WIPs
Hi, a couple people have asked for my work-in-progress snippets... and... they're really raw... super raw... and some of them will never become anything else and just... here.
Jongin listens to the dull and steady thumping of the helicopter’s rotor through his specialized ear plugs, the ones designed to fit perfectly inside of his ears as they were a courtesy extended to all students part of the Honors Program at the police academy.
He glances around the cabin at the other masked and armored students seated around the edge of the helicopter and trades a quick thumbs-up with his best friend. Today’s the day they’ve all been waiting for: the last on-site examination before graduation. He tries to expel his nervousness through a heavy exhale, the warmth of his breath soaking into his cloth face mask. His goggles are tight against his face and he pats himself lightly over his seatbelt to ensure that all of his black, skin-tight clothes are properly adjusted to his frame.
He fingers the long bag strapped to his abdomen, recognizing the familiar shape of a rifle through his gloves. The door to the cabin opens and their test administrator scans them before Jongin hears his voice crackle through the ear plugs.
“Alright kids, we’re going to start soon. A quick reminder: objective is to locate the apple placed within the terrain and be the first to destroy it. Since you guys are all part of the sniper division, you have to maintain a distance of at least one kilometer from it. The Minister of National Defense is watching, so make me proud.”
Jongin nods and the hatch underneath them opens up, exposing them to a seemingly infinite blanket of darkness and trees thousands of meters below. A couple of groans sprinkle around him and he too wants to groan, knowing this task will be challenging due to the number of unfavorable conditions. The combination of leaves with wind, the darkness from nightfall, and the lack of elevated flat surfaces will make this test especially difficult. They’re unbuckled from their seats automatically and, without warning, they begin to fall.
He hugs the gun bag close to his chest despite it being fastened to him as he freefalls, the wind peeping through the exposed skin between his mask and goggles. He looks around and sees streaks of light from the rather large tracking device attached to everyone’s ankles. As he tugs on the cord for his parachute, he likens them all to shooting stars.
Seconds later, he’s bursting through the foliage with branches scraping his clothes and jabbing his sides. He removes the parachute and climbs up a few branches as he hears the others sprinting through the forest underneath in order to get closer to the target. He’s unusually calm now as he reaches into his pocket and scans the map. With his compass and binoculars, he discerns the location of the clearing, where the apple is sitting conspicuously on a table, to be 3.07 kilometers from where he is currently hidden in the treetops. He s the gun bag in a flourish and assembles the M24 expertly, adjusting his crouched position in the treetop according to the wind and temperature gauges.
Southeasterly wind at seventeen degrees with a strength of 6.23 kilometers. Temperature at 10.6 degrees celsius. Perfect.
The shots that go off in the distance and the sound of birds frantically flying away bring an injection of panic. Calm down, he assures himself, knowing that taking shots will be more difficult if he’s frazzled. The sirens to signal the conclusion of the test haven’t gone off yet, so they haven’t hit the apple.
He aligns the little maroon dot of the apple in his crosshairs and takes a deep breath-- inhale three seconds, exhale three seconds. He chants his usual mantra before pulling the trigger.
Make me care and not care. Make me be still.
The sirens blare a second later and his mind is blank as he stares at the empty spot where the apple once was.
Jongin graduates from the police academy at the top of his class and lands a spot as a Special Operations agent.
Black Ink (Fractions and Naturals series):
Kyungsoo took a swig from his lukewarm water bottle, the liquid uncomfortable in his mouth as he stood on the sidewalk like a rag doll. Heat hugged him from all sides, pushing on his bones as he stared lifelessly at the Jongin in his memories-- the Jongin who had asked him out that chilly Autumn night in this exact spot in front of the convenience store. With each breath of humid air, he felt more claustrophobic--trapped.
This is the way things should be.
“Kyungsoo?”
He gasps, almost dropping his chopsticks as time releases him from the black hole he was into. The distinct smell of meat wafts into his nostrils and the cozy glow of lights and wooden chairs morph into his vision. His former coworker stares worriedly at him from across the table as he regains his sense of reality.
Right. He’s in a restaurant.
“Sorry, Chanyeol,” he apologizes, a sheepish smile plastered across his cheeks as he grabs a piece of meat from the sizzling grill in the middle of the tabletop. He’s certainly not hungry, but he chews the food anyway out of politeness. There’s a perpetual queasiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach weeks ago and he wishes that it-- and everything else-- would just disappear. “Thanks for treating me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Chanyeol replies with a grin, checking the meat. “Think of it as a goodbye present. Man, I have to stock shelves by myself now.” Kyungsoo laughs thinly, taking a sip of water. And it’s quite obvious that something’s wrong as Chanyeol watches his friend’s distant and faded expression. “Are you still together with your boyfriend?” he asks offhandedly.
