Agit Night for krishoislove
Title: Agit Night
For: krishoislove
Author: bluedreaming
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: blood, minor character death, potentially disturbing imagery,[Spoiler (click to open)]vampires
Length: 4876 words
Summary: Junmyeon doesn't like parties.
Author's Note: Thanks so much to the mods for going the extra mile and then ten more steps in seven-league boots; I'm truly sorry about all the trouble. Thank you to my recipient for their fascinating prompts, I hope you like this. Thank you to you know who (you are all awesome and terrific and I couldn't do this without you), thank you to R for listening to the plot and helping keep me awake at the end and to R for looking things over at the 11th hour and of course a massive thanks to the very best beta ever who really shouldn't be looking at this at all. All errors are mine and mine alone.
This story was inspired by Everything's coming up roses by Night Terrors of 1927 as well as the music video and song Gravity of Love by Enigma. It was also inspired slightly by Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series and The Replacement by Brenna Yovanoff. The title is from the Céci EXO-M agit night photoshoot and Behind-the-Scenes video.
Junmyeon wasn't the kind of person who liked going to parties. If there was a choice between a party and a visit to the central library, or a trip to the planetarium, or a walk in the arboretum or just a quiet day at home, he always chose the latter. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't like people, because he did, but there was always that secret lurking in the back of his head. His problem.
Don't stay out too long, his sister would always sign with a worried expression, draping a scarf carefully around his neck and giving him a goodbye kiss on the forehead even though he was in university already. He would always make a face at her and stick out his tongue but he loved his sister more than anything and he knew she knew that. I wouldn't have made it without you.
And then he would take a deep breath before opening the front door, stepping into the city that was slowly killing him. Because Junmyeon was allergic to iron and everything outside his house was iron. Even people had iron flowing through their veins. He buried his face in his scarf and kept walking.
Are you almost here? Junmyeon held his phone carefully by the rubber case, fingertip only grazing the glass screen. His parents hadn't wanted him to get a phone but he'd bargained and explained and finally just stood up from his seat at the table and signed point blank-
I'm already dying so letting me talk to my friends isn't going to kill me any faster. Then he had sat down and felt terrible for making his mother cry. But it was true.
walking, he texted back before letting the hand-sized piece of death fall back into his pocket. Why did I agree to go to this party anyway?
"Ball," Baekhyun corrected him for the tenth time. "It's the Masked Ball and it only happens like once a century so of course we're going." Baekhyun was terrible at signing so they'd long ago agreed that Junmyeon would just practice his lip-reading and if he missed something it probably wasn't important anyway.
I don't care, Junmyeon signed into the mirror, as Baekhyun fussed over his hair and then spun him around to start layering something on his eyelids. And why do I have to put on make-up if it's a masked ball? But Baekhyun wasn't paying attention-too engrossed in his amateur makeup application skills; and Junmyeon just gave up and made faces at Kyungsoo from across the room.
Luckily enough his black skinny jeans and white silk top were deemed appropriate enough and Junmyeon was allowed to sit on the bed and watch Baekhyun annoy Kyungsoo with wardrobe choices. Watching Baekhyun chatter away, his mouth moving too quickly for Junmyeon to catch the words, he remembered meeting Baekhyun for the first time.
Don't you feel bad when you can't hear? the student in his discussion group had signed awkwardly. Junmyeon remembered seeing him chattering away in other classes and stifled a laugh.
I'm used to it, he signed back, smiling, and some people talk too much anyway. The whole group had burst into laughter and they'd been friends ever since, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, and Jongdae when he wasn't in trouble with the dean for something or the other.
Where's Jongdae? Junmyeon asked Kyungsoo, when Baekhyun had given up trying to make Kyungsoo wear anything but black and had stalked off to the kitchen to make himself a drink-everyone knew that you couldn't make Kyungsoo do anything he didn't want to do, everyone that was except Baekhyun, who was somehow convinced he was an exception to the rule.
He's just avoiding getting bullied into Baekhyun's fashion choices, Kyungsoo signed, and they shared a laugh as Baekhyun darted around the kitchen; Junmyeon was glad he couldn't hear the commotion he was probably making.
You look nice, Junmyeon told Kyungsoo, as they pulled on their jackets and walked out the door.
Jongdae met them at the Estate, as everyone called it. He was grinning, ear to ear, his Cheshire smile, and Baekhyun rolled his eyes at the gold jacket he was wearing. I have to make an impression, even Jongdae's signing managed to be sassy, Junmyeon could never figure out how he did it.
There was a huge crowd of people, illuminated by the yellow street lights reflecting off snow, everyone queueing up, and even the air was buzzing with the chatter. Junmyeon couldn't hear it but even the air was vibrating. It was cold, waiting in line; it seemed like the whole town had come, everyone ecstatic with the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see inside the Estate. But something about the stone palace, with its shadowed arches and opaque glass, tinted red as though to catch the glow of a sunset that was already lost, that made him feel uneasy.
Can I just go home? he asked Kyungsoo, who looked conflicted, but Jongdae caught his arm and pulled him along.
Come on! he signed, his gestures wide and abrupt like excited shouting, you can't miss this chance! Junmyeon swallowed. He was feeling a little queasy, but maybe it was just the iron around him, the fence and the lamp posts and the blood humming in so many bodies. He could almost hear it singing.
The queue was faster than it had first appeared and soon they were at the doors, being handed thick porcelain masks that stuck somehow to their faces. Kyungsoo was mysterious behind a half-mask in a dusky velvet black, Jongdae bright in purple and gold, and Baekhyun was so suited to his peacock blue that they all had a laugh at his expense.
Junmyeon's mask, a rich green silk, was smooth at first but soon the contact with his skin began to feel unbearable. He tried to catch his friends' eyes, but they were all too entranced by the tapestries and oil paintings with garish designs. The lights flickered strangely and Junmyeon felt ill, but Baekhyun was smiling, entranced, his feet drifting with the music as he clung to Jongdae's arm. Kyungsoo was fascinated by the musicians playing in the corner, his fingers waving with the fingers of the flute-players.
