Yifan’s not sure why he let Chanyeol, of all people, choose the movie to watch for the night. He knew that Baekhyun had a thing for horror and mindless gore, and being the pleasing and doting boyfriend Chanyeol was, picked the scariest one to date. However, now Yifan had a trembling Zitao pressed into his side, nearly whimpering as screeching violin music began to play in the background. And it really didn’t help that all four males sat in complete darkness, the TV casting abstract shadows that danced upon the wall (which really didn’t help the situation one bit).
Yifan shifts from his spot on the couch, hands fumbling for something to hold. The apartment is abnormally dark, the only source of light coming from the hallway bathroom. He tries to focus on the sound of water being filled into a container instead of the blazing pain searing through his back. He’s sure the vacant holes of where his wings once were are still bleeding, serving as a scalding reminder of what he was before - a majestic creature, a messenger of God.
His ears perk when he hears the soft footsteps of Zitao approaching, glancing through blonde tresses at the boy who made him fall.
An usual silence hums within the walls of the dorm, darkness pooling the empty rooms and vacant hallways. There is a warm glow that leaks from the kitchen, giving life to shadows that dance on plaster surfaces. Zitao hovers over a pot of rice porridge, wielding a ladle that is currently mixing the soup. The silence is both welcoming yet foreign - without the rowdy antics and banter of his fellow band members, the dorm felt strange to be in. Zitao hums to himself as he throws in a dash of pepper and samples the porridge.
He nearly chokes when he feels a pair of arms snake around his waist.
Shatter, shatter (like once before)
1,890 words; R
Life is something like a rollercoaster, but Kyungsoo was never prepared for the hell of a ride that is Jongin.
Yifan mindlessly rifles through a clothing rack filled with jackets and blazers, taking his time to appreciate some of the designs and overpriced brand names. A medley of shopping bags swing in his grasp as he moves about the aisle, humming along to the music echoing throughout the store. He picks out a Whitaker jacket from the rack, admiring the fabric before catching the price label. Yifan glances at the Gucci and Louis Vuitton bags in his grasp, then back at the jacket, and casually places the article of clothing back.
“Yifan!” A familiar voice calls out. The blonde turns towards the source of the voice only to grimace at the sight before him.
I get jealous of writers who can easily write 3,000-5,000+ words in just one day like seriously do you know how much motivation it takes me to even start writing. I end up having a prayer circle, rolling around on the floor in despair, staring at blank documents, whining at people, flipping the internet inside-out for inspiration music, offering sacrifices to Satan, and then giving up for the night.
Raise the Fallen
12,240 words; R
Life is nothing but monotonous hues of black and white for Yifan, time ebbing painfully slow. However, he doesn’t expect to see a world so much darker through the eyes of a boy one fine night that paints his reality a bleeding red.
It’s not until Yifan reaches the confines of his home, the apartment so terribly dark, quiet, and lonely that he wonders if those eyes were a place where stars go to die, orbs a vessel for those long forgotten.
A crisp chill pricks at Joonmyun’s toes from underneath the glass coffee table, causing the male to shrink into himself. He’s probably lost feeling in his fingers twenty minutes prior to settling on the living room floor whilst writing his term paper, thick-rimmed glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Joonmyun stretches his fatigued back, cracking in the process, and slumps once more. It’s going to be a long night, he duly notes as his eyes strain to focus on the word document before him.
The elder closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, hoping to connect with his inner zen and salvage motivation to resume his tedious work. However, a rather harsh impact on his back and a cheerful “Hyung~” sabotages any hope for intellectual thought.