bloodstained dewdrops (and other darwinian phenomena)
Title: Bloodstained Dewdrops (and Other Darwinian Phenomena)
Pairings: Kai/D.O, past!Suho/Chen
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror
Warnings: Hover
Length: ~6.6k
Summary: There are more ways to worship than you think.
(A/N: This was written for the 2015 round of kyungsooperior! It was originally intended, of course, to be only Kaisoo, but the focus of the fic derailed a little in the process (though I'd still consider it a Kaisoo fic). I hope that doesn't take away too much from whether or not you enjoy it! Also, this was a fic idea that was in the running since even before I finished Athanasia, so it's great to finally get this out there. Happy Kyungsooperior everyone~)
Kyungsoo jolts awake when he hears the trunk of the car popping open, light screaming into the cramped space and filtering through the thin paper bag over his head. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and tries to bring a hand over his face. The handcuffs pull taut behind him, metal digging into his wrist. When he tries to yelp, he chokes on the cloth wrapped around his mouth and between his lips, dust rushing into his lungs.
Voices outside. Kyungsoo does his best to hold his breath, reminding himself that he’s supposed to be here. Whether or not he thought he’d be tied up and gagged is irrelevant. His body racks as he tries to stop himself from coughing, and he turns away from the light, lying face down, curled atop the rough trunk lining.
Eventually, two people grab his upper arms, jerking him out of the trunk and half-setting-half-dropping him down on what feels like grass, damp and cool and refreshing. They snatch the paper bag away and he shouts in surprise, turning away from the daylight and digging into the dirt with his forehead. Rough hands push him back and forth as they ungag him, ripping the cloth from his mouth so crudely that he feels blood pooling at the sides of his mouth. His shoulder makes a popping noise when they tug on his wrists to undo the handcuffs and he whimpers, holding back a scream. A vague hint of gratefulness in the back of his mind when he notices they’re wearing gloves.
“Now, now! Now, be gentle with him,” someone says. The voice is slightly high-pitched, nasally. Kyungsoo cringes, hoping it’s not The Teacher even though he knows it is. If he’d known the guy would sound like this, he might have reconsidered. Although, he reminds himself, feeling the grass tickle his eyelids as he blinks them open, anything to stop the incessant Receiving would be fine at this point. Kyungsoo listens to The Teacher’s shoes brushing over the grass, coming towards him.
He bends down. Kyungsoo breathes against the grass, trying to calm himself, but his breaths come quick and shallow and hyperventilating isn’t helping him in the slightest. He closes his eyes and swallows. The Teacher places a gentle hand on his back, patting him a few times.
“How are you faring?” The Teacher says, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Take your time. I honestly do not understand why they have to be so brutal, always. I never asked to have you gagged. Or even handcuffed, although I see why that would be a wise precautionary step. Perhaps they are sadists. Getting off on the job would never be a good choice though… Ah, I digress.”
Yeah, Kyungsoo thinks. Juuuuust a little. He wants to say something, but it’s hard to breathe, and the warmth of the sunlight and tickle of the grass and The Teacher’s soothing hand over his back remind him of how tired he is. Eyes still closed, he opens his mouth to try and even his breathing again.
When he wakes, the sun is still at the same place in the sky and he can’t tell if he’s been asleep for a matter of minutes or some multiple of twenty-four hours. The Teacher is still kneeling next to him, rubbing his back in the exact same rhythm. Groaning, Kyungsoo brings his hands around from behind his back and pushes himself up, squinting as he looks around.
He’s sitting in the middle of a large, grassy field, speckled with small yellow flowers-probably weeds-and skinny beige mushrooms. Straight ahead of him, about a half-mile away, spans a thick wall of redwood trees. From here, it looks as though they’ve been planted in precise rows and columns, almost so perfect that if it weren’t for the depth of the forest, you’d probably be able to see to the other side. Behind him, the same thing. To his right, too, save for a small dirt path carved out for the car disappearing through the clearing, dust clouds puffing out from under the wheels.
To his left, a white mansion sits atop a small hill. The border of the grass field encircles a grey marble driveway of sorts, and somewhere along the way the dirt path thins and uncovers the same faded stone, lined with polished bricks on either side. Behind the entryway, the mansion is all straight edges and sharp corners, and if you took off the roof, it would probably look like a giant white box with two smooth pillars and an expansive ripple of stairs at the front, slightly off-center, to the left. The windows are all shut, white blinds drawn closed. The only way to see inside is from the glass double door at the front.
Kyungsoo stares at the mansion a long while before he realizes The Teacher is still rubbing his back, and he flinches away, a slight shiver running down his spine. He blinks a few times, focusing on The Teacher. He’s dressed oddly formally, considering that this is his house and he’s kneeling in a wet grass field, full-on suit and tie except that the suit is still unbuttoned. His hair is gelled mostly to the side, although the front takes on a little quiff that leans over at the top. His features appear flat from the front, but Kyungsoo can make out sharp cheekbones from the slight angle. He’s quite handsome. Looks a little bit like his boyfriend back at home, just that his eyes are a little smaller, his nose a little thinner, and his face a little longer.
Quite handsome, Kyungsoo thinks again, tearing his gaze away when The Teacher raises an eyebrow at him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d dated a student before.
“Are you feeling awake now?” The Teacher asks, sliding his hand from Kyungsoo’s back and down his arm to take his wrist. “Shall we begin?”
Kyungsoo nods. “Sorry for staring,” he mumbles, allowing The Teacher to help him up as he tries to stand on shaky legs. “I’m still a bit disoriented right now.”
“This usually happens. I should probably hire less aggressive chauffeurs.”
Forcing out a weak chuckle, Kyungsoo allows The Teacher to guide him by the wrist all the way to the mansion, which looks so much bigger up close. He trudges up the stairway to the glass door, which The Teacher unlocks with a passcode and a key before holding open.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “I must finish preparing your room, but in the meantime, feel free to rest here. Also, unless you find it uncomfortable, I would prefer if you leave your shoes at the door.”
The Teacher starts up a stairway to the right of the main hallway and Kyungsoo removes his shoes, places them neatly in the rack, then watches his own feet as he walks across the hardwood floor and steps onto a multi-colored rug to the left. The puffy red couch makes a funny wheezing noise when he lies down, until it deflates enough to support his weight. He closes his eyes for a while, facing the ceiling, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and rolls onto his stomach to call Jongin.
Furrowing his eyebrows at the corner of the screen, Kyungsoo turns the phone on and off airplane mode a few times before restarting it. The information packet could have at least mentioned there’d be no signal here. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.
Sighing, he turns onto his back again and looks around. Hanging from the ceiling on thin, grey cables are small glass bowls with different plants growing in each one. Some pots, hanging lower than the others, grow plants that look like ferns. Towards the top are plants whose leaves grow over the rims and hang downwards, like a frozen shower of leaves.
It’s all very aesthetic, Kyungsoo thinks, turning away from the ceiling to look at the wall in front of his couch. Beside the flat screen TV, a black corner shelf holds on its different levels assorted books, DVDs, glass figures, all arranged neatly. On the top sits another plant, growing inside a smooth, porcelain pot that looks like the profile of a mannequin from his angle. A golden plaque is embedded in front of it, but the letters are too small for him to see. Above it are two cannabis leaves pressed between thin sheets of glass, framed in black and tacked to the wall.
He snorts. Pot aesthetic.
There isn’t much else he can see, lying down on the couch. He goes back to staring at the plant-raindrops hanging from the ceiling until The Teacher’s footsteps creak down the stairs.
“I think your room is prepared now. If you need anything, let me know. My home will be your home until you complete the course, after all.”
“Thank you.” After a brief hesitation, he says, “Do you have a landline or something? I want to call someone to let them know I got here safe. I can email them, too.”
“No landline,” The Teacher says, frowning, “But there is a computer in the next room, if you would like to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you!”
