Nature of Things Living in Your Head
Warnings: Weirdness, excessive word count, a bit of sci-fi (toned down as much as I could)
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Humor, Friendship, Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological, Angst
Word Count: 12,000~
Pairing: Kyuhyun/Eunhyuk (main), OT15 (secondary), Han Geng/Heechul, Kangin/Leeteuk, Donghae/Eunhyuk, Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun (ninja)
Summary: Eunhyuk's never really questioned his life, stuck in an apartment almost every waking moment unless accompanied by his guardians, but a voice in his head changes that.
Fat raindrops run down the windowpanes like tears, accompanied by pitters that echo loudly in the significantly empty apartment. Outside, the sky is a muted grey. It leaks in through the windows and stains his white walls a dismal color. The table light’s radiance next to him has been swallowed up by the gloom. He sits on a stiff stool, watching for a break in the endless cloud coverage and wondering why he even bothered to waste his Saturday cleaning windows.
He sighs heavily, the vapor fogging the glass. He considers spending the rest of the afternoon inside doing that. It’s better than waiting for Donghae to call, preferable to unearthing one of the many books he borrowed from Sungmin with the intentions to read. (He only keeps up the pretenses of reading the large tomes because it makes the elder male feel better about leaving his friend alone for weeks with nothing else to do.)
He exhales deep, misting the glass. His finger lifts with the purpose of drawing the first thing that comes to mind, but it’s as if the rain has leached into his brain. All he can think about are drops and buckets of pouring water. He shakes himself and stands up.
He’ll go out.
It should be fine, he thinks, looking around the empty loft as if seeking out approval or a sudden rebuke. The sofa cushions remain plush without weight to smash them down, the other kitchen stools deserted. He shrugs.
He opens up the closet right outside the entryway, fingers picking the white raincoat off the plastic hanger. He puts it on with a slight bit of difficulty; he usually gets help putting on his coats from Donghae or Siwon. He doesn’t need a jacket unless he’s going out, and he doesn’t go out without others. It’s only how it’s always been. He’s sure breaking the rules should be fine this once. He’s just so bored.
He unlocks the door, lifting the latch, turning the key, and sliding the chain out. His first footfall into the hall ricochets off the flowery wallpapered walls, dying out somewhere down the corridor. He throws a quick glance around before creeping in the direction of the stairs. It’s 15 stories down to the lobby. The long desk is unmanned as always.
He approaches the sliding doors. There’s a panel to the left of it, partially hidden by a tall fern. He waves the card Donghae forgot in the couch cushions the last time he visited. Numerous characters flash across the screen. There’s a pause, but the doors finally part with a hiss. The sound of rain is louder without thick glass separating him from it.
When he walks under the threshold, there’s the sensation of being in slow motion, of dragging oneself through quicksand. The air hangs thickly around him. There’s also the feeling of being searched inside out. He’d asked about it a long time ago, but was never answered. He’s gotten over the curiosity.
A rush of fresh air fills his lungs as he steps out. It’s chilly and has the faint taste of exhaust and rain. He’s still missed it. He pulls the hood over his messy blonde locks, ducking his head as rain begins to pelt him. The buildings, normally shiny from sunshine, seem to have absorbed the sky’s bleak light. They loom dimly as he starts down one side of the sidewalk.
The streets are almost as vacant as the halls of his apartment building. Lights shine on the street from the occasional display and a few people hurry by him, casting furtive gazes at him from under their umbrellas. He’s decided only to take a quick walk around the block instead of trying to recall the complicated route his guardians usually lead him on. For one, he doesn’t want to get lost. But there’s also the peculiar feeling he has… As if he’s being watched.
He glances back, making sure. Only the girl he passed occupies the same sidewalk, still talking loudly into her cell phone. An old man drags his weathered dog on the opposite side. He takes a step forward, eyes on the dog, before turning his head back to his own path. It happens much too fast for him to stop it.
The man charges at him, a flash of black in a tall form. There’s a glint of silver and he feels something drag across his cheek, pain blossoming in its wake. He’s knocked to the ground by the effort to duck and the man’s sudden movement. Precipitation beats against his face, getting in his wide eyes. The other male’s face is hazy even when he leans over to look at him. He blinks. A handsome face hovers over his, dark hair swept away from his eyes, one wider than the other as he smiles. His straight teeth and pouty lips arrange into something distinctly mischievous. Cruel.
“Prince,” he says. And then he stands and heads in the opposite direction, disappearing as quickly as he came under the torrent’s veils.
He scampers up, first on his hands and knees, and then on his unsteady legs. He runs back towards his home, terrified that the man may come back. He throws wide-eyed glances back over his shoulder, his hood falling down to allow the rain to mat his hair against his head. By the time he makes it back to the apartment’s entrance, having past it once in his panic, he’s tired. He presses the card with trembling fingers to the monitor concealed in the small garden, under dirt and a fake peony patch.
He steps forward to the door, the same sensation as always stirring. This time, however, it’s joined by a squeezing feeling crushing his insides. He gasps, trying to grab more oxygen though it seems impossible to.
Move!, a voice shouts from inside him. He obeys. He throws himself over the threshold bodily, the short strands of carpet scratching him. Lying there, he pants a few minutes before running. He leaps up the stairs as quickly as he can, breathing heavily but too petrified to stay still.
He throws open the door to his apartment, collapsing in the entryway. Only after inhaling a few harsh breaths is he able to drag himself past that. He pulls himself into the tub, curling up and sobbing. It’s so scary and he feels so alone. Where were his friends when he needed them? Why had that happened to him? What happened to him?
He cried and cried until his lungs felt tight and his throat parched, until his ears popped and his face felt slimy. He sniffled. Then he hoisted himself from his porcelain surroundings and slipped out of his jacket, more drained after all the weeping. He hung it in the closet and took a shower, just now getting the chill of rain. As he was slinging a towel around his hips, he heard a familiar voice straining through the door. He threw open the barrier.
“Donghae!”
“-staying warm, but you must be sleeping or something… I’ll stop over just to make sure, though, if you don’t call back. See you later!”
The machine stops projecting the voice into the bare residence, the pitter of rain taking its place in the atmosphere. He’s admittedly disappointed. He had been looking for comfort and reassurance rather than a message over the answering machine. It might be better that way nonetheless. Donghae wasn’t the brightest, but he’d know if his best friend was shaken.
He returns the call, assuring his friend that he was warm enough, he had actually just taken a shower and that’s why he missed the call, nothing to worry about. The younger male seems grudging, but reluctantly accepts it, saying he’d visit again soon. They hang up.
He flops onto the couch, exhaustion settling into his bones. He doesn’t know quite what to think about his experience this afternoon. He’s always been warned the outside world is dangerous, and that’s why he needs to stay inside, but he didn’t think random passerby would attack innocent people. He touches his cheek gingerly, surprised when the digits come away red.
