one. aphrodite jieqiong (3/3). lust.
 

Sejeong regains her consciousness with a jolt to a very wriggly Nayoung under her body.

With her shirt savagely ripped apart into three individual fabric pieces.

And her neck evident of teethy assaults.

“Oh…. oh my god,” Jesus. Which stray cub did this?

Though her head is still cloudy with a chance of migraine, and the itching feeling from inside has yet to clear up, Sejeong musters the energy to unlatch herself from Nayoung, and the million dollar question forces its way through her tightened lips—

“You ! Take responsibility!”

Seated beside Nayoung after making sure she won’t lit her rear up with any of the scattered aromatic candles (what are those doing here anyway?!), the blooming migraine steers her eyes into a squinting glare. “What?”

Instead of elaborating on the why’s, Nayoung rolls to her side, and before she could extract an answer from Nayoung’s bared back, Haebin and Chungha come into view, both looking worn out, and Chungha speaks in a way that sounds like she’s aged a good decade since then, “Are you Sejeong yet?”

The perpetual amused curve of her lips disappear following Chungha’s question. “I am Sejeong,”

“I was defiled.” Nayoung cries out in hyperbole (unless she meant it literally?). Sejeong isn’t sure herself, as she only has Nayoung’s quivering back to judge. “I’m no longer available for marriage!”

However, Haebin’s next sentence catches her attention, “You might want to stop. You’re starting to creepily sound like the actual Nayoung…”

“The actual Nayoung?”

Chungha and Haebin exchange not-so-discreet looks. Right in front of Sejeong. Something doesn’t sit well at all with the whole situation, and she has yet to ask about the candles.

She clears , and directs the question at Chungha this time. “The actual Nayoung?”

Kim Chungha is never the liar, never the double-crosser, always the most honorable of person she’s ever met, which doesn’t speak volumes as her sixteen years of living have been tinged with the worst of people. Those matted eyelashes never lie. The raw rose about her lips would never disappoint her. Double entendre intended.

The resigned sigh that marks her resignation to answer tells Sejeong she’s not going to like this. “Can you feel the air? Something’s going on. That poor thing,” Chungha jabs a pointer finger at Nayoung’s general direction, “isn’t your friend. She’s handling… something, something bigger, the real deal. I don’t know. I’m confused myself, if you ask me.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What ‘real deal’—“ and it comes back at full-force, the tugging feeling, and the worst part of it is it flashes her bad premonitions and begs her an immediate action, “—oh god, oh god,”

“Sejeong?”

She multi-tasks pulling herself to her feet with connecting the dots; there isn’t enough senses to make, but all the sickly feelings flipping her stomach converge into one uncurtaining idea: something’s going down. And as per usual, Nayoung is involved. Like every that’s been going down for the past two months.

She bolts out of the room and she might have toppled a candle or two off, but right now she has her priorities rearranged. Her… hunch urges her the urgency of Nayoung dead as a door-nail. But she isn’t alone, as Haebin follows her hurried steps to… wherever her legs are urged by the sickly feelings.

“I’ve told your girl to stay back and take care of the other horn-dogs. Believe me, there’s a lot! This Zhou Jieqiong gal is quite the madwoman. For now though, I trust your hunch,” Haebin says, and there’s this knowing smile. It’s always that knowing smile, “although I was told by Nayoung to make sure you stay out of troubles, there’s no stopping the fear in you. Inactivity will only heighten it worse. Do you fear?”

Sejeong doesn’t have the time to steal a glance at Haebin as she rounds a corner, following the sign for the emergency stairs to the rooftop, stepping on foams and stilletos of broken glasses. This corner witnessed a fight, probably between Nayoung and…

Still, there’s no need for her to answer Haebin, whose run lags behind her. The trembles around her arms should give away the answer.

She fears. She fears the past. Traumatized is too light of a word.

Beyond a T-junction is the dimmed emergency stairway, and Sejeong edges herself faster. Every second counts.

A figure in the shape of human is hurled past her from the winding way on her left, freezing Sejeong’s gait and she has to painfully skid her entire body into a stop. Haebin lets out a yelp as the body rams the wall hard enough it elicits spurts of blood from the person’s bruised mouth. It doesn’t take her another second to recognize Heehyun, who’s keeling over from the pain her front side endured.