“You knew I was dating someone?” Kyungsoo responds, surprised because he had never told anyone about Jongin. It wasn’t as if he had anyone to tell anyway, having grown up with few friends.
“I see you holding hands with that guy when you leave work sometimes,” Chanyeol explains, watching his friend’s face for a reaction. Why does this situation feel so strange?
“Oh.” Kyungsoo takes another sip of his water, reluctant to answer the question. “We broke up a couple of weeks ago,” he answers quietly. The words feel like gravel rolling on his tongue; they sound fake in his ears as they tumble into his shredded heart.
“Would you mind if I asked why?”
Kyungsoo’s eyes trace over the triangle on Chanyeol’s wrist, inky black lines full of generations of malice and prejudice etched into their skin cells. “He’s a Natural and I’m a Fraction,” he states lifelessly, saddened by the symbol that holds so much power over their lives.
Chanyeol pauses, mouth open and chopsticks about to steer rice into his mouth. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?” Kyungsoo retorts, sitting up as the emotions inject life into him once again. “It’s a big deal!” he insists.
Chanyeol chews on his bit of rice with a blank expression on his face. “Did he think it was a big deal?”
Oh. And Kyungsoo had always written off their relationship as something that had sprouted from Jongin’s curiosity in Fractions taking root, never as anything more. There’s a possibility that Jongin had never factored in the likelihood of being ridiculed for dating a Fraction. There’s a possibility that maybe Jongin didn’t care at all.
Maybe Jongin was actually in lov--
Stop kidding yourself, Kyungsoo.
“I don’t know,” Kyungsoo finally admits, setting his chopsticks down. His gaze is trained on the soft memories that continue to flit through his vision, wondering when he lost track of the intersection between his ex-boyfriend’s thoughts and actions. “I don’t know.”
Chanyeol glances at him and he thinks that he’s pieced together a portion of the puzzle. “How do you know it wasn’t all in your head?”
Kyungsoo kneads his fingers under the table, anxious from running his fingertips over the vile encounters he had as a child, the same ones still rippling through his soul.
His father’s secure hand enveloping his own brings him back to that bright spring day years upon years ago. His little fingers grasp the wrist with a circle tattooed on it, urging him to hurry through the park and towards the swings. But, everything was ruined by the look of disgust from an onlooker and the words that pushed him into the muddy puddles of society.
Filthy child.
He hadn’t minded the insult at the time, was only focused on the anticipation and joy from spending time with his parent. His father was not happy. Instead of going to the swings, they had stopped at a secluded area and Kyungsoo remembers tracing the shadows of branches cast upon his father’s face with his eyes just before he was pulled into his arms.
“I love you. I’ll always love you, Kyungsoo.”
Only later did he realize that his father was trying to rinse him clean, scrub away the dirt that had tainted his young heart before it left a gorge deep enough for him to drown in.
He’s still filthy.
“I didn’t want him to get hurt by what people would say about us,” Kyungsoo confesses, sure that Chanyeol’s life is also wrought with scars and inexplicably damaged from struggling through the barbed wire of prejudice.
“If he loved you then he wouldn’t care what anyone thought and you shouldn’t either,” he states confidently, seeing into Kyungsoo’s reasoning.
That’s true. It certainly applies to his parents, their love being the driving force behind their decision to continue on together despite having to wade through an opposing current.
But, it’s not true for us, Kyungsoo decides.
It’s not true because Jongin doesn’t love me.
White Lotus (Prompt Request 0.10 with Hunhan):
It’s with fatigue gnawing his muscles, making them ache with soreness and a headache that continues to beat its oversized drumstick onto the canvas of his brain that Luhan awakes to the sound of a door opening. The fragrant scent of soap engulfs his nose from where it laces its fingers with hot steam. His eyelids open lethargically as hazy eyes move across the room before making contact with a pitch black dragon slithering along a pale back, its mouth poised around a black orb.
Sehun turns around to look at him, toweling off the stray droplets of water emerging from his damp hair strands. “Oh, you’re awake.” He makes his way over to the bed in his low-slung pants, causing Luhan’s eyes to glue themselves to his v-line.
A feathery soft blush powders Luhan’s cheeks as his gaze runs up his oppressor’s body.
❀❀❀
Within hours of the incident, Yixing already has a presentation about their target compiled and ready for dissemination throughout the clan. All available clan members are gathered within the conference room in the basement of the Dragon Master’s estate.
