When L has free time, we like to climb to the top of the tent and look out over the camp into the mist beyond. We’ve named the stars and constellations; my favorite is the bird I call Tze. L prefers the group he calls a ghost, but I think it looks like a blob. We sit up there with the never-ending breeze tugging slightly at our clothes, our hair, and we study the extent of our world. Even when everything you know is within your sight, you feel surprisingly small.

This is where he told me his real name is Myungsoo. He says he used to be called that, but then Sunggyu started calling him L and that name stuck. He says I can use whatever I want, and I think Myungsoo is far prettier.

Some nights Myungsoo is busy and I bring a guy named Woohyun up. He handles the creatures here. I would call them horses, but they, like us I guess, are beasts of another nature. They are made of darkness and feel like they’re mist, and the only thing truly solid about them are their gold eyes. They are stabled on the perimeters of camp, and sometimes at night you can hear one let loose a shrill screech. I am still uncomfortable around these creatures, but Woohyun treats them as one would their lover, brushing manes and oiling hooves with the softest of touches.

Having Woohyun up here is not the same as Myungsoo. For one, he doesn’t play along with my constellation game. His most creative shape was a pentagon, which he refused to name (it’s a good thing, since that pentagon is part of the octopus Munah). He fidgets and disappears the moment one of his mares makes the slightest of peeps.

I haven’t even tried to get Hoya and Dongwoo up here.

++++

Once a week, we put on shows. I suppose it would get boring to perform nearly the same thing every week, but there’s something inside all of us that drives us back to our elements. Myungsoo calls it the “attachment.” I don’t have a name for it, but I know how it feels. It is like there is something inside of your chest that pulls you, tugging your mind towards one thought or another, changing your decisions and influencing your perceptions. It keeps all of us entranced by the artistry, week after week, and we must feed it. It is the strongest force I have known so far, maybe aside from the force that pulls me to the ground.

We’re preparing for the show. People are putting up elements and I’m in my usual place, my platform. Music drifts soft undertones as artists shimmy up ropes to rig lyra and web. Myungsoo shuffles around, assisting where needed, or sometimes just standing off to the side. He gets a look in his eyes, pride, envy, exhaustion, I don’t know. Once, he catches me looking and winks, before calling for preparations to cease. As I descend the ladder, I feel something else in my chest. It’s warm and soft and exciting. I smile.

++++

Whoops and clapping die down as the jugglers exit the ring. The lights slide up to me. I have always known to never look into that light. The trapeze is solid and natural in my hands as I slip into my routine, legs swinging and twisting to the rhythm of the music, the rhythm in my head. Forward, backward, force out, back, front, seven, and breathe. I perform a simple pullover before casting out and throwing a pirouette. The bar hits hard back into my palms, a puff of chalk accentuating the solid regrab.

Kick forward back and out. I gain height. The air is whooshing past me now. I prepare for my final trick. Back, front, seven and pike.

The swing down feels like an eternity.

I break, driving my legs back then forward and up. I release the bar and rotate once, laying out a flip before twisting quickly back towards the bar. My finger tips make it, I think, but before I can adjust my grip the bar rips out of my hands.

I fall out of the light toward the dirt below. I watch the top of the tent race away and I close my eyes and breathe out hard.

When I hit, I open my eyes. Two steady arms break my fall, reducing my speed so that all I feel when I find the ground is a slight lightheadedness. I push myself up until I’m sitting, and the scene in front of my eyes swims into focus. I see Myungsoo standing over me, but there’s something incredibly wrong. His tall hat is missing, as well as his red tailcoat. In their place, he has a pair of deep purple pants, material clinging tightly to his legs as performing outfits must. White feathers drift across the fabric, and swirls of silver thread seem to propel them along. They’re gorgeous and horrible and I don’t understand why he would change.

Then I see my arms. Red replaces teal, and the sleeves don’t cling to my wrists. There’s something on my head, and I reach up to feel a delicate brim. Silver by my hip glints in the dim light.

Light flashes in front of me, and I look up quickly. I see Myungsoo in his purple pants with eyes made up like every other performer standing stiffly, arms held just away from his sides. His eyes are closed, face smooth. Light pours out of the ground around him. I lean forward and see that the dirt has turned to a gray swirling something. It’s spreading up his legs, the horribly beautiful purple turning to light gray smoke. Something in me clicks and I jump to my feet, my eyes now level with his face. I reach out, but the light is a barrier. My hand, covered by one of Myungsoo’s gloves, lingers and my eyes freeze on his face.

As the last of him dissolves to smoke, I think I see him smile.

A/N: what's this? two chapters in less than 12 hours? well yes. this one sort of just spat itself out, and damn it's refreshing to finally have gotten to this scene. woohyun's horses are based on the nightmares in rise of the guardians (awesome movie makes me happy ^^) if anyone is confused about what the hell happened to myungsoo, let me know. i wrote this fic purely to play with this world that i've had in my head for a while now, and i'm afraid i didn't do it justice (also nearly five months of a world stewing in my brain probably equates to me accidentally assuming i've told you everything about it even though i haven't)

Contest-specific: i used the word "lover" from list 4