“Heehyun, what the heck—“

Heehyun jump-starts into a stance as she puts out a fist, the other hand clutching her abdomen. Another figure emerges into the picture – the president, with bated breath, and a metal bat in her right hand, possibly the weapon of choice she chose to propel Heehyun away with. Im Nayoung, however, doesn’t respond to Heehyun’s invitation of another round nor Haebin’s screeched what in the name of gumball. Instead, she urgently turns towards the stairway, steps uneven. Desperate.

“—Nayoung, stop right there!”

“Jieqiong’s up there,” Im Nayoung squeezes out, her voice faint, and this might be the first and the last time Sejeong will ever hear the president sounding so vulnerable.

Heehyun doesn’t spare her any more second as she attempts a tackle and Nayoung parries her attempt by manning the bat in a hard, horizontal swing, and in a split second, Heehyun showcases her ability as a manifest of Epimetheus. A rumbling growl, a leer, and Sejeong knows that Heehyun has upped her ante as veins visibly bulge along her skin. The due is paid by the gradual omission of her rationale.

Repeating the attempt to get rid of Heehyun, Nayoung swings her bat lower to aim for Heehyun’s abdomen, with the full intention to swat her offender away, but Heehyun intercepts the bat with a backhand and the metal shatters into two, and three, and a dozen pieces upon impact. Nayoung ducks low, slams a palm down the carpeted floor, above the remains of her metal bat, manipulates the scattered metal pieces, and molds them into a baton.

The battle rages on. Sejeong notices that she, herself, hasn’t completely regained her consciousmess from the influence when her mind flits back to Nayoung, under her, completely at her mercy…

 A panicked shake of the head Sejeong makes sure Haebin follows behind her as they warily fast-walk past the two.

Even when she should be busied enough with pinning Nayoung’s arms to the wall, Heehyun whips a head around her, “Haebin… she told you, to, make sure, Sej—stay away.”

Prominent difficulties in speaking. Heehyun must have exerted her power more than the usual amount.

“Enough,” The president, under Heehyun’s enhanced physique, manages, “I need to—I need to see her!”

Haebin picks up her pace to something more of a run, “Change of plans! Nayoung might be dying! She will appreciate the back-up!” And in a voice lower as if only for her to hear, “We have to hurry, Heehyun isn’t that proficient when it comes to holding back in a fight, thus the bruises.”

“She’d rather be the rag doll than winning a death-match over the advantage?” Sejeong muses, piqued by the rare occasion. “That’s honorable.”

The stairway’s much dimmed even though the hallway isn’t the brightest place under the ceiling either. Sejeong assumes it’s the quirk of love hotels (since she’s never been in one before!), as it deconstructs the concept of individuality. In the den of sinners itself, this grant of anonymity is a blessing to those who wear their shame around their neck. A la those masquerade balls in medieval fantasies or as from the 60s. 

She would kill for a masquerade face-piece too, at this moment. Anything to cover up how she’s hinged to the utmost core. Anything to mask the trembles as her hike on the stairs slow down – not out of exhaustion.

Traumatized is too light of a word.

Haebin throws the door open with a gallant “hands in the air!” and there are things that catch Sejeong’s attention almost immediately.

One, Nayoung’s abandoned backpack lies with a huge gash ripping the backside apart, rendering it useless as it no longer able to inflate into a parachute-glider unless salvaged by a fix. Haebin nearly steps on its poor form.

Two, Jieqiong less than a meter away from the rooftop’s unfenced edge, a hand pulling a bloodied Nayoung by the back of her collar.

Three, Nayoung herself, bruises along her visible skin the consolation trophy for getting curb-stomped, bruises in varying hue of pink, red, indigo, haunting blue. Bruises blaming her on her very much late intervention. Nayoung’s half-lidded eyes shoot open when Haebin’s shout informs her of their entrance, and mouths something Sejeong couldn’t quite decipher as her entire body weakly attempts to free itself from Jieqiong’s firm grip on her collar. Her resistance is met with a harsh tug, her cranium lolling from side to side.

Haebin responds by taking huge leaps forward towards the two, but her act is stopped by Jieqiong’s strained out voice, dampened by the harsh wind, “Any closer and I will,” a cough, and her flailing hair swings behind, revealing bloodshot eyes, hardened brows, and streaks of tears, “I will throw her off.”

