writetomyheart | [team three] untitled

the boyz; younghoon/hyunjae; 1,589w; G if you overlook the vampire themes and the dying character. unfinished and raw but i've decided this will be part of the challenge for me!

Someone is going to pay, had been the words he'd uttered before flying off into the night. Someone is going to pay, (a sharp whisper) (a crescendoing menace) and the world will know, they will all suffer from it, carry on ruined and impuissant, unable to do anything.

Hyunjae hadn't listened, hadn't paid him any mind: he never did, and — had tonight been any different, had he decided to behave from today on, it would have not changed a thing: there were important things at stake, implications that were bigger than the two of them, than the coven itself. Meaningless threats were the last thing on his mind as Daewon flew away

(like he did so often)

Punishments and vengeance were old friends of his; familiars of the castle — and he was far too used to them, to the void that filled them to even truly consider them.

Someone is going to pay, had sworn Daewon to the night that filled the scenery behind him, front doors open on the estate, green and green and green that stretched on and on and on, and on (or so humanity said: Hyunjae could only see it at night) — stars listening and gods witnessing, and Hyunjae not paying any of it a single heed, a single shred of attention.

Someone is going to pay, Daewon had said, and then a name, that Hyunjae hadn't heard, because he didn't care, didn't want to do so — didn't mind, didn't even bother minding.

But now that the owner of the name lies on the floor, bleeding out, dying and resurrecting, innocence torn away from him as he writhes in pain, Hyunjae has regrets. He has regrets, a few of them, and guilt, pooling in his stomach (overtaking it, settling there — deciding it likes it there, and wants to go further, to control him if it can)

(Refusing to yield, Hyunjae shuts his eyes, briefly (forever, for his kind). He swallows the hatred, the anger, the déjà-vu from his mind, and tears his gaze away from the man on the floor.)

(Help, he thinks he hears. Help.)

(He ignores the memories, and speaks.)

'What have you done? Daewon?'

His tone is colder than he intends it to be — still not quite dripping ice, not quite harming the ships that come its way — but it snows, in every word he pronounces, and the wind of his thoughts does not get any warmer when Daewon shrugs, replies as if it was nothing,

'Vengeance.'

As if it meant anything, as if it condoned his acts — as if it justified the puddle of blood taking shape on the carpet, below the man's body (his barely-audible breathing, sign of a clear struggle) (his inability to shape words, clear sign of another kind of struggle) (the weak clenching of his fists on the mat under him; the scratches all over his body — the choice that was taken from him, along with the life he was leading up until now)

(Everything, everything — his entire humanity, stripped from him along with his soul, his heart — as if it were, somehow, in this world that prides itself on law, justice of any kind, a wrong righted rightfully.)

(Up above, Justice watches on. She holds the stars in one hand, and in the other her dagger - and in a way, quietly, fleetingly — Hyunjae begs her to bestow her blade upon him, and allow him to do the honours.

Just for once.)

(But wishes are wishes, and stars are stars — her decision is final, and Hyunjae, as always,

is left to pick up the dust that was misplaced, blown away — he is left to clean up and say nothing, and keep on wishing, for a disaster to hit the way Daewon hits.)

(Square in his frozen heart.)

'Leave,' he hisses, and it is all he says, all that needs to be uttered for Daewon to disappear. Not that Hyunjae will ever have more than a semblance of authority over him, not that the mere satisfaction of having ruined a life isn't enough productivity for him to justify going back to sleep — but there are corners of the castle, that remember all of their arguments - corners of his mind, that remember how it always starts and ends - there are corner of his body, here and there and everywhere, that can verify how good, how dirty of a fighter Hyunjae is. Hyunjae prides himself on being a decent mate, a rather okay figure to have in a coven with younger vampires — but his real talent comes when his fists are raised and his fangs are out, and each of his blows, his words, are a ruler that straightens the most crooked back. Hyunjae is a good guide to young ones, because he is intransigent to the older ones that break the rules — because there are things that should or cannot be done, he believes, and a breach of them is a sin their blood carries, freezes up and additions — each of them renders their past humanity a little more obsolete, and spins the ill nature of their afterlife into a mindset, a way of life he abhors.

To err is human, but to persevere is evil — such is his own conviction (closer to humans, he likes to think, closer to what he once was, fragile and cold and yet - alive)

(Warm and breathing and lying under the sun, in a world that swayed but still welcomed him openly, the way it welcomed Daewon once, the way it used to welcome the others. The way it, until very recently, welcomed in the nameless man on the floor, and loved him dearly, kissed his forehead every morning with a ray of sunshine, tenderly said goodbye with each fall of the night — promised to meet him again with lavender and orange and yellow and pink, and awaited him with baited breath every morning, every day, every minute.) (As if he were the most precious thing on earth, because

he was

But now he lies here and he bleeds and he gasps and he cries and he

Little by little

fades, like a candle snuffed out

And Hyunjae remembers long ago, a raging fist smashing all the strength it could gather upon weak wax; light being blown out and not coming back — a gust of smoke exhaling his way, and vanishing into the darkness, reaching out for none, none, none actually. Only mindlessly exploring, before invading Hyunjae's nostrils, mouth, lungs, and expiring there, like a rat in a castle — lingering here, there, and reminding him of something he could touch, could see — but was not allowed to have.

He remembers: phial after phial, uncomparable strength coursing through his veins — blow after blow after blow, metal coursing through the house — his hand over the candle, keeping the flame safe, feeling its warmth and not once tiring of it — light coursing through everything, and his unbeating heart standing strong and still and

Alone, in what was once a home.)

(A man is strong until he can no longer bear to know, see, be aware of weaker people — and then he too, just like a candle, is snuffed out with a blow, and dies under the sharpest of lights.)

(He, too, learns what it means to be fragile,

and breaks.)

Closing the doors with a flick of his hand, lighting up all the chandeliers with a snap of his fingers — crouching down, leaning in — Hyunjae takes in the horrible sight, the little war Daewon thought hilarious to declare and then leave to its own demise. Tears have mixed with blood, and blood has mixed with mud — a flight through the woods and an upcoming journey to hell have overtaken serenity and instead given its owner terror, shock (perhaps even the will to die) to feast on, to frame his face into a totally different mask —

But still, familiarity stares back when Hyunjae dives into frightened pools of a deep brown, and he remembers, again

(This time differently)

Stack upon stack of papers, a very recent debate on politics he cannot partake in — celebrity, obviously, the way it has always followed the family itself and build it up again and again,

and he sighs.

(Out of all the victims Daewon could have, he chose one that had the ability and the courage to change a corner of the world.)

(People are strong and icons, until they are the ones stealing and sealing voices.)

'Younghoon,' Hyunjae enunciates.

Recalling as he words it, saying it to himself then repeating it, for its owner.

'Younghoon. I have seen you in the papers.'

Numerous times, he adds, leaning in a little closer, a little lower — but he immediately freezes when Younghoon's eyes widen, terrified to death, to the very last shred of life they still hold. No, Younghoon tries his very best to say — and fails, out of breath by the mere act of breathing —

But it is enough for Hyunjae, and he backtracks, just a little, just enough for the both of them to land in an odd middle ground. For him: for Younghoon it is not quite sufficient, and his eyes remain the same; try their very best to will him, the situation away. But

Wishes are wishes and in this case, obsolete, too - and thus Hyunjae

takes a seat by the carpet (ignores the brief thought spared to his clean robes) —

He decides he will try his very best, so that

Whatever happens, whatever

ends

or begins,

Younghoon will be a little more at peace when it unfolds.

shinysylver the baton is yours!