[B19] BETWEEN YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW (THERE'S FOREVER) (1/2)
Prompt Code: B19
Title: between yesterday and tomorrow (there's forever)
Rating: pg-13
Side Pairings (if any): mentioned! jongdae/junmyeon, implied! jimin/taehyung
Warnings: somewhat graphic violence, implied torture, dark themes, character death
Word Count: 20,023 (HOW DID THIS HAPPEN)
Summary: in which Jongin has never known a life outside the gray walls of Exordia, hardly daring to dream of being free, until he meets Kyungsoo who teaches him what a promise tastes like
AN: holy shit, this fic morphed into an absolute monstrosity and godbless the amazing/wonderful/sweet mods for giving me so much extra time and support to strangle this into a manageable size. I had to cut out a lot of parts, and REALLY unbeta’d near the end, but I’m gonna make another ver so after the reveal, pls feel free to contact me for the link <3 thank you op for the amazing prompt, my imagination went wild without me so I’m sorry if it deviated from what you imagined
today;
There are only two books on the black shelf that have words in them ― the history of the Crown that every living being in the City owns, and the tattered notebook.
The former is thick and so straight-cut that it’s easy to be hurt along its edges, its words printed in Common so that all could read it, while the other is messily strapped together and ink barely recognizable as Hangul characters are smudged all over the rumpled pages. Yet, where the notebook is obviously cared for in the only way a beloved possession could, the chronicle is unfeeling and cold in both context and syntax.
It is also the first thing that Jongin destroys.
The Keepers outside the chamber have long stopped checking on him; he doesn’t know how long it’s been. There are no clocks in Exordia and Jongin has never known time. But he doesn’t notice their absence. And even if he did, he wouldn’t care.
He doesn’t know when or how it had started. All he knew was that there was a sudden itch set fire underneath his skin that has him desperately wanting to break something, anything.
So he devastates everything he can get his hands on.
The dusty citrine floor has almost completely disappeared beneath the remnants of ripped pages, wood splinters, and downy feathers, flecked with fabric and glinting glass. The bookshelf is crumbling in on itself, the mismatched chairs have become a scattered shipwreck on land, the decorative chandelier is reduced to just a metal piece from the ceiling.
His room has always been simple, and now the entire collapse of the space is almost poetic in how it reflects the clenching ache deep behind his collarbones.
Is this it? He thinks, as he sees how his features echo back brokenly in the cracked full-length mirror. You’re going to drop everything we had? Leave me in fucking pieces?
His gaze wanders across the fallen objects mimicked in the glass until it rests upon the only thing still standing.
Near the center of the room, the small oak desk is chipped in places from where the chandelier had shattered, but it endures quietly like a tombstone in a graveyard.
Jongin brushes the silky feathers off the surface and picks up the threadbare notebook, and is surprised to see that his hands are shaking against the soft leather. With a shallow breath, he flips it open in his palm.
The first page he flips to is the single word Exordia written in slender strokes perpendicular to the straight lines.
Even now, he can hear the low voice of the person who had scrawled it saying, It means the beginning, how ironic for a labyrinth of dead-ends.
It means the beginning.
It has to mean something.
But it’s been ages since that person had visited; even Jongin knows that in the absence of clocks and perpetual stagnation of this world.
His long black hair tumble into his eyes as he turns another few pages until he comes to another with only one word.
Kyungsoo
Just like that, he’s breaking down and crumpling into the fissures of the world he had destroyed.
He had answered a question Jongin hadn’t asked, forgotten or before he had even known, and its promise steals like moonlight underneath his skin.
❇❇❇
yesterday;
No one inside Exordia has ever been outside its slate-gray walls, and those who have ― the Keepers of the Gates and the honored Citizens who are guests to the place ― do not tell.
Not that anyone ever asks. Everything the Evokers like Jongin ever needed to know is in the Book of the Truth, spanning from the dark ages, to the Revolution, and the reign of the Crown that they know of now.
Jongin was born into this and from young, he is taught to fear the outside world and its inhabitants, the Others that wander soullessly in abandoned cities with hollow eyes. He grows up in his second-level chamber, between Chanyeol's and Sehun's, its walls decorated with green in the color of sea moss on driftwood. Or, at least, that's what Jongdae tells him and Jongin never remembers to ask how he knows.
He grows up dancing, performing because it's the only life he knows. He doesn't speak much, but he's been told he speaks with his body.
But unlike the others who fear those who live outside the sanctuary of Exordia, Jongin never quite falters around them, not in the same way at least.
When the Citizens, who are rich enough to afford an invitation to visit, watch his performances, he watches them too. Their depthless eyes have always intrigued him. Not intimidated, just drawn to the emptiness, too curious to be afraid.
He remembers his first encounter with one, when he was seventeen, and just before his debut. He had wandered from the dance practice room late one night and, when he heard some noises from an open door down a hallway he had never ventured to before, followed it ― only to find himself looking into a small conference room that was not empty.
Jongin doesn’t know the taller and broader man who has his back against the dark red of the long table, his shirt unbuttoned and breathing hard as he fists the long hair of a smaller male kneeling before him. But as he takes in the loose training clothes and dyed-black hair, he immediately recognizes that this must be the new trainee, Taemin.
He had heard that Taemin is the first Citizen to enter and be accepted into Exordia for both singing and dance, something so unheard of until it became known that Taemin has far too much talent to be wasted. But there are always whispers about how he had even managed to land an audition, and it becomes clear to many that he’d do anything it takes to get what he wants, with an efficiency that leaves all Evokers breathless.
So, curiosity has Jongin now rooted to the spot as he stands, not quite hidden, watching the other trainee take the older man’s dick deep down his throat.
First class Citizens are feared for their lack of emotions, and the Book’s images of hollow eyes and their poorly imitated emotions are so clear and absolute that is impossible to forget.
Yet there is something in the way this Citizen-trainee moans around the member in his mouth, his lips wet with spit and precum and chest expanding against the tight white wife-beater, that has Jongin so mesmerized.
