Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.

~

the night air is cold, biting into soohyun's skin as he steps out onto the balcony, sliding shut the screen door behind him. leaning forward onto the railing, he lights up and takes comfort in the bitter, heady taste of the cigarette.

he inhales deeply, feeling the smoke and ash and whatever chemicals in it coat his throat; his lungs. it used to make him have coughing fits, used to hurt, but it doesn't anymore. nothing does.

soohyun just stands there, eyes gazing blankly at the stars across the dark velvet of the sky. he stands there, inhaling and exhaling poison, until the cigarette is burnt through and he's only left with the sour taste of failure and disappointment on his tongue.

after this, he reluctantly tells himself, it's back to the gym. back to long hours of lifting weights, doing sit-ups and chin-ups, running on the treadmill. running, running, running until his clothes are soaked through, until his breath catches painfully in his lungs when he tries to inhale, until he's so exhausted that all he can do is collapse to the ground.

they call him flawless, but he's not, he really isn't.

flawless describes someone who doesn't have to smoke, doesn't have to purge to feel better.

flawless describes someone who always smiles, who is amazingly talented.

flawless describes someone who is beautiful, inside and out, without even trying.

(soohyun thinks that kiseop is flawless)

~

the beams from the spotlights are warm; so warm that they almost sear into kiseop's skin. screams and shrieks from the audience fills his ears; but he tunes them out so that they're just a constant hum in the background.

his eyes are open, but he isn't really seeing anything. he's smiling, but he isn't really happy.

the music starts, and kiseop's limbs begin to move in a series of smooth, familiar movements to match the beat of the song. it's almost as if he's a robot: programmed to smile, programmed to dance, to sing; but not programmed to feel, to be human.

it's the reason why he cuts: gashes deep and long over his thighs, his arms. the pain makes him feel alive, reminds him that he is human, that he can breathe, that he can bleed.

they say that he's perfect, but he's not, he really isn't.

perfect describes someone who always smiles with sincerity, who puts others before himself because he cares.

perfect describes someone who tries hard in everything he does, not because he's programmed to, but because he really wants to.

perfect describes someone who is not just an emotionless, hollow shell with a mask of smiles for a face.

(kiseop thinks that soohyun is perfect)

~

the strong smell of ammonia fills soohyun's nostrils as he steps into the men's room. he wrinkles up his nose, grimacing, as he walks further in and locks himself in the only cubicle.

it's a daily routine of his.

getting to his knees and leaning down, he stares at the shiny, white porcelain bowl. closing his eyes and counting one, two, three, he quickly shoves his fingers down his throat. his body jerks hard as he gags, the force of it making his eyes tear. he takes erse delight in the familiar burn of acid rushing up his throat; the knowledge that when he does this, he's one step closer to being truly flawless.

when he's done, he leans back against the wall of the cubicle, swiping his forearm over his mouth and breathing hard. he's trapped in this vicious cycle of seeking perfection: lost so deep that he can't get out of it anymore, the reason why he keeps trying; futile attempts that cage him in even more.

he wonders, for a moment, what it would feel like to be kiseop. to have such a lean body, to have such a beautiful face and smile; and not just be a cheerful person who's actually broken on the inside.

he wonders what it would feel like to be so effortlessly gorgeous and confident, to walk into a room and feel everyone's gazes on you for all the right reasons.

(he wonders what it would feel like, being flawless.)

~

kiseop pauses in front of the mirror in the living room of their dorm. out of habit, he leans forward, adjusting his bangs and clothes even though they are already perfect.

it's a habit he has: staring at himself in reflective surfaces, frequently taking photos of himself at every chance he gets. a habit: not one stemming from vanity as everyone assumes, but from fear.

fear that one day, he'll be drawn so deep into the life of being an idol that he'll lose himself. fear that one day, he'll be unable to recognise himself under all the layers of smiles he's plastered over his face.

it's scary, he thinks. looking into the mirror; at photos and seeing himself, yet somehow knowing that the kiseop in the mirror and photos isn't really kiseop, but just a hollow, smiley shell of a human that calls itself kiseop.

he's trapped: locked away in a dark place that he's unable to escape from, yet able to see the outside world with eyes that are not his own; the scars on his skin binding him like chains, restricting him from reaching out to grab onto the shreds of emotion that would set him free.

he's trapped: lost in this cycle of cutting to escape, but somehow caging himself in even more.

fingers reaching out to brush against his reflection's fingertips, he wonders for a moment, what it would feel like to be soohyun. to have such a beautifully happy smile, to be alive.

he wonders what it would feel like to sing with emotions, to be able to smile and laugh; a real smile that is not just a mere upward curve of lips, a real laugh that is not just a forced sound bubbling out from his throat.

(he wonders what it would feel like, being perfect)

~

bodies tangle together on the bed; a mess of kisses and touches and erratic heartbeats. scars press against skin; sandpaper on silk. lips and tongues move together, sharing the sweetly addictive taste of nicotine and lust.

fingers curl into locks of hair; nails carve valleys into tanned, slick skin as a still-smouldering cigarette traces patterns into scars; pain melting into pleasure.

kiseop lets his fingertips trace over soohyun's features; the edge of his lips, the corners of his smile. nuzzling the curve of his neck and feeling his heartbeat go thudthudthud against his lips; letting that rhythm full of life just fill him up.

(flawless)

soohyun slips his hands into kiseop's slender, fragile ones, letting out a low groan as he pushes his way into that beautifully tight heat, so that two bodies mould into one; two pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

(perfect)

lost in touches; lost in mapping out journeys over the terrain of their bodies. seeking comfort in each other's insecurities, finding perfection in each other's flaws.

picking up the broken pieces of their souls and mending them back together with threads of love.


~End~