The next room is all but empty, except for the desk that has the computer on it. It’s not as old as he’d thought it would be, maybe an iMac model from three or four years ago. He bows slightly to The Teacher and walks briskly towards the computer, aware that The Teacher is watching him from the door.
jongin!!!! sorry for taking so long to send you this!! ik i said id call but no signal or landline. just this computer w decent internet & proxy(?). annoying but whatever. mansion is super aesthetic with cool plants and pots on ceiling and face-pots and weed framed on walls. haha. pot aesthetic. like pot aesthetic. do you feel me? you totally feel me probably. im ok! yeah? love you! be back soon (hopefully). less than 3, heart emoji, xoxo etc.
On the way back out, he dips his head in a slight bow to the teacher.
“If you want dinner, one of the chauffeurs left an extra Happy Meal in the kitchen.” The Teacher gestures toward the kitchen as he starts toward his own room. Kyungsoo tries not to snicker at the condescension with which he says Happy Meal. “The alarm clock is set for you, and your first lesson begins at 6:00 tomorrow morning.”
“Alright,” Kyungsoo says again. “Thank you for accepting me.”
The Teacher stops in the doorway and smiles.
“Goodnight.”
☠
Somewhere beyond enamored chuckling and Jongin’s fingers flying over black and white keys, contemporary compositions meet the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony blasting in digital static from an old alarm clock. Kyungsoo groans and presses his face into the pillow, peeking an eye open at the time.
5:45 AM. Whoever wrote the goddamn information packet should have mentioned that he’d be getting up every day at the crack of Satan’s ass. Not that it would’ve changed his mind-almost nothing could. But it would have been nice to know.
Kyungsoo facebutts the pillow a few times in an attempt to wake himself up, then rolls all the way to the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom. Sucking in a deep breath, he rolls again and falls onto the floor with a thump, then goes on to roll himself to the bathroom until he hits the door frame and has to stand up to get anywhere else. After splashing ice-cold water on his face, he stumbles down the stairs, shuffling into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” The Teacher says. He’s sitting at the end of a long wooden table with a bowl of Lucky Charms, cereal crunching loudly between his teeth. On the opposite side, closest to Kyungsoo, there is another bowl with a few boxes of cereal in front of it and a carton of milk. “Did you rest well?”
“Well enough. You?” He drags his socks over the hardwood, collapsing into his seat so quickly he feels as though he’s stubbed his coccyx.
The Teacher smiles. “Not too fond of sleeping, but I suppose the same goes for me.”
It’s too early in the morning for Kyungsoo to control his reaction, and he raises his eyebrows a little and peers at The Teacher’s mouth, wondering why something seems a little off about the way he smiles. It’s too symmetrical and his lips stretch a little too thin. If he’d put on some lipstick, he might look like a Korean version of The Joker. He shakes the thought away, barely suppressing a shudder as he pours himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
For the most part, they eat in silence. At one point, Kyungsoo looks around to see a few more of the face-pots, each of them slightly different, along with some baskets of ivy-type plants hanging down above the center of the table. Wisteria vines are pressed between plates of glass and framed like the cannabis leaves in the living room.
“I like your pots,” Kyungsoo says, “and those pressed flower things.”
The Teacher nods, looking quite proud of himself. “Made them all myself.”
After another few minutes of silence, Kyungsoo looks up to see that The Teacher has already finished his cereal and is now staring at him, eyes following his spoon intently as it enters the bowl and then his mouth. Kyungsoo lifts the bowl and scoops the rest quickly into his mouth.
“No rush, next time, but I see that your cereal is finished now. Shall we begin?”
Kyungsoo nods.
They go back upstairs and into a long hallway with too many doors and too many paths to count. The Teacher abruptly stops at one door, pulling a key out of his pocket, and Kyungsoo nearly crashes into him, catching himself mid-step and jerking his body back clumsily.
The room, like all the others, is primarily white. Opposite of the door is a single, lengthwise window that spans the entire wall. There is one large desk, also white, and a small desk-chair system, which is white except for the metal legs and parts connecting everything. Behind the large desk is a chalkboard-the dark green looks astoundingly neon in context. Kyungsoo squints at it, eyes burning.
“First things first,” The Teacher begins, picking up a piece of chalk and stepping up to the chalkboard. “Hopefully you have some scientific knowledge and will be able to keep up.”
In an impossibly short time, a detailed nervous system sketch of an arm from the elbow down to the fingertips appears on the board. The Teacher blows the tip of his chalk and shakes his hand out.
“Receiving, unlike those odd ESP movies tell you, is not some mysterious, magical gift granted to us by the gods. Gods do not exist. But science does, and so this morning I will explain Receiving to you scientifically.
“As you should know, the body and the brain run together on electrical impulses. These electrical impulses are sent at about one-hundred twenty meters per second through the entire body every moment of every day for both voluntary movement and involuntary movement, and are generally necessary to living. This means that at every point in time, all parts of the body are receiving information from the brain.
“When normal people touch another’s skin, these electrical impulses do not transfer. The permittivity of the average human’s skin is much too high, making it more difficult for current to flow through. But Receivers, through some odd, unexplained genetic mutation, are born with skin of permittivity levels close to that of a vacuum.”
Kyungsoo nods. Satisfied, The Teacher turns back to the board and draws another arm, fingertips in contact with the first drawing. He then sketches what looks like an extension of the nervous system into the new arm.
“This means that we are capable of detecting and interpreting foreign neural impulses, because these impulses enter our own nervous pathways and therefore return with local impulses to the brain.”
If those myths that human bodies are capable of spontaneous combustion were true, Kyungsoo thinks a part of his frontal cortex may have fallen off and blown up against his skull.
The Teacher continues, obviously smug with the fact that if Kyungsoo’s jaw dropped any further, it would unhinge and run away. “Now, it is unclear to me why these neurological impulses do not cause us to suffer involuntary muscle movement initially intended for the Messenger. However, I hypothesize that emotional, cognitive, and experiential data are transmitted due to the fact that each of these impulses are embedded with some sort of fingerprint, representative of the Messenger’s current feelings or thoughts, which would also explain why human movements often change with one’s emotions. Thus, our brains interpret these signatures and transfer their emotions, experiences, and thoughts to us at one-hundred twenty meters per second, causing us to suffer from a bombardment of foreign, often nonsensical information that the brain must piece together, leading to high amounts of electrical activity in the brain that we feel in the form of migraines or internal electrocution.”
The Teacher pauses, sighing. “How our brains are not fried in the process, I hypothesize to be another effect of genetic mutation. One of my former students had severe cognitive impairment due to the fact that he did not have this mutation and, despite my efforts, eventually passed away from suffocation due to the melting of his hypothalamus.
“Anyway,” he shakes his head and taps the board with his fingernails. “Do you understand?”
Kyungsoo blinks a few times, something itchy spreading in the pit of his stomach. “I guess.”
“Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, give me your hand.”
Kyungsoo flinches back even though The Teacher extends his hand slowly and gently, leaving it palm up at a comfortable distance. It had been ten years ago that he’d decided to stop touching people, and three years ago that he finally took his knit gloves off to hold hands with Jongin-one of the most painful experiences of his life. He thinks about the way Jongin feels compared to everyone else; after the second or third time, the pain had given way to something soft, familiar, soothing, and Jongin would joke about imagining blooming sakura petals every time they touched in an effort to make it hurt Kyungsoo less. It’s why Kyungsoo doesn’t have anyone else and can’t have anyone else, and that he’s supposed to make contact with someone else feels like a violation of everything intimate in life. He wonders if this counts as cheating.
Puffing his cheeks out, Kyungsoo reaches forward, squeezes his eyes shut, and places his palm against The Teacher’s.
“Now, pay attention.”
The black behind his eyelids gets blacker.
☠
“You,” The Teacher says, laughter in his voice when Kyungsoo peeks an eye open to see their palms still pressed together, “did not get enough sleep.”
Shaking his head vigorously, Kyungsoo forces both eyes open to meet The Teacher’s gaze.
“No matter. This happens to most students. Now, notice that you are not Receiving anything from me. This is because I have increased the resistance around the paths of my nervous system so that the electrical signals no longer permeate your skin.”
Kyungsoo nods.
“Now, focus on your palm. Do you feel anything?”
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take too long for Kyungsoo to pinpoint what The Teacher is getting at. “It’s kinda ticklish, I guess. Like that pins-and-needles feeling but the pins and needles are outside of my skin? Exiting?”