That puts both herself and Haebin into a stand-still. Any fatal error on their next move might cost Nayoung her life. The distance put between Jieqiong and her makes it hard for her to summon her shadow into hands that could grasp Jieqiong in all her joints, all to effectively stop further movements. Her shadow wouldn’t make it – Jieqiong is way too close to the edge of the rooftop!

“Haebin,” she calls out to her uncaptured ally, “we need—we need a plan,”

“Sorry for being the naysayer, but our Aphfurydite there seems to be on her toes, she won’t give us the five-minute break we need. She’ll just punt Nayoung off without notifying us beforehand. Did Nayoung screw her over?”

Their conversation is cut short by Jieqiong’s monologue, sounding estranged, “I expected someone else to burst that door open. I wouldn’t call her my White Knight. You associate White Knight with a white steed, not tendencies to work like an overworked white-collar worker. Not to sound like an ungrateful , but my dearest Nayoung is the latter.”

Returning Jieqiong’s lopsided smile with a frown, Sejeong quips, “Are we really going to do this Scorned Housewife drama?”

“I waited for her,” Jieqiong’s tone hikes a notch higher, “I waited for her here, dealing with this pest,” she shakes Nayoung like a leaf to emphasize her word, earning a weak groan from the victim, “I had taken a hit or two myself. Though she’s a weak puss who thought hit-and-run would work against someone with proper martial arts training. Still, I’m still waiting for her,” it sounds like a sob is trying to wreck her half, “so why isn’t she here?! If she does love me why are you ers here instead of her?!”

Well. She doesn’t have to know that the Romeo has been trying to reach the Juliet, if it isn’t for Count Heehyun’s involvement.

“She said,” Jieqiong chokes, Sejeong assumes, on her own sobs, “she said, she has accepted me! For who I am!”

The Dying Nayoung in her grip angrily chirps in her dying breath, “Hey, that quote doesn’t work when you’re gorgeous and got a hot bod and have been in relationships and been loaded since the diapers! Ungrateful ! Wake up, stop feeding your inner teenage angst, you’re going to ruin the whole city with your aphrodisiac gas thing!”

“Things aren’t looking good. You stay here,” Haebin harshly says to Sejeong as she makes a run for Jieqiong and Nayoung.

Jieqiong’s eyes dive lower to the left, to the protesting Nayoung who attempts to wriggle free from the umpteenth time, and that’s when it clicks. Jieqiong is a scorned nightingale, singing serenades to the deaf night and deafer knight. Nayoung is the shadow of an ugly goldeneye slain.

All-throat, Nayoung shouts, “She won’t love you like this!!”

And she takes off into the night sky with the supreme help of Jieqiong’s leg, punting her clean in the abdomen, eliciting a guttural groan out of her and a string of blood in stillicide.

And faster than she could unfreeze herself out of the shock, Nayoung dips into her fall, disappearing behind the unguarded edge of the rooftop, but not without Haebin diving along, joining her in an unguarded skydive.

Jieqiong’s breathing is ragged. Sejeong could visualize smokes coming out of her nostrils.

What now?

Did Nayoung and Haebin really just fall to their double death?

Things feel so surreal… in retrospect. The night is far pinker than the usual, but the allegedly called Pinky herself has paled into a depressing girl with unkempt hair and hardened brows and reddened eyes. The sky is clear with only a cloudlet wandering aimlessly on the far right of the too-yellow moon. It yellowingly judges her, and Jieqiong, and the rest of the town, and whatever the night has gone down to. It was supposed to be a nice night, harsh, steaming wind aside (damn you Summer!). People were supposed to outstare the moon. The stars, even, if the distant twinkles are really the sun and not the by-product of her blurring vision.

The fear crawls back, tinting her pink night into a shade darker. Purple. Maybe black.

Sejeong fears, because last time something goes out of hand – years ago – things turned really ugly. Deaths happened, tombstones marked, some left unnamed. She recalls, from her demented pre-youth. Drawing a parallel line to the happenings of today, two deaths should’ve happened so far.

It hits her like a truck that Nayoung and Haebin might be splattered on the asphalt as she speaks. Very much dead, cold, frozen in time, under the oppressing heat of June.

Or maybe—hopefully—they cheated death. That won’t be the first time on Nayoung’s part.

“Are you kidding me?”