But then Taemin suddenly stops his movements and, pulling away, turns to stare directly at where Jongin is standing. A small smile flirts around those lips in a way that’s so starkly different from the blankness of Taemin’s eyes, and the artificial yellow light of the room bouncing off the surface of his eyes somehow makes the lack of emotion even more sinister, sickly even. Before anyone can speak or even move, Jongin is already dashing away, cold sweat chilling his insides and shuddering underneath his skin.
When he tells Chanyeol later of what he’s seen after a stern telling-off from Namjoon, who was a trainer back then, for returning to the dorms too late, Chanyeol tells him with wide eyes and shaking breath that he’s too inquisitive for his own good and he should best forget what he saw.
But Jongin can’t forget even if he wants to, the image of expressionless eyes and the lack of illusion of the whole thing seared into the contours of his brain. The logical and almost mechanical nature of pursuing something like sex, not for love or passion like he had always been taught, but because it is simply something carnal that pleases them, has his pulse racing just a little faster.
✥✥✥
It’s a few days before the Gathering when Jongin meets Yixing.
Seokjin, one of the Keepers, makes the announcement over morning stretches and it has everyone in such a high state of excitement that they are given the rest of the time to stretch on their own.
Within Jongin's chamber, he loosens his back with some twists, willing the knots in his muscles to unravel and leaving dark hair falling into his face. Nearby, Chanyeol, Sehun, and Baekhyun are stretching in a circle as well.
"It always comes so soon," Chanyeol says, his wide smile lopsided as he raises his arms and leans to the right, almost hitting Sehun beside him. "I never feel like I can prepare enough."
Baekhyun hums in agreement. "I hear though," he says, spreading his legs wide on the smooth ground, "that the Crown herself is coming this time to pick her personal consort."
"No way!" Chanyeol splutters, whipping around so fast that he falls over and folds himself into cross-legged position. "No way."
"Why not?" Baekhyun says. "When was the last time she had chosen one? Who even was the last one who was picked? Besides, we've been performing for so long,” he flicks a little ball of light between his long fingers, “it's about time someone will catch her eye."
"You better stop," Sehun warns. "He's sparking again."
There is a small yelp as Baekhyun jumps up when little embers fall from Chanyeol's fluttering fingers.
But Jongin doesn't hear the long string of apologies because at that moment, the chamber door swings open and Seokjin leads in two men.
Seokjin is tall in his own right, his bleached hair a pale shade like weathered book pages. But the man furthest in the back eclipses them all. The guest is far broader, his blonde hair darker and reminds Jongin of an egg yolk. He has features similar to Seokjin’s, long and sharp, but the difference is that while Seokjin guards them with a quiet steadiness, this man overpowers the space and lights it up with his presence, even with a glass wall between them.
Yet, it's not this formidable man that draws Jongin's attention. It's the smaller one that is at Seokjin's side. He has short platinum hair cut close to his defined cheekbones and wears the dark brown robes and white tunic of the Brotherhood. He has his head turned to the side now as he surveys the room, and the room lights accentuate the straight profile of his nose. There is a small diamond set in his forehead that glints with his every movement.
"Masters Yifan and Yixing," Seokjin says, placing his hand to his chest and bowing his head. "May we interest you in one of our performers?" As he speaks, he gestures to each of the Evokers and they straighten and bow in turn. "Sehun is young and debuted not long ago, but he moves like the wind itself. Or possibly Chanyeol is more to your fancy. He is a bit excitable, however, his mastery of fire is unrivaled..."
The Brother ― Yixing, he had been called ― acknowledges each of the introductions with a glance and a nod, but, when his gaze falls upon Jongin, he fixes him with an unblinking stare and does not look away. Jongin feels an unsettling jolt when he now sees the black tattoo beside the other’s eye.
Like the Keeper and Yifan, he carries the blonde locks of a warrior who has risen victorious over a fallen competitor, but unlike them, this man bears the mark of honor ― the trophy for the triumph over a significant enemy. Jongin’s skin crawls as he takes in the ink design, three circles connected by a thick line that follows the curve of his eye.
Seokjin is still in the middle of recommending Baekhyun, when the Brother murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper and still not breaking eye contact with Jongin, “And you?”
All eyes fall upon Jongin but he does not falter.
“I dance,” he replies, ducking his head enough to be respectful, but not enough to break the connection.
The other raises his eyebrow. “Oh? Show me.”
Beside him, Baekhyun makes a noise between a gasp and a huff of annoyance, but quiets beneath Seokjin’s pointed look. He, Chanyeol, and Sehun bow before the Citizens then leave with Seokjin through the glass barrier and back to their own chambers.
The Brother is whispering something to Yifan, whose gaze is so intense that anyone lesser than Yixing would have crumbled beneath those piercing eyes. Then the taller nods and strides out the doors as well.
Jongin watches all this unfold as he loosens himself and, taking measured breaths, prepares to dance.
But Yixing doesn’t press play on the music player. Instead he rest a hand against the glass, which barely fogs up at the contact, staring at each other through the see-through barrier, both hardly breathing. Jongin has never touched anyone, much less a Citizen. But it’s widely known that non-Evokers have a lower body temperature, their touch cold.
Yixing breaks the silence first.
“Your kind are so very rare,” he says, a slight lilt of an accent teasing at the edges of his voice, “such extraordinary Evokers, conjurers of motion, art, and sentiment. You exist to remind us of what it is like to have emotions. Since first class Citizens cannot.” The corner of his lip curls slightly. “But surely you know of this already.”
Jongin doesn’t answer, fighting hard to stop the shiver that slithers through his nerves from showing.
“What is your name?”
“Jongin.”
“Well, Jongin,” Yixing says. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. We will be seeing each other again in due time.”
Before Jongin can reply, Yixing is turning away, sweeping to where Yifan is leaning against the frame of chamber door waiting, throwing an almost careless smile over his shoulder at Jongin before he disappears.
And Jongin is left with a hammering pulse against his chest and too many confusing thoughts. The only thing he truly knows is that this Brother smiles far too convincingly for a Citizen.
✥✥✥
Yixing is true to his word.
Not even three days have passed when he appears at Jongin’s chambers again. This time, however, he is just passing by, pausing only to speak to Namjoon and Yoongi, the Keepers on duty that day, before disappearing downstairs to another chamber whose occupant Jongin doesn’t know.
