#the rain pummeling the thin cardboard to go box

[solarpunkpolliwog]

Did I walk 20 minutes through a downpour just for 6 overpriced mochi donuts?

Yes obviously I need these donuts to be softly kissed and munched before they find a home in my tum. Rain sloshing in my boots be damned.

[laurenwritesfics]

Drive All Night

A drabble inspired by one of my favorite Bruce Springsteen songs...

Home. Whether it’s found somewhere or in someone, it’s always clothed in duality. If you’ve never thought it was possible to be in two places at once, you’ve never been to Los Angeles. From the heated rush of bodies down Rodeo Drive at midday to the midnight drives down the winding lanes of Laurel Canyon, time always finds a way to move differently.

There’s a soft crunch of rubber against dirt as a black Jeep comes to a stop on a grassy verge.

Taking a long, deep breath, Chris steels himself and pushes back into humid leather. He’s surrounded by bright city lights, but he’s never felt more shrouded in darkness. He hasn’t slept. There are empty paper cups strewn across the floor. Every inch of the car smells like coffee, tobacco and sweat. He wouldn’t have started smoking again if it hadn’t happened. He wouldn’t have left if he’d just given himself one more second. One more chance to take a breath. Take another step. If he’d given himself the chance to shut off the bristling static in his brain. He had a talent for overthinking that from the outside looked like thoughtlessness. Callousness. Reckless impulsivity. Every time a wall was knocked down, he’d find a way to rebuild it.

He exhales again with a whistle, fingers tenting together as he casts his eyes to the ceiling. Only the thud of the windshield wipers breaks the thick silence.

After a beat, he turns the radio dial and drives away. It crackles as the signal dips and hailstones pummel the glass, quickly melting into dull rain. Organizing his thoughts is like untangling a ball of rubber bands, and he can feel each one of them snap, a jolt running through his spine.

The familiar white door comes into view. His muscles relax against the steering wheel and he almost parks in the driveway. Thin branches hit his shoulder with a wet slap as he slides out of the car. The warm porch light makes him squint, droplets of rain trickling from his lashes as he looks down at his feet, rocking on his heels a little. He steadies himself, reaches out and then quickly retracts his hand.

What the hell was he going to say?

He knocks.

“Chris?” She’s standing in a loose sweatshirt, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. “What the fuck-”

“I know.” Chris starts. A quick glance through the doorway reveals a tower of cardboard boxes in the hallway. “I know you don’t give a shit. I know I don’t deserve it. But I couldn’t leave without seeing you one last time.”

[grim-faux]

3 _ 16 _ The Inheritor of Despair

First - An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

The rain fell the way it always did. Staring up into the swaying tendrils of mist, the choppy pulse made the high stretching buildings sway like trees threading through the gale.

 It reminded him of the forest. Though rain never fell across the thicket, and the only moisture clung to grass and dusty ground as dew. The foliage was parched and brittle, the breeze stale and brimming with the scent of rotten meat, and soured water. If he found something to drink, it might kill him faster than dehydration.

 Mono pulled off his hat and gave it a shake. Not that it helped. He fixed the sagging seams and punched the fabric out. For a while, the hat would hold its shape. He gave the road a brief scan and collected an idea of the layout, of windows visible through the mist, and any blotchy path that might mean hide. The weather was worsening, but he didn’t want to risk going indoors.

 The inner lining of the hat stayed dry, for the most part. A lot of hats didn’t hold up, or didn’t have scratchy lining that bared out a soaking. Some came apart from too much use.

 From the vapor somewhere, the rambling crackle of a television garbled beneath the rattle of rain. The pellets drummed on metal canisters, flattened cardboard boxes, and pummeled furniture crushed into the pavement. He glanced across the cluttered road he walked beside, working to decide where the sound threaded from. Wherever the televisions sat didn’t make a difference, the Viewers stopped watching the screens so closely. Reading their movement got harder, or he wasn’t as used to the crazed behavior like the other creatures prowling. The Viewers just knew where he was, despite how quiet he was.

 The Viewers used to minded their own business, except when the television stopped calling. Sometimes he dreamed about them lined up on the roof edge, gazing through the downpour.

 With each step water rushed over his feet, sharp icy sheets cleaving over his numb toes. The faster he ran the less it burned. He pushed past himself and focused beyond the chatter of rain, he sought the weird warm patches of moldering air.