They drifted further into the palace, the entrance leading into a wide hallway with a vaulted ceiling, which then became a monstrous ballroom-the ceiling so high it receded into the dark. Or maybe there was no ceiling? Junmyeon thought he could see stars twinkling overhead, and the thick swirls of moonlit clouds. It was disconcerting. So too were the people, no longer only the ones he'd seen queueing up along with his friends. They were stranger people, clustered in corners, secret embraces that spilled out of privacy into the public eye, but no one even batted an eyelash. Baekhyun was standing next to a couple, were they men? Were they women? In any case they were swept up in such passionate kissing and caresses that he wasn't sure if they weren’t actually engaged in public indecency.
But no one seemed to care.
The room grew duskier as it filled, the masks becoming more and more bizarre, twisted figures of crimson and silk drifting through the crowd. His mask was positively painful at this point, I need to leave, Junmyeon signed to Kyungsoo but his friend seemed to have forgotten how to speak, only smiling blankly, fingers still drifting with what he could only assume was the pulse of the music.
Junmyeon was suddenly frightened, a crystalline sharpness filling his mouth with the bitter aftertaste of copper. Tugging at his friend's sleeves was no use, and his face was in such agony at this point that he wanted only to leave or at the very least find a washroom and dunk his face in cool water after peeling off his mask. Turning back, he tried to move through the swaying crowd, countercurrent, his progress like slow molasses as no one moved to give way.
It had long ago crossed into the territory of nightmares.
He must have lost his way as he stumbled only further and further into narrower corridors, his face on fire and his hands clawing at the porcelain when suddenly he crashed into something-claret eyes were all Junmyeon remembered as the mask finally parted from his face, suddenly giving way, and crashing onto the marble floor, fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.
※※※
It was dark when he woke up, only the faint glow of candles illuminating his vision. Junmyeon was lying in a bed, soft sheets against his skin. Fearfully, he raised his hands to his face but the skin was smooth-there was no evidence of past pain. Was it a dream? Junmyeon sat up slowly, and looked around. He was in a small room with no windows, with no way to gauge the time or his location.
Where am I? His friends were nowhere to be seen.
Standing, Junmyeon became aware of a strange sensation but he could distinguish no source. Finally, tripping over his shaky feet, he realized that the floor and walls were pulsing with a strange beat, almost like a heart.
He felt horrified.
He scrambled towards the door only to realize that it was locked, bolted from the outside. No matter what he did he couldn't even cause it to budge. Finally, after pounding uselessly at the heavy wood until his fists were most certainly bruised, he stumbled back in despair.
Sitting there, on the floor, Junmyeon looked at the door and tried to think. His cellphone? Hands flying to his pockets in sudden hope, his spirits were dashed to the floor all over again when he realized he wasn't in his clothes anymore. Rather, he wore an unfamiliar nightgown, the loose fabric bunched in white cuffs around his wrists, the neckline scooped low, skimming under his collarbones. Now that he realized it, he was cold, and was it just his imagination that a faint trickle of cold air was working its way over the skin of his exposed neck and shoulder?
Junmyeon wanted to get back into bed to hide from the monsters, have his sister come and read to him again-stories that danced over her fingers as her eyes skimmed the page and the air filled with stories of children who were free to do whatever they wanted to, to had their whole lives to look forward to.
You're not dying, he still remembered, his mother signing it to him when he was five years old. It was the first time he had seen a lie spin between fingers like a spider's web designed to catch hearts.
Junmyeon didn't crawl back into bed. He stood at the door and tried to listen instead, not for the sounds he couldn't hear but for the the vibrations he felt with the soles of his feet; his fingertips on the wood.
The pulsing of the room was making him sick.
Leaning forward against the wood, forehead pressed to the smooth surface, Junmyeon tried to think, but nothing came to mind. His eyes blurred, whether with tears or confusion he didn't have time to figure out, as the sudden staccato vibration of clicking footsteps approaching vibrated through the door. Thoughts tumbling in a whirlwind, he stood a step back and twisted his ankle, not hard, but enough to slip to the ground in a soft gust of air as the door swung open, sudden light blinding him as he sat in a crumpled pile of white nightgown, blinking.
Maybe someone spoke or maybe they didn't; he couldn't see against the backlight, only a dark silhouette that reached forward with cold fingers to pry him off the floor-bare feet scraping across the carpets as Junmyeon found himself pulled out into the hall and along, past door and door and doors, all closed.
Lost chances.
※※※
The person wasn't speaking, face forward into the shadows of the lamps that hung from the ornate wallpaper of the walls; Junmyeon tried to regain his footing but stumbled repeatedly as he was thrown off step by the variable pacing.
Stop, he wanted to sign, but the person wasn't looking at him, face flickering with darkness. Just then, stepping wrong on his ankle, the joint twisted and he fell to the ground, but the person didn't break pace, merely pulling Junmyeon inexhaustibly along-the fingers digging into his shoulder clenching tightly like a skeleton's rigor mortis, conceding nothing.
Pain flared through his foot and up his leg but Junmyeon gritted his teeth, tasting copper on his tongue. The person faltered, missing a step, but then their fingers dug even more tightly into his shoulder, nails almost but not quite piercing the skin under the white fabric, the new pain helping to clear his head of the fog of numbness creeping up his spine.
He could smell iron. Blood.
The smell crept down his throat, scraping against the delicate tissues of his lungs, sucking away his air as a loud ringing, not a sound but rather the violent absence of it, blossomed in his head.
Junmyeon blinked, as the smell grew stronger, and he could feel the stinging of copper in his tears.
Don't cry, he could remember his sister signing as she had snuggled him into the warm embrace of her arms, only four years old, green tears tracking down his face. Your tears are too pretty to waste.
Now he tried to focus on her smiling face, as the lights blurred and his face grew sticky. His eyes swam anyway.
The hallway ended in huge bolted doors, the iron studs and nails singing in Junmyeon's skin as the person nudged the heavy crossbeam to the side and pushed the doors open with a finger.
The door swung open, and a sudden rush of air flooded the hallway, Junmyeon's breath catching, lungs contracting at overwhelming smell of red.
The person paused in the doorway, and he might have been saying something, Junmyeon wasn't sure around the pounding in his ears and the green leaking from his eyes. He blinked.
Red everywhere, crimson walls and tables draped with carmine cloth, heavy ruby drapes blocking the windows so that he couldn't tell if it was day or night.
There were people sitting at the tables, glittering eyes and glittering cutlery and lying along the red-draped tops, people in white, mouths bound in black and red dotting the white of their clothing.
Junmyeon blinked again, because everything was going hazy and he could feel the collective thumping of heartbeats, perfectly synchronized.