And, like last time, Yixing didn’t come alone. But this time his companion isn’t Yifan.
Instead, a young man accompanies him like the silence that follows a storm, and pauses in the doorway for a few heartbeats longer.
He hardly looks any older than Jongin is, with short cropped hair like Yixing. But instead of the high blonde, it’s an inky black, as jagged as cut onyx, its ends ragged as if it had been messily chopped off. His gaze is just as sharp, a distinct contrast to the almost soft features of his face and slight frame.
But his empty eyes have a strange glow to them, much like how cut obsidian reflects the light along its ridges, and there is a little tilt of full lips that makes the word wrong tease at the corners of Jongin’s mind.
They don’t speak, but once Jongin’s eyes connects with this stranger’s, they never quite leave.
✥✥✥
Jongin finds out later that the young man is named Kyungsoo and is a prodigy in art, with a commission to paint something as a gift to the Crown for the Gathering. And it becomes clear later that night, who Kyungsoo chooses as his model.
The click of the chamber doors sliding open and the brightening of the lights snap Jongin out of the loose sleep he had been drifting in.
He’s off his bed and on his feet within moments, tense, staring hard through the glass through to the other side, until he hears a smooth voice from the doorway, “Easy there, Jongin.”
“Who ―?” But he cuts off when he recognizes the stranger.
Kyungsoo is by himself tonight, his aura as haughty as ever. He wears tight dark pants and a simple long sleeve gray shirt that scoops just low enough to show defined collarbones connecting narrow shoulders. Under one arm, he tucks a white canvas and a small bucket of paint tubes and brushes in the other hand.
Tilting his head, Jongin takes all this in and asks, “Why are you here?”
“I chose you,” the other replies, as if this should be obvious. “So I get to study you.” He waves a small keycard between two fingers.
“How did you get your hands on that?”
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “It’s not stealing if it was freely given, if that is what you are implying.” The sleek silver glints in the low light before it’s tucked away. He continues, “Yixing is my sponsor. And he is Yifan’s companion.”
Jongin doesn’t reply. Just stands there as Kyungsoo sets everything down on the ground, watching him put the canvas down and all the paints on top of it.
Instead of beginning on his work, though, Kyungsoo meets Jongin’s gaze again through the glass and tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering to ask a question.
When he does, though, it surprises Jongin, less of the question itself, but more that Jongin has a feeling that it’s not what Kyungsoo had wanted to ask at first.
“Do you believe in the Book?”
Blinking, Jongin glances back at the open tome on his desk and back at Kyungsoo. “What?”
“The Book of Truth,” Kyungsoo says, crossing his arms and flicking his chin at it. “Do you believe the history that’s written there?”
“Yes...” Jongin says this slowly, not sure what Kyungsoo means. “Of course, the Crown herself wrote it and ―”
“Wake up, Jongin.”
The cutting words snap through the air so sharply that it’s as if the sound had weight and cracks the glass between them.
Before he can even react, Kyungsoo is striding right towards the glass plane and not slowing, just coming closer and closer, each step punctuated with words ― “This is no haven, no paradise. This is a prison, a cage.”
And without warning, he’s walking straight through the glass.
Jongin is so shocked that he can’t even move and, in a blink, Kyungsoo is right before him, slanting his head back and his mouth pressed in a firm line.
“And there’s no escape,” Kyungsoo murmurs, lips barely moving. “There’s nowhere to run.”
Up close, Kyungsoo looks somehow softer, even when he is glaring so intently at Jongin now. It might be the way that Jongin is a good 10cms taller or that the angular light-rays blurs the features of his face. But the roundness of Kyungsoo’s eyes are delicate, dipping at the corners, and they remind Jongin of gentle hills that slide seamlessly into the horizon.
Yet somehow the intensity of his scrutiny almost seems to tear Jongin apart from the inside.
“No,” Jongin says, his throat dry, fighting the sensation of being consumed and swallowed in the darkness. “You’re lying.”
Kyungsoo makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I may be without feeling,” he says, taking a step back and shaking his head, “but I am not a liar―”
“You escaped.”
Jongin shocks himself with these words far more than he startles Kyungsoo.
Freezing, Kyungsoo stares at him, so wide now that the whites of his eyes are prominent against the black of his pupils, so wide it could be mistaken for fear. Yet, even without emotion, it is not a fearful expression. From the tilt of his head to the waver in Kyungsoo’s gaze as he searches Jongin’s face, Jongin can’t help but feel that he is a master of faking emotions.
When Kyungsoo finally speaks a few moments later, it is measured, like he’s carefully choosing his words. “I...did.”
“Prove it.”
At this Kyungsoo leans back and lets out a laugh. It’s as heartless as a scream would be.
“So naive,” he murmurs, piercing into Jongin. “How? What do I do to show that I can feel emotions? Like this? Or like this? Or like this? ” Each time he says it has a different tone to it. Happiness, sadness, anger. The inflections and expressions change so fast that Jongin’s head spins. “Is that what you really want to be asking?”
Something changes in the depths of Kyungsoo’s eyes. It seems to close and fill until it finally has bottom, an end to the continuum of nothingness that was there before.
Cheeks flaring, Jongin swallows and whispers, “How did you escape?”
Just like that, Kyungsoo seems to collapse into himself and his eyes return to their initial emptiness. “I can’t tell you.” Jongin starts to make a sound of annoyance, but Kyungsoo is already turning away and slipping out through the glass again like a sunray just passing by.
He rests his forehead against the sheer boundary between them, breath heating up the surface. “But you will know,” he says. “I… I cannot tell you. But I can teach you.”
Jongin’s nodding before realizing it and the gesture seems to reassure Kyungsoo, who strides to the control board on the wall, his finger scrolling down the screen full of songs.
There is a hesitation so brief that Jongin would have missed it, had he not been watching Kyungsoo’s every movement. But then the speakers purr into life and Jongin’s muscles twitch out of habit and long hours of practice.
“Dance for me.”
The song Kyungsoo chooses is a tender piece about a lover expressing his love for his companion. Jongin has done this dance hundreds, thousands of times, but this time is something else entirely.