Jieqiong stares at her, a reply to her glare. Sejeong lugs the despair within along as she walks forward. Jieqiong, or whoever demon in front of her right now, waits with halted breath.

“What’s your intention?” She questions, but she doesn’t expect a rational reply from Jieqiong. The girl is under the influence of a greater force, after all. Sejeong knows about it all.

“I need her.”

“Bullcrap. You’re putting the entire town under your spell. That’s not exactly the kind of magical wonders we would want in our Creative Korea tourism agenda!”

The laugh is humorless and dry. “I just want her with me. Right about now.”

At two arms-length, Sejeong lunges forward with a fist pulled back, only launched when the closing distance between them allows her a surefire hit. Jieqiong barely dodges it by side-stepping, fumbling with her footing a bit afterwards, and the kick-back of the lunging punch kicks in as Sejeong leaves an opening for Jieqiong to counter-attack while she’s busy regaining her footing also. A chance Jieqiong doesn’t waste, as she animatedly delivers a roundhouse kick to topple her off the rooftop. Sejeong tries a back-step to narrowly avoid the kick, but Jieqiong’s leg comes in a forceful contact with her left arm and she’s kicked off-balance towards edge of the rooftop.

Her quick adaptability saves her as she manipulates the shape of her own shadow into a makeshift fence to block her fall. Cornering herself against the shadow-wall, she ducks-low to avoid Jieqiong’s smashing fist that smashes to the shadow-wall instead, evident from the pained groan coming from the girl towering her.

Now that the wall has served its purpose, Sejeong lets the wall puddle back into her shadow and instead reshapes it into the shape of hand, hands, multitude of hands rolling into one wave at the height of a human girl, slamming onto Jieqiong and pushing her back, akin to a wild wave driving a surfer adrift. When the wave recedes, Jieqiong’s standing still… arms and legs held by some remaining shadow-hands.

Sejeong collects herself from the floor. She takes a glance of the city, four floors below – vaguely she could make out cars parked around the hotel in a manner that warrants a ticket or three, and blotches of color representing people, running amass.

She needs to hurry. The drugged air has made its entrance into the town, and it’s only going to spread faster.

It’s okay. This won’t end up like… that.

Nayoung and Haebin aren’t stupid, either. They probably have saved themselves somehow.

With Jieqiong cuffed and chained, she takes a pleasant time with her walk towards the Chaos-influenced girl. “So I guess you’re having a damn good time toying with people’s feelings just because your girlfriend decided that maybe you’re not worth her time. Being a president means putting your priorities aside for civil works, you know.” Sejeong slips a sigh to up the sass. And to hide the unsureness. “Doing this out of spite?”

Oh, the way Jieqiong seethes would’ve worth a spot in her camera roll, if not for the direness of the situation.

So Sejeong fuels the fire, despite wanting to combust herself. “I guess your woes messed with your system, mm? To think that you’d find pleasure in dragging others to your low!”

Some mussed strands fall over to the front of Jieqiong’s face, but not enough to hide the furious creases along her face. “You know nothing.”

Sejeong doesn’t hesitate even the slightest when she projects a punch to Jieqiong’s cheek, marring red along the paling skin. “To hell with that! You’re affecting everyone else!” A backhand this time, and it sends Jieqiong’s face to the other direction, her body still firmly rooted to the spot, cuffed. “I know you have your own to deal with, but that doesn’t mean you can just,” a train of images; her, wanting Nayoung, climbing on top of Nayoung, wanting Nayoung, marking Nayoung hers, wanting Nayoung, “doesn’t mean you can just mess with others’ feelings!”

Another hit sends Jieqiong’s face propped upwards. A spill of blood from her slightly cut lower lip etches red paint on Sejeong’s fist.

“But, I successfully realized your carnal desire, right?”

Jieqiong’s voice catches her off-guard. It’s lower than her usual tone. It tickles her temporal mind as Jieqiong sounds too hollow to be Jieqiong.

“Be honest with me,” Jieqiong’s Chaos-induced lopsided smile makes a comeback, “you had your way with her, all thanks to my power, mm?”

Sejeong grits her teeth. “Who are you?”

Despite the unnaturally calm demeanor, Jieqiong’s limbs visibly struggle against the hold the shadow has on them. “Zhou Jieqiong. A friend from class, a friend you usually confide in. Pass me up the security question, I’ll answer.”

