Perfect shadow

The curtain rises and our twisted play begins…

He was the most perfect Shadow that had ever lived.

The just-released students romp, talk, move about, their careless laughter effortlessly fills every crevice and corner—except the one.

In the shade of the drawn-back curtain, a lanky figure sits unnoticed, leaning a muscled arm on the vandalized desk. The black of his hair melts perfectly into the darkness, a stark contrast to the sunlit world just inches away.

Every few moments, the dark-haired teenager glances up towards the door to see if he can catch a glimpse of his companion. And every time he is disappointed, something inside him withering.

In an attempt to distract himself, he turns to gaze outside of the window. The late afternoon sunlight dapples his smooth features and barely lightens the gloomy shadows beneath his eyes. It reflects off the glassy surface of those pair of depthless doors to his soul. Right now, those gates are closed and guarded, refusing any access.

The endless orbs continue to flit to the clock.

He’s late… the boy thinks gravely. As if that thought is the key to unlock the Pandora’s box, all the dark notions come surging up inside him.

Did he forget? He thinks, fighting a small panic in his chest. Did something happen? What if he isn’t coming? Is he going to…?

“Tao!” The call of his name releases the young man from his anxieties.

Straightening and clamoring up towards the speaker, a wide beam transforms that sullen face to an unrecognizable and impossibly cute one. Tao grabs his bag, tossing it over his shoulder, long dark hair rustling, and flies over to the tall blonde’s side.

“哥哥 (gege),” Tao says happily, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, pressing his lips against the slightly taller’s ear. The grin melts into a pout. “You’re late.”

Kris just laughs and ruffles his hair. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmur-purrs in his low voice, encircling a (hesitant) arm around the younger’s waist. “Not my fault that the teacher’s too damn short to get the top of the blackboard.”

(Tao misses the flash of worry that crosses his lover’s face as he glances at the onlookers.)

Even though he still pretends to look offended, Tao’s actually happy inside. The simple fact that Kris still came and is still here is enough for him.

“You’re not forgiven yet,” Tao warns teasingly.

“Let’s go, kiddo,” the elder chuckles (slightly forcefully), throwing his schoolbag over his shoulder and heading out the door.

The younger trails on cheerfully behind him, his loving eyes lingering adoringly over those broad shoulders and strong chest.

This is the one being he owed everything to. Kris had noticed him, found him when no one else was looking. For that Tao owed him everything…

So Tao follows faithfully (obliviously) behind the towering silhouette, a shadow in Kris’s wake.

Nothing pleased Shadow more than to dance about the feet of Man, allowing the final, faint aftertaste of each gesture to linger in the light, preserving the scent upon the air.

Man created beautiful lines and inspired motion; Shadow mimicked it in a way so real, so capable of breathing and loving and fearing, so human that it seems impossible for such an illusion.

Kris’s hands are magic as they trail over Tao’s distinct features, perfectly accurate even in the dark. The motion is gentle, light, and hesitant, as if the younger is something delicate and must be protected. (Tao doesn’t understand the cautiousness.)

Now, they are tracing over the cliffs and valleys of Tao’s collarbones, creating movement, defining lines. Tao copies the tracks, mimics the action against the secret crevices of Kris’s neck until he gives in.

“Kris,” he breathes against the elder’s mouth, his own spider-leg fingers now weaving through the soft sunlight-locks. Feeling no answer, Tao reaches out and laces his hand around the other’s larger ones. “I love you.”

The blonde doesn’t respond right away. His soft lips just follow the path Tao’s jawline makes to his ear before murmuring against the shell, “I love you too.”

Then Kris cups his lover’s cheek, earning a blush and shiver the younger, and continues (with a small quiver), dark eyes serious, “But you have to stay close to me. Always.”

Tao nods and offers him his eternal promise because that is all that he can offer.

“Of course.”

(Tao fleetingly wonders if the oath is reciprocated.)

Man was the Playwright, Master of the Sun-dappled stage of the world; Shadow was the Artist living in the script, happily and proudly as if it were his own yet bound like a marionette to the lines dictated by Man.