 His sprint petered out among the crushed innards of buildings scattered across the road. While crawling through hidden tunnels and searching for a clear path, he nearly stepped into range of what he thought was a dead adult. No matter how dead something looked, he always kept his distance, but the ruble placed him nearly in reach of the arms – both mangled and unable to grip anything. It swatted at him, giving him a start and reminding him to be more cautious of bloody, crushed bodies. A dying creature could still throttle.

 The creature was delirious and didn’t get a second chance to lash out, after he was swatted out of range. He squeezed out of the corral of broken cement walls and kept going. Notches and twisted wooden braces allowed him to climb higher and reach a stable chunk of wall. The slab was mostly a hollowed window frame, but easy enough to balance along the crumbling edge and find a fresh path. It peaked at a gradual incline, and he could leap a short gap to the next patch of shattered surface.

 A tremor rippled through the soaked plaster, and his weight sank into the rotted wall. Below, a dull crunch echoed up, and Mono crouched down onto the surface. When nothing happened and the wall didn’t dissolve beneath his feet, he uncoiled and checked the ruin holding sturdy around his current perch.

 If he stood a little higher, on his tiptoes, a space of road lay visible beyond a pile of cement. The road broke off, a thick fog swirling above the gaping wound. Careful of the soft material under his feet, he followed the path built on the spine of the building, dropping to lower edges or strafing along narrow walkways where he could.

 Sometimes when the rain fell this way, it made him wonder. One day, would the Thin Man disappear? When he told the stories about the Place, Mono got an idea that the Thin Man was sad and full of think about beyond… whatever was beyond them, and company. Him and the Thin Man. Would Mono know if the Thin Man went away for good? What would he do?

 The questions didn’t strike much debate in Mono’s head. The Thin Man had many other children to keep and look at, he was so busy when he left Mono. After what happened - with Kost' and the pack - he knew for not follow was better. The Thin Man might find the other kid. But not with Mono, that never worked.

 He found a way down from the pulverized bricked, and returned to a solid sidewalk. The road was cleaved through, and no platform or bridge was visible in the woven rain. Whatever trauma tore the road apart, it brought the skyrises down, littering the sidewalks and demolishing the smaller building with heaps of mortar and cement. After exploring the ruins over and under, and some more backtracking, he located pockets to move among tight pathways that did not require a teleport or two. He didn’t need to lean into that power and get trapped someplace, no escape and no food. Lost would be bad.

 The lack of food didn’t drive him from where the Thin Man left him. Never. He always kept the place safe, nothing ever found them. If a danger did stumble into the shelter, Mono would do something. He would trick it.

 That was, until the ceiling collapsed. Many of the rooms, and the levels too. He couldn’t keep the dwelling safe from itself, and with great reluctance dragging on his body, he abandoned the place and went….

 He couldn’t look for the Thin Man. The Thin Man left, and was looking at the children. Something else would happen, and it was better if Mono didn’t go for the Thin Man.

 Food things, then. Mono had a deep fear he might stumble onto the Thin Man without meaning too, while the man in the hat was busy and not paying attention. The Thin Man knew everything, but often enough his hat was full of thinking, he lost thought about where was, which child he had, where they were going. They got lost and wandered in the same building not doing scout, but dulled by nothing go anywhere. The Thin Man’s quiet think went ‘round and around, and so did the man in the hat. He hoped the Thin Man would remember Mono and look at him, but the man and his hat had so much busy. Mono worried about the other children too.

 The road which led to the chasm was free of debris and barriers, affording him a path to new roads through cluttered alleys. To the winding streets he returned, and the crackling hum of the televisions competed with the steady buzz of rainfall – the weaving hymn near indistinguishable. Through the mist, he is fortunate to spy a pod of Viewers gawking skyward and at the haunting shimmer of a television screen. A barrier of furniture and discarded shopping carts kept them corralled, but the adults rarely cared of obstacles. Some carried damage from falls, and one was missing its arms.

 Mono kept as much space between himself and the twitchy figures, sneaking among the bent wire carts loaded with rubbish and piles of clothing, or whatever else was heaped and solid enough to conceal him. That worked well enough but not always.