He pushes himself up and glances at himself in the bathroom mirror. A gash resides on his cheek, right across the bone. It cuts from right beneath his eye to the side of his nose. It’s wide for such a quick slash - about an inch - and it’s bleeding pretty steadily despite the shower. He rummages through the medicine cabinet and finally comes up with a band-aid in hand. He hasn’t had to use one since the last time he and Kangin rough-housed. (And before then had been when he placed one on Shindong’s stomach, after the elder had claimed to have hurt himself eating too much.)
Smoothing the sticky sheath over his injury, he winces when it pangs. There, there, a voice calms. Eunhyuk decides to not pay it any mind.
--
“What happened?” Leeteuk had spotted Eunhyuk, and in one fluid movement, had his cheeks cupped in his hands. His dark eyes searched his face for answers or more wounds. Donghae peered over his shoulders, face blank.
“I slipped in the tub.”
“You didn’t say anything to me yesterday on the phone,” Donghae commented.
“That’s because I forgot. It doesn’t hurt that much,” Eunhyuk lied, narrowing his eyes in an effort to make his younger friend drop it. The brunette shrugged and walked over to the fridge, occupying himself with that instead. Leeteuk stared at him for a few more seconds before barking for Donghae not to touch the kimchi.
Eunhyuk glanced at the closed door. “Is Heechul-hyung not coming today?” Leeteuk looked up from the ice cream carton he had snatched from his dongsaeng. He followed Eunhyuk’s gaze.
“Not today, no.”
No Heechul means Eunhyuk’s hair stays a nest a bit longer. Leeteuk usually offers to brush it for him, but his skills contrast his gentle personality. Yesung is an ounce better at it, but he usually divagates from the task and Eunhyuk winds up in a dress. There’s a slightly lesser chance of that happening with Heechul, even if he is in one of his moods.
“How’re the others,” he asked, changing the subject as he sat on a stool and watched the two bicker over the definition of junk food and what intake of said fare can be taken in on a regular basis. The eldest suggests the other eat fish, which causes the youngest to look as if he’s been personally slighted.
“They’re fine,” Donghae responded absently. Eunhyuk knows that ‘they’ represents so fewer then it had years ago. Losses slowly chip at the meaning of the word. He makes a note to himself to call Zhou Mi and Henry later to see how that ‘they’ is doing.
The dispute between the two males grows heated. At one point, the eldest slams down the knife Donghae had been attempting to use to open the metal chocolate container. It nicks the youngest’s fingers. Eunhyuk watches impassively as brown trickles from the tips. Donghae shoves his fingers under the tap, runs water over them, and yanks them back blemishless. Leeteuk starts sputtering apologies.
They had told him his younger friend had a good constitution, that he was a quick healer. It’s a remarkable trait and not at all indicative of something being wrong with Eunhyuk, just because he’s not the same. Or so they said. Kangin and Han Geng had always been the same though. The others avoided injury too steadfastly for him to know if it was true for them as well. But his curiosity rested on that case too.
Ryeowook arrived shortly after lunch had been made, a compromise of potato chips and a salad. (Though the meal’s current topic was an argument over ice cream or an apple for dessert.) He smiled at Eunhyuk, a timid twitch to the expression as always, before opening the closet to hang up his trench. He paused there, tilting his head quizzically. Eunhyuk remembered with dread something he had forgotten about entirely yesterday.
“Why’s your jacket wet, hyung?”
Ryeowook held up the hanger his coat was messily hung over. Water still dripped from it in small increments. The younger man wrinkled his nose as the two others turned their gazes to him. Eunhyuk cleared his throat. It suddenly felt tight and dry, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly.
“Hyukkie?”
“I-” You wore it in the shower. “I wore it in the shower.” Three pairs of eyes looked at him suspiciously. He continued, “It was, um, raining yesterday. I was just a bit jealous of all those people getting to run around in it. I stood under the showerhead.”
“No wonder you slipped in the tub,” Donghae muttered at the same time as the eldest hyung cooed how cute that was.
Eunhyuk sighed as Ryeowook returned the coat to the closet. The three friends slipped into a debate as Ryeowook threw in the question of what everyone wanted to drink. Apparently they had strong feelings regarding flavors of soda. A smile worked onto his lips as he watched the pointless squabble.
And then he realized that the prompting voice from earlier hadn’t been his own. His spine stiffened, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Static crackled inside his eardrums, blowing over the conversation taking place in front of him.
Prince, the same voice chirped, echoing the word his attacker had said. It was a different tone but no less cold. It issued forth from the depths of his head, resounding amidst the sudden static. I know what you are.
Eunhyuk just wished he could say the same.
--
Sunshine flared with intensity through the window pane, roasting the arm that lay uncovered by the thick quilt. Eunhyuk uncovered his head reluctantly, trying to peer out the window, but groaned when all that accomplished was burning his retinas. He disappeared back into the folds of the covers.
One, two, three.
He remerged from the comforter, squinting his eyes at the window. The curtains had been thrown wide open. Leeteuk and the others repeatedly warned him not to do that. Most times he obeyed. There were occasional times when he’d stare out the window, or times when he’d be too exhausted to remember to do so. But he was almost certain last night had not been such a night. He had spent the whole day sitting in the living room, hoping someone would stop by and falling asleep late at night just in case someone would.
That could only mean one thing…
“You getting up today, Mr. Blue Jay?” Eunhyuk turned his narrowed eyes on the weight he had just recognized as something other than his large comforter. Zhou Mi sat, straddling the back of his thighs and smiling that odd smile of his. Henry was behind him, hesitantly perched on his feet, his expression resonating Ryeowook’s tendency towards nervousness. Eunhyuk flailed his arms and eventually they got the idea and got off.
He gave a long-suffering sigh, carefully extricating himself from the blanket fort just in case he decided to make a hasty escape back into it. He trudged past the two into the bathroom. Their faces stared back at him from the reflection of the mirror as he brushed his teeth. (But at least they had the manners to turn away when he took a leak.) And then they traipsed after him like puppies when he went into the kitchen. By the dirty pan in the sink, he could assume they had already helped themselves to breakfast.
“I was going to call you guys the other day,” he admitted, fishing a pack of strawberries from the drawer he always hid such things in. He could trust these two with his secret though.
“I know. Henry said he sensed it.” Zhou Mi’s smile was his customary mix of charm and secrets. “Though we couldn’t make it over here until we were sure the rest wouldn’t be coming by.”
Eunhyuk frowned. That meant these two would probably be his only guests for a week. The timeline of their visits usually followed such rules. Maybe he should finally crack that book Sungmin raved about.