“No, no, not like that.”

They are in the dance studio together. In the beam of the bright lights, the contrast between them is even more glaring and absolute.

“Like this,” Kris directs, guiding the dark-haired teenager by resting his large hands on his hips.

But Tao’s mind is elsewhere, uncaged. His thoughts spread far among the painted clouds on the walls like birds (more free than he would ever be) before converging back onto the sensitive hands that lead his waist (but he doesn't mind, because he has Kris).

It’s always been this way. Kris is always leading while Tao is always following and obeying the laws set by the elder. It is the only way because neither had known anything different.

The student is acutely aware of the warmth spreading from his teacher’s palm into his skin. It’s when Kris is touching him like this that Tao knows that he is real and he exists—at least in Kris’s world.

“Do you understand?”

Nodding, Tao smiles brightly for his lover, leans up and presses his lips to Kris’s, stopping any further words. (He doesn’t taste the aftertaste of worry on the taller’s tongue.)

And that’s all that really matters. As long as he is a part of Kris’s life and world… There’s nothing else that he could ever ask for.

He was the most perfect Shadow that had ever lived, and nothing gave him greater fulfillment than to mirror Man, to create a more fluid, magnificent motion than the one set to him by Man.

Yet, at times, he wondered.

Tao peeks over his magazine to watch from across the room at the form of Kris sketching in his notebook. Those dark orbs trail over those sharp features carved from marble before resting on the flicking movement of the giant’s hand as it designs, constructs, creates.