This was the secret of the Estate.
Black descended over his eyes as a silk blindfold, cool on his chilled skin, was bound around his head.
※※※
He couldn't see anything, and the change was startling, his body fighting to stay alert despite the copper filling his mouth. Junmyeon could feel the iron in the air, as it seeped into the pores of his skin, down his throat into his lungs-poison, poison, poison.
You must always promise to be more careful, he remembered his sister signing, every day before he left for school, every time he got hurt, every time, every time and always.
I'm sorry, he thought. I'm so sorry. Tears would have filled his eyes, if they hadn't already been seeping. He could feel his stomach boiling, as his body fought to remove the toxins, but his stomach was empty and there was nothing to let go.
The person's fingers left his shoulder, pain shooting through the bone as the numbing pressure was released and he could feel the bruises.
Air moved and the ground vibrated, smooth marble under his bare feet. The floor was cold.
Something happened then, the air was filled with humming and currents whirled around Junmyeon as he stood, fighting to remain standing. The room was thick with the sweet, metallic iron of blood. Junmyeon ran a tongue over cracked lips. He wouldn't make it much longer.
A hand suddenly connected with his bruised shoulder and he screamed; he couldn't help it, the pain shot up his neck. There was a vibration in the air next to his face, maybe they were trying to say something but he couldn't hear.
I can't hear, he tried to sign, but no one was paying attention as he swayed on his feet. Junmyeon just wished it would stop. His fingers crept up to his blindfold, maybe. . .
But a sharp slap to the face stopped him, sending him rocking sideways and he almost fell, only a rough hand under his arm keeping him up, but it jerked away as soon as he was on his feet again.
There was a burning in his nose and Junmyeon could feel the stinging copper dotting his upper lip.
Gloved hands reached for him now, and they were no more gentle but at least they didn't jerk away as they pulled him somewhere else, and when his cold feet stumbled on the ground they reached under his arms and dragged him along.
Blinking to keep the haze at bay-I promised-his eyelashes scraping under silk, Junmyeon could feel the floor change; it was no longer marble but rather rougher stone that scraped the bottoms of his cold-numbed feet. The air was hushed, still, only echoes emanating from the far corners.
Pushed into a chair, the worn wood strangely warm through the fabric of his night gown, Junmyeon waited for the future to happen.
Goodbye,he thought, and realized that it felt true.
※※※
It wasn't goodbye.
There was no warning, only the faintest brush of hair, an open mouth exhaling, before sharp points sank into his skin and broke the surface. Junmyeon's neck arched back, a reflexive gesture, fingers curling in desperately but grasping at nothing, the burning underbite of bloody saliva searing the surface of his skin before the teeth disengaged, tearing out of his flesh as quickly as they had engaged as he was left to sag in his seat.
But there wasn't even time for a breath, before a new sharpness pierced the inside of his wrist, another at the crook of his elbow, yet others joining, the hollow of his collarbone, the inside of his thigh, thin nightgown pushed up to his waist as he shivered, the stabbing kisses landing only the briefest of moments before ripping away.
It wasn't his imagination that things were falling, tremors echoing in the stone of the floor, the faintest memory of vibration working its way through his foggy consciousness; but Junmyeon tried to focus on staying awake, even as he could feel the dark clouds hovering in the wings.
And then all hell broke loose.
※※※
All the mouths were yanked away from Junmyeon's skin, as if by a gushing wind; cold air stroked fingers across his face.
NO! he heard, a sound, crystalline in its sharpness as it cut through to his deepest darkest memories-hushed rooms and bleeding ears and the sounds of the world before they stopped ringing.
Silence.
A prickling covered his skin, pins and needles as though waking up for the first time. Air currents swirled around, brushing his skin, something clipped his face as it flew past, scraping his cheek. And then there was nothing.
Are you alright? Junmyeon heard, with the tips of his fingers, with the marrow of his bones. The tip of his tongue brushed over the roof of his dry mouth, darting out to touch cracked lips.
I don't know, he signed.
I'm sorry, I don't understand, the voice said, echoed, not in space but in heart. Soft fingers brushed Junmyeon's hair, ran soothingly over the nobs of his spine, the shell of his ears when he winced at the tangles before the the blindfold slipped off.
He was staring into a chest, black t-shirt with white lines like mountains, like sound waves cutting a mountain range down to the words. Unknown Pleasures.
If I move, will you scream? the voice asked; Junmyeon could feel the vibrations of the chest only centimetres away from his face from where he sat, knuckles white on the armrests keeping himself upright. I need to breathe, he thought.
Okay, the voice replied, and Junmyeon wasn't sure if it was answering his thoughts or not before it slowly moved away, a face coming into focus, worried eyes and a soft mouth but he was too distracted by the sight before him.
He blinked.
Swallowed.
Blinked again as the red red red filled his eyes, bodies lying on the stone ground, twitching, leaking crimson from their eyes their ears their noses their mouths their-
without thinking, Junmyeon lurched forward and buried his face in the voice's-the man's-chest as he fought for breath, everything spinning in a crimson swirl.
※※※
They ended up in a small room, hushed and still, a blue porcelain vase of small white flowers on the table. The voice-the man-had ended up half leading, half carrying Junmyeon along because his legs were shaking too much to really walk and he still couldn't quite catch his breath. He didn't think he'd lost so much blood, but all the iron leeching the life from his chest, the air catching in his chest-Be more careful, he could see his sister signing, over and over again, after each time he pushed the limits, tried for too much because he wanted to live-
I'm sorry, Junmyeon thought, swallowing over the copper in his throat, the edges sharp as they jutted into his skin.
What are you sorry about? the voice-the man-asked.
Junmyeon thought about the bodies in the stone room. He thought about his sister, tears in her eyes as he fought to breathe.
For always causing people pain.
Don't say that when it's obvious that you're the one who's in the most pain, the man said. Junmyeon stiffened slightly at his words but the man ran soft fingers over his back, helping to smooth his heaving rib cage. By now, rather than being scared, Junmyeon was more embarrassed and confused, angry almost, because he still didn't understand what was going on. But just when he'd worked up the courage to open his mouth, there was a sudden pounding at the door, vibrations echoing through the small room, up his legs from where they met the soft wood slats covering the ground.