“I wonder if it’s about this,” Zhou Mi mused, tapping the slightly elder male’s cheek, right below the bandage. His brown eyes were riveted to the dressing, as if in a trance, and he slowly peeled it away. Eunhyuk let him. The wound, despite its size, had already closed. It was the quickest he had ever healed, something he might attribute to continued exposure to Donghae, if not for the fact that he didn’t want to feel indebted to the younger over anything.
He still grimaced a bit as the sticky strip peeled from his pinched skin. He carefully watched Zhou Mi’s eyes, though, as they rapidly scanned over the small area of skin. Henry looked edgy where he sat on a kitchen stool. They were both staring at his cut. Worry started to flood him. He licked his lips, careful with his wording.
“Is anything wrong?”
That seemed to wake them up. Henry gave a fretful smile; Zhou Mi sat back with a tight look. The two visitors exchanged a look before both shoulders bobbed. The elder of the pair tapped his fingers on the granite while the youngest spoke.
“Not wrong per say… Just weird. There’s this strange… feel that comes off it,” Henry said warily. His eyes went wide. “Not that you should be overly concerned! It’s just - did you at least disinfect it?”
Eunhyuk slowly shook his head, trying to force down the anxiety like they wanted him to. He was naïve compared to them who spent their whole lives out in the real world, not trapped by four walls almost every waking moment. If they said it was nothing, it was just that.
“Never mind, hyung. Don’t worry! It seems to be healing fine anyway. Besides, my instincts haven’t been quite right since…” The young man trailed off, countenance looking pinched. Eunhyuk let his own face drop. Zhou Mi rolled his eyes.
“It’s already been nearly two years. Chin up, you two.” He ruffled his dongsaeng’s hair, flicking Eunhyuk on the nose. He swiped a strawberry as he stood. Heading to the bedroom, he spoke over his shoulder, “I’m going to take a nap.”
They watched him go, Henry smirking in a ‘what-can-you-do’ way when he turned back. Eunhyuk muttered that it was only because they were so indulgent that he retained this kind of behavior. Henry paused before leaning across the counter, conspiratorial hiss to his whisper.
“How are the others?”
Eunhyuk glanced up from his fruit, relieved to find that the younger didn’t have a sad look on his face. That was the problem with youth: they haphazardly ran into emotion without a care to how it affects others. They’d depress you and then bounce right back themselves. He knew that back when Henry used to hang around everyone else, he could change an atmosphere with one casual sniffle. Such was the power of maknae. Eunhyuk would’ve suffered many more a melancholy period if not for Zhou Mi, who appointed himself as the mood-maker in such times.
“They’re good.”
Henry nodded, grin in place. Half an hour later, after a large yawn, he was asleep on the couch. Eunhyuk wondered why they even bothered to come over. More than that, why did he have to get up? Did this mean he was delegated to making lunch? He scoffed at the picture of false innocence the duo made.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he could’ve sworn he heard a chuckle.
--
It’s quiet.
Silent actually. Only Eunhyuk is torn between calling it comfortable and very, very awkward. Perhaps even scary.
“Do you even try to unsnarl your hair when I’m not here,” Heechul snidely remarks, the source of the pointed stare aimed at the back of his blonde head of hair. He has a comb in one hand, a brush in the other, but still manages to seem quite intimidating.
In between his legs, on the floor, Eunhyuk tries to select his next words carefully. He’ll get scolded if it comes out as a whine or high-pitched - because his hyung hates monkeys trying to be cute, or so he’s said - but it’ll be the same result if he’s too flat as well. Heechul will accuse him of being nonchalant otherwise. And if he tries to imitate the elder’s pitch, he’ll doubtlessly end up with an earful.
“Well, whatever,” Heechul finally says, after Eunhyuk only gapes at him like a lost fish. He pushes his face forward again, starting to drag a comb through the tangled mop of platinum gold hair. Though his tongue is fierce, his hands are kind.
Siwon is sitting next to him on the couch, squished on the other side by Shindong. The younger male is simply watching the exchange with that constant glimmer in his eye while Shindong reads the humor section of the newspaper he brought with him. He’s always shielded Eunhyuk’s eyes from the headlines so that eventually the latter has stopped trying altogether. He’s naïve compared to those with wider walks in life. They most likely know what’s best.
Sungmin has pushed the ottoman against the wall to have something to rest his back against. He’s also reading, though his attention seems divided between it and the dreary display of weather taking place outside the window. It’s rained everyday since Henry and Zhou Mi stopped by a week ago. Indeed, it does lend itself to a melancholic mood. But Eunhyuk can’t help but feel it also insulates this peace they have. It hides them under the shroud of rain. It’s a sedateness he’s not sure even Kangin could break up.
He hisses at the sudden burn that sparks along his cheekbone. Sungmin sits up, Heechul pauses, Siwon squeezes his shoulder, and Shindong glances at him.
“Sorry, just the cut,” he winces, “Burns.” He waves off an offer of medicine, saying it’ll subside soon.
“Perhaps it’s Voldemort,” Sungmin ponders aloud, eyes shining with mirth over the top of his novel.
“What? Who?”
“The books he left you,” Heechul informs blandly, resuming his job. He clicks his tongue when the comb gets stuck in a large knot just above the knob of his neck.
“It wouldn’t kill you to read them,” the bibliophile huffs, black bangs rustling with the action. Eunhyuk quips that the series is over a hundred years old now. “That just means they’re classic.”
Soothing ministrations on his scalp urge Eunhyuk to relax. He slowly gives in, shutting his eyes as Sungmin returns to his literature. Like this, the world can fade away. It’s different than the many quiet times he has when he’s alone in these rooms. The rain and his own insignificant breaths aren’t the only sounds to distract him. Here and now, he can hear five individual exhales, following their own beat. He can hear the soft scritch-scratch of the bristles through his hair. There are mellifluous crinkles of paper, the almost imperceptible clink of Siwon’s teeth coming together in smile after smile over nothing.
It’s silent. But it feels so loud.
--
He goes outside alone again. He’s not too sure why he does it. Perhaps it was the fact that the sun had finally broken through the clouds. People started coming out in throngs and he felt he would be safe there. The outside world couldn’t be so bad as to ignore his pleas if he was to be attacked again. It wasn’t possible for that brand of malice to exist.
This time, he only pulled on a light jacket and a beanie. He went through the same procedure as before. Excitement pulsed through him the closer he got to the outdoors. He could hear children laughing, men talking, women chattering, birds singing - it created such an enticing chorus that he could only wish to hear it better.
His wish was fulfilled as the doors slide open. People on the street stopped to smile at him. The smells of pastry floated to him unhindered by the stink of gas, the taste of jam and butter alighting on his tongue. The sun cascaded against every bit of him it could reach, the type of warmth that made your stomach flip and your heart beat just a sliver faster.