“Jieqiong is my homegirl. But not this monster in front of me.”

“I am Jieqiong. The short-fused, angry, bitter, spiteful, lonely person I really am.”

Her hands take two fistfuls of Jieqiong’s collar. “Stop giving in to the Chaos, it’s driving you nuts!” Jieqiong is far from the only confused person in the room – Sejeong’s head is a mess. A sublime mixture of fear and bothered. And it fuels her fury further. Her voice levels into a half-scream, “You’re not doing anyone any favor! Snap out of it!”

The thing is, she’s running out of time.

Right now, Jieqiong must be struggling against the corrupting darkness. Chaos. But it would be only a matter of time until she submits out of exhaustion. The inadmissible abyss is there, jaw open, ready to swallow the loser whole.

She might need to change her approach. Brute-force isn’t working - from the looks of it, Nayoung might have angered the Chaos-influenced part of her. A more diplomatic approach might be an attempt at calming the beast.

She claws Jieqiong’s collar closer, bring them to a mere five centimeters distance. There’s nothing enticing about the way Jieqiong’s ragged breath tickles her philtrum. All she feels is the need to flush down all the bile forming in as she forces herself to take on Jieqiong’s stare in the close proximity (oh, how that void threatens to swallow her along!).  “Tell me, what’s in your head? We’re friends who confide in each other. What’s pushing you to this state?”

“I don’t know, lots.”

Jieqiong takes the time to blink when she answers, all the while her limbs’ struggle against the shadow-hands hold become more erratic. And crazed.

“I can’t begin to believe that my peppy, beagle-like—your words—friend would be bitter over something like this.”

The struggle calms. Sejeong senses danger. A mist enshrouds Jieqiong’s eyes, all metaphor, the mist colored a much darker pink. It’s like when the break in-between scenes in plays, where the thick, red curtain falls down to hide the uglier production behind, and all the merely dressed staff people. If the eyes are the peering window to the space swarming in the person’s sockets, then this reads like a refusal to open up in Jieqiong’s part.

Jieqiong’s tone is venomous, pronouncement of words emphasized as if depicting the witches in children’s fantasy books, “Have you ever imagined growing up on top of praises and compliments and – oh wow, Jieqiong, you’re really pretty – and dashes of – oh, Jieqiong, I wish I was born like you ­– and sometimes, it’s – oh, Jieqiong, would you like to go out with me – and after the most, polite, rejection ever because apparently pretty people aren’t allowed to speak ugly, it’s – oh, Jieqiong, it’s true after all, I am not worthy,”

“You live a happy life,”

“Mm-hm! Considering I always get what I want… even when I didn’t ask for it. Never asked for it. But that all started after I took care of myself.”

Jieqiong’s eyes flit downwards, the scornful laugh gets Sejeong to look at her questioningly.

“Nobody was born a stunner. But, there’s always a choice to improve your looks down the road. Of course, not everyone gets to be pretty – there’s only so much universally-acclaimed lookers in the world. Not everyone gets to be pretty. You could say I had the blessing of a shortcut. I never knew I could be this attractive, to be honest. Don’t tell a soul that, though, I sounded really conceited just now!”

Sejeong nods, unsure where this conversation would head. “You are, I think anyone would be hard-pressed to say otherwise. Not biased at all here, either.”

Jieqiong hums in appreciation. “But… life has been too easy for me, I guess. I forgot what rejection felt like – last time I felt it, I wasn’t pretty before, but now that I think I’ve reached my peak, it felt, how should I say it? What’s the word? Tre... mendous?”

“Do you consider that a hyperbole?”

“I sorta do. I’ve always wondered why am I never enough for Nayoung? Why did she even ask me out at all?” The venom’s back in her voice, full-force, “I thought I was enough? I thought I was what people wanted? Grade A looks, bubbly personality, I even sampled the way I laugh from those trend magazines. But, Nayoung seems to be ashamed of me? The most we do is holding hands in public? The most we do is Sunday dates? Am I that much of a bore that she’d choose whatever work and projects over me?”

The door bursts open. Sejeong panics, cause it couldn’t be Nayoung nor it is Haebin. She hopes it’s Chungha, or Suhyun, or anyone.