“Perfect. I want you to close all the exits.”
“Close… all the exits… like… close my pores…?”
“I am sure you are sharp enough to know that this is not what I meant.”
“Well I learned today that my skin has the same permittivity as outer space, so I think I have a right to be a little disoriented.”
“Fair enough, and enough dilly-dallying. Close the exits.”
“What the fuck,” Kyungsoo mutters, squinting at his hand.
“Cussing will not help you.”
Huffing, Kyungsoo purses his lips and stares at his hand. The Teacher taps his foot, quirks an eyebrow.
Suddenly, Kyungsoo finds his thoughts directed to Jongin. Jongin playing lullabies for him when he can’t fall asleep. Jongin laughing. Jongin reading. Jongin pressed against his chest. Jongin kicking him under the covers, snoring. Jongin gelling his hair into a heart shape on April Fool’s day. Jongin and his butterfly kisses. Jongin’s breath against his neck. Jongin’s lips around his-
“YOU CAN’T LOOK AT THAT!” Kyungsoo shouts, leaping out of his chair. The tingling stops. His heart pounds in his chest, warmth rushing to his cheeks as he presses his palm harder against The Teacher’s, somehow trying to hurt him. “Do you want to excuse yourself? Rude! Jesus Christ! Holy fuck!” He sucks in a breath, trying not to hyperventilate again.
The Teacher smiles and takes his palm away. “I apologize. I was growing impatient.”
“Oh my God. I did it.”
“Great. Now, let’s try again.”
They repeat the process a number of times. Much to Kyungsoo’s discomfort, The Teacher continues to dig through his memories of Jongin in order to speed up the lesson. He understands that there’s a lot to get to-how to block your own signal, how to block unwanted Receptions, how to tone Receptions down to a level that isn’t painful, how to do this obnoxiously intrusive searching thing that The Teacher is doing right now-but that’s no reason for him to be subject to this kind of violation. Jongin is his, yet here The Teacher stands, palm pressed against his, appropriating almost everything of value. A snarl he didn’t think he was capable of rips itself from his throat, and this time, his palm seems to feel some sort of magnetic force, as though it’s been glued to The Teacher’s when he cuts the tingling off.
“I know you’re getting impatient,” Kyungsoo says, “but I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop that.”
The Teacher grins, completely ignoring him. “You are now capable of severing a connection between yourself and someone Receiving from you. This force you feel currently is a result of my strongest level of intent to Receive being blocked by your voluntary increase of internal resistance. I must say, this is quite impressive. Only a select few students have mastered such control after only a few hours. Congratulations.”
Forcing himself to smile back, Kyungsoo tugs his hand away and shakes it out. “Thank you.”
☠
While The Teacher takes a nap in his room after lunch, Kyungsoo attempts to burrow into the corner of the living room couch, staring at the framed cannabis leaves. He thinks about Jongin, wonders what he’d say about all this. Thinks about quitting, because most people probably don’t want some creep buried in the heart of some middle-of-nowhere forest catching glimpses of the ins and outs of their sex lives from their boyfriend’s memories. That’s what The Teacher is, probably, a creep. Makes sense that he had the paper bag over his head and that they spun him around a million times before tying him up and throwing him in the back of the car. Makes sense that there’s no signal, no landline, that the browser has that stupid proxy icon in the corner; to think that he’d been naïve enough to brush it all off, assuming it was just to prevent the world from learning Receivers existed, has Kyungsoo grinding his teeth with embarrassment. Should’ve known from the second The Teacher opened his mouth. Maybe the power of being a Receiver had gotten to him and now he just looks up porn in people’s heads and steals their orgasms. Shivering, he curls into a ball. His eyes burn.
This is so fucked up, he thinks to himself, rocking back and forth. Fucked up fucked up fucked up.
After wallowing in his own terror for a while, Kyungsoo tip-toes into the computer room and goes to check his email. Maybe he’ll tell Jongin about all of it. But it’s not like Jongin can do anything about it from where he is. His boyfriend is hidden behind a million trees and a proxy and lack of cell-tower reception, and he’d just end up feeling hopeless and depressed and probably angry at himself for allowing this to happen even though he couldn’t have known better. Better to keep it to himself. He sighs.
kyungsoo!!!!!! kyungsoo baby my sweet beautiful cinnamon roll of all things beautiful i was getting kind of worried!! i mean i knew it was a long drive but you know me, always worrying. how are things going? iiii miss you to death honestly im digging my own grave over here by myself all alone wallowing in this love i cant give you while youre over there. i hope youre learning a lot!!! please please please come back soon i miss you so much and am probably going to shower you with, erm, gifts, cough cough wink wink etc etc, if you know, what i mean. i know you know what i mean. im sorry i just miss you a lot love you less than 3 xoxo heart emoji etc! also! wish me luck mcat is tomorrow~
Despite all his concerns, Kyungsoo can’t help but smile a little at Jongin’s response. The boy is perfect. Fucking perfect. If he got anymore perfect, Newton’s Fourth Law of Motion would be violated and the world would fall apart, and if Kyungsoo got anymore in love, the universe would tear itself apart at the seams and big bang all over again. Something hurts in his chest, and he wants to go home. Maybe he should try asking for help, but after a few times of trying to explain he gives up. Everything would worry Jongin too much. Besides, Jongin taught him a little bit of Aikido back in their college days, and if anything horribly out of proportion happened he’d be able to fend for himself.
ahhhhh!!! what do you mean wallowing in love you cant give tbh i can feel it from all the way over here. jfc, i love you so much. pls desist your grave digging and have yourself a good life w/o me for a lill bit! study for your mcat! i believe in you! also u__u i dont think people send these kinds of things over email but i suppose were young and desperate for certain things so if you… wouldnt mind, erm, detailing these gifts, which i, wink wink nudge nudge etc etc, totally know what you mean, obviously. after your mcat though! focus! do well! gosh i love you so much im gonna blow up do well on your mcat and go to a good med school so you can fix me up from the blood and guts and love mess you’ve made of me. im learning a lot here its going very quickly! i’ll totally be home before you know it <3
When he shuts down the computer and turns to leave, The Teacher is standing in the doorway, watching him and smiling in that menacing way of his. His gut drops between his feet and three more floors down, but he swallows his yelp and smiles back.
“Prepared for your next lesson?”
“As always.”
☠
Sick as it is, The Teacher is good at his job-it’s the same way Kyungsoo’s mother taught him to ride a bicycle when he was younger, letting him fall over and over again until he learnt how to balance himself. By the end of the week, Kyungsoo’s determination to stop The Teacher from creeping around in his brain accelerates his prowess of whatever this skill is called to the point where The Teacher can’t fish anything out of him even in his sleep.
“Only one person has ever done that before,” The Teacher tells him. “I’m very proud.”
Lying through your teeth, Kyungsoo wants to say, but bites his tongue. He’ll be home before he knows it if he keeps learning as quickly as he is.
His first break comes Saturday afternoon, when The Teacher says he’s moving through the curriculum rather quickly and lets him take the weekend off. Since he’s learned how to control his internal resistance so well that he can already switch his Reception on and off, he’s skipped a week’s worth of lessons, so on Monday, he’ll start learning how to adjust how quickly the Messenger’s signal permeates his skin, like a valve to control the current. Honestly, he doesn’t want to learn much more. He just came here to learn how to stop Receiving, because as much as getting this sort of information can get him power, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t like prying in the least. In that case, maybe he’s the only student bothered by The Teacher’s methods.
Over the course of the week, Kyungsoo also develops a habit of rousing himself at one in the morning to sneak down to the computer room and send his emails. The keyboard is much too loud unless used at extremely slow speeds, and Kyungsoo’s emails become shorter and shorter. He doesn’t want Jongin to suspect anything, but if he keeps up the normal length, it’ll be three by the time he finishes his message. Unfortunately, he can’t keep them long enough.
kyungsoo… i hope youre not overworking yourself ;; your messages are getting so short. i dont mind at all, but please rest! is everything okay? i miss you so much. come home safe and alive and not aged 500 years ok? i decided less than 3 is not enough. less than 4, xoxoxo, double heart emoji and etc x100. take care of yourself! for me!
