apprehension colored him in pale white.
"But why do we live like a bird in a cage," Kyungsoo went on, "being told to fly freely but have nowhere to go." His hands balled themselves into fists, gaze heated and determined. "Don't you want to wake up now?" Kyungsoo asked, but the very confused, very surprised little noises were all he received as the form of agreeing from those around him.
Kyungsoo had made it a tradition to follow Baekhyun home every night he visited the other male at Beyond, trailing after or dashing ahead of Baekhyun but never left him far. It wasn't like Kyungsoo needed permission; Baekhyun could never prevent him from doing something he had already set his mind upon, and if Kyungsoo set his mind upon going home with Baekhyun every night, Baekhyun could only let this be.
They tried changing routes, experimenting on which street it took to get to Baekhyun's apartment the fastest, which route was the opposite. They tried wandering off aimlessly, following the road that levered off to the indefinite pitchforks, but none was far enough. They would always inevitably end up at the town square. The dead of the night surrounding them, street lights lit up in an ambient glow. Baekhyun wondered, was it really impossible to pave their own path, to make their own destiny?
"I'm afraid tonight I can't go further than this," Kyungsoo uncharacteristically told Baekhyun with a soft and apologetic smile. The moon should be bright tonight, but the clouds that took hold of the city forced it into a game of hide-and-seek, so Kyungsoo eyes reflected nothing but the flickering light overhead, which shrouded them in mystery.
Baekhyun always had a hard time reading Kyungsoo.
"Did something come up?" Baekhyun inquired, but Kyungsoo just shook his head.
"You should get a good night sleep for once. I don't want to impose." Kyungsoo answered instead. It was a little too late for that, Baekhyun thought wryly.
"You should stop," Baekhyun warned, begged even. He prayed it would get through to Kyungsoo, that he was playing with fire, that they were dangerous and capable of ripping Kyungsoo apart and make him anew, re-build him to fit their own image. Baekhyun wasn't ready to let go of this Kyungsoo; he didn’t think he ever would be.
Kyungsoo stepped in closer, lifting his arms and clasping his hands together behind Baekhyun's neck. "Do you know how to waltz," he asked lightly, already swaying to the beat inside his own head. Baekhyun wondered if it was something sweet.
"No," Baekhyun answered, but he too had already begun to sway his body to the rhythm of Kyungsoo's heart beats.
"Well, indulge me a little then. After all, there's nobody here and we can do what we want." Kyungsoo always tried to convince Baekhyun to do stupid things, so Baekhyun laughed because this was stupid―dancing together in an empty town square under the moonless night like some movie's characters. And if this was a film, Baekhyun imagined the background music would probably change to At Last even before Kyungsoo asked for his hand to a dance.
Yet, they swayed together, not quite caring if they were dancing to the same beat as long as they swayed in the same direction, not stepping on each other's toes.
"You're a terrible dancer," Kyungsoo complained with a laugh when Baekhyun purposely bumped into him. The other male was too busy counting steps inside his head, so he missed the opportunity to retort that Kyungsoo was no better than him because he was pretty sure he shouldn't step back this often if he was leading.
Kyungsoo huffed, before taking hold of Baekhyun's hand and spinning him around in three successive circles, as if getting revenge for a ram in the shoulder earlier on. Baekhyun bent ninety degrees backwards, before being pulled up into Kyungsoo's awaiting arms, his hand shot up to grip tight at Kyungsoo's bicep. Baekhyun laughed, laughed, and laughed, like this was the most fun he had ever had in his life, laughing freely without having to be conscious of anyone watching him, and Kyungsoo's eyes were so kind under the street lights, so bright and tender as if there were stars in them.
"You look happy," Kyungsoo pointed out with a smile, fingers tracing the stretch of Baekhyun's lips, and Baekhyun was floored to realize he was smiling like this―a big, fat, grin that stretched on to form the biggest smile in his living years.
"I feel alive," Baekhyun admitted with a full-on laugh. "I feel free," he tacked on a little hysterically, but mostly it was joy that had consumed him, enveloped him from head to toe and burned cold and warm at the same time.