 In a isolated clearing among ruble, another pod of Viewers detached from the drenched television jammed within brick and timber. All but the flashing screen was buried entirely, amongst the addition of mangled bodies – cold and gray and near indistinguishable from the debris itself. The mob shambled alarmingly near the metal canisters, where Mono huddled deep and buried. It never mattered how quiet he was or invisible, and he couldn’t wait around. Upon seeing his best chance, he slipped from the flattened container and squeezed among hollow trackways carved through the destruction. He followed a gutter frothing with rushing water, the whole process a struggle to manage, but the thick gurgling masked his presence. That was what he decided.

 The Viewers were none the wiser. He was able to get off the road and sneak into an alley, where the tall buildings and collapsed walls blotted out the harsh weather. Behind a large dumpster, he found a way into a building through an open door. The door itself was cluttered with crumped papers and clothing, but open enough he could squeeze in. The sounds of rainfall and growling thunder cut out when he shoved the door shut.

 This placed him within a musty room of not much light, but after listening a bit – deciding nothing was lurking in the dank silence – he wandered toward a faint glimmer a distance away, and followed a muggy draft. With fumbling and feeling around, he stumbled into an large store area full of shelves. He skittered among the lopsided aisles, doing a short scout among the rows for anything missed, any sort of danger left hidden. It gave him an idea of everything, of a different door (not a way out), and the few windows that allowed some light in, along with the gallons of water making one section of the shop kind of scary.

 He ventured to the far side of the store and found shelves loaded with packages and bags. With barely a breath, he climbed the shaky slates and went to work, pulling out any container that looked ‘good’, and whatever else he could haul out. After forming a pile on the floor, he dropped down and dove into full attack. As he gnawed away, his head snapped up periodically to survey the two open sides of the aisle where something could sneak in. The food wasn’t amazing or distracting, thankfully?

 After some while spent on eating, he distanced himself from the brutalized food and found a place behind some boxes, where he curled down into his coat. It was good cover, and he could stay tuned to the dull growl of the building. Not a thing would search the aisles, and no one would come. Unless the Thin Man brought an other…..

 No. Mono was the only one that chased.

 Resting didn’t always mean sleep. The man in the hat didn’t understand such things. He could get by on half sleep, or by staying still and quiet and listening. And think.

 While the walls creaked and the storm cut through the windows, Mono wondered what the Thin Man was up to. Would the other children be okay? Did some of them hide? Could any be as great and brave like Mono? He didn’t think they could. Mono was Mono, and no child was better – no child did company, or would keep the Thin Man.

 He liked to think about what he and the Thin Man did, and what they would do later. It helped him be less startled when the Thin Man came back. Any noise or glimmer of movement could be danger, but the Thin Man – though he wasn’t dangerous – always managed to sneak in close to Mono. And that was annoying!

 Following some rest, Mono was ready to leave his shelter and attack more packages – the easier ones that didn't fight. He carried a block of some grainy thing with him to nibble, while on another search through the shop again. If he stood at the end of an aisle and turned a certain way, sometimes kneeling low, the bulbs glint might show prints left on flattened pages. Probably books, or packaging from other food stuff flattened.

 The trample speek told him so much. Though nothing appeared out of place on a glance, the aisles had been visited not long ago. A lot of kids, and an adult. 

 No place was ever really safe. Not for long and never. Kids always kept moving, going where the foods was. Finding a shop full of food stuff and other neat junk was rare, especially empty without other creatures lurking. Sometimes, the Viewers had better rations on busy plates, but that was the most risky. Some kids became the food.

 With a shudder, he rushed back to the side of the store where he collected the packages. He didn’t like to think about that. Kids disappearing, and no body. It was taboo. But he could distract himself by thinking about something else and looking around more at the aisles.

 Most of the shelves didn’t shelter anything he thought would be worth the energy to retrieve. A lot of boxes and broken containers already lay on the ground for scrutiny, but he couldn’t decide if the contents would be edible or not. Some powders were edible and flavored, but never helped with hunger. He could just eat a box and call it good. Plenty of food containers – with protein mush and bread stuff – looked good, and left no reason to resort to scavenging off hard noodles. Not yet.

 He did have a wonderful idea! He could try leaving the hard noodles under a window to get drenched. Just to try it.