“Our target is Oh Sehun, son of the head of the Black Pearl clan,” he starts, laser pointer circling around a photo of said person projected on the screen. “The Black Pearl are based in Seoul, South Korea. Their ‘official’ business is a trading company underneath of a powerful financial group but, their flagship business is in high-profile assassination with theft on the side. Guns are forbidden as we run the risk of harming Luhan in our pursuit.”
“What are they after?” the Dragon Master asserts, more concerned about his son’s safety than about the details of the opposing clan.
“Apparently they want Tianjin, the seaport that’s currently under dispute,” Yixing replies.
Wolf Boy (Prompt Request 0.20, based on the Korean movie Werewolf Boy):
Splinters of pain shoot through his shoulder and along his arm, igniting his veins with a self-destructive fury. He’s sure it’s just because he’s been staying up later than usual these days, drowning himself in the research that he’s dedicated his entire life to.
Tonight’s the end.
The sound of raindrops striking his plastic poncho crackles into his ears, a sound that compliments the monstrous booms of thunder shaking into the distance. His breathing comes out ragged as he does his best to carry the covered tray of food into the damp barn, caged dogs barking and snarling on either side of him. The pain slicing through his arm gets worse and worse with every step, threatening to the life out of him.
But, it’s fine. He’ll just leave the tray for his experiment and return to the house to take his medication. He doesn’t make it though, only succeeding in unlocking the door at the back of the barn before his heart attack causes his soul to depart.
It’s a rainy day when the experiment buries its creator.
----------
The air is indeed fresher in the countryside, a wisp of straw laying on top of an unfamiliar clearness brushing through his lungs. It’s obvious to Kyungsoo that living here is substantially better for his health than in the concrete jungle of the city; smoggy pillars of civilization blocking out the sun. Even so, maybe he’d rather live a few years less than be separated from his friends; the people who have attached themselves to his heart. He sighs into his sick mask lethargically as he moves to unload more boxes from the back of the moving truck.
But, his mother shoos him away with a wave of her hand. “We’ll be fine, you should just rest,” she smiles lovingly at him as he takes the box away from his arms. “Especially when we have such caring neighbors to help us out.”
The middle-aged man and woman laugh boisterously as they heave the boxes into the house. “That’s right! That’s what neighbors are for!” the man exclaims, spitting into the dirt.
Filthy, Kyungsoo thinks with a scrunch of his nose before stepping off to the side.
“Why did you end up moving here anyway?” the woman asks Kyungsoo’s mother.
Kyungsoo’s mother smiles. “Our son has weak lungs. His doctor recommended moving to the countryside where there’s cleaner air.”
“Oh, how sad, especially when it looks like he’s still in high school? How about your husband? Is he going to join you, your son, and your daughter later?” the woman asks, lifting another box from the truck.
“Well, Kyungsoo self-studies at home and he’s planning to take college entrance exams soon. My husband passed away a few years ago,” Kyungsoo’s mother replies in as happy of a tone she can manage, “actually, his former business partner’s son bought this house for us.”
Just then, Kyungsoo gets a noseful of a horribly strong cologne and coughs through his sick mask as a taller man slides over to stand next to him. He feels an arm wrap around his waist and he shivers. “Hey there, Kyungsoo,” the man croons.
Kyungsoo just stares at him with disinterested eyes and rips the arm away from his waist. “Park Chanyeol,” he grits.
“Have you decided to be mine yet? You’re too pretty to be out here living like a country bumpkin.” He purses his lips and makes kissing sounds. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
Kyungsoo just ignores him and walks away into the house to find his younger sister, no doubt stuck in a room somewhere unpacking. Meanwhile, the adults are struggling to bring a bookshelf off the truck. “Hey! You there! Come help us,” their neighbor calls out to Chanyeol.
Chanyeol just scoffs and turns on his heel back to his luxury car. “That is not my job,” he answers haughtily.
The woman looks like she’s about to drop the bookshelf and smack him over the head right then and there but Kyungsoo’s mother quickly pats the woman’s shoulder to calm her down. “It’s fine, it’s fine. We owe him for buying this house for us, so there’s nothing we can do.”
There’s nothing I can do, Kyungsoo thinks solemnly as he’s preparing dinner with his younger sister’s help. He plays through the happy memories of his high school life that was cut short by his condition, the faces of his friends flashing through his mind like a slideshow.
“Oppa! The soup is boiling over!” his younger sister shrieks, flailing around in front of the stove. Kyungsoo gasps and shoots over to turn it off, lifting the pot off the burner and holding it over the sink. Luckily, the soup ceases bubbling and calms down just before it spills over the edge of the pot. They both let out a sigh of relief and he hands his sister the pot to bring to the dinner table.