The man sighed, his breath warm on Junmyeon's face as he rose to open the door, which slammed open on well-oiled hinges and crashed into the wall before the man had even laid a hand on the latch, which now hung useless from one nail. Junmyeon noticed, idly, that it was iron.
A man stood, framed in the doorway, eyes flashing and face drawn in cold fury. Junmyeon couldn't even read his lips, which were moving too quickly to be traced. The lights flickered in the room, casting alternating shadows over his face, over the crimson velvet of his jacket, turning it bloody,
Then, Shixun, please explain why I wasn't informed of the death of my father? the man with the voice asked the stranger in red-Shixun, Junmyeon guessed-his tone skeptical. As a direct descendant, according to the Pasargadaean Convention, a formal invitation to the Deadly Banquet is my right. The man with the voice's eyes flashed a dark red, spinning with gold like sudden storms. Shixun sputtered, his face darkening.
Fine, the man with the voice snapped, fury plain on his face. You're barbarians. Shixun didn't bother to close the door as he stormed back down the hallway.
It will be okay, the man with the voice said, turning to face Junmyeon as he tucked a small white petal behind Junmyeon's ear. What's your name? he thought as the man with the voice reached out to take his hand.
Minseok, he replied, and helped Junmyeon to his feet, hands not even hesitating as they brushed against the green and red stained whiteness of Junmyeon's nightgown, crumpled from the struggle. His fingertips burned as they lightly grazed over Junmyeon's collarbones before lifting up-but they burned with a different kind of feeling this time.
Waking up.
※※※
The bodies had been cleared away, but it still smelled like rusted ruin, sticking in Junmyeon's throat. There were three men standing by the chair; now that he could see it, it was so much more frightening-the worn grooves of the seat, the ingrained drips of people who had come before.
You know I don't agree with the feast of blood, Canlie, Minseok told the tallest man, sunset hair twisted up in a knot. Canlie said something, but Junmyeon wasn't watching, too busy trying to breathe around the air that had thickened into a stinging corrosiveness.
Fine, Liu Wen, I'll do it, Minseok snapped, eyes flashing before he turned to Junmyeon, hovering near the back wall close to the doors.
It'll be okay, Minseok said, but it sounded more like a question. Junmeyon looked around at the strangers and wondered what would happen when Minseok inevitably fell. Are you going to be another body on the stone floor?
The thought tasted like ashes in his mouth, even as Minseok wrapped an arm around Junmyeon’s back to steady him, the other hand smoothing gently over the surface in an unvoiced apology before Mindeok leaned forward and his teeth punctured Junmyeon's skin.
※※※
Minseok didn't fall. He blinked, once, pulling away with green on his mouth. Junmyeon's head spun before he saw darkness.
※※※
Why isn't he waking up?
Junmyeon couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear-feel-the fear in Minseok's voice.
What's happening? Even his thoughts were weak, barely drifting above his head.
Can you hear me? Fingers trailed over his forehead.
It's the Garden of Truth, a woman said, Junmyeon heard the sound in his ears and he didn't understand, but the fingers smoothing through his hair stopped.
A prophecy from the Treasury of Secrets? Minseok asked. Qian, I don't remember anything that sounded like this.
Do it, the woman-Qian-said. Think about how many people have already died for no reason.
Junmyeon was confused, his head was ringing and he wanted to know-he opened his mouth to speak-warm liquid, thick and viscous over his tongue, slipped between his lips. It tasted like iron, and he tried to spit it up, jerking over onto his side to gag, but it was already sliding down his throat.
He stopped breathing, and nothing in the room moved, not even his heart.
And then, with a sudden rush of sharp pain through his chest, like a bright flood, tearing a bandage off an already scabbed wound, a muddy mess of clotted muck poured out of his mouth, tearing globs off the walls of his throat and scraping his lungs clean as air rushed in.
Junmyeon wanted to say something, but he couldn't remember how to speak with his mouth.
I feel alive he signed instead, the thoughts bubbling over in his head as his eyes blinked open.
※※※
Minseok was looking at him, sitting beside the soft bed where Junmyeon lay-no longer in the sticky nightgown but rather ordinary pajamas, flannel with a rabbit print.
"How are you feeling?" Minseok asked, but Junmyeon just stared at him and tried to think. I can hear your voice.
"You can hear my voice," Minseok nodded. Light streamed through the open window, falling in soft lines across his face, golden dust spiralling through the air to land on his eyelashes.
How? Junmyeon let his ears take in all the sounds, the invisible landscape he'd lost so long ago.
"It's the Garden of Truth," Minseok said, and smiled when Junmyeon frowned. "Part of the Treasury of Secrets, the same as the Feast of Blood; so if the Lord of the City dies in an accident we don't tear each other and the city apart until we get a new one."
What does that have to do with me? Junmyeon was feeling better, better than he had in so long he'd forgotten how good it felt. He sat up in bed and his head didn't spin.
"You're the changeling from the Masked Ball," Minseok said. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out as the bars cast lines on his face. "You're the Feast of Blood. You're copper instead of iron, and we get poisoned." Minseok laughed then, the solemnity of his face breaking up into crinkles and happiness. "We get poisoned, that is, except for the one who doesn't, for no reason we can explain. The Treasury of Secrets holds too many things that are shadowed, even from us."
There were too many questions running through Junmyeon's head, he wanted to ask everything, why didn't you get poisoned? Why did you seem to know that before you began? but he also wanted to go home. A kind of aching longing in his bones seemed to whisper home, home, home. You'll be careful, right? he could still remember his sister signing, over and over again.
Can I go home? he thought, and hoped that MInseok could still understand him.
Minseok nodded, fingers lingering as they brushed over Junmyeon's knuckles.
※※※
There's one thing I'm curious about, Junmyeon thought, standing at the gate, snow crunching underfoot. It had been only a day since he'd come in with Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Jongdae. It had been a lifetime. Who's the Lord of the City now? Looking up at Minseok, who was sitting on the stone wall, heels kicking against the grey stone and sending down small cascades of snow, Junmyeon had the strangest feeling, that some small part of him wanted to stay.
"I am," Minseok said, and grinned. "I'll see you again." He waved, as Junmyeon turned the corner, the Estate fading slowly from view. Pulling out his phone from the coat that Minseok had rescued, he typed a message to his friends.
You'll never guess where I've been.
Smiling, Junmyeon listened to the snow crunching under his shoes in time with the beat of his heart.
※※※
Notes: There are some references to Persian history and literature, used out of context.