A tear splashes onto the keyboard and Kyungsoo cringes, wondering if he’s woken The Teacher. Biting down hard on his lip, enough to make it bleed, he types:
am ok. just v busy. love you so much.
He feels the tears rolling down his cheeks at an obnoxious rate now, one after the other. He’ll never get himself out of this. He wipes them away so they don’t splat on the keyboard again and makes his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of milk. As he drinks from his glass, he examines one of the face-pots. He wonders if The Teacher talks to his plants and that’s why he puts some of them in these pots, so that he’ll feel like he isn’t a creep and has albino human friends to talk to.
Dedicated to Luhan, the golden plaque on this one reads. Seek happiness where the clouds are.
“I feel bad for you, man,” Kyungsoo whispers. “How’d you put up with this guy long enough to get a dedication from him, honestly.”
Feeling oddly affectionate, he reaches out to stroke the leaves.
“Do not touch the plants.”
His heart nearly shoots out of his throat and the glass falls from his hands, though he manages to snatch it before it hits the ground, spilling milk all over his shirt.
“Oh,” Kyungsoo says. “Sorry. I just-”
“They are for looking. Do not touch them.”
“Alright.” His hands are shaking, and he needs to wash his T-shirt. The Teacher smiles at him and he almost pisses everything he just drank and half his life force out. “I won’t. You scared me, though.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Er, yeah.” Kyungsoo’s legs are shaking now, too, and he rubs his arms to try and tame the goosebumps. “Night.”
☠
Jongin hasn’t responded for three days. It frightens Kyungsoo a little. His stomach won’t stop twisting, even when The Teacher isn’t scaring him straight into the ninth circle of hell. He knows he probably just doesn’t want to be a nuisance, but it makes him feel so alone and defenseless. Maybe he should tell Jongin to send him an “I love you” every day. Just thinking about the idea brings tears of relief to his eyes. He’ll do that today, email Jongin during the lunch break. Everything’ll be alright, and he’ll be home before anyone knows it.
“Pay attention,” The Teacher snaps, smacking the chalkboard to get his attention. “You have proven yourself to be my best student thus far. Disappointing me is not an option.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Alright. Today we will be working on controlling rate of Reception, as you know.” He holds his hand out as usual. “We begin now.”
It starts out normally, just as it always does. The Teacher’s memories filter in, one by one. Soon, thoughts, emotions, blending themselves together to make something coherent. The stream of thoughts grows stronger, faster, and Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows in an attempt to keep control.
The Teacher making his first glass bowl, planting something in it, hanging it on the ceiling. The Teacher furnishing the house. The Teacher lamenting the loss of the student whose hypothalamus melted. The Teacher preparing his room. Suddenly, Jongin-no, not Jongin. The Teacher in places where only Jongin should be. The Teacher on Jongin’s piano. The Teacher reading on Jongin’s side of the bed. The Teacher-
“Stop,” Kyungsoo says. He jerks his hand away and backs away, shaking his head. “Why are you doing this?”
“I am showing you the full range of capabilities you will have in the future.”
“Okay, but could you maybe do it in a less creepy way?”
“This is most effective, and convenient since you are always thinking about this Jongin boy.”
“I didn’t come here for this.” Kyungsoo is shaking now, back against the wall. He sinks down to the floor, curling up, trying to be as small as possible. “I just came here to learn how to stop Receiving. I can go now. I want to go home.”
The Teacher purses his lips. “Alright. I will change my methods.”
“No. No, no, I just want to go home. Let me go home.”
“You must complete the training before you return. This is stated in the contract.”
He shudders. Everything breaks down around him, tears streaking down his face, white blurring into white blurring into white and devouring the dark green chalkboard, devouring the window, The Teacher. He wants to go home, back to piano lullabies and butterfly kisses and Receiving even though it hurt.
“I miss Jongin,” he says, head between his knees, sobbing. “I want to go home.”
“You may be dismissed for today.”
The Teacher’s shoes click closer and closer and then out of the room, disappearing down the hallway.
I love you, he hears Jongin say in his head. He replays it over and over and over again. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Help me.
☠
Kyungsoo wakes up at one in the morning, still curled up in the classroom. Everything is dark and seeping into him, panic taking root in every cell and duplicating, duplicating, duplicating. His breathing is loud, frantic, and he tries to control it but it feels as though his throat is wheezing by itself, disconnected from his body.
Want to go home. Want to see Jongin. Want to run away from teacher, as far away as possible. Want to ruin teacher forever, tell everyone. Screw teacher.
He can’t hear anything over his own breathing, but he knows his footsteps are loud. He can’t control them. He’s running down the stairs and into the kitchen, to the face-pot. Runs to the living room, to the couch. The pot on top of the shelf, by itself. Must be important. He should destroy it and run away. He grabs the pot and sets it on the carpet. Dedicated to Kim Jongdae. The plants are the important part. My one and only. He grabs the plant to pull it out and-
The Teacher, younger, and a boy with a feline smile, big glasses, hair dyed light brown. The Teacher and the boy, his first student. The Teacher without a genuine smile, holding hands with the boy. The Teacher and the boy kissing on the rooftop, linking elbows, linking legs. Watching the sunset. The Teacher congratulating the boy on completing his course, a diploma that says his name in The Teacher’s own calligraphy. Kim Jongdae. Jongdae preparing to leave, The Teacher begging him to stay. Jongdae saying he’ll come visit all the time, Jongdae saying he needs to go home and see his parents, Jongdae overhearing The Teacher crying in his room, Jongdae getting ready to leave, Jongdae trying to break out of The Teacher’s hug, Jongdae screaming let go, let go of me, running, sprinting towards the garage, snatching the keys from the hood of the Ferrari, trying to drive away, meat cleaver coming through the windshield right for the neck, screaming, splattering, pain, nothing.
Hollowed out skulls, wet porcelain over cheekbones, nerve endings clinging to bone under soil.
The images stop.
Jongdae’s voice.
Run.
Kyungsoo screams. The Teacher is standing in his doorframe.
“I told you not to touch the plants,” he says. His lips look blood red in the dark. “I told you, do not touch the plants.”
Kyungsoo shouts and stumbles backwards. The Teacher walks toward him, moonlight glinting off the polished metal of a raised meat cleaver. His hands are clammy enough now to stick to the window behind him and he pulls himself up as it sticks to the glass, then breaks for the garage like Jongdae.
“Jongdae,” The Teacher yells, laughing, “Don’t leave me again, Jongdae! I’ll get you!”
Kyungsoo can’t feel his legs but he’s running, everything is blurring together, the garage the garage the garage grass streaking past world spinning stumbling falling crawling sprint sprint sprint the garage, the garage, door creaking open, helicopter whirring, teacher gaining ground, getting so close, cackling, smiling like the Joker, helicopter getting louder, keys on the hood of the Ferrari, keys on the hood, where are the keys, on the hood? under the hood, right on top of the engine. Door open door close hands shaking too hard to put key into ignition, hands shaking hands shaking, meat cleaver down through driver’s side window, carving into his cheek, engine starts. Engine starts.
Kyungsoo reverses the Ferrari as quickly as he can, tires squealing over the floor as the car accelerates out of the garage. Suddenly, The Teacher smiles, rolls up his sleeves and holds his arms vertically. The car flips over sideways and hits the wall-
“Freeze! Drop your weapon. We have you surrounded.”
The sideways torque stops, launching Kyungsoo into the passenger side of the car after he hits the roof, head slamming into the window hard enough to crack the glass. He lies there, dazed, staring at the helicopter lights in the sky, the cops all around him, pointing their guns at The Teacher, who now faces the car, holding the meat cleaver.
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo jerks upwards, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, his head, the throbbing around his ribcage. It’s Jongin’s voice-he’s crying, standing in the helicopter. Kyungsoo looks back out the windshield to see The Teacher running towards him, meat cleaver raised.
“Drop your weapon! We have you surrounded!”
“Jongin!” Kyungsoo rasps. “Jongin-”
The Teacher charges toward the car, cleaver raised, lips stretched into a grin. Crimson against pearl white.