 Rather leave the container all alone, Mono climbed onto one of the benches and hopped up onto a table. This placed him beside a dingy window (the remains of a window) sheltered from the blight of the storm. Curled down in his coat, he watched the light refracted through the murky glass with each blast and snarl of the storm.

 Sometimes a dark silhouette would blot out the tepid radiance, and for a splint second he got excited and plucked his head up!

 Though he already knew the shadow was too dwarfed and silly, and did not have the languid stride that the tall thin man had. But he still watched frozen, chest pounding, barely controlling his raspy breathing. Until the clunky shroud faded, melting into the storm like paper.

 He still was happy about the shelter and the food. It would be better if he could share it.

 The noodles became edible, but they would have been better with red sauce. The Thin Man didn't like noodles soaked in red sauce. If he tried it, then the tall thin man would realize how clever Mono was.

 Far opposite of the room he first entered from, he located another door. This new door didn’t go anywhere, it was only a room with more shelving and some large counters. It might make a worthwhile hide place, but only as an emergency. In the center of the floor, beneath one of the center countertops, he found a dip in the floor and a hole. Inside the hole it smelt musty and foul, but that could be a way out.

 Various packages lay abundant across the floor, and on some of the shelves set against the wall. Each parcel was wrapped in paper, but he gaged at the stink from the bundle. It might’ve been food at one point, but not anymore. The whole room was repulsive and smelled too alike the forest and the Hunters cabin. He almost wanted to shut the door, but the bent panel hung crooked off the rusted hinges.

 On the other side of the store stood racks stuffed with pamphlets, and shelves loaded with books. Mono worked to pull the heavy tomes down and went through the pages. From experience, he knew when the pages drank too much mist they became too soggy to work with. Even with how careful he was, the pages tore apart and it made him nervous.

 The books he broke, he dragged each into a distant aisle and covered them with the rubbish laying around.

 After so much dragging and failure, and being on the verge of surrendering, Mono at last found a book that was still durable. He could clamber across the pages and turn them easily, and sit in the center of the folds and browse over the marks. He’s… sure they mean something. He’s almost certain the marks haven’t been damaged, and if he watched them hard enough, they would mean something to him.

 He studied each page carefully, watching each mark long enough to recall the shape. This focus was always broken by his cautious scrutiny of his surroundings, and his assessment of the sounds whittling through the withered walls.

 For all he knew, the Thin Man could be on the other side of the store looking through the shelves too. Not too far. Later, Mono could go visit, and they would have company. But later. At times the Thin Man wanted alone and quiet, and Mono was most busy as well.

 It was always important following a rest, to go around the rows and check. Always. Make certain his dozing was not disturbed by a terrible shape garbed in rags, or the clunking boots of some horror. He stays close to the shelves, leaning around the edge enough to check for movement – in case he missed the quaking and snorting.

 When his busy is complete, he does more fun exploration. Somehow he missed a sheltered hovel in the corner of the shop, and discovered boxes stuffed with lumpy creatures. Water cascading in from the windows surged through this section of the shop, and drenched all of the plushies. As a result, many squirmed as if they were in agony, and they smelled awful. He did pick up a new hat, and abandoned that place.

 Between his rests, a lot of the food had taken a hit. He wore his new hat, while gnawing on his least favorite food concoction – yellow sauce and noodles. He could get why Her was big on jamming biscuit and sweet paste together, it made something soft and tasty. Maybe She hated him for not being happy about her food mixtures? He liked them now. So much more combinations existed, he could have shown Her.

 __

Somewhere his thoughts dissolved, and Mono was awake and rushing. His head hadn’t fully cleared from whatever murky haunts glided behind his eyes, but all the same he rushed with all his might to the aisle corner and ducked around the edge.

 In time for a hulking, wobbling heap to hurtle into the clutter where he had dumped all his boxes. It was as repulsive as it was frightening, the creature floundered on the floor and snorted at the chewed containers. When it found something it seemed to like, it tried biting it and the tile floor. This pattern the rolling heap repeated – choking, scarfing, and rolling – all while it waddled between the shelves, nearer to where Mono stood locked in disgust.