For: krishoislove
Author: bluedreaming
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: blood, minor character death, potentially disturbing imagery,[Spoiler (click to open)]vampires
Length: 4876 words
Summary: Junmyeon doesn't like parties.
Author's Note: Thanks so much to the mods for going the extra mile and then ten more steps in seven-league boots; I'm truly sorry about all the trouble. Thank you to my recipient for their fascinating prompts, I hope you like this. Thank you to you know who (you are all awesome and terrific and I couldn't do this without you), thank you to R for listening to the plot and helping keep me awake at the end and to R for looking things over at the 11th hour and of course a massive thanks to the very best beta ever who really shouldn't be looking at this at all. All errors are mine and mine alone.
This story was inspired by Everything's coming up roses by Night Terrors of 1927 as well as the music video and song Gravity of Love by Enigma. It was also inspired slightly by Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series and The Replacement by Brenna Yovanoff. The title is from the Céci EXO-M agit night photoshoot and Behind-the-Scenes video.
Junmyeon wasn't the kind of person who liked going to parties. If there was a choice between a party and a visit to the central library, or a trip to the planetarium, or a walk in the arboretum or just a quiet day at home, he always chose the latter. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't like people, because he did, but there was always that secret lurking in the back of his head. His problem.
Don't stay out too long, his sister would always sign with a worried expression, draping a scarf carefully around his neck and giving him a goodbye kiss on the forehead even though he was in university already. He would always make a face at her and stick out his tongue but he loved his sister more than anything and he knew she knew that. I wouldn't have made it without you.
And then he would take a deep breath before opening the front door, stepping into the city that was slowly killing him. Because Junmyeon was allergic to iron and everything outside his house was iron. Even people had iron flowing through their veins. He buried his face in his scarf and kept walking.
Are you almost here? Junmyeon held his phone carefully by the rubber case, fingertip only grazing the glass screen. His parents hadn't wanted him to get a phone but he'd bargained and explained and finally just stood up from his seat at the table and signed point blank-
I'm already dying so letting me talk to my friends isn't going to kill me any faster. Then he had sat down and felt terrible for making his mother cry. But it was true.
walking, he texted back before letting the hand-sized piece of death fall back into his pocket. Why did I agree to go to this party anyway?
"Ball," Baekhyun corrected him for the tenth time. "It's the Masked Ball and it only happens like once a century so of course we're going." Baekhyun was terrible at signing so they'd long ago agreed that Junmyeon would just practice his lip-reading and if he missed something it probably wasn't important anyway.
I don't care, Junmyeon signed into the mirror, as Baekhyun fussed over his hair and then spun him around to start layering something on his eyelids. And why do I have to put on make-up if it's a masked ball? But Baekhyun wasn't paying attention-too engrossed in his amateur makeup application skills; and Junmyeon just gave up and made faces at Kyungsoo from across the room.
Luckily enough his black skinny jeans and white silk top were deemed appropriate enough and Junmyeon was allowed to sit on the bed and watch Baekhyun annoy Kyungsoo with wardrobe choices. Watching Baekhyun chatter away, his mouth moving too quickly for Junmyeon to catch the words, he remembered meeting Baekhyun for the first time.
Don't you feel bad when you can't hear? the student in his discussion group had signed awkwardly. Junmyeon remembered seeing him chattering away in other classes and stifled a laugh.
I'm used to it, he signed back, smiling, and some people talk too much anyway. The whole group had burst into laughter and they'd been friends ever since, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, and Jongdae when he wasn't in trouble with the dean for something or the other.
Where's Jongdae? Junmyeon asked Kyungsoo, when Baekhyun had given up trying to make Kyungsoo wear anything but black and had stalked off to the kitchen to make himself a drink-everyone knew that you couldn't make Kyungsoo do anything he didn't want to do, everyone that was except Baekhyun, who was somehow convinced he was an exception to the rule.
He's just avoiding getting bullied into Baekhyun's fashion choices, Kyungsoo signed, and they shared a laugh as Baekhyun darted around the kitchen; Junmyeon was glad he couldn't hear the commotion he was probably making.
You look nice, Junmyeon told Kyungsoo, as they pulled on their jackets and walked out the door.
Jongdae met them at the Estate, as everyone called it. He was grinning, ear to ear, his Cheshire smile, and Baekhyun rolled his eyes at the gold jacket he was wearing. I have to make an impression, even Jongdae's signing managed to be sassy, Junmyeon could never figure out how he did it.
There was a huge crowd of people, illuminated by the yellow street lights reflecting off snow, everyone queueing up, and even the air was buzzing with the chatter. Junmyeon couldn't hear it but even the air was vibrating. It was cold, waiting in line; it seemed like the whole town had come, everyone ecstatic with the once-in-a-lifetime chance to see inside the Estate. But something about the stone palace, with its shadowed arches and opaque glass, tinted red as though to catch the glow of a sunset that was already lost, that made him feel uneasy.
Can I just go home? he asked Kyungsoo, who looked conflicted, but Jongdae caught his arm and pulled him along.
Come on! he signed, his gestures wide and abrupt like excited shouting, you can't miss this chance! Junmyeon swallowed. He was feeling a little queasy, but maybe it was just the iron around him, the fence and the lamp posts and the blood humming in so many bodies. He could almost hear it singing.
The queue was faster than it had first appeared and soon they were at the doors, being handed thick porcelain masks that stuck somehow to their faces. Kyungsoo was mysterious behind a half-mask in a dusky velvet black, Jongdae bright in purple and gold, and Baekhyun was so suited to his peacock blue that they all had a laugh at his expense.
Junmyeon's mask, a rich green silk, was smooth at first but soon the contact with his skin began to feel unbearable. He tried to catch his friends' eyes, but they were all too entranced by the tapestries and oil paintings with garish designs. The lights flickered strangely and Junmyeon felt ill, but Baekhyun was smiling, entranced, his feet drifting with the music as he clung to Jongdae's arm. Kyungsoo was fascinated by the musicians playing in the corner, his fingers waving with the fingers of the flute-players.