Kyungsoo watches Jongin dance for a while, eyes as unreadable as ever. Yet there is a tremble in his hands when he settles down on the ground before the glass and sets the canvas across his knees.
He doesn’t paint that night. Not on the canvas at least. In a way, Jongin thinks that Kyungsoo is sketching him in his mind ― smudging his outlines and honing his silhouettes, dousing it all in color, erasing everything into unity. All from the way Kyungsoo watches his every movement, every gesture, every expression in a manner that Jongin couldn’t explain, yet somehow knew.
They go through a few more songs like this, Jongin losing himself in the rhythm of lyric after lyric, splattering his soul upon the smooth floor, and Kyungsoo interpreting it all with quiet eyes and quieter presence.
Finally, after a slow lullaby, Jongin hears the music player click off and it feels like waking up from a familiar dream, only to find that the world has changed while he slept.
Kyungsoo already has his canvas tucked under his arm again and lets a small curve bend the corner of his lips by the time Jongin realizes.
“Good night, Jongin.”
And Jongin’s spared an answer. Kyungsoo’s gone, out the door, swallowed by the darkness.
Even with the lack of clocks in his world, Jongin can hear something clicking in the back of his mind, marking a pitiless time that waits for no one.
✥✥✥
The night’s encounter, though a slippery trickster through his dreams afterwards, is almost completely pushed to the back of Jongin’s mind the next morning as the preparations for the Gathering begin in full force. It’s set to start in two days and there are murmurs of wonder on why the hurry this year, though they are quickly dismissed by the Keepers.
For the first time, every Evoker, some whom Jongin has never seen before, is let out from their chambers at the same time, cleaning them out and helping their neighbors and taking every moment to practice. And there are some who can’t resist showing off.
Jongin is watching a tall Evoker on the other side of the hall who Baekhyun tells him is named Younghyun manipulating the multi-colored tattoos that slither between and over the prominent veins across his skin, when someone taps on his shoulder.
It’s Yoongi, one of the higher-ranking Keepers with worn blonde hair and clever narrow eyes, and he passes Jongin a small sheet of paper.
“Your performance time for her Majesty, the Crown,” he explains, his words low and unhurried but somehow effortlessly confident. “Be sure to let a Keeper know before then if there is a song change. Otherwise, it is the one listed on there.”
Jongin nods and carefully tucks the folded paper into his pocket.
Yoongi doesn’t walk away yet, just continues to look at him, dark eyes roaming across Jongin’s face. “The Council and the Keepers are most intrigued,” he says, dragging out the last word, “by the one Master Kyungsoo has chosen to be his muse.” Then his eyes flick over to a spot over Jongin’s right shoulder just before Jongin hears running steps.
Behind him, Jongin senses Chanyeol skidding to a halt, but he doesn’t dare to turn around.
Yoongi’s eyes somehow narrow even more as a ghost of a smirk quirks his lips before he twists away, throwing over his shoulder, “Try not to disappoint.” If it were anyone else, it would have been a tease, at most a pointed challenge. But from Yoongi’s mouth, it’s almost like a threat.
Chanyeol waits until the Keeper is well out of earshot before asking, “Try not to disappoint who?”
Jongin lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he had been holding. “The Brotherhood, Sisterhood, and every single Keeper apparently,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, never really been a fan of them,” the tall red-head says. “Or Yoongi for that matter. Why can’t we have someone cool like Hyunsik watching over us?”
“He only does night duty,” Jongin reminds him as he straightens, dusting off his shirt and pants and heading back to their sector. “Which is still pretty good for someone who has disobeyed Seokjin in the past.”
“I guess,” Chanyeol says, falling quiet and trailing after him.
But if there is one thing that Jongin knows about Chanyeol, it is that the latter cannot say silent for long. Especially when there is something he is curious about.
He finally bursts when they reach their respective doors. “So,” Chanyeol says, trying to sound casual. “What happened last night?”
“He just came over,” Jongin says, focusing on the scanpad outside his door as to avoid meeting Chanyeol’s eyes, “and I danced and he left...”
Unsatisfied, the other pursues, “What did you two do? Did you talk? He was there for quite a while.”
With a small bip, the chamber door glides open and Jongin’s eyes fall on the Book still lying on his desk. “No,” he mutters. “We didn’t talk. He just...painted.”
At this, Chanyeol pauses, leaning over to peer into Jongin’s face. Then he must have seen something in Jongin’s eyes because he nods understandingly, straightens, and scans himself into his own chamber without further questions.
Jongin is both grateful, and disappointed.
✥✥✥
Kyungsoo comes back earlier tonight with no forewarning, armed with the same materials.
Not that Jongin was expecting his visit, but he doesn’t want to admit that he had been waiting all day for Kyungsoo to come back. Still, he can’t fight the perk in his ears when he hears the chamber door opening or the quickness of his step to greet the older at the glass.
But Kyungsoo barely acknowledges him when he enters the room, looking only at the items before him.
Jongin watches him set up, wilting slightly, the hundreds of questions about last night almost dying on his tongue at being ignored. The older doesn’t offer to start the conversation either, just scrolls through the digital tracklist and chooses a song that Jongin had never danced to before, then running his fingers over the various paint tubes the same way another Evoker named Jaehyung strums his guitar.
He finally bursts when Kyungsoo chooses a pair of teal and cerulean colors and dips a paint brush in both.
“Don’t they watch you?”
Kyungoo’s eyes flicker up to look at Jongin through his short bangs, but not high enough to meet Jongin’s gaze. “Hyunsik is a friend of mine,” he says simply. “He knows when to turn a blind eye.”
With that, the struggle inside Jongin untangles and smooths itself into the pit of his stomach. He gives up and resigns to sitting back down on his bed, picking at the stray threads of his pillow.
The silence between them whines long and mournful, muffled only by the soft instrumental still playing on loop.
Just as the sliver of hope within Jongin starts to wane into darkness, Kyungsoo speaks up. “Tell me what you believe of the history of the Crown.”
Despite the immediate flush of excitement and leaning forward so that his feet fall off the side of the bed, Jongin considers this for a while.