 Mono broke away and made his way through the towering rows, but soon and soundly discovered another one of those gluttonous blobs hunkered down in the aisle of powdered edibles. The few boxes Mono had torn open on the floor, had absorbed the focus of the slathering girth. It shoved all containers into its maw, a foamy coloration of drool spilled down its chin. He’s pretty certain it shoved some nonedible thing into its jaws and began chewing on that—

 The blob gave a shrill cry and began rowing its arms, and legs, shuffling entirely on its stomach towards him!

 Mono whipped around and sprang from the aisle, taking the center path among the rows. The adult was somewhere behind him, knocking the shelves with its swollen mass and gurgling. He could imagine it rolling after him, but the image of it hurtling at him with its jaws wide and nothing but rows of teeth gnashing, that took his thoughts back to missing packmates.

 He only chanced a look back once, when he clipped a corner skidded on his toes. The adult tried to make the sort of tight turn he made, but its greasy body slid over silt and whatever it secreted. A hand lashed out, not close to be narrow but near enough that Mono caught a whiff of its putrid odor.

 Struggling to hold it together, he raced to the end of the aisle and came to the door and room that went nowhere. The creature wailed out somewhere in the building, and by the other squealing snarl, and a third?! It was clear the others would soon arrive.

 Desperation gave shoddy choices. Not knowing was at times the best choice.

 Mono scrambled under the countertop in the center of the room, and slipped down the hole of the drain. He didn’t fall far in the dark, and the impact was broken by the slight curve. Grease choked metal scrapped his backside something good, but nothing to demand attention. Better than staying out there.

 When he stalled, Mono rolled over and felt his back, found it dry. Best to go on. A flashlight would be good. He was kind of used to wandering in the bleak rooms, choked by murk and unknown shapes. It never bothered the Thin Man. The amount of times Mono got turned around or misplaced was terrible, despite the clicky steps and the hum of static. When the Thin Man went off, everything became too quiet.

 This tunnel went one way. By crouching with his arms outstretched, it wouldn’t take long to figure where he was and how to start. If… it went anywhere. It would open up somewhere. Metal tunnels had to have an opening somewhere.

 Sounds tumbled through the narrow and stifled confines of the cylinder. Something like wind whooshing and howling, and water burbling. It was nice and warm, smelled yucky, but the warm was a nice change. The gummy slime coating the bottom made quick movement tricky, and he lost count of how often he tipped backwards or over. Every time, he tried to wrap his coat around his sides, only to protect all his hats and other treasures from getting yucked up.

 Openings did appear, but none of them revealed light or outside. It was only branching pipes, which led somewhere he didn’t think would go anywhere. Without depth or difference in the hollow he was in, deciding where to go became impossible. He tried to judge his direction by the grime he crouched in, and if it ‘flowed’ a certain way.

 If at any point he passed under an opening in some building, but the light was dim, he wouldn't know if there was a way out by climbing. He knows for certain he never reached outside under the storm, or rain would trickle down. That seemed familiar, though he doesn’t know where the idea came from. Maybe in his rest, a memory or haunt? He’s not certain if he’s rested or not, he’s only sure he’s very far from a way out.

 He stumbled over a patch of gummy bones and cloth, and tried not to think about it. A way out wouldn’t drop into his lap, he had to go and find it. He was best at finding. Too good, sometimes.

 Distance could be misleading too. He was all scrunched up in the dark, barely stopping. When he climbed out, he would probably still be able to see the buildings he left. Not that he wanted to be near that place, but he couldn’t have gone that far. It would be all right. He just couldn't stop or think about being lost. Straight would lead somewhere.

 While he was stopped and trying not to dismay with the doubt, he realized that the sounds had changed. A bit, but enough for him to clue in. Different!

 The flutter of echoes bounced through his ears, confusing but he was sure this path was really going the right way. It was the same flurry of whispering drafts, but the chatter of water was distinct. Something he hadn’t heard in forever!

 On his hands and feet he could scrambled swiftly, stalling only to check the walls and let the clatter of flailing diminish. It’s in one of these pauses that he realized, he overshot the rebounding chime of water. And peering up, into the vacant black he was accustomed to, he managed to locate a tight cleft that bent up. He took ahold of the ledge and hoisted himself up, and crawled through the narrow passage. Frigid metal didn't bite at his shoulders, but jagged splinters of cement gnawed at him if he wasn't careful. His hat did shield his brow from raising his head too high, the sporadic knocks did jar him.

