The Phoenix Complex | j.hs.

아홉: albatross on their shoulders

"Hoseok," Mirae called indistinctly, causing the male to shift his weight to the side. "Is it possible for our soul to be starved to such an extent that it becomes used to the hollowness inside? For it to forget altogether that it requires food to survive too? Because as I continue to muddle through life, I can't help but look at myself through that lens. Am I being an overthinker here?"

Hoseok landed on his back again, pulling a deep breath in as he stared at the ceiling lights that gleamed in a linear pattern. Sliding his palms off his abdomen and onto the varnished floor, he placed them flat beside him and leisurely closed his eyelids, giving the impression as if trying to channel the lifeblood of that illuminated room which had anything but fulfilled its promise by then. 

The promise that entailed it volunteering to assume the albatross perching on their shoulders as its own. Though it eventually failed to, as was nakedly apparent through Mirae's confession. Therefore, considering Hoseok's true nature, it somehow turned inevitable that he finally took the matter in his own hands. Exhaling a short puff of air, he faced Mirae again.

"I'm quite familiar with that feeling, Mirae. But it isn't as simple as people phrase it," he paused, sorrow flagrant in the smile that was flitting on his lips. "Getting into something takes a lot of time and efforts, and so does stepping out of it. Heck, if I were to be honest, I'd say that withdrawing is far more challenging than introducing yourself to new stuffs. However, do you know why is it even tough, to begin with?" 

"It's because our bodies pick up elements from our everyday routine. They adapt, and gradually form core memories out of them. So whenever we end up getting sidetracked, our body reacts to that change. It shows its displeasure. It makes us realise that we're sad, or maybe that we should be sad over it. This is normal, this is how everyone deserves to feel. But your case... it's the result of your enduring of that emotion and subsequently deny undergoing it at all."

"That's labeled as living in denial, Mirae." Hoseok's eyes were locked on her, the spark in them dimming. "You're aware of what you're doing to yourself, but again, your body has become accustomed to this mistreatment. So even though you're able to locate where precisely you stand when it comes to grieving, you can't. Because it seems kinda... contrived, doesn't it?" 

"Loosen up a bit, allow yourself to live a little. You're a human after all, you're designed to feel! Stifling and trampling over your emotions won't yield anything, it's only destructive in the long run. Validate your thoughts. And in case you can't, please share them with me. I'll do it for you, you can count on me. Do you get me, Mirae?" Hoseok's accentuated address was hard to miss.

"Yes sir, I do," Mirae stated mechanically, breaking into a chuckle when owing to it, Hoseok's expression became unreadable. 

He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance, squirming around so that Mirae was in his clear vision. The alteration in his posture was bound to occur sooner or later, because not only stealing glances at her relentlessly all that while— from the corner of his eyes— was proving to be quite discomforting for Hoseok, the solid ground of the practice room was not particularly suitable for people to lay down on it. And much to their dismay, they had been sprawling over it for more than an hour now, automatically disqualifying them from bellyaching regarding its indifference towards the two of them.