Someone fires a shotgun, and the cleaver comes through.
Pairings: Kai/D.O, past!Suho/Chen
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Horror
Warnings: Hover
Length: ~6.6k
Summary: There are more ways to worship than you think.
(A/N: This was written for the 2015 round of kyungsooperior! It was originally intended, of course, to be only Kaisoo, but the focus of the fic derailed a little in the process (though I'd still consider it a Kaisoo fic). I hope that doesn't take away too much from whether or not you enjoy it! Also, this was a fic idea that was in the running since even before I finished Athanasia, so it's great to finally get this out there. Happy Kyungsooperior everyone~)
Kyungsoo jolts awake when he hears the trunk of the car popping open, light screaming into the cramped space and filtering through the thin paper bag over his head. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and tries to bring a hand over his face. The handcuffs pull taut behind him, metal digging into his wrist. When he tries to yelp, he chokes on the cloth wrapped around his mouth and between his lips, dust rushing into his lungs.
Voices outside. Kyungsoo does his best to hold his breath, reminding himself that he’s supposed to be here. Whether or not he thought he’d be tied up and gagged is irrelevant. His body racks as he tries to stop himself from coughing, and he turns away from the light, lying face down, curled atop the rough trunk lining.
Eventually, two people grab his upper arms, jerking him out of the trunk and half-setting-half-dropping him down on what feels like grass, damp and cool and refreshing. They snatch the paper bag away and he shouts in surprise, turning away from the daylight and digging into the dirt with his forehead. Rough hands push him back and forth as they ungag him, ripping the cloth from his mouth so crudely that he feels blood pooling at the sides of his mouth. His shoulder makes a popping noise when they tug on his wrists to undo the handcuffs and he whimpers, holding back a scream. A vague hint of gratefulness in the back of his mind when he notices they’re wearing gloves.
“Now, now! Now, be gentle with him,” someone says. The voice is slightly high-pitched, nasally. Kyungsoo cringes, hoping it’s not The Teacher even though he knows it is. If he’d known the guy would sound like this, he might have reconsidered. Although, he reminds himself, feeling the grass tickle his eyelids as he blinks them open, anything to stop the incessant Receiving would be fine at this point. Kyungsoo listens to The Teacher’s shoes brushing over the grass, coming towards him.
He bends down. Kyungsoo breathes against the grass, trying to calm himself, but his breaths come quick and shallow and hyperventilating isn’t helping him in the slightest. He closes his eyes and swallows. The Teacher places a gentle hand on his back, patting him a few times.
“How are you faring?” The Teacher says, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Take your time. I honestly do not understand why they have to be so brutal, always. I never asked to have you gagged. Or even handcuffed, although I see why that would be a wise precautionary step. Perhaps they are sadists. Getting off on the job would never be a good choice though… Ah, I digress.”
Yeah, Kyungsoo thinks. Juuuuust a little. He wants to say something, but it’s hard to breathe, and the warmth of the sunlight and tickle of the grass and The Teacher’s soothing hand over his back remind him of how tired he is. Eyes still closed, he opens his mouth to try and even his breathing again.
When he wakes, the sun is still at the same place in the sky and he can’t tell if he’s been asleep for a matter of minutes or some multiple of twenty-four hours. The Teacher is still kneeling next to him, rubbing his back in the exact same rhythm. Groaning, Kyungsoo brings his hands around from behind his back and pushes himself up, squinting as he looks around.
He’s sitting in the middle of a large, grassy field, speckled with small yellow flowers-probably weeds-and skinny beige mushrooms. Straight ahead of him, about a half-mile away, spans a thick wall of redwood trees. From here, it looks as though they’ve been planted in precise rows and columns, almost so perfect that if it weren’t for the depth of the forest, you’d probably be able to see to the other side. Behind him, the same thing. To his right, too, save for a small dirt path carved out for the car disappearing through the clearing, dust clouds puffing out from under the wheels.
To his left, a white mansion sits atop a small hill. The border of the grass field encircles a grey marble driveway of sorts, and somewhere along the way the dirt path thins and uncovers the same faded stone, lined with polished bricks on either side. Behind the entryway, the mansion is all straight edges and sharp corners, and if you took off the roof, it would probably look like a giant white box with two smooth pillars and an expansive ripple of stairs at the front, slightly off-center, to the left. The windows are all shut, white blinds drawn closed. The only way to see inside is from the glass double door at the front.
Kyungsoo stares at the mansion a long while before he realizes The Teacher is still rubbing his back, and he flinches away, a slight shiver running down his spine. He blinks a few times, focusing on The Teacher. He’s dressed oddly formally, considering that this is his house and he’s kneeling in a wet grass field, full-on suit and tie except that the suit is still unbuttoned. His hair is gelled mostly to the side, although the front takes on a little quiff that leans over at the top. His features appear flat from the front, but Kyungsoo can make out sharp cheekbones from the slight angle. He’s quite handsome. Looks a little bit like his boyfriend back at home, just that his eyes are a little smaller, his nose a little thinner, and his face a little longer.
Quite handsome, Kyungsoo thinks again, tearing his gaze away when The Teacher raises an eyebrow at him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d dated a student before.
“Are you feeling awake now?” The Teacher asks, sliding his hand from Kyungsoo’s back and down his arm to take his wrist. “Shall we begin?”
Kyungsoo nods. “Sorry for staring,” he mumbles, allowing The Teacher to help him up as he tries to stand on shaky legs. “I’m still a bit disoriented right now.”
“This usually happens. I should probably hire less aggressive chauffeurs.”
Forcing out a weak chuckle, Kyungsoo allows The Teacher to guide him by the wrist all the way to the mansion, which looks so much bigger up close. He trudges up the stairway to the glass door, which The Teacher unlocks with a passcode and a key before holding open.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “I must finish preparing your room, but in the meantime, feel free to rest here. Also, unless you find it uncomfortable, I would prefer if you leave your shoes at the door.”
The Teacher starts up a stairway to the right of the main hallway and Kyungsoo removes his shoes, places them neatly in the rack, then watches his own feet as he walks across the hardwood floor and steps onto a multi-colored rug to the left. The puffy red couch makes a funny wheezing noise when he lies down, until it deflates enough to support his weight. He closes his eyes for a while, facing the ceiling, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and rolls onto his stomach to call Jongin.
Furrowing his eyebrows at the corner of the screen, Kyungsoo turns the phone on and off airplane mode a few times before restarting it. The information packet could have at least mentioned there’d be no signal here. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.
Sighing, he turns onto his back again and looks around. Hanging from the ceiling on thin, grey cables are small glass bowls with different plants growing in each one. Some pots, hanging lower than the others, grow plants that look like ferns. Towards the top are plants whose leaves grow over the rims and hang downwards, like a frozen shower of leaves.
It’s all very aesthetic, Kyungsoo thinks, turning away from the ceiling to look at the wall in front of his couch. Beside the flat screen TV, a black corner shelf holds on its different levels assorted books, DVDs, glass figures, all arranged neatly. On the top sits another plant, growing inside a smooth, porcelain pot that looks like the profile of a mannequin from his angle. A golden plaque is embedded in front of it, but the letters are too small for him to see. Above it are two cannabis leaves pressed between thin sheets of glass, framed in black and tacked to the wall.
He snorts. Pot aesthetic.
There isn’t much else he can see, lying down on the couch. He goes back to staring at the plant-raindrops hanging from the ceiling until The Teacher’s footsteps creak down the stairs.
“I think your room is prepared now. If you need anything, let me know. My home will be your home until you complete the course, after all.”
“Thank you.” After a brief hesitation, he says, “Do you have a landline or something? I want to call someone to let them know I got here safe. I can email them, too.”
“No landline,” The Teacher says, frowning, “But there is a computer in the next room, if you would like to use it.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you!”
The next room is all but empty, except for the desk that has the computer on it. It’s not as old as he’d thought it would be, maybe an iMac model from three or four years ago. He bows slightly to The Teacher and walks briskly towards the computer, aware that The Teacher is watching him from the door.
jongin!!!! sorry for taking so long to send you this!! ik i said id call but no signal or landline. just this computer w decent internet & proxy(?). annoying but whatever. mansion is super aesthetic with cool plants and pots on ceiling and face-pots and weed framed on walls. haha. pot aesthetic. like pot aesthetic. do you feel me? you totally feel me probably. im ok! yeah? love you! be back soon (hopefully). less than 3, heart emoji, xoxo etc.