They drifted further into the palace, the entrance leading into a wide hallway with a vaulted ceiling, which then became a monstrous ballroom-the ceiling so high it receded into the dark. Or maybe there was no ceiling? Junmyeon thought he could see stars twinkling overhead, and the thick swirls of moonlit clouds. It was disconcerting. So too were the people, no longer only the ones he'd seen queueing up along with his friends. They were stranger people, clustered in corners, secret embraces that spilled out of privacy into the public eye, but no one even batted an eyelash. Baekhyun was standing next to a couple, were they men? Were they women? In any case they were swept up in such passionate kissing and caresses that he wasn't sure if they weren’t actually engaged in public indecency.
But no one seemed to care.
The room grew duskier as it filled, the masks becoming more and more bizarre, twisted figures of crimson and silk drifting through the crowd. His mask was positively painful at this point, I need to leave, Junmyeon signed to Kyungsoo but his friend seemed to have forgotten how to speak, only smiling blankly, fingers still drifting with what he could only assume was the pulse of the music.
Junmyeon was suddenly frightened, a crystalline sharpness filling his mouth with the bitter aftertaste of copper. Tugging at his friend's sleeves was no use, and his face was in such agony at this point that he wanted only to leave or at the very least find a washroom and dunk his face in cool water after peeling off his mask. Turning back, he tried to move through the swaying crowd, countercurrent, his progress like slow molasses as no one moved to give way.
It had long ago crossed into the territory of nightmares.
He must have lost his way as he stumbled only further and further into narrower corridors, his face on fire and his hands clawing at the porcelain when suddenly he crashed into something-claret eyes were all Junmyeon remembered as the mask finally parted from his face, suddenly giving way, and crashing onto the marble floor, fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.
※※※
It was dark when he woke up, only the faint glow of candles illuminating his vision. Junmyeon was lying in a bed, soft sheets against his skin. Fearfully, he raised his hands to his face but the skin was smooth-there was no evidence of past pain. Was it a dream? Junmyeon sat up slowly, and looked around. He was in a small room with no windows, with no way to gauge the time or his location.
Where am I? His friends were nowhere to be seen.
Standing, Junmyeon became aware of a strange sensation but he could distinguish no source. Finally, tripping over his shaky feet, he realized that the floor and walls were pulsing with a strange beat, almost like a heart.
He felt horrified.
He scrambled towards the door only to realize that it was locked, bolted from the outside. No matter what he did he couldn't even cause it to budge. Finally, after pounding uselessly at the heavy wood until his fists were most certainly bruised, he stumbled back in despair.
Sitting there, on the floor, Junmyeon looked at the door and tried to think. His cellphone? Hands flying to his pockets in sudden hope, his spirits were dashed to the floor all over again when he realized he wasn't in his clothes anymore. Rather, he wore an unfamiliar nightgown, the loose fabric bunched in white cuffs around his wrists, the neckline scooped low, skimming under his collarbones. Now that he realized it, he was cold, and was it just his imagination that a faint trickle of cold air was working its way over the skin of his exposed neck and shoulder?
Junmyeon wanted to get back into bed to hide from the monsters, have his sister come and read to him again-stories that danced over her fingers as her eyes skimmed the page and the air filled with stories of children who were free to do whatever they wanted to, to had their whole lives to look forward to.
You're not dying, he still remembered, his mother signing it to him when he was five years old. It was the first time he had seen a lie spin between fingers like a spider's web designed to catch hearts.
Junmyeon didn't crawl back into bed. He stood at the door and tried to listen instead, not for the sounds he couldn't hear but for the the vibrations he felt with the soles of his feet; his fingertips on the wood.
The pulsing of the room was making him sick.
Leaning forward against the wood, forehead pressed to the smooth surface, Junmyeon tried to think, but nothing came to mind. His eyes blurred, whether with tears or confusion he didn't have time to figure out, as the sudden staccato vibration of clicking footsteps approaching vibrated through the door. Thoughts tumbling in a whirlwind, he stood a step back and twisted his ankle, not hard, but enough to slip to the ground in a soft gust of air as the door swung open, sudden light blinding him as he sat in a crumpled pile of white nightgown, blinking.
Maybe someone spoke or maybe they didn't; he couldn't see against the backlight, only a dark silhouette that reached forward with cold fingers to pry him off the floor-bare feet scraping across the carpets as Junmyeon found himself pulled out into the hall and along, past door and door and doors, all closed.
Lost chances.
※※※
The person wasn't speaking, face forward into the shadows of the lamps that hung from the ornate wallpaper of the walls; Junmyeon tried to regain his footing but stumbled repeatedly as he was thrown off step by the variable pacing.
Stop, he wanted to sign, but the person wasn't looking at him, face flickering with darkness. Just then, stepping wrong on his ankle, the joint twisted and he fell to the ground, but the person didn't break pace, merely pulling Junmyeon inexhaustibly along-the fingers digging into his shoulder clenching tightly like a skeleton's rigor mortis, conceding nothing.
Pain flared through his foot and up his leg but Junmyeon gritted his teeth, tasting copper on his tongue. The person faltered, missing a step, but then their fingers dug even more tightly into his shoulder, nails almost but not quite piercing the skin under the white fabric, the new pain helping to clear his head of the fog of numbness creeping up his spine.
He could smell iron. Blood.
The smell crept down his throat, scraping against the delicate tissues of his lungs, sucking away his air as a loud ringing, not a sound but rather the violent absence of it, blossomed in his head.
Junmyeon blinked, as the smell grew stronger, and he could feel the stinging of copper in his tears.
Don't cry, he could remember his sister signing as she had snuggled him into the warm embrace of her arms, only four years old, green tears tracking down his face. Your tears are too pretty to waste.
Now he tried to focus on her smiling face, as the lights blurred and his face grew sticky. His eyes swam anyway.
The hallway ended in huge bolted doors, the iron studs and nails singing in Junmyeon's skin as the person nudged the heavy crossbeam to the side and pushed the doors open with a finger.
The door swung open, and a sudden rush of air flooded the hallway, Junmyeon's breath catching, lungs contracting at overwhelming smell of red.
The person paused in the doorway, and he might have been saying something, Junmyeon wasn't sure around the pounding in his ears and the green leaking from his eyes. He blinked.
Red everywhere, crimson walls and tables draped with carmine cloth, heavy ruby drapes blocking the windows so that he couldn't tell if it was day or night.
There were people sitting at the tables, glittering eyes and glittering cutlery and lying along the red-draped tops, people in white, mouths bound in black and red dotting the white of their clothing.
Junmyeon blinked again, because everything was going hazy and he could feel the collective thumping of heartbeats, perfectly synchronized.