He was just going to take a quick walk around the block and then return. It’d be before any of his friends appeared, he felt. He’d only taken two steps when a burst of black came barreling at him.
His back hit the pavement with harsh force. He wheezed as air tried to enter his crushed lungs. He looked up and saw a blurry face. He knew it had to be the same man as last time, however. His stomach twisted sickeningly.
“You getting up today, Mr. Blue Jay?”
A hand appeared in front of his face. He scrambled backwards, face contorting in fear. He turned to call for help, but everyone had disappeared. The sunshine turned to showers of rain, falling on his skin and blotting out any color it could leech onto. He became as grey as the cement digging into his shoulder blades. He heaved himself up, ready to run. The same hand caught his arm before he could.
A glint of silver passed through his vision once more. He felt it gouge him, spreading beyond the range it had last time. It dug all across his face. He was blinded but he could still see. Could only see the hazy countenance of that man.
The brutal male pulled away, the knife fading from his hand. His face was overwhelmed by a new sensation: numbing and prickling all at once. It felt like he was being sewn back together. His cells were being forced to regenerate remarkably fast.
“Good day and good nightingale,” the man murmured, before he could be seen no more.
The scar had healed, but now an entirely different feeling then before emerged. Now he was being ripped farther than the original wound had ever. Fingers clawed at the back of his eyes, pushing against the insides of his brain. Something finally forced an opening, originating from the first injury. He screamed until he could no longer identify his voice from the gust and torrents.
“I know what you are,” a voice cooed from inside of him, as sibilant as a serpent. It oozed with bad intentions. “I know what you are, prince.”
Fingers crawled over his skin, opening him wider and wider. Something ruptured from within him with a shoot of horrific pain. So much pain that he lost track of his mind and his consciousness, simply trying to escape that reality. He fled to a distant place. But it waded after him, whispering that it knew what he was. What he is.
And then it found him, tucked away in ebony darkness. It leaned over him, words slippery and hard to grasp, indistinct. It consumed him.
--
Eunhyuk woke from another nightmare, panting and rasping, wet like he’d taken a bath. His hair was matted to his forehead by sweat, his eyes darting to and fro as he drew all his limbs closer to himself. He whimpered and hiccupped. He tried to pull the covers over himself, but his hands shook so violently that he couldn’t grasp it. He sobbed into his pillow until he couldn’t usher any more tears.
The voice hadn’t spoken to him in weeks: not since Zhou Mi and Henry had stopped by. He had tried goading the disembodied vocals into talking to him, sharing information with him, but with no success. He might’ve hoped that it had disappeared or never existed at all if he couldn’t still feel it. It was there, at the cusp of his mind, lurking in the sinews of his muscles and the beats of his heart.
He’d been protected by the others all his life, but he didn’t know if they would even begin to have a clue how to save him this time.
“What’s your name,” he choked out, slumped like a broken marionette over the top of his bed. His words tasted saline.
“What’s your name,” he repeated into the emptiness. The thick curtains blocked out any grey or brilliance. He didn’t know what the weather was today.
“Name,” he tried once more.
There was a stillness that seemed to span forever, and he almost fell asleep. But then the familiar static spun into his hearing. Kyuhyun, he heard spoken over the white noise.
“Kyuhyun,” he mimicked, eyelids growing heavy. He’d probably spend this day sleeping as well. “What’s going to happen to me?”
If an answer came, it wasn’t before he fell asleep.
--
“I’m not stupid,” he shouted into the void of his residence. The fronds of a nearby plant waved, but everything else remained stationary. Kyuhyun didn’t respond.
He sunk to his knees in the spot where Yesung had stood only a half hour ago. The older man had come by with Siwon. He changed the batteries in every appliance while Siwon stood around smiling neutrally, as he was apt to do. He tried to make conversation, saying they were on their way to the gym because Kangin had challenged Yesung to a rematch at Muay Thai. Eunhyuk was feeling disoriented and didn’t know what to say.
When Yesung was finished - his last task being the refrigerator’s battery pack - he joined their awkward silence. He rocked on his heels while Siwon grinned and Eunhyuk tried his best not to give into the dizziness and fall over. Eventually, the youngest male announced that he’d leave first, making a series of grand gestures before bowing and departing. Yesung said that he should go too.
“Next time, I’ll try to bring Hyoyeon,” he declared, patting Eunhyuk’s philtrum with his index finger. The latter felt too frayed to even swat him away. “Or Ddangkkoma.”
The older male flittered out, leaving the apartment hushed. Kyuhyun only speaks up when Eunhyuk is contemplating returning to bed.
Ignorance is bliss, huh? Are you even aware of their lies?
Eunhyuk tries to ignore him. Since learning his name, Kyuhyun’s speech has taken on a lot more caustic tone. It might just be the nature of things living in your head to be sarcastic and ungrateful to their hosts. He stands, deciding he needs to at least eat something before lying down. He’s got his hand on his favorite hiding place for food when Kyuhyun speaks again.
Perhaps you haven’t realized then? You spoiled prince…
It’s enough to make him snap. He shouts, “I’m not stupid,” before his legs give out. He anticipates Kyuhyun’s reply, but none comes. He continues.
“I know, ok? I know. I recognize the inconsistencies. I’m not naïve, or stupid, or fully unaware! I can recognize what is in front of my eyes, alright?”
Do you know what you are?
“Human, right?” He scoffs, and then coughs when it burns his throat. “The last pureblood of a hunted, hated breed.” Kyuhyun chortles, but he doesn’t know what could be so funny. Before he can hesitate, he finds himself spilling even more than he should. He can’t say it’s unintended when he purposely does it, gauging for a reaction.
“I know what my friends are. I know that they want to resurrect the human race through me. You know how hyung mentioned Hyoyeon? She’s another human, though she’s not pure. They still hope that if we reproduce, they can salvage the human from the machine! They put all their hope in me and keep me locked away here. Since birth, I’ve only known them and this place!
“They can only visit occasionally because they’re working on a way to extract the machine component from humans. And if they come more often, they might tip the enemy off to where I am. Because they want to kill me! All I ever did was be born, but they want to end my life just because of that! And I don’t even know why because they won’t tell me anything - all I have to go on are the wisps of conversation I’m not supposed to overhear and the fragments of newspaper I’m to leave in the trash!”
Coming off the anger and adrenaline, he can feel his cheeks burn with blood. His vision swims a bit. An ache rampages in his stomach, but he’s more concerned with how loud the wind sounds as soon as he’s finished yelling.
“I-I don’t even know if they value me as a person or the… ‘hope of civilization’! I-I just…” He believes he must sound like a raving lunatic. He takes a harsh inhale as his chest squeezes painfully. Crying and sleeping, he thinks to himself. Has he done much else these days? “I’m not dense… I know.”
…But do you know everything?