 He blinked when he turned his head up, and a sliver of light crept under the rim of his hat. Light. Light!

 The crevice didn’t go anywhere, or anyplace intact. He crawled out of a hole cleaved into the floor, where a portion of the building dropped into an open chasm.

 Mono eased out of the gap torn free from the cement floor, and climbed up onto a solid – and wet – surface. The roof of the building was gone, as well. He didn’t mind. He perched in the hollowed remains of the structure letting the sludge cleave off of his coat and hat. He examined his surroundings, looked up at the churning clouds, and turned his gaze back onto the remnants of decayed walls.

 Nothing but a picture frame, a doorframe, and some clothing. Not much shelter, and absolutely no food things.

 With a fluff of his coat, Mono stood up and stretched all out. After he got all the pops and creaks out of his spine, he searched for a way out of the 'room', and the ruble. The ruined building extended to a clear flat and a break. On the other side of the yawning chasm, the slanted roof of a building leaned close enough he should be able to reach. He didn't have a better route, unless he risked a descent where the building stood at the edge of the chasm and whatever was beneath the thick smog far below that.

 The man and his hat shouldn’t be gone this long. It was never safe, not without together. The other kids couldn’t look after the Thin Man. It was Mono’s job anyway, and he already messed up protecting the place. If he thought Mono wasn’t good enough, the Thin Man might never come back. Maybe the tall thin man already decided.

 Mono caught the edge of the roof and hung, the rain washing into his sleeves and chilling his shoulders. He stared at the dark sky, the glittery drops falling through the gleaming light of a distant window. The skyrise moaned against the perpetual storm - was this the time it should fall?

 It was impossible to make the Thin Man happy. But sometimes, Mono saw him smile. The man in the hat could never doubt Mono was strong and best, but he knew the tall thin man wanted something else.

 He heaved up and climbed the steep incline of the roof. Several times in the hazardous scale, he did lose his footing; a vent or a groove in the textured surface saved him from a reckless slide into oblivion. On the far side of the buildings top and facing a close neighbor, a ladder bent across the side of the building. But only a short ways. From there, Mono could drop to a vent duct further below, which curled around the building.

 This was the child’s highway. The ledges and cleaved rooftops, ladders and bubbling gutters sustained faithless through the beginning as they were in the present. On some walls, in little out of the way shelters, he found the evidence of the travelers before him. They didn’t offer anything, aside from the dangers they knew so well.

 The Tower. The Eye. A Mirror. A Ladder. The Safe-Er path. And more. Many of the speek had been scrubbed away by water, and in places it was confusing to decide.

 The mostly intact fire escape Mono was currently climbing, decided to detach from the entire wall and swung sideways, while collapsing downward. He couldn’t do a thing but cling tightly to the rungs, as it found its new meaning in life as a wrecking ball. The landing section buckled sideways, slamming into a barricaded window and smashed loose the planks. Once in a reprieve, the ladder grated and hummed ominously as the rain cleansed its sins.

 Against his palms, the metal ground and hitched. Mono uncoiled himself and climbed, despite the near ninety degree angle he hung at upside down. He pulled up through a break in the stairwells floor, and scrambled up the sloped grate toward the window. The icy metal quaked under his toes and the moment he leapt for the glossy sill, the whole contraption folded downward and sliced against the side of the building.

 Mono somersaulted into the room, and pushed himself back against the wall. He examined the shapes everywhere, the door, the lurching shrouds - his head matched what he saw with the assurance this room harbored no danger. A chair. A dresser. Nothing else, aside from the clothing and a couple of cardboards boxes, flattened by rain. The only door of the room was shut.

 After collecting himself, Mono went ahead and teleported through the door. See? He did use his power.

 He gave the corridor a look through, listening all the while for anything. The few rooms didn’t have televisions, and he didn’t pick up on the rambling jingles. Not in this dwelling, anyway. That was a start.

 Following up his general layout of the place, its rooms and noteworthy places of the rooms, he found his way into the bathroom. All the dwellings with rooms had one or more, sometimes the tub had a body laying in it – not usually in the places the Thin Man liked to shelter. This bathtub did not have a body.

 It took a lot of effort to get the tub running, just a little. Enough that he could finish scrubbing off the crusty gunk from the tunnel. And check the tail of his coat. All his supplies seemed to be in good order. The weird picture speek of the face was a little damaged, but it still had the strange marks clear. He folded the card up and hid it away.