“Well,” he says, feeling Kyungsoo’s focus on him, “in the beginning, there was a darkness that coveted the light Evokers possessed, stealing under doorways and claiming hosts in hopes of catching some of these powers. Then her Majesty the Crown started a revolution and fought with the Evokers with fighting abilities to keep the evil at bay.” He pauses for a moment to think. “But the darkness had claimed most of the population of Citizens, so it is up to Keepers and Evokers with S-grade powers to keep everyone safe. Only the rich, who gained their status from their rejection of the evils, are sophisticated enough to understand how it is. They are honored guests ―” He cuts off.
Kyungsoo is shaking his head, dark eyes closed, and his slender frame and shoulders are trembling. Bewildered, Jongin is at a loss of words before ―
“You’re laughing,” Jongin says, his tone accusatory.
“Sometimes I believe that the universe has a sense of humor,” Kyungsoo says, quieting. It’s then that Jongin notices that the laughter never reaches his eyes. “However, I am going to tell you the truth, not the lies the Book speaks of.”
Leaning back onto his palms, Jongin watches the way the shadows slither down the column of neck that melts seamlessly into lean-muscled shoulders. “Her Highness, the Crown, or Chaerin ― oh, don’t look at me like that,” Kyungsoo says impatiently. Jongin had made an involuntary sound in the back of his throat when Kyungsoo had addressed the Crown by her name, but Kyungsoo continues on.
“No one really knows much about Chaerin before the Revolution, but she gained power by persuading the Others to her side. Gave them false humanity, named them Citizens, and killed most of the Evokers, for she feared that one day the Evokers would remember their true name, birthright, and reclaim their Kingdom.”
Jongin is suddenly breathless. It’s all too much to take in. “What- what was our real name?”
Shaking his head, Kyungsoo shrugs. “No one knows; Chaerin made sure of that. Destroyed all records and wiped everyone’s memories clean.”
“Then why are we-” Jongin makes a gesture at all of the surrounding chambers “-still here?”
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow together. “Evokers, without useful S-grade fighting powers, exist for only one reason. You exist to remind them how meaningless, how worthless, how messy feelings are. You exist to remind them that it is pointless to have emotions when true power is to be strong.”
He turns away and the words seem to make the very air vibrate with its intensity. “The Crown has no use for those who can feel empathy or remorse, after all….”
Jongin feels a chill and a clenching in his chest long before Kyungsoo speaks, and it only heightens the awareness of those empty, empty eyes.
“Killing is easy,” Kyungsoo murmurs, “when you feel nothing at all.”
Involuntarily, Jongin wraps his arms around himself and this time, can’t resist the shudder that torrents through him. Yet, despite it all, despite how world-shattering it is to everything he has ever known… something clicks.
“What’s it like outside?” He asks, finally, doing whatever he can to stop the cold from stripping from him all the warmth as well as the last bit of sanity. “Is it scary?”
Kyungsoo hums and closes his eyes, tilting his chin back and falling again to his palms for support. “Only birds born in cages think flying is an illness,” he murmurs. “And you have nothing to fear ―”
Suddenly, Jongin is sure he hears something drop outside the chamber’s doors, like a glass bead cracking against the tiles and rolling across the floor. And, as if this is a switch, Kyungsoo’s entire aura changes.
With a breakneck speed, Kyungsoo is sitting back straight, canvas resting in his lap, pencil in his hand, his eyes intent.
“You have nothing to be afraid of, least of all, impressing the Crown,” he says smoothly as the charcoal blurs itself into the tarp surface. “You are art, motion. Music come alive. People don’t forget those.” A millisecond pause. “You’ll last...forever.”
Jongin’s head snaps up in confusion and is about to speak, when he catches something in Kyungsoo’s expression that steals his words away.
The night stretches on between them, rippling with unspoken tension. Jongin tries to speak many times, but everything about Kyungsoo is a firm “no,” from his refusal to meet his eyes to his clear outpouring of thoughts onto the white canvas, now gray with lead shapes in patterns only Kyungsoo understands.
Finally, finally, Kyungsoo is stuffing his things away and wordlessly moving towards the door, without so much as a goodbye when the night grows deep. Jongin is about to speak, but―
“Five days, Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, long fingers curling against the doorframe. “You have five days to create something worth remembering. Don’t forget that.”
It’s only after Kyungsoo retreats into the darkness past the chamber doors that he realizes the older had somehow knew about his performance date, and he wonders if that’s also how long Kyungsoo has to create something worthy of the Crown.
It feels far more like a death sentence than a mere deadline.
✥✥✥
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Jongin is so lost in thought that the smooth voice startles him, less because of the proximity, but more so that it isn’t Chanyeol.
He turns to meet the playfully feline eyes of Jongdae, who sits down beside him against the wall, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows that settle on his knees.
There has always been a quiet understanding between them. While Chanyeol is Jongin’s foil and brings out more parts of him than anyone else, Jongdae just calmly exists beside him, neither taking nor giving. They’ve only spent a few times together over the couple years they’ve known each other, and to outsiders, they are reserved and silent.
But really it is anything but.
They speak in expressions and their emotion-filled eyes, almost telepathic in connection. Charged and intense that when they are together, it is just them.
So Jongin trusts Jongdae in a way that he doesn’t with Chanyeol.
Biting his lip, Jongin adverts his eyes but Jongdae chases him and holds the contact again. Anyone else it would have been invasive.
“Well, I know- I know this might sound crazy,” Jongin starts.
Jongdae lets out a sound between a hum and a snort, but still makes no sign that Jongin should stop.
“But- um… but do you believe everything in the Book?”
There is the slightest, slightest flicker of surprise in Jongdae’s dark gray eyes at this, but he doesn’t let it show.
One thing that Jongin appreciates about the older is that he always takes Jongin seriously. Even when they are joking and playing around, he never mocks or pushes aside the dancer’s words because he knows that Jongin doesn’t speak much, but there is always truth behind his words.
“That’s a heavy question,” Jongdae admits, his gaze sliding away to watch Chanyeol and a younger Evoker named Wonpil tossing fireballs between each other.
