a very untitled draft
Title: some title that makes sense, hopefully
Pairing: OT12, possible Xiu Min/Lu Han
Rating: PG-13 (might have to get it up to R if I will include some bloody flashbacks)
Genre: Friendship, Sort-of-angst
Length: 1,603w (I'm sorry, I had a busy month. I am attempting at a min.5k, but if the story wants to stretch it's gonna stretch)
Summary: (demigod!AU, mama powers!AU) Minseok had always been ruthless and cold, but only towards strangers, only towards people out of their a tad bit crowded group. Xiu Min is pretty much the same, except to him, everyone is a stranger.
Warnings: Character death
The way sunlight cuts through the curtains feels like it cuts through his flesh, perfectly aligned in the middle of the back of his chair, from between his feet to top of his head. A thousand needles pick at his eyes, and the reflection looking at him from his computer screen is a creature from the bottom of Tartarus with its pallid skin, bloodshot orbs and purple bags under its eyes that may indicate a distant kinship with the raccoon family living between the branches of the tree beside the bedroom’s only window.
“And… done!” The voice is triumphant as it rings between the four walls of the room, constant sound of keyboard keys clicking coming to a stop after one last CTRL+S. Carefully backing up the file on his two e-mail accounts, BackBlaze, removable and irremovable hard, one compact and finally a flash disk, Chanyeol Park allows himself to lean back on the chair and stretch; a second before deciding the best way to have his momentary rest is treat his sore bottom by getting it up and pacing around the house, considering the fact that a very much needed sleep is out of options, as he needs to leave the place within the next two hours.
He decides to treat himself with a sandwich. The best sandwich maker he knows is himself, taking a pride on how he has a natural instinct to find most delicious combinations. Also, nothing would awake a man better than a good, fulfilling meal, as his mother would always say.
And he wouldn’t mind a nice breakfast for once.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he fills his lap with a tomato, some cheese and lettuce. Balancing the ingredients with his other arm, he claps the fridge shut. He is going vegetarian this one, it seems, for that he can’t find anything for his breakfast other than mayonnaise and various types of spices. In fact, only things he can make out are some microwave schnitzels in the freezer and some flour in one of the cabinets. A grocery shopping is overdue.
Way too overdue, as a matter of fact, with how any of these things are barely enough for three college students to survive one day - maybe except flour, but with the lack of any type of sugar, sourdough nor eggs, it is no help either.
It’s as if the life has stopped.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, his brain begging his body to just drop and lie right on the floor. Maybe it’s how he doesn’t feel like eating even though his stomach is grumbling almost painfully. Or maybe, it’s the fact his best friend is locked up in his room for the last three weeks, only going out for his lectures only to play dead there as well; maybe it’s how his lack of sleep or appetite has nothing to do with his project that’s due today; or, more likely, maybe it’s how it’s tired of it all.
Tired of the memories, tired of the heavy air glooming around his friends, tired of trying to be the happy one and to cheer up everyone else, tired of the food getting less and less in their damned kitchen.
Everything between his arm and his torso is down on the ceramic. The tomato is squashed with the impact, and the cheese heavily falls on the lettuce, the sound of a couple leaves breaking is clear in the maddeningly silent environment.
Taking a deep breath, Chanyeol clenches his fingers around the edge of the counter, leaning his weight on his arms. He feels a vein on his forehead drop, and the next second, he is roaring at the ceiling.
“CAN’T WE JUST PRETEND HE IS DEAD?”
It’s still six in the morning, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees one of the smaller raccoons climbing up the tree a bit more swiftly than usual. The little guy is probably startled by Chanyeol’s voice, but as the senior year student can’t be concerned as he tries to catch his breath, the action, somehow, much more tiring than normal.
Running a hand through his hair, he bends down to retrieve the only valuable edibles they had. He squints his eyes at the splashed tomato, as if it’s the fault of everything, before carefully taking it in his hand to throw it in the trashcan. He reaches for the cleaning cloth to clean the juice, but he’s startled by the light footsteps behind him.
