oblivion ; minsung

"someplace safe"

"Run."

Jisung is in a daze. His clothes are dripping, leaving a trail behind him. The evening is quiet except for the streetlights that flicker and buzz as he walks beneath them, then dull once he's passed.

"Run."

All he wants to do is get home. His head is aching. He can feel the stone cracking against his skull with every thud of his heart. His legs are sore from running. He didn't slow from a sprint until the Forest Estates were far behind him. Till he knew Minho wasn't following. Till he was sure he wouldn't stop and turn back. Hands around Minho's neck, that wild pulse hammering against his palms...

"Run."

But he had stopped. For one fevered second, his mind had focussed. He had been hurting Minho. He didn't want to — it was the last thing he wanted to do. Minho wasn't himself, he didn't feel like himself. He was another person, another entity. Like a phantom had crawled into his skin and overtaken every cell.

Jisung still feels his own phantom. Every time he thinks of Minho, it's harder to cling to what he knows: Minho is good. Minho doesn't deserve to be hurt. Minho didn't mean to shatter the Balance — neither of them did. But this thing inside him doesn't care about Minho. It doesn't care about the random bodies it assumes and eventually destroys.

Jisung would never have guessed that his lyrics were rooted in reality. The words that came to him in his sleep, the mumblings of his subconscious — they were supposed to be random. Serendipitous. Just made-up lyrics to made-up songs. He thought they were safe.

The light is on inside Jisung's house. He opens the door quietly, hoping Nini is asleep. But a voice comes from her bedroom.

"Jisung, what did you do? What did you do!"

He stops outside her door, calling in. "What are you talking about?"

"I... I'm not sure. Something happened while you were gone. You feel the shift too, right? Don't you, Little?"

He clenches his teeth. "I don't know what you mean."

"Why aren't you coming in? What happened — were those bigwigs rude to you?"

"No, they weren't. Nothing's wrong, nothing happened. I'm taking a shower."

"Don't walk away while we're having a conversation!"

He's already walking away. He can't deal with her right now. He has no idea how he would even begin to explain what happened.

The hot shower sprays over his head and down his back. The water around the drain is muddied with dirt. For a second it's tinged red. He can feel the cut under his hair, barely the width of a dime. For once he isn't worried about wasting the hot water. He needs this. He's fired up and dead tired at the same time. Will Minho come to him in his dreams tonight?

He shouldn't. He can't. If Jisung isn't able to control himself while he's awake, he isn't sure what will happen once he's asleep. What if he starts sleepwalking and somehow finds his way to Minho? At first it seems too far out, but when he pictures it, pictures Minho in bed, eyes shut, and something heavy and sharp in Jisung's hands... maybe the lamp from his nightstand...

The thought of blood seeps into his mind and drips down the back of his throat.

Maybe Minho is thinking the same. Maybe he's sitting in his mansion like a fucking king and loading bullets into a gun.

The privileged body that Death has usurped... it may ruin Life. Life must not hesitate. Life must act.

Jisung turns off the water and dresses in his bedroom. His body is buzzing with hatred. He's stumbling over himself, trying to collect his pieces. Tonight the cycle ends.

It should have ended a millennia ago.

Then he catches a glimpse of a guitar on the bed. He stops. It looks familiar.

Jisung shakes his head. No. It's the guitar. The one Minho bought for him.

His legs go weak. He lets himself down on his bed, reaching out to strum the guitar with the tips of his fingers. He hears beauty and happiness and love in the strings. It sounds like pure gold.

Clutching his guitar, he walks into his grandmother's room. She's staring at the TV, arms folded.

He hunkers to the floor beside the bed. "I'm sorry."

She picks up the clicker and turns off the TV. She lifts his chin with a finger, meets his eyes. She looks confused by what she sees.

"Explain, Little," she says. "What happened today?"

He tells her everything. He barely stops to breathe.