king of hearts.

1 | fate's hearing

sungchan woke up in a pool of his own cold sweat — his eyes flickered from the posters stuck to his pearly white walls and the multiple sliver and bronze medals and trophies littering the selves above his study desk.

what the hell was that?

he could only wonder back to the vivid memory of his dreams, a boy with brunette hair and the most amusing set of eyes he had ever stared into — like the universe hand-crafted his pupils and glittered stars into the black abyss of nothing to add color — for a spark of uniqueness.

he ran a sweaty hand through his ruffled hair, bringing air to his lungs as he took this chance to think. right, he had a flight to catch today to tokyo as his work position and area was being transferred from being situated in seoul to being situated to tokyo.

—— 📖

i held onto his hand for way too long, almost as if i was scared to let go. i held it closer to my heart than to my own warmth, believing on such little hope that my beating heart he could hear it and come back to me.
yet his eyes never peered open and flashed his smile to me once again — i spent my last days dreading my hatred for him, that now all his love he's given to me i can't seem to return back as he was not here.

i would be called insane for giving back love to a ghost but i didn't care — i needed him by my side, for one.. last.. time.

every corner of the cold room reminded me of him, the smell of his clothes especially. they were tight on me but i didn't care. he was my escape, my lover, and yet i've failed him as his lover.

i spent my days neglecting my title as king as to what kind of king is set to rule if he couldn't even bare the guilt his heart held when he loses his lover? my heart only ached more as i felt the space besides me empty and barren.

it was cold — the forest i used to walk with him in my head used to be filled with the greenest leaves, pretty flowers peeking out of the their buds and the sound of animals calmed my heart. now that forest was barren, cold and my heart was anxious every time i walked without him by my side.

i'm so sorry that i treated you so horribly.
that i let my ego and walls cover your love towards me — that you were trying to save me from my empty fortress with your flame of warmth, i'm sorry i took so much of your warmth that you ended dying in my warm hands.

your blood is now soaked, unpure and tainted with a person named me.

—— 📖

shotaro stood in the hospital hallway with his head down.
"osaki shotaro? room seven please," he walked to the room, dreading this session like every session that was presented to him on a platter.

being an idol didn't help as well — his heart was too bare to keep his fans' love to himself and he somehow always found himself sharing it with the wrong people, from cheaters to people who only wanted him under them during the act of love — it felt out of place, like he didn't matter to them.

"mister osaki? it's a pleasure to see you again. tell me—" the idol sat in the chair again, his body almost liquifying with the chair itself as the words entered through his head and left almost immediately.

"—osaki shotaro?" that voice loved to step on his heart.
"can you tell me about your week?"

what happened this week?

he practiced his days — life actually — away every week, never seeming to stop about pleasing his fans who gave him love to overfill his love that he had resulted to having articles written about him over the news of being an artist who doesn't care about his fans for his.. unusual way of giving love back to people who needed it.

"osaki shotaro?" he jolts up at the mention of his own name, almost foreign to him as he hears it. "i just remembered i had a meeting with my company — i'm so sorry." and he leaves the room with his therapist shouting his name from behind.

boring.

—— 📖

shotaro is passionately kissing the lips of another an hour later who's as well, intoxicated in alcohol to give a care that he's kissing shotaro osaki — an idol.

a string of saliva runs down from the man's lips down the lines of shotaro's neck, drawing and leaving soft purple bruises down it as the idol's breath turns uneasy and heavy under it all. he feels lust, open for everyone to see — his fans to see.

what was he doing with his life?

the idol finds himself in a dirtied bed again this week, with the smell of sex hanging in the air and just another naked body next to him — the red alarm clock on the bedside table reads two in the morning as shotaro stands up from the bed with a sweaty body. "leaving so soon?" the naked boy asks — his face covered in black lines as shotaro stands to get his clothes abandoned on the floor.

he checks his phone, no messages, but he lies through his teeth to get away from a one nighter who wants another round of suppose fun, "my family expects me back in 10."
"oh, okay."

and he leaves the house, disgusted at himself once again as he walks down the streets of tokyo with a displeased face. "i'm so.."

useless.
hopeless..

he finds himself alone in a park, no one to be seen anywhere.

tears blur his eyesight, and he crouches down to the concrete floor. he hiccups his first tears and cries there until three.

why was i even born?
i can't even give love out properly anymore.
i'm so hopeless..
so..

—— 📖 author's notes
hi everyone!! if you haven't read masquerade before, that's fine too, this is just a spinoff of it!

in this story, i would say shotaro's personality that's in real life isn't really here that much..? he's more of a person who's lost his passion in life tbh..

more of a.. "life is boring, might as well be boring as well" type of person than shotaro's real personality but like always, this story isn't might to be harmful for the idols in it.
i have no relations to them, nor do i wish to harm their popularity, i'm only writing them as my muses — ofc you can always change their names from sungchan/shotaro to any other name like sam/shila if you prefer non-idols instead.

this story does include mature topics and heated scenes as shotaro is a.. that type of person..