It’s a shock, in a way, to consider it’s a Wednesday, Jongdae doesn’t have classes until eleven and here he is, out of his room, his eyes deathly dull as they have been for a while - Chanyeol misses the lively, cunning spark of those eyes. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobs up and down with the movement, and the dull black eyes look up to Chanyeol.
It’s Chanyeol’s turn to swallow.
“He’s my brot-” Jongdae sighs. “He was my brother, Yeol.” His voice is raspy, and whether it’s because he has barely spoken in the last few weeks or he’s been crying himself to sleep every time he’s out of public eye, Chanyeol doesn’t want to think about it.
“Jong-”
“I know it’s always been Jongin who’s been the emotional one, but… I need my brothers too, you know. I am the little brother as well, somehow, though I never wanted nor needed to act like one. Still, I…” Jongdae swallows again, and Chanyeol is now certain that was not a lump but more words. “Chanyeol, we… we went to confront him, you know. Joonmyun, Jongin and I.”
“What…” When? How did he miss it?
“He raised that one thing, some sort of staff, made of diamond or some glassy crystal shit like that, except it was a little blue-ish and a bit purplish…” Jongdae shakes his head, likely to focus himself. “and he just… He just… swatted us away. Jongin hit his back hard on the floor, and it was still hurt from that fight he had with that acid-generator woman.” He looks directly at Chanyeol. “He didn’t even blink.”
Chanyeol feels like tearing up himself, but Jongdae’s eyes are awfully dry.
“What do you think I’ve been mourning for? We don’t need to pretend he’s dead. He is dead.” Jongdae’s voice trembles, and he presses his palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. He stays motionless for a few heartbeats, before recomposing himself with a short, loud breath.
When he opens his eyes, they are not dry anymore.
“But, even with that damned white-blue hair, he still looks like my older brother. And I could never imagine looking at us so blankly, I didn’t even try to. We were the most valuable things to him, and he just… He just doesn’t care anymore.”
“Yixing said-”
“A demigod is a human taken over by his powers. A demigod is a god, and the strongest memories the human had is barely a blur to the god. I know. But, doesn’t the god ever remember? I had hoped he would. That’s why… that’s why we went after him.”
Even after learning it was a failure, it still sparks a ghost of something similar to hope in Chanyeol’s mind. “Minseok would. And maybe he will-”
“No, Chanyeol. Stay behind your words. He’s dead. Dead. He doesn’t even refer to himself as Minseok. He’s already taken on the god’s name.” When he utters the name, Jongdae sounds so venomous Chanyeol actually feels forced to take a sharp, defensive breath. “Xiu Min.”
Chanyeol remembers it from when they had received their powers for the first time, and Yixing had explained them how they are really were ‘god-like’ because ‘they were taken after gods’. It was two years ago, and his heart clenches with the memory of Jongdae making a joke about those gods because ‘if the powers were remnants of gods why the hell they spread with bites of all things’. Of course, Jongdae had it all wrong - he was the only one actually bitten.
It feels like it has passed ten decades since then.
“It means Smart Gem.” Chanyeol whispers, more to himself than to his friend. “For that he controls the cold and the pressure, everything he deforms with his hands become crystalized either into gems or bends the light as if they are gems.” Another memory from the same day, one including a confused Minseok because there was no ‘frost gods’ and they all were pretty sure frost was the only thing he could do, including Yixing. Then again, Yixing didn’t know very much about all… this two years ago either. It was just that he had got his powers for much longer than they had.
…Though if they hadn’t met Yixing, they would never receive powers, none of those maniacs out-from-comic-book-villains would be their problem every three months, Minseok wouldn’t die to have his powers deform his body into a god’s - or crystalize or whatever the shit Soo Man tried to explain was. It still doesn’t make sense.
When he tries to think about it, none of this makes sense.
“I was messed when he died… we all were,” Chanyeol starts, trying to pour his thought into coherent words but failing to do so. “We never expected it, I mean we always had each other…” Now he’s rambling, and when he realizes, he pauses and tries to collect it all, before giving up and just popping what is his point, like he always does. “Now I wish he stayed dead.”
Jongdae’s eyes doesn’t get any livelier. “Chanyeol. He is dead.”