Not a Nayoung with a raging Heehyun trying to drag her back to the stairs, calling Jieqiong’s name in a hoarse voice, in a desperate volume, something Sejeong isn’t used to. A fair break from the calm, composed president Sejeong has always seen her as.

Everyone in the room (or lack of room, an outdoor setting with vast rosy sky) looks equally messed, hair equally unkempt, eyes equally red and tired, teeth dry from all the shouts and screams. This is inclusive to Sejeong, too.

Jieqiong looks wholly surprised, wholly delighted at the dynamic entry of Nayoung and her fledgling captor, Heehyun. She tries to run towards the aptly dubbed White Knight, but the shadow-hands cuffing her to the spot quickly aborts the plan. So, Jieqiong faces her once more. “Let me go.”

“I will, but not like this. She’s here ‘cause you kept on bugging with her fire.”

“She’s here to see me. Finally, I don’t have to do the chasing.”

“Out of her own will?” Diplomatic, diplomatic, diplomatic, plus I’m tired of seeing my friend like this – I don’t want her to be like… “End this already, Jieqiong.”

“Sejeong? That I dropped to four floors below also told me to stop. But, c’mon, I took care of myself. I’ve been looking extra prettier ever since high school started. I’ve always really, really liked Nayoung. Maybe it’s true that you’re attracted to things that aren’t attainable for you.”

“I guess it’s cause you’ve done too much. You’re doing too much.”

Jieqiong inches her face closer to her. So close, she’d think they would kiss.

They hold each other’s gaze.

“Sejeong, please, only the pretty ones…“

At that time, Sejeong sees the mandible of void in Jieqiong’s eyes open up, jaw unclenched and revealing to her what the word darkness truly encompasses.

“…get the happy end,”

It tears the stitch holding back the fear in her from mingling with her blood, apart. It sweeps her off her feet as she remembers things – memories uncouth with wrong choices and regrets. It swallows her whole.

It makes her lose control of her power for a split second, but it is enough for Jieqiong to break out of the shackling shadow-hands. The shadow limps back into Sejeong’s own, and before Sejeong could turn the turning table back, Jieqiong lunges at her, palms molding with the shape of Sejeong’s neck, and they both fall over with Sejeong’s back crashed against the floor and Jieqiong straddling her, a deadlock.

“Jieq—“ She finds speech difficult with crushed under, she even finds controlling her own shadow into shapes too much of work as her consciousness beeps in and out. What she manages is a punch packed to Jieqiong’s cheekbone, and the shadow-hand even clings to Jieqiong’s right cheek in attempt to rid her off Sejeong’s lap, but Jieqiong rids it off first with a shake of her head. A display of strength founded by desperation.

“Jieqiong, please, it’s me—“ Sejeong hears Nayoung’s plea just fine, but perhaps the girl in question is deafened by the rage.

“I thought I was enough,” with every pause, her hold around Sejeong’s neck tightens, “I thought people wanted me,” the summer wind got strands all over her face, adding the menace, “I just want her to want me!”

“You are… enough! She loves you! This is, probably, just… some sorta… miscommunication on both ends,”

Sejeong hammers a fist to the floor below and the pain keeps her consciousness intact, as a hands snake out of her shadow, grabbing Jieqiong’s shoulders and torso from the back, trying to unlatch her to stop the maddening choke. Death by asphyxiation doesn’t fancy her at all – she’s been through much worse.

The palms around her neck come undone when Jieqiong’s thrown back by the shadow-hands. Sejeong sits up and launches herself onto Jieqiong to pin her down, but Jieqiong, alerted, kicks the upper part of Sejeong’s torso to keep her away.

Sejeong lands on an emergent footing. Jieqiong’s quick to rise back. There’s no stopping her… I thought an emotional approach would work. Out of options, her eyes wander, and she curses inwardly when her vision blurs with tears and other humanly fluids after surviving a close death by choking. Her eyes sharply focus at Im Nayoung spanking Demonic Heehyun’s with a baton, though. Holy! Heehyun’s horrid at holding back herself from shredding people!

A light bulb goes off in her head.

The idea is contradictory to what she’s been doing, but at this rate, she’d take anything. She’s tight on time.

Jieqiong is too pure of a soul to lose… despite all the love hotel and pheromones fiasco.