On the way back out, he dips his head in a slight bow to the teacher.
“If you want dinner, one of the chauffeurs left an extra Happy Meal in the kitchen.” The Teacher gestures toward the kitchen as he starts toward his own room. Kyungsoo tries not to snicker at the condescension with which he says Happy Meal. “The alarm clock is set for you, and your first lesson begins at 6:00 tomorrow morning.”
“Alright,” Kyungsoo says again. “Thank you for accepting me.”
The Teacher stops in the doorway and smiles.
“Goodnight.”
☠
Somewhere beyond enamored chuckling and Jongin’s fingers flying over black and white keys, contemporary compositions meet the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony blasting in digital static from an old alarm clock. Kyungsoo groans and presses his face into the pillow, peeking an eye open at the time.
5:45 AM. Whoever wrote the goddamn information packet should have mentioned that he’d be getting up every day at the crack of Satan’s ass. Not that it would’ve changed his mind-almost nothing could. But it would have been nice to know.
Kyungsoo facebutts the pillow a few times in an attempt to wake himself up, then rolls all the way to the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom. Sucking in a deep breath, he rolls again and falls onto the floor with a thump, then goes on to roll himself to the bathroom until he hits the door frame and has to stand up to get anywhere else. After splashing ice-cold water on his face, he stumbles down the stairs, shuffling into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” The Teacher says. He’s sitting at the end of a long wooden table with a bowl of Lucky Charms, cereal crunching loudly between his teeth. On the opposite side, closest to Kyungsoo, there is another bowl with a few boxes of cereal in front of it and a carton of milk. “Did you rest well?”
“Well enough. You?” He drags his socks over the hardwood, collapsing into his seat so quickly he feels as though he’s stubbed his coccyx.
The Teacher smiles. “Not too fond of sleeping, but I suppose the same goes for me.”
It’s too early in the morning for Kyungsoo to control his reaction, and he raises his eyebrows a little and peers at The Teacher’s mouth, wondering why something seems a little off about the way he smiles. It’s too symmetrical and his lips stretch a little too thin. If he’d put on some lipstick, he might look like a Korean version of The Joker. He shakes the thought away, barely suppressing a shudder as he pours himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
For the most part, they eat in silence. At one point, Kyungsoo looks around to see a few more of the face-pots, each of them slightly different, along with some baskets of ivy-type plants hanging down above the center of the table. Wisteria vines are pressed between plates of glass and framed like the cannabis leaves in the living room.
“I like your pots,” Kyungsoo says, “and those pressed flower things.”
The Teacher nods, looking quite proud of himself. “Made them all myself.”
After another few minutes of silence, Kyungsoo looks up to see that The Teacher has already finished his cereal and is now staring at him, eyes following his spoon intently as it enters the bowl and then his mouth. Kyungsoo lifts the bowl and scoops the rest quickly into his mouth.
“No rush, next time, but I see that your cereal is finished now. Shall we begin?”
Kyungsoo nods.
They go back upstairs and into a long hallway with too many doors and too many paths to count. The Teacher abruptly stops at one door, pulling a key out of his pocket, and Kyungsoo nearly crashes into him, catching himself mid-step and jerking his body back clumsily.
The room, like all the others, is primarily white. Opposite of the door is a single, lengthwise window that spans the entire wall. There is one large desk, also white, and a small desk-chair system, which is white except for the metal legs and parts connecting everything. Behind the large desk is a chalkboard-the dark green looks astoundingly neon in context. Kyungsoo squints at it, eyes burning.
“First things first,” The Teacher begins, picking up a piece of chalk and stepping up to the chalkboard. “Hopefully you have some scientific knowledge and will be able to keep up.”
In an impossibly short time, a detailed nervous system sketch of an arm from the elbow down to the fingertips appears on the board. The Teacher blows the tip of his chalk and shakes his hand out.
“Receiving, unlike those odd ESP movies tell you, is not some mysterious, magical gift granted to us by the gods. Gods do not exist. But science does, and so this morning I will explain Receiving to you scientifically.
“As you should know, the body and the brain run together on electrical impulses. These electrical impulses are sent at about one-hundred twenty meters per second through the entire body every moment of every day for both voluntary movement and involuntary movement, and are generally necessary to living. This means that at every point in time, all parts of the body are receiving information from the brain.
“When normal people touch another’s skin, these electrical impulses do not transfer. The permittivity of the average human’s skin is much too high, making it more difficult for current to flow through. But Receivers, through some odd, unexplained genetic mutation, are born with skin of permittivity levels close to that of a vacuum.”
Kyungsoo nods. Satisfied, The Teacher turns back to the board and draws another arm, fingertips in contact with the first drawing. He then sketches what looks like an extension of the nervous system into the new arm.
“This means that we are capable of detecting and interpreting foreign neural impulses, because these impulses enter our own nervous pathways and therefore return with local impulses to the brain.”
If those myths that human bodies are capable of spontaneous combustion were true, Kyungsoo thinks a part of his frontal cortex may have fallen off and blown up against his skull.
The Teacher continues, obviously smug with the fact that if Kyungsoo’s jaw dropped any further, it would unhinge and run away. “Now, it is unclear to me why these neurological impulses do not cause us to suffer involuntary muscle movement initially intended for the Messenger. However, I hypothesize that emotional, cognitive, and experiential data are transmitted due to the fact that each of these impulses are embedded with some sort of fingerprint, representative of the Messenger’s current feelings or thoughts, which would also explain why human movements often change with one’s emotions. Thus, our brains interpret these signatures and transfer their emotions, experiences, and thoughts to us at one-hundred twenty meters per second, causing us to suffer from a bombardment of foreign, often nonsensical information that the brain must piece together, leading to high amounts of electrical activity in the brain that we feel in the form of migraines or internal electrocution.”
The Teacher pauses, sighing. “How our brains are not fried in the process, I hypothesize to be another effect of genetic mutation. One of my former students had severe cognitive impairment due to the fact that he did not have this mutation and, despite my efforts, eventually passed away from suffocation due to the melting of his hypothalamus.
“Anyway,” he shakes his head and taps the board with his fingernails. “Do you understand?”
Kyungsoo blinks a few times, something itchy spreading in the pit of his stomach. “I guess.”
“Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, give me your hand.”
Kyungsoo flinches back even though The Teacher extends his hand slowly and gently, leaving it palm up at a comfortable distance. It had been ten years ago that he’d decided to stop touching people, and three years ago that he finally took his knit gloves off to hold hands with Jongin-one of the most painful experiences of his life. He thinks about the way Jongin feels compared to everyone else; after the second or third time, the pain had given way to something soft, familiar, soothing, and Jongin would joke about imagining blooming sakura petals every time they touched in an effort to make it hurt Kyungsoo less. It’s why Kyungsoo doesn’t have anyone else and can’t have anyone else, and that he’s supposed to make contact with someone else feels like a violation of everything intimate in life. He wonders if this counts as cheating.
Puffing his cheeks out, Kyungsoo reaches forward, squeezes his eyes shut, and places his palm against The Teacher’s.
“Now, pay attention.”
The black behind his eyelids gets blacker.
☠
“You,” The Teacher says, laughter in his voice when Kyungsoo peeks an eye open to see their palms still pressed together, “did not get enough sleep.”
Shaking his head vigorously, Kyungsoo forces both eyes open to meet The Teacher’s gaze.
“No matter. This happens to most students. Now, notice that you are not Receiving anything from me. This is because I have increased the resistance around the paths of my nervous system so that the electrical signals no longer permeate your skin.”
Kyungsoo nods.
“Now, focus on your palm. Do you feel anything?”
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take too long for Kyungsoo to pinpoint what The Teacher is getting at. “It’s kinda ticklish, I guess. Like that pins-and-needles feeling but the pins and needles are outside of my skin? Exiting?”
“Perfect. I want you to close all the exits.”