Chanyeol sighs. “Right.”
Pairing: OT12, possible Xiu Min/Lu Han
Rating: PG-13 (might have to get it up to R if I will include some bloody flashbacks)
Genre: Friendship, Sort-of-angst
Length: 1,603w (I'm sorry, I had a busy month. I am attempting at a min.5k, but if the story wants to stretch it's gonna stretch)
Summary: (demigod!AU, mama powers!AU) Minseok had always been ruthless and cold, but only towards strangers, only towards people out of their a tad bit crowded group. Xiu Min is pretty much the same, except to him, everyone is a stranger.
Warnings: Character death
The way sunlight cuts through the curtains feels like it cuts through his flesh, perfectly aligned in the middle of the back of his chair, from between his feet to top of his head. A thousand needles pick at his eyes, and the reflection looking at him from his computer screen is a creature from the bottom of Tartarus with its pallid skin, bloodshot orbs and purple bags under its eyes that may indicate a distant kinship with the raccoon family living between the branches of the tree beside the bedroom’s only window.
“And… done!” The voice is triumphant as it rings between the four walls of the room, constant sound of keyboard keys clicking coming to a stop after one last CTRL+S. Carefully backing up the file on his two e-mail accounts, BackBlaze, removable and irremovable hard, one compact and finally a flash disk, Chanyeol Park allows himself to lean back on the chair and stretch; a second before deciding the best way to have his momentary rest is treat his sore bottom by getting it up and pacing around the house, considering the fact that a very much needed sleep is out of options, as he needs to leave the place within the next two hours.
He decides to treat himself with a sandwich. The best sandwich maker he knows is himself, taking a pride on how he has a natural instinct to find most delicious combinations. Also, nothing would awake a man better than a good, fulfilling meal, as his mother would always say.
And he wouldn’t mind a nice breakfast for once.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he fills his lap with a tomato, some cheese and lettuce. Balancing the ingredients with his other arm, he claps the fridge shut. He is going vegetarian this one, it seems, for that he can’t find anything for his breakfast other than mayonnaise and various types of spices. In fact, only things he can make out are some microwave schnitzels in the freezer and some flour in one of the cabinets. A grocery shopping is overdue.
Way too overdue, as a matter of fact, with how any of these things are barely enough for three college students to survive one day - maybe except flour, but with the lack of any type of sugar, sourdough nor eggs, it is no help either.
It’s as if the life has stopped.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, his brain begging his body to just drop and lie right on the floor. Maybe it’s how he doesn’t feel like eating even though his stomach is grumbling almost painfully. Or maybe, it’s the fact his best friend is locked up in his room for the last three weeks, only going out for his lectures only to play dead there as well; maybe it’s how his lack of sleep or appetite has nothing to do with his project that’s due today; or, more likely, maybe it’s how it’s tired of it all.
Tired of the memories, tired of the heavy air glooming around his friends, tired of trying to be the happy one and to cheer up everyone else, tired of the food getting less and less in their damned kitchen.
Everything between his arm and his torso is down on the ceramic. The tomato is squashed with the impact, and the cheese heavily falls on the lettuce, the sound of a couple leaves breaking is clear in the maddeningly silent environment.
Taking a deep breath, Chanyeol clenches his fingers around the edge of the counter, leaning his weight on his arms. He feels a vein on his forehead drop, and the next second, he is roaring at the ceiling.
“CAN’T WE JUST PRETEND HE IS DEAD?”
It’s still six in the morning, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees one of the smaller raccoons climbing up the tree a bit more swiftly than usual. The little guy is probably startled by Chanyeol’s voice, but as the senior year student can’t be concerned as he tries to catch his breath, the action, somehow, much more tiring than normal.
Running a hand through his hair, he bends down to retrieve the only valuable edibles they had. He squints his eyes at the splashed tomato, as if it’s the fault of everything, before carefully taking it in his hand to throw it in the trashcan. He reaches for the cleaning cloth to clean the juice, but he’s startled by the light footsteps behind him.