Part 2: http://themorningache.livejournal.com/46888.html#cutid1
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Humor, Friendship, Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological, Angst
Word Count: 12,000~
Pairing: Kyuhyun/Eunhyuk (main), OT15 (secondary), Han Geng/Heechul, Kangin/Leeteuk, Donghae/Eunhyuk, Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun (ninja)
Summary: Eunhyuk's never really questioned his life, stuck in an apartment almost every waking moment unless accompanied by his guardians, but a voice in his head changes that.
Fat raindrops run down the windowpanes like tears, accompanied by pitters that echo loudly in the significantly empty apartment. Outside, the sky is a muted grey. It leaks in through the windows and stains his white walls a dismal color. The table light’s radiance next to him has been swallowed up by the gloom. He sits on a stiff stool, watching for a break in the endless cloud coverage and wondering why he even bothered to waste his Saturday cleaning windows.
He sighs heavily, the vapor fogging the glass. He considers spending the rest of the afternoon inside doing that. It’s better than waiting for Donghae to call, preferable to unearthing one of the many books he borrowed from Sungmin with the intentions to read. (He only keeps up the pretenses of reading the large tomes because it makes the elder male feel better about leaving his friend alone for weeks with nothing else to do.)
He exhales deep, misting the glass. His finger lifts with the purpose of drawing the first thing that comes to mind, but it’s as if the rain has leached into his brain. All he can think about are drops and buckets of pouring water. He shakes himself and stands up.
He’ll go out.
It should be fine, he thinks, looking around the empty loft as if seeking out approval or a sudden rebuke. The sofa cushions remain plush without weight to smash them down, the other kitchen stools deserted. He shrugs.
He opens up the closet right outside the entryway, fingers picking the white raincoat off the plastic hanger. He puts it on with a slight bit of difficulty; he usually gets help putting on his coats from Donghae or Siwon. He doesn’t need a jacket unless he’s going out, and he doesn’t go out without others. It’s only how it’s always been. He’s sure breaking the rules should be fine this once. He’s just so bored.
He unlocks the door, lifting the latch, turning the key, and sliding the chain out. His first footfall into the hall ricochets off the flowery wallpapered walls, dying out somewhere down the corridor. He throws a quick glance around before creeping in the direction of the stairs. It’s 15 stories down to the lobby. The long desk is unmanned as always.
He approaches the sliding doors. There’s a panel to the left of it, partially hidden by a tall fern. He waves the card Donghae forgot in the couch cushions the last time he visited. Numerous characters flash across the screen. There’s a pause, but the doors finally part with a hiss. The sound of rain is louder without thick glass separating him from it.
When he walks under the threshold, there’s the sensation of being in slow motion, of dragging oneself through quicksand. The air hangs thickly around him. There’s also the feeling of being searched inside out. He’d asked about it a long time ago, but was never answered. He’s gotten over the curiosity.
A rush of fresh air fills his lungs as he steps out. It’s chilly and has the faint taste of exhaust and rain. He’s still missed it. He pulls the hood over his messy blonde locks, ducking his head as rain begins to pelt him. The buildings, normally shiny from sunshine, seem to have absorbed the sky’s bleak light. They loom dimly as he starts down one side of the sidewalk.
The streets are almost as vacant as the halls of his apartment building. Lights shine on the street from the occasional display and a few people hurry by him, casting furtive gazes at him from under their umbrellas. He’s decided only to take a quick walk around the block instead of trying to recall the complicated route his guardians usually lead him on. For one, he doesn’t want to get lost. But there’s also the peculiar feeling he has… As if he’s being watched.
He glances back, making sure. Only the girl he passed occupies the same sidewalk, still talking loudly into her cell phone. An old man drags his weathered dog on the opposite side. He takes a step forward, eyes on the dog, before turning his head back to his own path. It happens much too fast for him to stop it.
The man charges at him, a flash of black in a tall form. There’s a glint of silver and he feels something drag across his cheek, pain blossoming in its wake. He’s knocked to the ground by the effort to duck and the man’s sudden movement. Precipitation beats against his face, getting in his wide eyes. The other male’s face is hazy even when he leans over to look at him. He blinks. A handsome face hovers over his, dark hair swept away from his eyes, one wider than the other as he smiles. His straight teeth and pouty lips arrange into something distinctly mischievous. Cruel.
“Prince,” he says. And then he stands and heads in the opposite direction, disappearing as quickly as he came under the torrent’s veils.
He scampers up, first on his hands and knees, and then on his unsteady legs. He runs back towards his home, terrified that the man may come back. He throws wide-eyed glances back over his shoulder, his hood falling down to allow the rain to mat his hair against his head. By the time he makes it back to the apartment’s entrance, having past it once in his panic, he’s tired. He presses the card with trembling fingers to the monitor concealed in the small garden, under dirt and a fake peony patch.
He steps forward to the door, the same sensation as always stirring. This time, however, it’s joined by a squeezing feeling crushing his insides. He gasps, trying to grab more oxygen though it seems impossible to.
Move!, a voice shouts from inside him. He obeys. He throws himself over the threshold bodily, the short strands of carpet scratching him. Lying there, he pants a few minutes before running. He leaps up the stairs as quickly as he can, breathing heavily but too petrified to stay still.
He throws open the door to his apartment, collapsing in the entryway. Only after inhaling a few harsh breaths is he able to drag himself past that. He pulls himself into the tub, curling up and sobbing. It’s so scary and he feels so alone. Where were his friends when he needed them? Why had that happened to him? What happened to him?
He cried and cried until his lungs felt tight and his throat parched, until his ears popped and his face felt slimy. He sniffled. Then he hoisted himself from his porcelain surroundings and slipped out of his jacket, more drained after all the weeping. He hung it in the closet and took a shower, just now getting the chill of rain. As he was slinging a towel around his hips, he heard a familiar voice straining through the door. He threw open the barrier.
“Donghae!”
“-staying warm, but you must be sleeping or something… I’ll stop over just to make sure, though, if you don’t call back. See you later!”
The machine stops projecting the voice into the bare residence, the pitter of rain taking its place in the atmosphere. He’s admittedly disappointed. He had been looking for comfort and reassurance rather than a message over the answering machine. It might be better that way nonetheless. Donghae wasn’t the brightest, but he’d know if his best friend was shaken.
He returns the call, assuring his friend that he was warm enough, he had actually just taken a shower and that’s why he missed the call, nothing to worry about. The younger male seems grudging, but reluctantly accepts it, saying he’d visit again soon. They hang up.
He flops onto the couch, exhaustion settling into his bones. He doesn’t know quite what to think about his experience this afternoon. He’s always been warned the outside world is dangerous, and that’s why he needs to stay inside, but he didn’t think random passerby would attack innocent people. He touches his cheek gingerly, surprised when the digits come away red.