Sejeong switches her gear to a defensive game of side-stepping and crab-running. Naturally, Jieqiong plows onto her, a swing of roundhouse, two swings of double roundhouse combo, a flying kick ready to sickle her head clean, Sejeong either dodges, side-steps, a combination of both, or deflects it by raising a wall made up of her shadow. When she’s more or less an arm reach of Nayoung and Heehyun, she pulls Nayoung by the wrist, taking the president by surprise, whirls her around to face Jieqiong, and abruptly summons icicles of shadow just a mere centimeter away from stabbing Nayoung’s flesh and skin. One ready to stab , three around her torso, ten about to acupuncture her joints.

Jieqiong’s gasp is a music to her ear. Must have been the twist of the century!

“You can have her under my supervision.” Sejeong taps a knuckle at Nayoung’s stiffened body. “Now you two can converse. But keep in mind, Nayoung, any further movement and you might want to sprint to the nearest hospital if you still fancy your life. Those needles are really pointy. And they move at my own will.” She turns to Jieqiong. “Cooperate if you don’t want your stoney hurt.”

She isn’t sure whether this will work or not, but in a way, it’s like those bits in romance novels where a supporting character locks the two leads in a bathroom so the two could talk it out. She’s doing everyone a favor, especially Heehyun, whose rear has formed a concave from all the beating it took on.

“Jieqiong,” Nayoung’s hoarse voice makes a comeback, “I came to see you.”

But Jieqiong’s voice, this time, is small, and vulnerable, and delicate and softer than a hushed kiss, “You’re late,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be. I—I didn’t ask for you to be sorry at all, Nayoung. If anything, I’ve gotten sick of your apologies…” The pink somehow casts a sad hue against her battered features. The Jieqiong this time is less mad, less enraged, but the calm scares Sejeong.

“Jieqiong—“

“But tell me,” still softly, but this time, with a hint of wreckages, “do you find me pretty?”

“What?”

“Am I pretty? Am I pretty enough for you?”

“You’ve… always been,”

There’s something heartbreaking with how Jieqiong sounds unpatched, like a fresh wound. Similarly, she’s red, not metaphorically to symbolize the rage, but from the burst of tears streaking down her cheeks. Her voice, unsteady, wrecked by untamed sobs, is a quaint blend of insecurities and needs for acceptance. In all her raw hideousness, “Then how come you’re only here when it’s about to swallow me whole?! I thought you found me pretty! I thought I was enough! I thought you loved me!”

“I do, Jieqiong—“

A gasp tears out of Jieqiong and her attention switches to the palms she brought up. In a voice shakier than ever, she makes out, “Nayoung… I’m, I’m starting to feel cold.”

Oh . There’s only one conclusion to this.

The despair has consumed the most of her.

The ‘freezing’ process is beginning.

Her fire is dying.

The fear comes crashing down at her – things are taking the turn for the ugliest too fast and it’s giving her grim reminder of the events that transpired years ago. Of the botched experiment. Of put out flames and statue, statues made of ice.

And she might be seeing things, delirious from the swelling need to back down and close her eyes and forget about the pressing stint at hand. But she could make out vultures, beaks open into a still, some looking down at them—at Jieqiong in particular—with beady eyes. Vultures devour unnamed corpses and feast upon deserted tombs. A statue of ice has no name, only the curves to remember by.

“Sejeong, earth to Sejeong?! Snap back to life goddamnit!”

She feels Heehyun shaking her body from the side, and she turns her head to find Heehyun back in her normal form, skin tightened around her bones and muscle masses without the ripping veins.

“We gotta do something about this fast… time’s running out for Jieqiong.”

“What’s going to happen?” Nayoung’s question is heavier. At loss. “What’s going to happen to Jieqiong?”

“Uhh, stuff.” Heehyun answers. Being informative. Voice smaller this time, too. “Bad stuff. Stay still, we’ll try to talk her out of it—“

“Nayoung, I,” Jieqiong’s voice is equally smaller, weaker in comparison to the mess of screams she was just minutes before, “I can’t feel my hands anymore…”

But Sejeong herself is at loss on what to do. She is affected; her mind is away. The vultures multiply into a crowd. They might or might not even be there, she questions, as her grip on reality loosens. No. This can’t be happening.