This was the secret of the Estate.
Black descended over his eyes as a silk blindfold, cool on his chilled skin, was bound around his head.
※※※
He couldn't see anything, and the change was startling, his body fighting to stay alert despite the copper filling his mouth. Junmyeon could feel the iron in the air, as it seeped into the pores of his skin, down his throat into his lungs-poison, poison, poison.
You must always promise to be more careful, he remembered his sister signing, every day before he left for school, every time he got hurt, every time, every time and always.
I'm sorry, he thought. I'm so sorry. Tears would have filled his eyes, if they hadn't already been seeping. He could feel his stomach boiling, as his body fought to remove the toxins, but his stomach was empty and there was nothing to let go.
The person's fingers left his shoulder, pain shooting through the bone as the numbing pressure was released and he could feel the bruises.
Air moved and the ground vibrated, smooth marble under his bare feet. The floor was cold.
Something happened then, the air was filled with humming and currents whirled around Junmyeon as he stood, fighting to remain standing. The room was thick with the sweet, metallic iron of blood. Junmyeon ran a tongue over cracked lips. He wouldn't make it much longer.
A hand suddenly connected with his bruised shoulder and he screamed; he couldn't help it, the pain shot up his neck. There was a vibration in the air next to his face, maybe they were trying to say something but he couldn't hear.
I can't hear, he tried to sign, but no one was paying attention as he swayed on his feet. Junmyeon just wished it would stop. His fingers crept up to his blindfold, maybe. . .
But a sharp slap to the face stopped him, sending him rocking sideways and he almost fell, only a rough hand under his arm keeping him up, but it jerked away as soon as he was on his feet again.
There was a burning in his nose and Junmyeon could feel the stinging copper dotting his upper lip.
Gloved hands reached for him now, and they were no more gentle but at least they didn't jerk away as they pulled him somewhere else, and when his cold feet stumbled on the ground they reached under his arms and dragged him along.
Blinking to keep the haze at bay-I promised-his eyelashes scraping under silk, Junmyeon could feel the floor change; it was no longer marble but rather rougher stone that scraped the bottoms of his cold-numbed feet. The air was hushed, still, only echoes emanating from the far corners.
Pushed into a chair, the worn wood strangely warm through the fabric of his night gown, Junmyeon waited for the future to happen.
Goodbye,he thought, and realized that it felt true.
※※※
It wasn't goodbye.
There was no warning, only the faintest brush of hair, an open mouth exhaling, before sharp points sank into his skin and broke the surface. Junmyeon's neck arched back, a reflexive gesture, fingers curling in desperately but grasping at nothing, the burning underbite of bloody saliva searing the surface of his skin before the teeth disengaged, tearing out of his flesh as quickly as they had engaged as he was left to sag in his seat.
But there wasn't even time for a breath, before a new sharpness pierced the inside of his wrist, another at the crook of his elbow, yet others joining, the hollow of his collarbone, the inside of his thigh, thin nightgown pushed up to his waist as he shivered, the stabbing kisses landing only the briefest of moments before ripping away.
It wasn't his imagination that things were falling, tremors echoing in the stone of the floor, the faintest memory of vibration working its way through his foggy consciousness; but Junmyeon tried to focus on staying awake, even as he could feel the dark clouds hovering in the wings.
And then all hell broke loose.
※※※
All the mouths were yanked away from Junmyeon's skin, as if by a gushing wind; cold air stroked fingers across his face.
NO! he heard, a sound, crystalline in its sharpness as it cut through to his deepest darkest memories-hushed rooms and bleeding ears and the sounds of the world before they stopped ringing.
Silence.
A prickling covered his skin, pins and needles as though waking up for the first time. Air currents swirled around, brushing his skin, something clipped his face as it flew past, scraping his cheek. And then there was nothing.
Are you alright? Junmyeon heard, with the tips of his fingers, with the marrow of his bones. The tip of his tongue brushed over the roof of his dry mouth, darting out to touch cracked lips.
I don't know, he signed.
I'm sorry, I don't understand, the voice said, echoed, not in space but in heart. Soft fingers brushed Junmyeon's hair, ran soothingly over the nobs of his spine, the shell of his ears when he winced at the tangles before the the blindfold slipped off.
He was staring into a chest, black t-shirt with white lines like mountains, like sound waves cutting a mountain range down to the words. Unknown Pleasures.
If I move, will you scream? the voice asked; Junmyeon could feel the vibrations of the chest only centimetres away from his face from where he sat, knuckles white on the armrests keeping himself upright. I need to breathe, he thought.
Okay, the voice replied, and Junmyeon wasn't sure if it was answering his thoughts or not before it slowly moved away, a face coming into focus, worried eyes and a soft mouth but he was too distracted by the sight before him.
He blinked.
Swallowed.
Blinked again as the red red red filled his eyes, bodies lying on the stone ground, twitching, leaking crimson from their eyes their ears their noses their mouths their-
without thinking, Junmyeon lurched forward and buried his face in the voice's-the man's-chest as he fought for breath, everything spinning in a crimson swirl.
※※※
They ended up in a small room, hushed and still, a blue porcelain vase of small white flowers on the table. The voice-the man-had ended up half leading, half carrying Junmyeon along because his legs were shaking too much to really walk and he still couldn't quite catch his breath. He didn't think he'd lost so much blood, but all the iron leeching the life from his chest, the air catching in his chest-Be more careful, he could see his sister signing, over and over again, after each time he pushed the limits, tried for too much because he wanted to live-
I'm sorry, Junmyeon thought, swallowing over the copper in his throat, the edges sharp as they jutted into his skin.
What are you sorry about? the voice-the man-asked.
Junmyeon thought about the bodies in the stone room. He thought about his sister, tears in her eyes as he fought to breathe.
For always causing people pain.
Don't say that when it's obvious that you're the one who's in the most pain, the man said. Junmyeon stiffened slightly at his words but the man ran soft fingers over his back, helping to smooth his heaving rib cage. By now, rather than being scared, Junmyeon was more embarrassed and confused, angry almost, because he still didn't understand what was going on. But just when he'd worked up the courage to open his mouth, there was a sudden pounding at the door, vibrations echoing through the small room, up his legs from where they met the soft wood slats covering the ground.
The man sighed, his breath warm on Junmyeon's face as he rose to open the door, which slammed open on well-oiled hinges and crashed into the wall before the man had even laid a hand on the latch, which now hung useless from one nail. Junmyeon noticed, idly, that it was iron.