Jongin can see Jongdae digesting his words, and, as he takes in the furrowed eyebrows and thinned lips, he suddenly realizes with a heavy shock that this is something Jongdae has thought about and not anything that comes off as a surprise to the other man.
“I think,” Jongdae says, words hanging like a chandelier between them, “there’s always two sides to the story. Until the lion learns to write,” he meets Jongin’s gaze. There’s a deep-seated force in those depths that has Jongin’s senses ignited with electricity, “the story will always glorify the hunter.”
Considering this, Jongin’s brain is alight with thoughts and feelings. Of everything Kyungsoo had said, of Jongdae’s secret understanding, of all the things he hardly can keep contained in his head.
Through the haze of his thoughts, he can feel Jongdae watching him, his clear eyes all-seeing. “You’ve been thinking a lot about this.” The tone is gentle.
Jongin tugs his legs up against his chest and buries his face into his knees. “I- I just don’t know what to believe anymore.”
There is a small thump as Jongdae rests his head against the plated wall. “You’ve always watched the guests differently than the others, treated them different too. Chanyeol thinks you’re too curious for your own good.”
“And what do you think?”
Jongdae’s dark hair scratches against the surface as he inclines his head to face Jongin in a way that makes his cat-like smile even more unreadable. “I think it’s more that you need to decide for yourself.”
“Then how do you decide?”
This question, though Jongin had thought about it and it had been rising to the tip of his tongue, is not articulated by him, on a distinct voice that is not his. It’s lower in timbre but somehow child-like in its style.
Both look up in time to see a youthful Evoker plop down in front of them, his lips pulled wide in an impish rectangular smile. And his hair, a jarringly unnatural shade of orange, sweeps into his daringly mischievous eyes.
Before Jongin and Jongdae can even react to this newcomer, there is a loud “Taehyung!” and another young man with jet-black hair comes over, his expression almost comically upset.
“Stop disappearing on me like that! You almost made me crash into Namjoon when looking for you. And it’s rude to barge in on conversations!”
“But we’ve been listening and it’s interesting!” the one named Taehyung whines. “And I told you I would be right back.”
Huffing, the other Evoker turns to Jongin and Jongdae, still dumbstruck by the turn of events. “So sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop or intrude. My name is Jimin and this is Taehyung. We’re in chambers A6 and A7.”
Jongdae recovers first and introduces himself and Jongin, during which Taehyung sways in his spot and in a characteristically Chanyeol sort of way.
“I heard lion and got super excited,” Taehyung pipes up as soon as the formalities are over. “What else did we miss?”
Flicking his eyes to meet Jongdae’s before answering, Jongin decides not to hide anything, but not revealing everything either. “Just… talking about the history of the Crown, and how it all came to be,” he says lightly.
“Well, I think anything can happen,” Taehyung replies, without missing a heartbeat, “especially outside these walls ― Oh Jimin,” he says crossly when the black-haired boy chirped in annoyance. “You heard the way the Keepers talk about the outside! Jungkook probably still has marks on his wrists after talking to you that one time about how big the sky is, and how seaside sunsets look at certain times of the year…”
As this exchange goes on, Jongin chances a glance at Jongdae and receives the same hard shock from before to see a now distinctly pained expression on those chiseled features, both anguished but also lost and misty.
“Anyway,” Taehyung cuts in, standing up and dusting off his pants, “I think anything’s possible. As they say,” he tosses a sly wink over his shoulder as he turns away, “impossibility is only a kiss away from reality.”
✥✥✥
“Please don’t ignore me again like you did yesterday.”
Kyungsoo peers up at him from his spot on the floor through long lashes at this, hand pausing in its rummaging through a small bag at his side. Jongin would feel self-conscious at his directness, but he has too many questions and his earnestness floods every other emotion out.
“I’m sorry,” Kyungsoo says, and he does sound so. “I… I just have a lot on my mind.”
Jongin flushes.
“But,” the other continues, the corners of his lips turning up slightly, “I was not planning on acting like last night. I have something for you.”
Reaching into his small bag, he pulls out a small card, but it doesn’t fold. On one side is a scenic picture of a mountain range, topped with white and littered with specks of color. When Kyungsoo turns it, Jongin sees writing in another language on the other side, with a smaller picture in the top right hand corner.
“This is a postcard,” he explains. “People used to send them to each other when they were apart.”
Jongin’s nose is so close to the glass now that his breath slightly fogs the surface. He can see it smudged in places where the dark blue ink had must have rubbed up against skin.
“This means that someone had traveled far to an unfamiliar place,” Kyungsoo explains, flipping back to the mountain. “Maybe they loved it, or maybe they were ambivalent. But,” he turns it again to the inked side, “they thought of a loved one they have left behind, temporarily or not, and sent back a piece so that ― just for an instant ― they see the same thing.”
Taking the postcard off, Kyungsoo lowers his eyes to read. Jongin barely catches it, but then Kyungsoo is translating, “Doesn’t matter the distance or time apart, as long as we see the same sky, we are together. ”
Now, he slips the postcard away and pulls out a soft-cover book, much thinner and more flexible than the Book of Truth. Standing up and flipping through a few pages, he stops at one near the beginning and presses its face flat up against the glass between them.
It’s a sparse book, to his surprise, with only a few lines of words file across the top right corner of the page.
“Can you read it?” Kyungsoo asks, leaning to the right to peek at Jongin, who nods.
“This is a book of poems,” he continues, taking it down and turning a few more pages. “This is how books are meant to be ― full of passion, hope, life. A real book is a dream you can hold in your hands. Here, let me show you another...”
When he is pressing the volume against the barrier again, Jongin finds himself saying before he can stop himself, “Can’t you...you know, come in?”
The book slides a little when Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I can only pass through at certain times, I’m not even quite sure how to do it. Just… that I can.”
Jongin tries not to deflate, but then, “Then could you read it instead? Aloud?” He instantly blushes, when he voices his thoughts. “I-I mean,” he amends. “You don’t have to, I just…”
“The free bird leaps, ” Kyungsoo interrupts, his dark eyes downcast and his voice following a finger that drags across the page, “on the back of the wind / and floats downstream / till the current ends / and dips his wings / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky. ”
He peeks up at Jongin and a smile spreads across his full lips. Jongin realizes that his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t help it.