He pushes himself up and glances at himself in the bathroom mirror. A gash resides on his cheek, right across the bone. It cuts from right beneath his eye to the side of his nose. It’s wide for such a quick slash - about an inch - and it’s bleeding pretty steadily despite the shower. He rummages through the medicine cabinet and finally comes up with a band-aid in hand. He hasn’t had to use one since the last time he and Kangin rough-housed. (And before then had been when he placed one on Shindong’s stomach, after the elder had claimed to have hurt himself eating too much.)
Smoothing the sticky sheath over his injury, he winces when it pangs. There, there, a voice calms. Eunhyuk decides to not pay it any mind.
--
“What happened?” Leeteuk had spotted Eunhyuk, and in one fluid movement, had his cheeks cupped in his hands. His dark eyes searched his face for answers or more wounds. Donghae peered over his shoulders, face blank.
“I slipped in the tub.”
“You didn’t say anything to me yesterday on the phone,” Donghae commented.
“That’s because I forgot. It doesn’t hurt that much,” Eunhyuk lied, narrowing his eyes in an effort to make his younger friend drop it. The brunette shrugged and walked over to the fridge, occupying himself with that instead. Leeteuk stared at him for a few more seconds before barking for Donghae not to touch the kimchi.
Eunhyuk glanced at the closed door. “Is Heechul-hyung not coming today?” Leeteuk looked up from the ice cream carton he had snatched from his dongsaeng. He followed Eunhyuk’s gaze.
“Not today, no.”
No Heechul means Eunhyuk’s hair stays a nest a bit longer. Leeteuk usually offers to brush it for him, but his skills contrast his gentle personality. Yesung is an ounce better at it, but he usually divagates from the task and Eunhyuk winds up in a dress. There’s a slightly lesser chance of that happening with Heechul, even if he is in one of his moods.
“How’re the others,” he asked, changing the subject as he sat on a stool and watched the two bicker over the definition of junk food and what intake of said fare can be taken in on a regular basis. The eldest suggests the other eat fish, which causes the youngest to look as if he’s been personally slighted.
“They’re fine,” Donghae responded absently. Eunhyuk knows that ‘they’ represents so fewer then it had years ago. Losses slowly chip at the meaning of the word. He makes a note to himself to call Zhou Mi and Henry later to see how that ‘they’ is doing.
The dispute between the two males grows heated. At one point, the eldest slams down the knife Donghae had been attempting to use to open the metal chocolate container. It nicks the youngest’s fingers. Eunhyuk watches impassively as brown trickles from the tips. Donghae shoves his fingers under the tap, runs water over them, and yanks them back blemishless. Leeteuk starts sputtering apologies.
They had told him his younger friend had a good constitution, that he was a quick healer. It’s a remarkable trait and not at all indicative of something being wrong with Eunhyuk, just because he’s not the same. Or so they said. Kangin and Han Geng had always been the same though. The others avoided injury too steadfastly for him to know if it was true for them as well. But his curiosity rested on that case too.
Ryeowook arrived shortly after lunch had been made, a compromise of potato chips and a salad. (Though the meal’s current topic was an argument over ice cream or an apple for dessert.) He smiled at Eunhyuk, a timid twitch to the expression as always, before opening the closet to hang up his trench. He paused there, tilting his head quizzically. Eunhyuk remembered with dread something he had forgotten about entirely yesterday.
“Why’s your jacket wet, hyung?”
Ryeowook held up the hanger his coat was messily hung over. Water still dripped from it in small increments. The younger man wrinkled his nose as the two others turned their gazes to him. Eunhyuk cleared his throat. It suddenly felt tight and dry, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly.
“Hyukkie?”
“I-” You wore it in the shower. “I wore it in the shower.” Three pairs of eyes looked at him suspiciously. He continued, “It was, um, raining yesterday. I was just a bit jealous of all those people getting to run around in it. I stood under the showerhead.”
“No wonder you slipped in the tub,” Donghae muttered at the same time as the eldest hyung cooed how cute that was.
Eunhyuk sighed as Ryeowook returned the coat to the closet. The three friends slipped into a debate as Ryeowook threw in the question of what everyone wanted to drink. Apparently they had strong feelings regarding flavors of soda. A smile worked onto his lips as he watched the pointless squabble.
And then he realized that the prompting voice from earlier hadn’t been his own. His spine stiffened, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Static crackled inside his eardrums, blowing over the conversation taking place in front of him.
Prince, the same voice chirped, echoing the word his attacker had said. It was a different tone but no less cold. It issued forth from the depths of his head, resounding amidst the sudden static. I know what you are.
Eunhyuk just wished he could say the same.
--
Sunshine flared with intensity through the window pane, roasting the arm that lay uncovered by the thick quilt. Eunhyuk uncovered his head reluctantly, trying to peer out the window, but groaned when all that accomplished was burning his retinas. He disappeared back into the folds of the covers.
One, two, three.
He remerged from the comforter, squinting his eyes at the window. The curtains had been thrown wide open. Leeteuk and the others repeatedly warned him not to do that. Most times he obeyed. There were occasional times when he’d stare out the window, or times when he’d be too exhausted to remember to do so. But he was almost certain last night had not been such a night. He had spent the whole day sitting in the living room, hoping someone would stop by and falling asleep late at night just in case someone would.
That could only mean one thing…
“You getting up today, Mr. Blue Jay?” Eunhyuk turned his narrowed eyes on the weight he had just recognized as something other than his large comforter. Zhou Mi sat, straddling the back of his thighs and smiling that odd smile of his. Henry was behind him, hesitantly perched on his feet, his expression resonating Ryeowook’s tendency towards nervousness. Eunhyuk flailed his arms and eventually they got the idea and got off.
He gave a long-suffering sigh, carefully extricating himself from the blanket fort just in case he decided to make a hasty escape back into it. He trudged past the two into the bathroom. Their faces stared back at him from the reflection of the mirror as he brushed his teeth. (But at least they had the manners to turn away when he took a leak.) And then they traipsed after him like puppies when he went into the kitchen. By the dirty pan in the sink, he could assume they had already helped themselves to breakfast.
“I was going to call you guys the other day,” he admitted, fishing a pack of strawberries from the drawer he always hid such things in. He could trust these two with his secret though.
“I know. Henry said he sensed it.” Zhou Mi’s smile was his customary mix of charm and secrets. “Though we couldn’t make it over here until we were sure the rest wouldn’t be coming by.”
Eunhyuk frowned. That meant these two would probably be his only guests for a week. The timeline of their visits usually followed such rules. Maybe he should finally crack that book Sungmin raved about.