It’s a shock, in a way, to consider it’s a Wednesday, Jongdae doesn’t have classes until eleven and here he is, out of his room, his eyes deathly dull as they have been for a while - Chanyeol misses the lively, cunning spark of those eyes. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobs up and down with the movement, and the dull black eyes look up to Chanyeol.
It’s Chanyeol’s turn to swallow.
“He’s my brot-” Jongdae sighs. “He was my brother, Yeol.” His voice is raspy, and whether it’s because he has barely spoken in the last few weeks or he’s been crying himself to sleep every time he’s out of public eye, Chanyeol doesn’t want to think about it.
“Jong-”
“I know it’s always been Jongin who’s been the emotional one, but… I need my brothers too, you know. I am the little brother as well, somehow, though I never wanted nor needed to act like one. Still, I…” Jongdae swallows again, and Chanyeol is now certain that was not a lump but more words. “Chanyeol, we… we went to confront him, you know. Joonmyun, Jongin and I.”
“What…” When? How did he miss it?
“He raised that one thing, some sort of staff, made of diamond or some glassy crystal shit like that, except it was a little blue-ish and a bit purplish…” Jongdae shakes his head, likely to focus himself. “and he just… He just… swatted us away. Jongin hit his back hard on the floor, and it was still hurt from that fight he had with that acid-generator woman.” He looks directly at Chanyeol. “He didn’t even blink.”
Chanyeol feels like tearing up himself, but Jongdae’s eyes are awfully dry.
“What do you think I’ve been mourning for? We don’t need to pretend he’s dead. He is dead.” Jongdae’s voice trembles, and he presses his palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. He stays motionless for a few heartbeats, before recomposing himself with a short, loud breath.
When he opens his eyes, they are not dry anymore.
“But, even with that damned white-blue hair, he still looks like my older brother. And I could never imagine looking at us so blankly, I didn’t even try to. We were the most valuable things to him, and he just… He just doesn’t care anymore.”
“Yixing said-”
“A demigod is a human taken over by his powers. A demigod is a god, and the strongest memories the human had is barely a blur to the god. I know. But, doesn’t the god ever remember? I had hoped he would. That’s why… that’s why we went after him.”
Even after learning it was a failure, it still sparks a ghost of something similar to hope in Chanyeol’s mind. “Minseok would. And maybe he will-”
“No, Chanyeol. Stay behind your words. He’s dead. Dead. He doesn’t even refer to himself as Minseok. He’s already taken on the god’s name.” When he utters the name, Jongdae sounds so venomous Chanyeol actually feels forced to take a sharp, defensive breath. “Xiu Min.”
Chanyeol remembers it from when they had received their powers for the first time, and Yixing had explained them how they are really were ‘god-like’ because ‘they were taken after gods’. It was two years ago, and his heart clenches with the memory of Jongdae making a joke about those gods because ‘if the powers were remnants of gods why the hell they spread with bites of all things’. Of course, Jongdae had it all wrong - he was the only one actually bitten.
It feels like it has passed ten decades since then.
“It means Smart Gem.” Chanyeol whispers, more to himself than to his friend. “For that he controls the cold and the pressure, everything he deforms with his hands become crystalized either into gems or bends the light as if they are gems.” Another memory from the same day, one including a confused Minseok because there was no ‘frost gods’ and they all were pretty sure frost was the only thing he could do, including Yixing. Then again, Yixing didn’t know very much about all… this two years ago either. It was just that he had got his powers for much longer than they had.
…Though if they hadn’t met Yixing, they would never receive powers, none of those maniacs out-from-comic-book-villains would be their problem every three months, Minseok wouldn’t die to have his powers deform his body into a god’s - or crystalize or whatever the shit Soo Man tried to explain was. It still doesn’t make sense.
When he tries to think about it, none of this makes sense.
“I was messed when he died… we all were,” Chanyeol starts, trying to pour his thought into coherent words but failing to do so. “We never expected it, I mean we always had each other…” Now he’s rambling, and when he realizes, he pauses and tries to collect it all, before giving up and just popping what is his point, like he always does. “Now I wish he stayed dead.”
Jongdae’s eyes doesn’t get any livelier. “Chanyeol. He is dead.”
Chanyeol sighs. “Right.”