A man stood, framed in the doorway, eyes flashing and face drawn in cold fury. Junmyeon couldn't even read his lips, which were moving too quickly to be traced. The lights flickered in the room, casting alternating shadows over his face, over the crimson velvet of his jacket, turning it bloody,
Then, Shixun, please explain why I wasn't informed of the death of my father? the man with the voice asked the stranger in red-Shixun, Junmyeon guessed-his tone skeptical. As a direct descendant, according to the Pasargadaean Convention, a formal invitation to the Deadly Banquet is my right. The man with the voice's eyes flashed a dark red, spinning with gold like sudden storms. Shixun sputtered, his face darkening.
Fine, the man with the voice snapped, fury plain on his face. You're barbarians. Shixun didn't bother to close the door as he stormed back down the hallway.
It will be okay, the man with the voice said, turning to face Junmyeon as he tucked a small white petal behind Junmyeon's ear. What's your name? he thought as the man with the voice reached out to take his hand.
Minseok, he replied, and helped Junmyeon to his feet, hands not even hesitating as they brushed against the green and red stained whiteness of Junmyeon's nightgown, crumpled from the struggle. His fingertips burned as they lightly grazed over Junmyeon's collarbones before lifting up-but they burned with a different kind of feeling this time.
Waking up.
※※※
The bodies had been cleared away, but it still smelled like rusted ruin, sticking in Junmyeon's throat. There were three men standing by the chair; now that he could see it, it was so much more frightening-the worn grooves of the seat, the ingrained drips of people who had come before.
You know I don't agree with the feast of blood, Canlie, Minseok told the tallest man, sunset hair twisted up in a knot. Canlie said something, but Junmyeon wasn't watching, too busy trying to breathe around the air that had thickened into a stinging corrosiveness.
Fine, Liu Wen, I'll do it, Minseok snapped, eyes flashing before he turned to Junmyeon, hovering near the back wall close to the doors.
It'll be okay, Minseok said, but it sounded more like a question. Junmeyon looked around at the strangers and wondered what would happen when Minseok inevitably fell. Are you going to be another body on the stone floor?
The thought tasted like ashes in his mouth, even as Minseok wrapped an arm around Junmyeon’s back to steady him, the other hand smoothing gently over the surface in an unvoiced apology before Mindeok leaned forward and his teeth punctured Junmyeon's skin.
※※※
Minseok didn't fall. He blinked, once, pulling away with green on his mouth. Junmyeon's head spun before he saw darkness.
※※※
Why isn't he waking up?
Junmyeon couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear-feel-the fear in Minseok's voice.
What's happening? Even his thoughts were weak, barely drifting above his head.
Can you hear me? Fingers trailed over his forehead.
It's the Garden of Truth, a woman said, Junmyeon heard the sound in his ears and he didn't understand, but the fingers smoothing through his hair stopped.
A prophecy from the Treasury of Secrets? Minseok asked. Qian, I don't remember anything that sounded like this.
Do it, the woman-Qian-said. Think about how many people have already died for no reason.
Junmyeon was confused, his head was ringing and he wanted to know-he opened his mouth to speak-warm liquid, thick and viscous over his tongue, slipped between his lips. It tasted like iron, and he tried to spit it up, jerking over onto his side to gag, but it was already sliding down his throat.
He stopped breathing, and nothing in the room moved, not even his heart.
And then, with a sudden rush of sharp pain through his chest, like a bright flood, tearing a bandage off an already scabbed wound, a muddy mess of clotted muck poured out of his mouth, tearing globs off the walls of his throat and scraping his lungs clean as air rushed in.
Junmyeon wanted to say something, but he couldn't remember how to speak with his mouth.
I feel alive he signed instead, the thoughts bubbling over in his head as his eyes blinked open.
※※※
Minseok was looking at him, sitting beside the soft bed where Junmyeon lay-no longer in the sticky nightgown but rather ordinary pajamas, flannel with a rabbit print.
"How are you feeling?" Minseok asked, but Junmyeon just stared at him and tried to think. I can hear your voice.
"You can hear my voice," Minseok nodded. Light streamed through the open window, falling in soft lines across his face, golden dust spiralling through the air to land on his eyelashes.
How? Junmyeon let his ears take in all the sounds, the invisible landscape he'd lost so long ago.
"It's the Garden of Truth," Minseok said, and smiled when Junmyeon frowned. "Part of the Treasury of Secrets, the same as the Feast of Blood; so if the Lord of the City dies in an accident we don't tear each other and the city apart until we get a new one."
What does that have to do with me? Junmyeon was feeling better, better than he had in so long he'd forgotten how good it felt. He sat up in bed and his head didn't spin.
"You're the changeling from the Masked Ball," Minseok said. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out as the bars cast lines on his face. "You're the Feast of Blood. You're copper instead of iron, and we get poisoned." Minseok laughed then, the solemnity of his face breaking up into crinkles and happiness. "We get poisoned, that is, except for the one who doesn't, for no reason we can explain. The Treasury of Secrets holds too many things that are shadowed, even from us."
There were too many questions running through Junmyeon's head, he wanted to ask everything, why didn't you get poisoned? Why did you seem to know that before you began? but he also wanted to go home. A kind of aching longing in his bones seemed to whisper home, home, home. You'll be careful, right? he could still remember his sister signing, over and over again.
Can I go home? he thought, and hoped that MInseok could still understand him.
Minseok nodded, fingers lingering as they brushed over Junmyeon's knuckles.
※※※
There's one thing I'm curious about, Junmyeon thought, standing at the gate, snow crunching underfoot. It had been only a day since he'd come in with Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Jongdae. It had been a lifetime. Who's the Lord of the City now? Looking up at Minseok, who was sitting on the stone wall, heels kicking against the grey stone and sending down small cascades of snow, Junmyeon had the strangest feeling, that some small part of him wanted to stay.
"I am," Minseok said, and grinned. "I'll see you again." He waved, as Junmyeon turned the corner, the Estate fading slowly from view. Pulling out his phone from the coat that Minseok had rescued, he typed a message to his friends.
You'll never guess where I've been.
Smiling, Junmyeon listened to the snow crunching under his shoes in time with the beat of his heart.
※※※
Notes: There are some references to Persian history and literature, used out of context.