Then, she feels Heehyun’s attention ripped off her, and Nayoung’s shouting something, and she’s pulled back into reality when she sees spills of red spurting past Nayoung’s body as Nayoung moves, plowing a leg outwards and making it out of the prison of shadow-blades through the gaps present, ignoring the numerous stabs along her body as agonizing groans follow her along her trek to Jieqiong. Sejeong’s reflex reminds her to pull the needles back into her shadow, to avoid injuries any graver.

This might be the first time she’s ever seen the president looking so alive, different from the lacquered metal persona the president’s famous for.

This president – this Im Nayoung – drags her torn legs as the dry wind blows over her and the blood red permeates her skin more than it should, and she holds Jieqiong’s tears-torn cheeks in her palms and mends Jieqiong’s very much torn heart as she leans her forehead against Jieqiong’s.

“I’m sorry.”

Jieqiong chokes on another, not another apology, which passes before ever being uttered as Nayoung lightly rolls her forehead against hers, and Nayoung, sounding calm amidst the bleeding, “My actions have gravely hurt you. You well-deserve these apologies, and there’s still at least a hundred aplenty.”

“I don’t—“

Though her face is obscured from Sejeong’s view and all she sees is the back of Nayoung’s head, she’s sure that Nayoung is crying, “I take full responsibilities in hurting you so badly. Apologies will never be enough, but please,” a pause, a sob, and, “please give this failure of a person another chance…”

There’s another pause, maybe words are getting too difficult for them to articulate when it’s the hearts speaking.

For the final nail of the coffin, Nayoung leads Jieqiong’s head to crook of her neck, “I, please understand that it’s not easy for me to say this,” and she herself sinks into Jieqiong’s pink-dyed tresses, “I love you, not for your looks or anything, I just. I do, I love you.”

Sejeong can’t see it, but she’s sure that, maybe, the ice has thawed, or is in process, because the pink in the sky is less heavy, and Jieqiong’s hands weakly claw at Nayoung’s back to ensure her of the taller girl’s existence. Maybe.

“Things are calming down and the pheromone fog’s getting its lift.” Heehyun pats her forearm. “It’s a job well done, Sejeong. When the teachers caught wind of this, expect a raise in your Produce 101 ranking.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, they add up points for works like this. Now, I gotta sprint, our pres is bleeding and my is dented so bad it’s no longer attractive, so I gotta call some teachers over. They’re probably sane enough to do actual teacher works now.” Heehyun turns for the door, and before she disappears into the dimly-lit stairway, she half-shouts, “Catch you guys later!”

Things are looking better. Except for the fact that Nayoung and Haebin might be—she feels a sudden buzz of her phone in the pocket of her skirt. When she fishes the device out, she stifles a scream over the cracks on the screen. Must be from the brawl! ! When she sees the name ‘Han Haebin’ flashing on the screen, she wastes no time, “Hello?”

“Reports of our death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Nice time to joke there, Nayoung.”

There’s a muffled laugh over the speaker. “Twain or Kingsman—“

“You might want to stop with the jokes before I maketh you learn a thing or two about manners.”

“Okay.”

“Starting from… are you alright?”

“Well,” a suspense, and Sejeong hears shallow breathing, “I’m still kinda tired, and Haebin is hyperventilating ‘cause she thought we were gonna kick the bucket. I’m still broken all over and my bones need the tending and Haebin’s doing the best she can do right now, but we’re mostly alright. Haebin said she grabbed me in time during our fall and coated us with her healing power. It cushioned our fall, I guess.”

“Great,” not in a snippy, sarcastic way, but she’s breathing out sighs of relief for real, “great, oh god, I can’t believe.”

“Are you alright?”

“I am. I think. Everyone else is alright, injuries aside.”

“Don’t wait for me and Haebin. Get inside, rest up, tell the others that everything’s fine now, we will… talk about things tomorrow.”

Things. Whether Nayoung’s talking about the whole fiasco or the parts where she made out to an image of Nayoung, she’s unsure. “Okay. L, let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is.”
 

Notes: [1] fortunately, this won’t be the last time y’all are gonna see Nayoung and Jieqiong. We still have the other Pledis Girlz to pull into the mess, and Nayoung and Jieqiong are sorta among the main cast anyway (slimy cackling)

[2] it’s been a while since I wrote anything and I realized that my writing has turned into a mix of wreckages and bull nnnnn I hope y’all can stomach whatever I put up there

[3] I hope you don’t mind the cheesiness also

[4] im tired