Kyungsoo lets out a low chuckle before settling down on the floor again without breaking pace again. And Jongin is entranced, a strange feeling swells in his lungs while he sits down across from Kyungsoo, both feeling and forgetting the distance and obstacle between them.
“But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.”
Jongin gets intoxicated on the sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, letting it occupy every cell of his being and feeling his pulse slow to fall in rhythm and harmony with Kyungsoo’s melody.
When Kyungsoo finishes, Jongin almost forgets to keep breathing.
“You should keep a journal,” Kyungsoo says, shutting the book and returning to his bag. “Tell it how it makes you think, what it makes you feel.”
Nodding numbly, Jongin is in a daze, a high that he only associates with dancing. When he glances up again, Kyungsoo’s expression is gentle, almost tender, and Jongin finds he wants Kyungsoo to always look at him this way.
Moments after Kyungsoo leaves, Jongin is lying on his back on top of his blankets. He stares at the blank ceiling, but all he really is seeing the image of Kyungsoo smiling so softly, resting a small hand against his chest, right over where his heart is, and murmuring,
“A pencil and a dream can take you anywhere. Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”
He throws his arm over his eyes and tries desperately to catch himself.
✥✥✥
Jongin doesn’t sleep that night.
At some point in the near darkness of his chamber, he wakes, and he wakes with an aching need to write. Soon all he knows is the outpour of words, images, anything onto the rustic journal he straps together, that have no rhyme or reason, yet they speak to and make sense to a deep primal urgency that he can never even begin to explain.
It’s a slow descent into mindlessness, just knowing the blood pounding in the temples. He writes about the Crown, of Chanyeol, of the poem, of the Keepers, of sketchy silhouettes on tarp surfaces, of Citizens, of dreams, of Taehyung and Jimin, of Jongdae…
And, of course, of Kyungsoo…
The single name that is splattered in all kinds of forms and connected all the wayward stars of his mind into distinct yet murky constellations…
Only when a hard tap on his shoulder and a “hey! ” does he finally snap out of his trance.
Jerking so violently that he almost falls out of his chair, Jongin looks blearily up into the hard dark eyes of a Keeper he doesn’t recognize. He seems too young to be a guard, hardly a man, with short black hair and round eyes. He is built strongly in a way that makes his broad shoulders tell the story of a boy forced to grow up too fast, too soon.
“Time for breakfast,” the teenager says shortly, jerking his head towards the doors.
Half nodding and half bowing, Jongin hastily tugs on a long sleeved shirt over pants and pushes past the boy.
✥✥✥
“You look like shit,” Baekhyun comments as Jongin slides in the seated circle, far from the center arena. It’s less crowded now because Jongin had joined so late, with most of the Evokers off to the practice rooms or cleaning duty.
Jongin ignores this remark and takes the spot Chanyeol and Jongdae vacate for him, balancing his bowl of porridge and vegetables.
“Didn’t sleep well,” he mutters, meeting no one’s eyes. “Had weird dreams.”
Chanyeol makes a low sound of understanding. “Must be the stress for the Gathering, I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he says, clapping Jongin on the shoulder and almost making him drop his food. “I’ve had the same dream about a dark red cat chasing after me, ever since the announcement. I always start throwing fireballs at it and it either stops to play with it or swallows it whole.”
Next to him, Sehun nods too. “Yeah, I’ve had nightmares about my performance tomorrow. That I won’t catch myself in time and drown in the river.”
Jongdae raises his eyebrows and leans around Jongin and Chanyeol to ask, “Oh, you’re choosing to jump from the Northwest Tower again?”
“Yeah,” Sehun replies, shrugging. “I couldn’t prepare anything else in time. Air choreo is hard on short notice...”
They fall into easy conversation, trading stories and laughs over their empty bowls. Jongin isn’t really listening or eating, just swirling the soft white grains of his porridge around and around. Just thinking about how to breach the topic on his mind.
When there is a slight pause in talk, with his voice just low enough to go under the Keepers’ radar, but high enough to get the attention of everyone sitting around him, Jongin asks, “Do you guys ever, you know, have any dreams about outside of Exordia?”
The intensity and speed of the silence that crashes down upon them would have been admirable in any other situation, especially with the presence of both Chanyeol and Baekhyun. They all stare at him, with varying degrees of bewilderment. Except Jongdae, really, as he hides an amused grin behind a sip of his drink.
“I do!”
Taehyung appears without warning again and he drops down across from Jongin and between a still gaping Baekhyun and dumbstruck Sehun, as if the orange-haired boy had known everyone present their whole life. Not far behind, Jimin settles tentatively with a bow next to Taehyung and Jongdae.
Chanyeol stares. “Who are these kids?”
“Taehyung and Jimin,” Jongdae says as he indicates each, clearly fighting back a laugh and losing. “They are the level below and they...” He blinks. “Wait, you never told us your gifts.”
Jimin lets out a snort. “Yeah, because Taehyung has the most useless one.”
At this, Taehyung pouts and sniffs, “Just because you have a higher grade talent, doesn’t mean―”
“He changes his hair color,” Jimin interrupts. “Show them.”
Taehyung promptly shuts up. Then he focuses his eyes at Baekhyun’s feet and stares at it. Instantly, it’s like someone had dumped a whole paint bucket on his head, each of the bright orange strands fades into a pleasant lilac color, the exact shade of Baekhyun’s shoes.
Impressed, everyone lets out sounds of appreciation.
Urged on by the collective response, Taehyung continues to change his hair color to the bright red of Sehun’s T-shirt, the dark green of Jongin’s jacket, the deep blue of Jongdae’s belt, and a few others before settling on a soft pink with a satisfied, “I’m gonna keep this color.”
Chanyeol turns to Jimin, who had been watching his companion’s display with a warm look in his eyes and jumps at the change of attention. “And what about you, shorty?”
Jimin responds by letting out a loud squawk of annoyance that sounds … almost too realistic. Then seeing the shock on everyone’s face, he grins before whistling then cooing.
“I mimic birds,” he explains, puffing out his chest. “Or at least that’s what my performance card says: Grade A ― Bird Mimicking.”