What was it like to be the Playwright, the Master of the Stage?

~~~~~

“You’re being unreasonable, Tao.”

Crossing his arms and frowning, the dark-haired younger replies, “I’m serious, Kris. You’re with Chanyeol a lot this past few months and I don’t like it. You’re never here…”

“I’m here now.”

“Your body is,” Tao cuts over him, corners of his lip quivering. “But your mind isn’t.”

“I’ve… just been thinking. A lot. About a lot of things.”

“Like what?” Tao demands. “What possibly could have you so engrossed in your thoughts that you ignore your boyfriend?”

“I’m thinking about us.”

“What about us?”

“Our future—”

“With or without Chanyeol?”

Kris’s eyebrows furrow. “Chanyeol is my best friend—”

“What about your heart? Who has your heart?”

“You know that it’s always was and will be yours,” Kris says, his eyes becoming earnest. “You know that.” The way he stresses the word makes Tao wonder who the taller is trying to convince – Tao or himself.

Tao remains silent.

Running a hand through his hair, Kris leans back in his hair and sighs, “I-I’m just worried.”

Eyes softening a little, the dark-eyed one leans forward, resting a hand on top of his lover’s, and says, “About what?”

Kris gazes back for a moment, then turns away. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“No, please tell me.”

“Not now.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want—”

“Then what do you want?”

“I-I,” Kris starts, struggling before bursting out, “I just need some space, Tao.”

The word hits the younger hard in the gut, making him stumble backwards, as if it had real mass and could truly hurt him.

Space… The single word echoes in his numb mind like a clap of thunder that heralds the coming of the silence before the storm. Space… waste of space…

Clutching his head, Tao turns away, biting back the screams that threaten to spring on his lips. Kris, realizing what he had said tries to apologize, reaching out as if his touch could erase his words.

But Tao doesn’t hear the meaningless phases, misses the begging touch, and pulls away. The voice-memories reverberate in his mind like a broken record player, forever on repeat, uncontrollable.

You’re a waste of space… You’re worthless… You’re nothing…

He’s drawing away from me… Tao thinks, shaking as goose bumps spring upon his flesh, a pathetic attempt to protect himself from an attack that had already pierced through him, scarred him. He’s leaving like everyone else…

The wounds on his heart from the past spit open like a fissure ripping the earth apart. It hurts. Everything hurts. Everything is dark…

Tao vaguely hears Kris calling his name in desperation, barely feels the hands shaking his shoulders.

“No...”

Immediately, Kris stops and stares with wide hurt eyes, any comforting words escaping his mind before he could give it form. He should’ve reached over and held him, wipe away the droplets from his cheeks, kiss the pain away like the way the rain kisses the lonely. But he hesitates.

And that is all that the younger needs.

Taking advantage of his lover’s momentary weakness, Tao pulls away and stumbles out of the room, scalding tears blinding and blurring his vision, burning pain into his skin.

----------

Bang!

Crash! Chanyeol jumps so violently at the sound of the front door being flung open that his mug of tea topples over the edge of the table with resounding clatter.

“Kris!” The redhead gasps, clamoring up from his seat in time to catch his best friend. The blonde is breathless, dark eyes closing for a moment. “What the—?”

“Have…you seen…Tao…recently?” Kris pants, gulping for air from the valley of Chanyeol’s neck. His eyes open and the younger sees the wild fear haunting their depths.

Chanyeol shakes his head, eyes alighting with worry.

“I…I have to…go find…him,” Kris mutters, fighting to stand up, but Chanyeol pushes him into the chair.

“Not yet,” the younger says firmly. “I will help you, but only after you explain…”

----------

“So you two had a fight?”

Kris chokes a little on his drink of cherry tea. “H-how—?”

“What other reason would there be if he disappeared without telling you?” The other replies, simply. He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, what was it about?”

“He wanted to know what was bothering me,” Kris says, resting his forehead on his hands. “But I didn’t want to tell him that I’m worried about our future. Our future as a couple. We both know how society sees people like us, falling for other men.”

Chanyeol nods understandingly. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”

“I didn’t want to worry him…” Kris mutters, looking away.

“So he thought you were hiding something from him?”

“Maybe…”

Chanyeol considers this then his face pales as all color drains from his features. “You don’t think,” he says slowly, dread slipping into his voice, saturating each syllable, “that he thought that you were cheating on him with…me?”

Shatter! The mug in Kris’s hand drops from his hand. The diluted scarlet liquid inside splatters on the white tile of the floor and spreads, staining, but neither notice.

Before the younger can even comprehend, Kris is already sprinting out the door.

“!” Chanyeol curses, grabbing his coat and chasing his friend, his heart flapping in panic yet sinking with dread. Like a fallen bird…

----------

It is Chanyeol who finds Tao, suspended and unmoving.

Time stops dead in its tracks. Chanyeol’s wide eyes take in the single puppet string still attached to the body, the only stable tying him to the world.

Chanyeol wants to scream, to call out, but he suddenly finds his voice had failed him. Instead, a small whimper escapes his lips as he reaches over to trace over the raised scars on Tao’s bared sides. There are horizontal scars perfectly aligned, starting from below his armpit down to his hip. If Chanyeol hadn’t known that they were self-inflicted, he would’ve thought it was beautiful.

“Tao!” No one else could have filled the one syllable of that name with more anguish and pain than Kris.

Everything becomes a blur to Chanyeol. Kris rushing past him and sobbing and hastily untying the rope with shaking hands and liting the body and collapsing on the ground.

And Chanyeol can do nothing, only stand there and watch with tears stinging his eyes as Kris clutches Tao’s lifeless body against his, screaming his anguish to the pitiless world.

~~~~~

And that was how Shadow broke free of Man.

He cut the strings of the marionette doll and left the Puppet Master staring astonished at the frayed rope in his hands. Now he can create his own initial lines, his own Stage Directions, as perfectly as he had mimicked Man.

He was the most perfect Shadow that had ever lived.

So the curtain falls yet our twisted play continues.

---

A/N: Wow, that’s probably one of the darkest, angstiest stories I’ve ever written O_O I’m wondering if I should rate this…?

Thank god Sorrowlicher gave me a really vague outline/ skeleton so I was able to play with it and this is the result xD I’m okay with it, despite its angstiness and wordvomit-iness and I gave up near the end OTL.

I really don’t like portraying Tao as weak because he is not, but… yeah… He’s my sensitive baby ;A;

Anyway, I hope you liked it~

Make sure to check out Sorrowlicher’s story that I posted in the foreword :D

Until next time~ Kai waving like a princess Kris, Suho, control your children!