 He still was not graceful at getting out of the tub after soaking and wash, but he didn’t break his face this time. His shoulder took the burnt of his fall and he crawled out of the room.

 Another scout of the rooms revealed no dangers. He was not sure which doors would lead to an open corridor or wherever else, but he was focused on if the Thin Man would come back.

 The rooms lay dreary and dank, only the few with windows offered the washed out radiance from outside. No humming or crackling of static. He searched and listened, more intently, only stopping in one of the larger rooms.

 Yes, the walls held rot and rain glistened in the texture, the carpet was riddled with insects. Nothing of this dwelling was good, and it probably was the ugliest shelter in all the city. The Thin Man would hate it here. Later then, Mono could go find somewhere better. He had gone far, and needed to stop. That was important. Sometimes stop was good.

 One of the furthest rooms in the dwelling didn’t have a window, but it did have a recliner beside a bed. Enough radiance from the corridor gave outlines to the the few items inside the room, and made clear no threat lurked, the ceiling wouldn't collapse. He found a nice spot behind the recliner to nestle up in his coat. He was still soggy, but it was too much trouble to nest proper; not when he would be going soon.

 He snoozed and picked up his head. Every noise made his chest tight – walls groan, danger? If something stalked the rooms, he would leave and never come back. But he wanted to smell smoke, and hear the buzzing static. He needed to stay still, that was all. Do rest, like the Thin Man always wanted. Head down. Close eyes. Then the Thin Man leaves. But maybe he will come back?

Next

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 9

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent thoughts

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!

Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical!

Dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!

He spends the night tossing and turning in bed, devising a plan to win you back. All the roads lead to getting Hyunjin out of the picture, but how does he do it? Eventually, the rain drumming against his window lulls him to sleep before he can finish fleshing out his idea, and when he wakes up in the morning, the storm has passed. Jisung takes it as a sign that the day will be better.

The preview of the show is happening at 3:30, and there’s a certain electricity in the air after school. Like Mr. Gi said, the cast and crew shirts came in the morning, and Jisung gets his before the preview begins. You and the girl playing Lady Montague are sorting out the shirts into piles according to size.

He goes up to you even though Lady Montague is closer to him. “Hey.”

You don’t look up from your shirt stacking. “Hi. What’s your size?”

“Medium,” he replies as he carefully watches you. At least you’re talking to him.

“Yeji has them,” you point to Lady Montague, still not looking at him.

“Thanks.”

He collects his shirt from Yeji and pulls it over his black hoodie. It makes him look puffy and bulky, and he waits for you to tease him like you normally would. Your eyes never stray from the shirts in your hands. He ruffles his hair, but you don’t even spare a glance. Both you and Yeji are starting to break down the boxes the shirts arrived in. It’s quiet except for the snapping of cardboard.

“The design is kind of nice,” he remarks in another attempt to get your attention.

“Yuna did it,” Yeji replies. Jisung is not pleased that she does, but he merely nods. “Hyunjin wanted to, but the design he came up with was so bad. Remember, Y/N?”

Your distant mood dissipates for a minute, and your familiar warmth is back. A wide grin crosses your face. “He really thought Comic Sans was a good font to use. And his drawing!”

“Ms. Park’s face when she saw it!”

“And Hyunjin’s reaction!”

The two of you are reminiscing and laughing. Jisung doesn’t understand a word of it, but you’re shining bright again. He feels a bit like an outsider, but his heart swells with pride, knowing that he was the cause of all this. However, the happy atmosphere slowly fades into a more mellow one, and the silence is back.

“Break a leg today,” he abruptly says. “See you on stage, Juliet.” He leaves the room but not before he hears you say, “Bye.”

It’s a good start.

He waits on stage for the play to begin with the rest of the floor crew. Over the speakers, Chan is playing different songs for the opening, and over the comms, he’s suggesting that he play one of his mixtapes. Neither Ms. Park or Mr. Gi agree apparently. A few minutes later, the actors, now all dressed in their costumes, are called onto stage for warm ups. In the meantime, the two house managers are sneaking looks outside into the hall outside the lobby and reporting back how many people are waiting. It’s turning out to be a lot.