“I wonder if it’s about this,” Zhou Mi mused, tapping the slightly elder male’s cheek, right below the bandage. His brown eyes were riveted to the dressing, as if in a trance, and he slowly peeled it away. Eunhyuk let him. The wound, despite its size, had already closed. It was the quickest he had ever healed, something he might attribute to continued exposure to Donghae, if not for the fact that he didn’t want to feel indebted to the younger over anything.
He still grimaced a bit as the sticky strip peeled from his pinched skin. He carefully watched Zhou Mi’s eyes, though, as they rapidly scanned over the small area of skin. Henry looked edgy where he sat on a kitchen stool. They were both staring at his cut. Worry started to flood him. He licked his lips, careful with his wording.
“Is anything wrong?”
That seemed to wake them up. Henry gave a fretful smile; Zhou Mi sat back with a tight look. The two visitors exchanged a look before both shoulders bobbed. The elder of the pair tapped his fingers on the granite while the youngest spoke.
“Not wrong per say… Just weird. There’s this strange… feel that comes off it,” Henry said warily. His eyes went wide. “Not that you should be overly concerned! It’s just - did you at least disinfect it?”
Eunhyuk slowly shook his head, trying to force down the anxiety like they wanted him to. He was naïve compared to them who spent their whole lives out in the real world, not trapped by four walls almost every waking moment. If they said it was nothing, it was just that.
“Never mind, hyung. Don’t worry! It seems to be healing fine anyway. Besides, my instincts haven’t been quite right since…” The young man trailed off, countenance looking pinched. Eunhyuk let his own face drop. Zhou Mi rolled his eyes.
“It’s already been nearly two years. Chin up, you two.” He ruffled his dongsaeng’s hair, flicking Eunhyuk on the nose. He swiped a strawberry as he stood. Heading to the bedroom, he spoke over his shoulder, “I’m going to take a nap.”
They watched him go, Henry smirking in a ‘what-can-you-do’ way when he turned back. Eunhyuk muttered that it was only because they were so indulgent that he retained this kind of behavior. Henry paused before leaning across the counter, conspiratorial hiss to his whisper.
“How are the others?”
Eunhyuk glanced up from his fruit, relieved to find that the younger didn’t have a sad look on his face. That was the problem with youth: they haphazardly ran into emotion without a care to how it affects others. They’d depress you and then bounce right back themselves. He knew that back when Henry used to hang around everyone else, he could change an atmosphere with one casual sniffle. Such was the power of maknae. Eunhyuk would’ve suffered many more a melancholy period if not for Zhou Mi, who appointed himself as the mood-maker in such times.
“They’re good.”
Henry nodded, grin in place. Half an hour later, after a large yawn, he was asleep on the couch. Eunhyuk wondered why they even bothered to come over. More than that, why did he have to get up? Did this mean he was delegated to making lunch? He scoffed at the picture of false innocence the duo made.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he could’ve sworn he heard a chuckle.
--
It’s quiet.
Silent actually. Only Eunhyuk is torn between calling it comfortable and very, very awkward. Perhaps even scary.
“Do you even try to unsnarl your hair when I’m not here,” Heechul snidely remarks, the source of the pointed stare aimed at the back of his blonde head of hair. He has a comb in one hand, a brush in the other, but still manages to seem quite intimidating.
In between his legs, on the floor, Eunhyuk tries to select his next words carefully. He’ll get scolded if it comes out as a whine or high-pitched - because his hyung hates monkeys trying to be cute, or so he’s said - but it’ll be the same result if he’s too flat as well. Heechul will accuse him of being nonchalant otherwise. And if he tries to imitate the elder’s pitch, he’ll doubtlessly end up with an earful.
“Well, whatever,” Heechul finally says, after Eunhyuk only gapes at him like a lost fish. He pushes his face forward again, starting to drag a comb through the tangled mop of platinum gold hair. Though his tongue is fierce, his hands are kind.
Siwon is sitting next to him on the couch, squished on the other side by Shindong. The younger male is simply watching the exchange with that constant glimmer in his eye while Shindong reads the humor section of the newspaper he brought with him. He’s always shielded Eunhyuk’s eyes from the headlines so that eventually the latter has stopped trying altogether. He’s naïve compared to those with wider walks in life. They most likely know what’s best.
Sungmin has pushed the ottoman against the wall to have something to rest his back against. He’s also reading, though his attention seems divided between it and the dreary display of weather taking place outside the window. It’s rained everyday since Henry and Zhou Mi stopped by a week ago. Indeed, it does lend itself to a melancholic mood. But Eunhyuk can’t help but feel it also insulates this peace they have. It hides them under the shroud of rain. It’s a sedateness he’s not sure even Kangin could break up.
He hisses at the sudden burn that sparks along his cheekbone. Sungmin sits up, Heechul pauses, Siwon squeezes his shoulder, and Shindong glances at him.
“Sorry, just the cut,” he winces, “Burns.” He waves off an offer of medicine, saying it’ll subside soon.
“Perhaps it’s Voldemort,” Sungmin ponders aloud, eyes shining with mirth over the top of his novel.
“What? Who?”
“The books he left you,” Heechul informs blandly, resuming his job. He clicks his tongue when the comb gets stuck in a large knot just above the knob of his neck.
“It wouldn’t kill you to read them,” the bibliophile huffs, black bangs rustling with the action. Eunhyuk quips that the series is over a hundred years old now. “That just means they’re classic.”
Soothing ministrations on his scalp urge Eunhyuk to relax. He slowly gives in, shutting his eyes as Sungmin returns to his literature. Like this, the world can fade away. It’s different than the many quiet times he has when he’s alone in these rooms. The rain and his own insignificant breaths aren’t the only sounds to distract him. Here and now, he can hear five individual exhales, following their own beat. He can hear the soft scritch-scratch of the bristles through his hair. There are mellifluous crinkles of paper, the almost imperceptible clink of Siwon’s teeth coming together in smile after smile over nothing.
It’s silent. But it feels so loud.
--
He goes outside alone again. He’s not too sure why he does it. Perhaps it was the fact that the sun had finally broken through the clouds. People started coming out in throngs and he felt he would be safe there. The outside world couldn’t be so bad as to ignore his pleas if he was to be attacked again. It wasn’t possible for that brand of malice to exist.
This time, he only pulled on a light jacket and a beanie. He went through the same procedure as before. Excitement pulsed through him the closer he got to the outdoors. He could hear children laughing, men talking, women chattering, birds singing - it created such an enticing chorus that he could only wish to hear it better.
His wish was fulfilled as the doors slide open. People on the street stopped to smile at him. The smells of pastry floated to him unhindered by the stink of gas, the taste of jam and butter alighting on his tongue. The sun cascaded against every bit of him it could reach, the type of warmth that made your stomach flip and your heart beat just a sliver faster.
He was just going to take a quick walk around the block and then return. It’d be before any of his friends appeared, he felt. He’d only taken two steps when a burst of black came barreling at him.