Fascinated, Chanyeol nods, “I mean none of us have ever heard one, but it still sounds pretty cool. Better than those stupid whistles the Keepers used to use.”
“So what about you guys?” Taehyung asks, grinning at everyone. “State your name, chamber number, and talent. Go!”
Laughing, Baekhyun starts with, “Baekhyun, B11, Light manipulation,” followed by, “Sehun, B4, Aerial dance / Wind manipulation.” Then it’s, “Chanyeol, B6, Fire manipulation,” then “Jongdae, Cll, Vocals,” and finally, “Jongin, B5, Dance.”
“Good shit, good shit,” Taehyung approves.
Jimin looks thoughtful. “Say,” he asks, “have any of you met any of the S-grade Evokers before? I heard they are pretty intimidating...”
“He’s one,” Baekhyun replies, pointing at Jongdae.
Jongin grimaces at the grim look that crosses Jongdae’s face and throws a you shouldn’t have said that glare at Baekhyun, who shrugs. It’s an unspoken promise between them not to ask or mention Jongdae’s dios status, ever since Jongdae finally opened up to them after a whole year’s of solitary confinement.
Jimin’s eyes widen as he whispers, awestruck, “Woah! A dios! An A- and a S-grade! What’s your other talent? It must be the S-grade one, since you’ve got power inhibitors.” He gestures at the metallic cuffs at Jongdae’s wrists.
“Observant,” Jongdae replies, nodding and still shifting uncomfortably. “Lightning manipulation, or really any electrical or energy control. Or I don’t even know if I can even control it...” He fades off and absently plays with his shackles.
“How come none of the Keepers tried to Initiate you yet?” Taehyung demands.
Letting out a low chuckle, Jongdae smiles and says, “Oh, they tried. Couldn’t control me. Wouldn’t give my allegiance, you see, didn’t want to be a dirty consort.” The last word is spat out, full of so much venom.
There is a murmur of assent. Initiates are Evokers that are talented enough in fighting arts that the Keepers recruit them to become guards as well. But every Evoker loathes the sell-outs, who trade their gifts for a life outside the walls of Exordia and they usually never return.
“So they cuffed me up and dumped me unceremoniously here,” Jongdae finishes, trying to sound lighthearted.
Everyone laughs, but Taehyung stops first, suddenly fixing Jongdae with an intent scrutiny that has Jongdae’s newfound smile slipping off again. “What?”
“If you’ve tried to leave,” Taehyung says, “then, you know about how it is out there?”
“I...do.”
Jimin makes a low “Taehyung” warningly, but he ignores it.
“Then what do you remember?” He pursues, leaning forward and maintaining his stare. “What do you miss? Do you miss it? Do you dream about leaving?”
Raising his hand, Jongdae replies, with a bittersweet smile, “Easy there. I still dream about it, yes, but...that’s another story for another time.”
Taehyung deflates a little at this and pouts at Jimin, who just shakes his head, his hand almost touching Taehyung’s leg in comfort.
“What are your dreams, Taehyung,” Chanyeol pipes up, “if you’re so eager to leave?”
Brightening back up so fast it’s almost as if he hadn’t stopped in the first place, Taehyung beams, “My dream is to see more colors.” He turns to look up at the clerestory windows above them, shining down with artificial light. “I know there are more undiscovered things to see out there. I just know it, I can feel it. I want to know them all.” His eyes become misty as he loses himself in all the possibilities. “Maybe we’ll achieve it if we’re chosen...”
Then, just briefly there’s a bitter look that crosses Taehyung’s face, but it’s gone as he amends, though still wistfully, “Well, if Jimin gets chosen, since he has a better chance than me.”
Jimin’s eyebrows furrow at this and there is a glint of something in the corner of his eye. “I’d never leave you ―”
Before he can continue or anyone can fully process this exchange, there is a loud echoing clap and they look around to see Hyunsik striding over, smiling.
“Time to go ladies,” he says, flicking a thumb over his shoulder at the now-empty hall.
Chanyeol blinks up at him. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you usually on night duty?”
“The Gathering changes things around here,” Hyunsik replies. “Need all the hands we can get before opening night tomorrow. Speaking of which,” he nods at them, “Taehyung and Baekhyun, stage duty. Chanyeol, Sehun, you have arena-cleaning….”
Everyone gets up after their delegated tasks and patter away in pairs, still chatting away. But Jongin hangs back, after noticing someone isn’t following the group. Jimin is still sitting, black hair slipping into his eyes as he fiddles with his shirt hem and jumps when Jongin slides in next to him.
“You okay?” Jongin says, tilting his eyes to look at Jimin.
He nods. “Yeah, just thinking… you know…”
“Then what about you, Jimin?” Jongin asks gently. “What are your dreams?”
“Me?” The younger Evoker’s smile falters. He gazes out into the emptying room. “I… I guess I just want to see them too. You know, more colors...”
But Jongin already knows. Knows the way Jimin watches Taehyung, knows the meaningful gazes thrown like a net to capture every one of Taehyung’s expressions, as if someone had just told him to memorize Taehyung’s face. Knows that it’s far less about seeing everything the outside world has to offer, but because Jimin is already seeing his entire world in all its splendor in his companion’s smile.
✥✥✥
“What do you and Kyungsoo talk about at night?” Chanyeol asks later outside of their rooms, before the chamber doors close for the night.
“We-we don’t.” Jongin doesn’t know why he had lied, he’s never lied to Chanyeol before. But something dislodges from his mind and catches in his voice, stopping him from telling. “Why?”
Chanyeol’s eyes narrow a little. “I don’t know, you just look at everything...differently. More different than before. Like someone’s given you new eyes or something. So I just figured...” Although the tone is light, Jongin can sense a deeper feeling underneath the layers of offhandedness.
Shaking his head, Jongin glances over at his taller friend and tries a smile. “No, there isn’t anything that happened that I would be ashamed of.”
“You can always tell me anything,” Chanyeol says quietly. Even in the shadows of the slanted light, his eyes burn brightly against the wash of gray.
Jongin meets his gaze just as strongly, and hopes desperately that his eyes and words don’t betray him. “I know.”
Part 2