Author Games: The Art of War

Chapter Five: Males

Jaune: Kim Chi Suk

Kimchi's fingers dug into the fresh dirt, his fingernails filling with it as he hoisted himself up, foot by foot, bit by bit. The air here was clean with the faint smell of scraped tree bark, and the wind tousled his hair lightly, carrying the muted scent along with it. He craned his neck upwards where the sky rippled with a subtle tinge of heat, and, gritting his teeth, he hauled himself up, gripping the loose soil tightly in his hands. Focussing his eyes on the brown and orange scarf, he inhaled deeply and climbed.

It had been a long time since he had come here. Whenever there were too many things to think about, it felt like the whole world was throwing books at him, demanding him to read them all at once. In those times, he tried to please them. He would pick up one book after the other, skimming past the words, filling his mind with the lives of others, taking into account every single detail that could possibly mean anything. He tried to be what they wanted him to be—the person who would understand, and listen, and feel for every single human being on the planet.

But he knew that even he had his limits, and that was why he ran until he came to the distant hill where everything was quiet and soft and devoid of thoughts. Beyond it, green lands stretched far, far away through the horizon, and the sun never set and only hung in the sky. The birds and insects here never chirped, and there was only warmth and wind and the long grass blowing in roiling waves.

As he reached the summit, he stretched his hand out to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. He could feel the sun touching his hand in response, its rays tentatively trailing down his arm to his shirtsleeve as he gazed at the figure in front of him. Its hands were tucked neatly in its baggy pockets, and its back was curved slightly backwards as it watched a far-off scene that only it could see. As it turned, its scarf sailed in the breeze, and in the shadow of the sun Kimchi could make out the cheeks tinged with pink and the hair that fell over its eyes and curled at the ends of his ears.

Kimchi reached out to it, but his foot slipped from beneath him. He gasped lightly, and the figure started before it grasped his wrist, pulling him up to his feet. His lips parted as the figure's hair pulled away in a breath of air, a white puff of mist forming at its mouth and then dissipating into the wind as it gazed back in surprise, and then, slowly, it smiled.

The scarf brushed past Kimchi's face as his brother laughed. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" he asked, beaming.

—

Kimchi's heart beat faster and faster as he ran, gasping for air in the cold Noir lights, stumbling and staggering as his bag flung itself behind him like the wind. His wounded ear throbbed painfully, its pulse pounding against his head, and as he threw himself into the next alleyway, his feet pounded against the ground, jarring his thoughts violently and making them knock around inside his head.

He could see the way his boss's eyes grew round in surprise the first time they had met, the way that he'd smiled as he offered his hand for Kimchi to shake when he'd been nothing but an awkward boy trying to find a place to belong. He felt the rush of blood to his cheeks as Fuchsia tugged at his sleeve, pushing a bar of strawberry soap into his hands as a constant reminder from the head chef to "make the Nixes a cuisine that they would never forget". The Boss, Fuchsia, everyone that he had known for the past few years. The Queen's soldiers would hurl them onto the ground and shove their teeth onto the concrete, kicking them to break their jaw before pressing their rifles into the backs of their heads. The sob that he could hear Fuchsia choking out as they cocked their guns—