Characters: Xiumin / Lay

One. Two. Three steps; like a steady movement of the clock, Lay paced up and down the length of the wall. He paused now and then, flickering his luscious lashes upwards, as he broodingly stared at a picture hung neatly on the beige wallpaper. The more he gazed at it, greater tides of purity and grace were brought forth.

The fable that was placed in the picture frame was simply a Legend, as the moment of time where he stood, was also a Legend.

"They have changed. They no longer remember, nor care, about the past, about the existence of that time. They have forgotten how to hear, and are now lost." Lay whispers, bringing a cautious hand to trace the drawings of the picture. His fingers gently hover over the paper; he was unwilling to touch it.

"Are you satisfied yet?" Lay breathes, it was a rhetorical question, where you maintained a notion of an open statement.

Curling his fingers into a fist, he had failed yet again to caress the fragile artwork that stood before him. He just couldn't bring himself to touch the Legend that was written in the colors; because it reflected too much of himself.

Of a life that stood in seclusion and clarity, yet was so easily torn and shredded.

"Die. Kill. They shout the fight, yet claim no wars." A boy solemnly remarks, who sat stiffly at the table in the middle of the doorless room.

Two small mirrors, situated on either side of the long table, hummed and vibrated the air with noticeable tension.

"They tear up the reality, only to leave hurt in its trail." The boy continues, making no movement as Lay walks over to the other end of the table. "Careless..."

"Xiumin," Lay calls, sitting down to stare thoughtfully at the unreflecting mirror, "If you ever wanted to recover; to laugh, cry, and hold hands to meet those feelings that are isolated, would you?"

Xiumin slowly lifts his eyes off from the elaborate designs that lined the edge of the table. He meets Lay's stare with a steady light in his eyes; unflinching, unwavering, and unsurprised.

"No." he says, eyes sharpening as the tension in his shoulders never leave. "As human beings, they can only be hurt and abandoned."

Betrayal. It flashed dimly in Xiumin's eyes.

Silence fills the room from corner to corner, before the mirrors began to glow.

Xiumin is the first to see it. The first to see the familiar and welcomed face of a friend; an accomplice.

Suho.

But after a brief moment of staring into the mirror, Xiumin gets to his feet, a mixed look of determination and fear contrasting his usual pale, composed complexion. He stumbles and finds himself leaning against a wall for support, his symbol of frost glistens ever-so coolly in the soft lighting of the room. Before Xiumin could control the bubbling emotions of devastation and justice from spilling over, a white cloud kisses his lips as he sighs, his hands suddenly tingling with relief and strain. In a blink of an eye, crystal lines of ice frame and sculpture every surface of the room, save for himself and Lay.

Unfazed, Lay stares intently at the mirror that was before him, squinting his eyes as a blinding light travels out from the reflective surface.

"Baekhyun," Lay says, a rare trace of good humour and relief outlining the word. However, it was fruitless as sound could not be carried through. And as quick as it came, his mirror dims and dulls, originating back to its unreflective state.

He and Xiumin were the Bringers; of dawn, dusk, and judgement, while the other two were the Keepers; of truth, lies, and fate. Although no physical contact or words were ever exchanged, the four of them upheld the foundation of the Balance.

They were what kept the Two Moons from rising and colliding.

Meeting each other's gaze, an unspoken agreement is quietly decided. The sudden anxiety that crawled at their skin slowly melts away, as an internal thump. thump. thump. of anticipation vibrates the room.

"Are you satisfied?" Lay murmurs, repeating that rhetorical question once more as he traces random patterns on the table with his fingers. He then notices the frozen flower and its vase that sat just beyond his reach. Quietly, his eyes roam over the detailed outline and veins of the crystallized petals. Slowly, he brings hand up and stretches it in front of him, turning his palm out and pointing his fingers towards the unyielding flower. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Lay breaths as power travels through his blood and seeps out from his fingers. A soft wind rustles the awakening flowers, thawing away the ice that had imprisoned them.

"Behind that anonymous mask, are you satisfied?"

Colour repaints through the crystal, the enclosed petals unfurling its wings to stand stronger and prouder than it ever did.
 

Reality; an independent existence of ideas concerning all other things, and from which all other things are derived.

-end