"I think I understand what it’s like to be awake now," Baekhyun smiled, and Kyungsoo silenced him with a lingering kiss and his imaginary background music faded to the song of Kyungsoo's breathing against his ears.
The sky is on fire. One minute, Baekhyun was inside, listening to Kyungsoo sing, and the next, he was being thrown out of the club that was set aflame.
Nobody touches him after he was getting escorted out of the way, not even when he runs back inside the circle, demanding to know why they have captured all the patrons that were spending time there, putting them in handcuffs and throwing them inside the awaiting vans; but not even one Thought Police pays him any mind.
People start to disperse after they realize what is happening, no one wants be a casualty of the resistance arrest, and those who linger around are either stupid or suicidal―Proles that live for far too long, jaded and seeking every opportunity for a chance at excitement.
Baekhyun's body shakes all over; he hears the screams everywhere, but Kyungsoo is nowhere to be found. Please, don't let me be too late, don't let him get arrested, Baekhyun prays to every gods that would listen. But there is no divine intervention; Baekhyun is alone.
Suddenly, all the officers stop dead in their tracks and, one by one, start making a salute to the same direction.
"Sir," someone says so Baekhyun looks over, following everyone's line of sight.
And Kyungsoo―now with his pristine Thought Police uniform draping across his shoulders, the assurance way he carries himself, the assertiveness when he breaks through the barrier of the uniform wall―snubs out the littered cigarette with the sole of his shinny leather boot and, with it, Baekhyun's soul.
With just a dismissive signal from his hand, all the officers scatter, bringing with them the horde of the crowds yelling, screaming for mercy, becomes a mere buzzing in the distance. Kyungsoo looks around him, and when he deems it private enough, he stride across the field, stops dead in front of Baekhyun, who is too stunned for words, too numb to come up with any remarks.
Why does this feel so familiar?
Baekhyun squeezes his eyes tight, trying to block everything out. This must be just another dream, Baekhyun thinks desperately, wake up now, he begs himself, wake up.
Wake up, the authoritative voice says, and when Baekhyun opens his eyes, rat cage being lifted away from his head, the officer in Thought Police uniform looks down at him with eyes concealed in the dark, only the silver crest on his uniform that visible from the light that it catches.
Baekhyun closes his eyes once again and re-opens them; the heat from the fire is back. He finds himself still in front of the bar, with fire raging on now that Kyungsoo dismissed everyone else, almost as if he decides to let it run its course, to burn everything down, leaving no trace. Tomorrow, Beyond will be just an illusion.
"Are you awake now?" Kyungsoo asks―If it's all an illusion, do you want to wake up now?―and Baekhyun realizes they are the same person after all, the officer in Room 101 and Kyungsoo, has been the same person all along.
"Why?" is all Baekhyun could muster past his constricted windpipe.
And Kyungsoo smiles then, the same smile he gave Baekhyun last night, before answering, "to keep peace, we need water to nurture the hidden seed so we can detect it and plug it out," his face the serenity of a mask, the same kind the Inner Party would wear when Baekhyun sees them on the telescreen, artificial and unbending; this is not the Kyungsoo that Baekhyun has come to know and become fond of.
"In four months' time," the replica of Kyungsoo goes on, "there will be a new club opening at the town square," he pauses to peer at Baekhyun, the same inquisitive look he always used on the other male, now looks alien on his porcelain face, before continuing, "You should go take a look."
"Will you be there?" Baekhyun croaks out. Everything hurts and he doesn't know how to make it stop.
Kyungsoo smiles again, warmer this time, the flicker of fire alternating between casting him in the shadow and revealing him in the light, and he replies, "No, Baekhyun. This time, you'll be the one singing."
And the cage that sets upon his face this time is not the same cage that housed the rat in Room 101, but the synthetic kind that Baekhyun could easily get used to because he saw it on Kyungsoo's face all the time, the familiarity hideous and welcoming.
"Welcome to the club, Baekhyun," Kyungsoo takes hold of Baekhyun's trembling hands, caging them in the secure of his palms and doesn't let go.
Baekhyun's laugh runs in rivers of tears.
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