“Close… all the exits… like… close my pores…?”
“I am sure you are sharp enough to know that this is not what I meant.”
“Well I learned today that my skin has the same permittivity as outer space, so I think I have a right to be a little disoriented.”
“Fair enough, and enough dilly-dallying. Close the exits.”
“What the fuck,” Kyungsoo mutters, squinting at his hand.
“Cussing will not help you.”
Huffing, Kyungsoo purses his lips and stares at his hand. The Teacher taps his foot, quirks an eyebrow.
Suddenly, Kyungsoo finds his thoughts directed to Jongin. Jongin playing lullabies for him when he can’t fall asleep. Jongin laughing. Jongin reading. Jongin pressed against his chest. Jongin kicking him under the covers, snoring. Jongin gelling his hair into a heart shape on April Fool’s day. Jongin and his butterfly kisses. Jongin’s breath against his neck. Jongin’s lips around his-
“YOU CAN’T LOOK AT THAT!” Kyungsoo shouts, leaping out of his chair. The tingling stops. His heart pounds in his chest, warmth rushing to his cheeks as he presses his palm harder against The Teacher’s, somehow trying to hurt him. “Do you want to excuse yourself? Rude! Jesus Christ! Holy fuck!” He sucks in a breath, trying not to hyperventilate again.
The Teacher smiles and takes his palm away. “I apologize. I was growing impatient.”
“Oh my God. I did it.”
“Great. Now, let’s try again.”
They repeat the process a number of times. Much to Kyungsoo’s discomfort, The Teacher continues to dig through his memories of Jongin in order to speed up the lesson. He understands that there’s a lot to get to-how to block your own signal, how to block unwanted Receptions, how to tone Receptions down to a level that isn’t painful, how to do this obnoxiously intrusive searching thing that The Teacher is doing right now-but that’s no reason for him to be subject to this kind of violation. Jongin is his, yet here The Teacher stands, palm pressed against his, appropriating almost everything of value. A snarl he didn’t think he was capable of rips itself from his throat, and this time, his palm seems to feel some sort of magnetic force, as though it’s been glued to The Teacher’s when he cuts the tingling off.
“I know you’re getting impatient,” Kyungsoo says, “but I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop that.”
The Teacher grins, completely ignoring him. “You are now capable of severing a connection between yourself and someone Receiving from you. This force you feel currently is a result of my strongest level of intent to Receive being blocked by your voluntary increase of internal resistance. I must say, this is quite impressive. Only a select few students have mastered such control after only a few hours. Congratulations.”
Forcing himself to smile back, Kyungsoo tugs his hand away and shakes it out. “Thank you.”
☠
While The Teacher takes a nap in his room after lunch, Kyungsoo attempts to burrow into the corner of the living room couch, staring at the framed cannabis leaves. He thinks about Jongin, wonders what he’d say about all this. Thinks about quitting, because most people probably don’t want some creep buried in the heart of some middle-of-nowhere forest catching glimpses of the ins and outs of their sex lives from their boyfriend’s memories. That’s what The Teacher is, probably, a creep. Makes sense that he had the paper bag over his head and that they spun him around a million times before tying him up and throwing him in the back of the car. Makes sense that there’s no signal, no landline, that the browser has that stupid proxy icon in the corner; to think that he’d been naïve enough to brush it all off, assuming it was just to prevent the world from learning Receivers existed, has Kyungsoo grinding his teeth with embarrassment. Should’ve known from the second The Teacher opened his mouth. Maybe the power of being a Receiver had gotten to him and now he just looks up porn in people’s heads and steals their orgasms. Shivering, he curls into a ball. His eyes burn.
This is so fucked up, he thinks to himself, rocking back and forth. Fucked up fucked up fucked up.
After wallowing in his own terror for a while, Kyungsoo tip-toes into the computer room and goes to check his email. Maybe he’ll tell Jongin about all of it. But it’s not like Jongin can do anything about it from where he is. His boyfriend is hidden behind a million trees and a proxy and lack of cell-tower reception, and he’d just end up feeling hopeless and depressed and probably angry at himself for allowing this to happen even though he couldn’t have known better. Better to keep it to himself. He sighs.
kyungsoo!!!!!! kyungsoo baby my sweet beautiful cinnamon roll of all things beautiful i was getting kind of worried!! i mean i knew it was a long drive but you know me, always worrying. how are things going? iiii miss you to death honestly im digging my own grave over here by myself all alone wallowing in this love i cant give you while youre over there. i hope youre learning a lot!!! please please please come back soon i miss you so much and am probably going to shower you with, erm, gifts, cough cough wink wink etc etc, if you know, what i mean. i know you know what i mean. im sorry i just miss you a lot love you less than 3 xoxo heart emoji etc! also! wish me luck mcat is tomorrow~
Despite all his concerns, Kyungsoo can’t help but smile a little at Jongin’s response. The boy is perfect. Fucking perfect. If he got anymore perfect, Newton’s Fourth Law of Motion would be violated and the world would fall apart, and if Kyungsoo got anymore in love, the universe would tear itself apart at the seams and big bang all over again. Something hurts in his chest, and he wants to go home. Maybe he should try asking for help, but after a few times of trying to explain he gives up. Everything would worry Jongin too much. Besides, Jongin taught him a little bit of Aikido back in their college days, and if anything horribly out of proportion happened he’d be able to fend for himself.
ahhhhh!!! what do you mean wallowing in love you cant give tbh i can feel it from all the way over here. jfc, i love you so much. pls desist your grave digging and have yourself a good life w/o me for a lill bit! study for your mcat! i believe in you! also u__u i dont think people send these kinds of things over email but i suppose were young and desperate for certain things so if you… wouldnt mind, erm, detailing these gifts, which i, wink wink nudge nudge etc etc, totally know what you mean, obviously. after your mcat though! focus! do well! gosh i love you so much im gonna blow up do well on your mcat and go to a good med school so you can fix me up from the blood and guts and love mess you’ve made of me. im learning a lot here its going very quickly! i’ll totally be home before you know it <3
When he shuts down the computer and turns to leave, The Teacher is standing in the doorway, watching him and smiling in that menacing way of his. His gut drops between his feet and three more floors down, but he swallows his yelp and smiles back.
“Prepared for your next lesson?”
“As always.”
☠
Sick as it is, The Teacher is good at his job-it’s the same way Kyungsoo’s mother taught him to ride a bicycle when he was younger, letting him fall over and over again until he learnt how to balance himself. By the end of the week, Kyungsoo’s determination to stop The Teacher from creeping around in his brain accelerates his prowess of whatever this skill is called to the point where The Teacher can’t fish anything out of him even in his sleep.
“Only one person has ever done that before,” The Teacher tells him. “I’m very proud.”
Lying through your teeth, Kyungsoo wants to say, but bites his tongue. He’ll be home before he knows it if he keeps learning as quickly as he is.
His first break comes Saturday afternoon, when The Teacher says he’s moving through the curriculum rather quickly and lets him take the weekend off. Since he’s learned how to control his internal resistance so well that he can already switch his Reception on and off, he’s skipped a week’s worth of lessons, so on Monday, he’ll start learning how to adjust how quickly the Messenger’s signal permeates his skin, like a valve to control the current. Honestly, he doesn’t want to learn much more. He just came here to learn how to stop Receiving, because as much as getting this sort of information can get him power, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t like prying in the least. In that case, maybe he’s the only student bothered by The Teacher’s methods.
Over the course of the week, Kyungsoo also develops a habit of rousing himself at one in the morning to sneak down to the computer room and send his emails. The keyboard is much too loud unless used at extremely slow speeds, and Kyungsoo’s emails become shorter and shorter. He doesn’t want Jongin to suspect anything, but if he keeps up the normal length, it’ll be three by the time he finishes his message. Unfortunately, he can’t keep them long enough.
kyungsoo… i hope youre not overworking yourself ;; your messages are getting so short. i dont mind at all, but please rest! is everything okay? i miss you so much. come home safe and alive and not aged 500 years ok? i decided less than 3 is not enough. less than 4, xoxoxo, double heart emoji and etc x100. take care of yourself! for me!
