Nyctophilia 

Wooyoung grinned unnervingly, eyes gleaming with hysteria. His delicate white fingers gingerly touched the shadows, almost glaring at the greedy black that swallowed half of his fingertips as they dipped into the shadows. Soft coils of his hazel colored hair are out of place- the sharp blonde tips grazing the male's forehead. And the other kids on the playground- not near where Wooyoung crouches at the corner- whisper to each other, narrow eyes boring holes into his back. It wouldn't hurt as much if the scalding words weren't heard- after all, the words weren't meant for his ears, but Wooyoung hears, and he hears it all. The wicked wind carries every poisonous syllable to him, and the wounds that are slashed across his heart are piling up. But he doesn't need them. No. They wouldn't understand the beauty of darkness anyways- those humans whom all desperately cover the tiniest of flaws. They don't see the flaws as something to be proud of, or the simple beauty of imperfections. Yet Wooyoung does. So it doesn't come as a surprise that he's the oddball out- even with his enticing visuals and smile that melts everyone's hearts- a boy that looks like an angel that doesn't belong on the Earth with his gentle features. But oh, how wrong they were. His preferences are different from them, as how the world they view is only the first layer of the truly magical world. 

The shadows swirled around his hand, dancing and entangling with each other in an eerie tune that only the shadows themselves heard. And sometimes, they crept up his pale hands, swinging over his fingernails, and diving into the pores of his skin. The shadows made pictures too. A wilting rose. A cracked joker's mask. A smashed harp. But no one else saw the dark as he did- and they refused the lens of perspective Wooyoung offered them. They deemed the silent, eccentric child as insane, and left him to his own devices. And the lonely, sweet boy grew to be grateful of the isolation that wrapped his heart in chains, because it was because of him being special, that he meet them. And they saw the world just like Wooyoung did- they loved and accepted him for it. The best part of being with them was slipping into the never-ending folds of darkness- being enveloped in the swathes of silky black soothed Wooyoung's stunted heart, and smoothed out the rough edges that had sharpened over the years of neglect.

What they did was utterly twisted- they handed the fragile boy slick weapons of mass destruction and broke down his dainty glass walls, and instead handed him new materials to rebuild himself with. They told him, with smiles of innocence- another thing Wooyoung fit in with them: appearances that deceive- that their job was to infiltrate and rip apart a standing obstacle in their way. And that was how Wooyoung became one of their own- their family- a nation. 

A nation that admires the dark, the dark creatures of the night- and killed them.

Other groups like them also sought out the mystical creatures, but after centuries of not convincing one to their side, one particular group decided to create the monsters themselves. They were tired of waiting. And the PROJECTS begun, wrecking terror across countries, nightmares come to life disguised as daydreams. 

It was Wooyoung's duty to find the PROJECTS (to love them) and destroy them.