His back hit the pavement with harsh force. He wheezed as air tried to enter his crushed lungs. He looked up and saw a blurry face. He knew it had to be the same man as last time, however. His stomach twisted sickeningly.
“You getting up today, Mr. Blue Jay?”
A hand appeared in front of his face. He scrambled backwards, face contorting in fear. He turned to call for help, but everyone had disappeared. The sunshine turned to showers of rain, falling on his skin and blotting out any color it could leech onto. He became as grey as the cement digging into his shoulder blades. He heaved himself up, ready to run. The same hand caught his arm before he could.
A glint of silver passed through his vision once more. He felt it gouge him, spreading beyond the range it had last time. It dug all across his face. He was blinded but he could still see. Could only see the hazy countenance of that man.
The brutal male pulled away, the knife fading from his hand. His face was overwhelmed by a new sensation: numbing and prickling all at once. It felt like he was being sewn back together. His cells were being forced to regenerate remarkably fast.
“Good day and good nightingale,” the man murmured, before he could be seen no more.
The scar had healed, but now an entirely different feeling then before emerged. Now he was being ripped farther than the original wound had ever. Fingers clawed at the back of his eyes, pushing against the insides of his brain. Something finally forced an opening, originating from the first injury. He screamed until he could no longer identify his voice from the gust and torrents.
“I know what you are,” a voice cooed from inside of him, as sibilant as a serpent. It oozed with bad intentions. “I know what you are, prince.”
Fingers crawled over his skin, opening him wider and wider. Something ruptured from within him with a shoot of horrific pain. So much pain that he lost track of his mind and his consciousness, simply trying to escape that reality. He fled to a distant place. But it waded after him, whispering that it knew what he was. What he is.
And then it found him, tucked away in ebony darkness. It leaned over him, words slippery and hard to grasp, indistinct. It consumed him.
--
Eunhyuk woke from another nightmare, panting and rasping, wet like he’d taken a bath. His hair was matted to his forehead by sweat, his eyes darting to and fro as he drew all his limbs closer to himself. He whimpered and hiccupped. He tried to pull the covers over himself, but his hands shook so violently that he couldn’t grasp it. He sobbed into his pillow until he couldn’t usher any more tears.
The voice hadn’t spoken to him in weeks: not since Zhou Mi and Henry had stopped by. He had tried goading the disembodied vocals into talking to him, sharing information with him, but with no success. He might’ve hoped that it had disappeared or never existed at all if he couldn’t still feel it. It was there, at the cusp of his mind, lurking in the sinews of his muscles and the beats of his heart.
He’d been protected by the others all his life, but he didn’t know if they would even begin to have a clue how to save him this time.
“What’s your name,” he choked out, slumped like a broken marionette over the top of his bed. His words tasted saline.
“What’s your name,” he repeated into the emptiness. The thick curtains blocked out any grey or brilliance. He didn’t know what the weather was today.
“Name,” he tried once more.
There was a stillness that seemed to span forever, and he almost fell asleep. But then the familiar static spun into his hearing. Kyuhyun, he heard spoken over the white noise.
“Kyuhyun,” he mimicked, eyelids growing heavy. He’d probably spend this day sleeping as well. “What’s going to happen to me?”
If an answer came, it wasn’t before he fell asleep.
--
“I’m not stupid,” he shouted into the void of his residence. The fronds of a nearby plant waved, but everything else remained stationary. Kyuhyun didn’t respond.
He sunk to his knees in the spot where Yesung had stood only a half hour ago. The older man had come by with Siwon. He changed the batteries in every appliance while Siwon stood around smiling neutrally, as he was apt to do. He tried to make conversation, saying they were on their way to the gym because Kangin had challenged Yesung to a rematch at Muay Thai. Eunhyuk was feeling disoriented and didn’t know what to say.
When Yesung was finished - his last task being the refrigerator’s battery pack - he joined their awkward silence. He rocked on his heels while Siwon grinned and Eunhyuk tried his best not to give into the dizziness and fall over. Eventually, the youngest male announced that he’d leave first, making a series of grand gestures before bowing and departing. Yesung said that he should go too.
“Next time, I’ll try to bring Hyoyeon,” he declared, patting Eunhyuk’s philtrum with his index finger. The latter felt too frayed to even swat him away. “Or Ddangkkoma.”
The older male flittered out, leaving the apartment hushed. Kyuhyun only speaks up when Eunhyuk is contemplating returning to bed.
Ignorance is bliss, huh? Are you even aware of their lies?
Eunhyuk tries to ignore him. Since learning his name, Kyuhyun’s speech has taken on a lot more caustic tone. It might just be the nature of things living in your head to be sarcastic and ungrateful to their hosts. He stands, deciding he needs to at least eat something before lying down. He’s got his hand on his favorite hiding place for food when Kyuhyun speaks again.
Perhaps you haven’t realized then? You spoiled prince…
It’s enough to make him snap. He shouts, “I’m not stupid,” before his legs give out. He anticipates Kyuhyun’s reply, but none comes. He continues.
“I know, ok? I know. I recognize the inconsistencies. I’m not naïve, or stupid, or fully unaware! I can recognize what is in front of my eyes, alright?”
Do you know what you are?
“Human, right?” He scoffs, and then coughs when it burns his throat. “The last pureblood of a hunted, hated breed.” Kyuhyun chortles, but he doesn’t know what could be so funny. Before he can hesitate, he finds himself spilling even more than he should. He can’t say it’s unintended when he purposely does it, gauging for a reaction.
“I know what my friends are. I know that they want to resurrect the human race through me. You know how hyung mentioned Hyoyeon? She’s another human, though she’s not pure. They still hope that if we reproduce, they can salvage the human from the machine! They put all their hope in me and keep me locked away here. Since birth, I’ve only known them and this place!
“They can only visit occasionally because they’re working on a way to extract the machine component from humans. And if they come more often, they might tip the enemy off to where I am. Because they want to kill me! All I ever did was be born, but they want to end my life just because of that! And I don’t even know why because they won’t tell me anything - all I have to go on are the wisps of conversation I’m not supposed to overhear and the fragments of newspaper I’m to leave in the trash!”
Coming off the anger and adrenaline, he can feel his cheeks burn with blood. His vision swims a bit. An ache rampages in his stomach, but he’s more concerned with how loud the wind sounds as soon as he’s finished yelling.
“I-I don’t even know if they value me as a person or the… ‘hope of civilization’! I-I just…” He believes he must sound like a raving lunatic. He takes a harsh inhale as his chest squeezes painfully. Crying and sleeping, he thinks to himself. Has he done much else these days? “I’m not dense… I know.”
…But do you know everything?
Part 2: http://themorningache.livejournal.com/46888.html#cutid1