A tear splashes onto the keyboard and Kyungsoo cringes, wondering if he’s woken The Teacher. Biting down hard on his lip, enough to make it bleed, he types:
am ok. just v busy. love you so much.
He feels the tears rolling down his cheeks at an obnoxious rate now, one after the other. He’ll never get himself out of this. He wipes them away so they don’t splat on the keyboard again and makes his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of milk. As he drinks from his glass, he examines one of the face-pots. He wonders if The Teacher talks to his plants and that’s why he puts some of them in these pots, so that he’ll feel like he isn’t a creep and has albino human friends to talk to.
Dedicated to Luhan, the golden plaque on this one reads. Seek happiness where the clouds are.
“I feel bad for you, man,” Kyungsoo whispers. “How’d you put up with this guy long enough to get a dedication from him, honestly.”
Feeling oddly affectionate, he reaches out to stroke the leaves.
“Do not touch the plants.”
His heart nearly shoots out of his throat and the glass falls from his hands, though he manages to snatch it before it hits the ground, spilling milk all over his shirt.
“Oh,” Kyungsoo says. “Sorry. I just-”
“They are for looking. Do not touch them.”
“Alright.” His hands are shaking, and he needs to wash his T-shirt. The Teacher smiles at him and he almost pisses everything he just drank and half his life force out. “I won’t. You scared me, though.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Er, yeah.” Kyungsoo’s legs are shaking now, too, and he rubs his arms to try and tame the goosebumps. “Night.”
☠
Jongin hasn’t responded for three days. It frightens Kyungsoo a little. His stomach won’t stop twisting, even when The Teacher isn’t scaring him straight into the ninth circle of hell. He knows he probably just doesn’t want to be a nuisance, but it makes him feel so alone and defenseless. Maybe he should tell Jongin to send him an “I love you” every day. Just thinking about the idea brings tears of relief to his eyes. He’ll do that today, email Jongin during the lunch break. Everything’ll be alright, and he’ll be home before anyone knows it.
“Pay attention,” The Teacher snaps, smacking the chalkboard to get his attention. “You have proven yourself to be my best student thus far. Disappointing me is not an option.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Alright. Today we will be working on controlling rate of Reception, as you know.” He holds his hand out as usual. “We begin now.”
It starts out normally, just as it always does. The Teacher’s memories filter in, one by one. Soon, thoughts, emotions, blending themselves together to make something coherent. The stream of thoughts grows stronger, faster, and Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows in an attempt to keep control.
The Teacher making his first glass bowl, planting something in it, hanging it on the ceiling. The Teacher furnishing the house. The Teacher lamenting the loss of the student whose hypothalamus melted. The Teacher preparing his room. Suddenly, Jongin-no, not Jongin. The Teacher in places where only Jongin should be. The Teacher on Jongin’s piano. The Teacher reading on Jongin’s side of the bed. The Teacher-
“Stop,” Kyungsoo says. He jerks his hand away and backs away, shaking his head. “Why are you doing this?”
“I am showing you the full range of capabilities you will have in the future.”
“Okay, but could you maybe do it in a less creepy way?”
“This is most effective, and convenient since you are always thinking about this Jongin boy.”
“I didn’t come here for this.” Kyungsoo is shaking now, back against the wall. He sinks down to the floor, curling up, trying to be as small as possible. “I just came here to learn how to stop Receiving. I can go now. I want to go home.”
The Teacher purses his lips. “Alright. I will change my methods.”
“No. No, no, I just want to go home. Let me go home.”
“You must complete the training before you return. This is stated in the contract.”
He shudders. Everything breaks down around him, tears streaking down his face, white blurring into white blurring into white and devouring the dark green chalkboard, devouring the window, The Teacher. He wants to go home, back to piano lullabies and butterfly kisses and Receiving even though it hurt.
“I miss Jongin,” he says, head between his knees, sobbing. “I want to go home.”
“You may be dismissed for today.”
The Teacher’s shoes click closer and closer and then out of the room, disappearing down the hallway.
I love you, he hears Jongin say in his head. He replays it over and over and over again. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Help me.
☠
Kyungsoo wakes up at one in the morning, still curled up in the classroom. Everything is dark and seeping into him, panic taking root in every cell and duplicating, duplicating, duplicating. His breathing is loud, frantic, and he tries to control it but it feels as though his throat is wheezing by itself, disconnected from his body.
Want to go home. Want to see Jongin. Want to run away from teacher, as far away as possible. Want to ruin teacher forever, tell everyone. Screw teacher.
He can’t hear anything over his own breathing, but he knows his footsteps are loud. He can’t control them. He’s running down the stairs and into the kitchen, to the face-pot. Runs to the living room, to the couch. The pot on top of the shelf, by itself. Must be important. He should destroy it and run away. He grabs the pot and sets it on the carpet. Dedicated to Kim Jongdae. The plants are the important part. My one and only. He grabs the plant to pull it out and-
The Teacher, younger, and a boy with a feline smile, big glasses, hair dyed light brown. The Teacher and the boy, his first student. The Teacher without a genuine smile, holding hands with the boy. The Teacher and the boy kissing on the rooftop, linking elbows, linking legs. Watching the sunset. The Teacher congratulating the boy on completing his course, a diploma that says his name in The Teacher’s own calligraphy. Kim Jongdae. Jongdae preparing to leave, The Teacher begging him to stay. Jongdae saying he’ll come visit all the time, Jongdae saying he needs to go home and see his parents, Jongdae overhearing The Teacher crying in his room, Jongdae getting ready to leave, Jongdae trying to break out of The Teacher’s hug, Jongdae screaming let go, let go of me, running, sprinting towards the garage, snatching the keys from the hood of the Ferrari, trying to drive away, meat cleaver coming through the windshield right for the neck, screaming, splattering, pain, nothing.
Hollowed out skulls, wet porcelain over cheekbones, nerve endings clinging to bone under soil.
The images stop.
Jongdae’s voice.
Run.
Kyungsoo screams. The Teacher is standing in his doorframe.
“I told you not to touch the plants,” he says. His lips look blood red in the dark. “I told you, do not touch the plants.”
Kyungsoo shouts and stumbles backwards. The Teacher walks toward him, moonlight glinting off the polished metal of a raised meat cleaver. His hands are clammy enough now to stick to the window behind him and he pulls himself up as it sticks to the glass, then breaks for the garage like Jongdae.
“Jongdae,” The Teacher yells, laughing, “Don’t leave me again, Jongdae! I’ll get you!”
Kyungsoo can’t feel his legs but he’s running, everything is blurring together, the garage the garage the garage grass streaking past world spinning stumbling falling crawling sprint sprint sprint the garage, the garage, door creaking open, helicopter whirring, teacher gaining ground, getting so close, cackling, smiling like the Joker, helicopter getting louder, keys on the hood of the Ferrari, keys on the hood, where are the keys, on the hood? under the hood, right on top of the engine. Door open door close hands shaking too hard to put key into ignition, hands shaking hands shaking, meat cleaver down through driver’s side window, carving into his cheek, engine starts. Engine starts.
Kyungsoo reverses the Ferrari as quickly as he can, tires squealing over the floor as the car accelerates out of the garage. Suddenly, The Teacher smiles, rolls up his sleeves and holds his arms vertically. The car flips over sideways and hits the wall-
“Freeze! Drop your weapon. We have you surrounded.”
The sideways torque stops, launching Kyungsoo into the passenger side of the car after he hits the roof, head slamming into the window hard enough to crack the glass. He lies there, dazed, staring at the helicopter lights in the sky, the cops all around him, pointing their guns at The Teacher, who now faces the car, holding the meat cleaver.
“Kyungsoo!”
Kyungsoo jerks upwards, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, his head, the throbbing around his ribcage. It’s Jongin’s voice-he’s crying, standing in the helicopter. Kyungsoo looks back out the windshield to see The Teacher running towards him, meat cleaver raised.
“Drop your weapon! We have you surrounded!”
“Jongin!” Kyungsoo rasps. “Jongin-”
The Teacher charges toward the car, cleaver raised, lips stretched into a grin. Crimson against pearl white.
Someone fires a shotgun, and the cleaver comes through.