He stares with annoyance in his eyes as he watches his neighbors and their son and daughter laugh obnoxiously with bits and pieces of food parachuting from their mouths and into the other dishes. Just when he’s spotted the one bowl of soup unaffected by such dirty table manners, his spoon gets knocked onto the floor and he weeps for it mentally.
Kyungsoo doesn’t eat anything at all during dinner. His mind is restless as he lays in bed, staring at the shadows creating lines and patterns along his ceiling. Pupils drag along every corner and surface, trying to accustom themselves to this new environment he never asked for. He rolls over onto his stomach and reaches in between his mattress for the little notebook he hid there earlier.
I’m drowning in my insanity and it’s not fair! I hate everything! he scribbles into his diary like a hormonal teenage girl, complete with frowny faces and messily-drawn bolts of lightning.
It then when he hears scratching and a low growl coming from his window and jumps, yelping in surprise. A shadow flits across his windowpane and he leaps out of bed and runs down the hallway to his younger sister’s room. He slams the door open and shakes her in an attempt to wake her. “Wake up! There’s some monster coming to get me!”
His sister just sits up and screams, “Mom! Oppa is harassing me!” And she flops back down to sleep.
After his unsuccessful attempt at calling for help, he rushes over to his mother’s room and shoots through the door. “Mom! There’s a monster outside our house!” he exclaims. Much to his dismay, his mother just continues to sleep soundly in her room
Pirates (Prompt Request 0.25 with Baekyeol):
The sun shines differently through pulsing water, a hazy kind of brightness that can only be seen near the surface where it aids in illuminating the brilliant rainforests of the sea; entire continents collapsed underneath of the ocean in order to create a system of biodiversity swarming with schools of flittering fish.
Baekhyun’s always been warned by the elders that venturing too close to the surface would bring calamity to their kingdom. Any contact with humans will be the end of his reign as the crown prince of the merpeople who reside leagues beneath the divide between water and air. Even so, he spends the greater part of an hour trying to catch up with a turtle whose throat is bound by a synthetic fishing line.
It tears through the edge of the water and crawls onto the golden sands of a beach and Baekhyun trudges onto land in pursuit, iridescent scales refracting the light of an afternoon sun. He finally seizes the turtle with his webbed fingers and uses his teeth to detach the fishing line.
It’s the first time he’s set foot on land and he can feel the glaring sun drying the seawater upon his shimmering skin, the webbing between his fingers and toes disappearing along with his scales. There’s a shiver up his spine as he stares into the forest in front of him so, he gently sets the turtle down and turns to return to the ocean.
Everything’s dark when they capture him.
♒
He feels himself slowly deteriorating; his shriveled skin cells coughing weakly for any form of moisture, fissures of white threading through his fingernail beds. His sense of smell, heightened from his blindfolded eyes, lead him to sniff at the porcelain surrounding him. And he laps up the stray water droplet running down the side of the bathtub with his tongue, bound wrists struggling to find more. Desperate wheezes crackle through his throat, displeasure arising from the heat of the lamp trained on his body as he lies in there helpless.
Vaguely, he hears footsteps and a whimper passes through him, hoping that it’s the servant who was about to submerge him in water before being called away by some emergency in another wing of the mansion.
Voices bounce into his ears and there’s the distant smell of sea salt before he loses consciousness.
♒
The smell of sea salt wafts through the air like smoke from a distant fire and he wobbles onto the edge of consciousness to the sensation of a damp towel pressing against his skin. His pores sigh in happiness as the moisture makes its way into his cells. His vision is still blurred and drowsy, only making out the foggy outline of a face close to him.
“Sorry, does it hurt?” the person asks, voice soft and low as the rubbing on his arm stops.
Through his thirsty delirium, Baekhyun closes his eyes again. “No, it feels good,” he breathes quietly, fingers clutching weakly onto the hem of the other person’s shirt before he loses consciousness again.
The woody scent of incense slithering through the air with a sour dash of freshly-cut white chrysanthemums has Jongin’s stomach churning with nausea. His eyeballs are going dry from the smoke and he reminds himself to blink once in a while, tugs on his black-as-death suit every so often. He’s long drowned out the terrible wails of mourning relatives, friends, and acquaintances on the other side of the funeral room in his numb state. His feelings are a tangled mess, but he can’t even bring himself to cry.
The happiness is too much.
He gnaws on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a smile at the situation, hates himself even more as he does so. He glances up at the stone-faced man sitting across the table from him: his late-brother’s fiance.
He’s my fiance now, Jongin repeats to himself, has to stop the overly-joyed grin from spreading on his cheeks lest someone misunderstand.
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