Before the doors officially open, there’s a quick pep talk from both the director and tech director to everyone. Jisung studies the way you listen attentively and admires the slight curve on your lips as the director praises all their hard work. Your cheeks are tinged with pink with excitement, and you look restless. You repeatedly smooth out the pleats in your dress. Jisung scowls as he sees Hyunjin place a hand on your wrist mid motion and whisper something to you. You stop and flash him an apologetic grin. Goodness, he was controlling. Why doesn’t he just let you be you?

The show begins soon after, and you wait in the wings for your entrance in scene three. You, Yeji, and Yuna quietly talk amongst one another, which means Jisung can’t hear anything from where he is. Ryujin joins in at some point, and Jisung inches closer to eavesdrop, feigning the need to reorganize the already neatly arranged set pieces and props. He learns nothing substantial — it’s mostly just pre-show jitters talk — but at least you don’t jump when he brushes against you while switching around the swords.

You eventually make your appearance on stage, and there’s one audible cheer from the audience when you walk in. Hyunjin, who is now in the wings, quietly says, “Woo!” from his spot, which is unfortunately near Jisung’s usual waiting location.

“Oh, hey, Jisung,” he greets. He’s so flushed with adrenaline from performing in front of many people for the first time that he seems to have forgotten a tiny detail about their tenuous friendship: they hate each other, and said friendship does not exist. “Did you see how many people were in the audience? Wow, I can’t believe it.”

Changbin momentarily perks up at “Wow,” but he resumes reviewing the cues from his binder, leaving Jisung to deal with him alone. Both Yugyeom and Ryujin are on their phones, their faces lit up by their screens. Ryujin even has one earbud in.

“It’s the most famous play in the world. Of course, there’s going to be a lot of people,” he finally answers.

Hyunjin is in too good of a mood to be miffed by his rude tone. “Ah, you’re right. But still, that’s a lot of people. There’s so many eyes looking at you, it’s kind of weird.”

He could have said nothing, but he’s feeling extra mean towards Hyunjin today. “Are you nervous that you’ll mess up? It’s understandable if you do though since this is your first show.”

“I wish I was like Y/N,” he sighs. “She’s so good. You know, she said she gets so immersed in the play that her stage fright just kind of fades away.”

“Yeah, she told me, too,” he lies. It’s another competition: who does Y/N confide in more?

“I’m glad she’s Juliet. She’s perfect for the part.”

The sappiness in Hyunjin’s voice drips like slime, and Jisung’s top lip involuntarily curls up in disgust. Jisung knows he’s a lovesick fool, but he’s a much more classy one than him. He decides to end it there, so Hyunjin will shut up, and Jisung won’t get the urge to pummel him into the ground. They fall into silence, and the lights later go out when the scene ends.

During Romeo and Juliet’s kisses during the party scene, there’s gasps, cheers, and applause from the audience. It’s not real — he can see Hyunjin’s hand blocking your face — but he still shifts around in his seat. The close proximity between you two means that even a slight stumble would result in an actual kiss. Scenes like these are the only times Jisung prays that Hyunjin is a good actor for once and doesn’t mess up.

Normally, you just blush during the scene, but with the extra noise, you shake a bit when you say your next line. Jisung’s annoyance grows.

Because it’s a show and because he doesn’t want Mr. Gi to rip him into shreds, he promises himself to focus on the play, but it all goes out the window when you have a costume change. You curse when your pin snags your hair, and he instinctively goes over. His hand reaches for the pin, and you shrink when he hovers above you.

When he hands you the offending object, you politely thank him and then grab your dress from the rack. When you start unzipping the side of your costume, he turns away and replays the moment. There’s a new aura about you, and he doesn’t like it. Ever since you started close with Hyunjin, he has noticed that the radiance he fell in love with is slipping away. Normally you would joke about the incident to him or chat with him while waiting for your cues. He hasn’t even had a real conversation with you in days.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. His back is still facing you, but he can feel the vibrations on the floor when you step into your dress.

“Hi,” you hesitantly reply.

“We haven’t talked in a while.”

“We’ve both been busy with the play.”

He almost rolls his eyes. You’ve been busy with flirting with Hyunjin, and he’s been busy with the play. Yet he still makes time for you. “Yeah, I guess. Are you nervous about performing today?”

“A little bit.”

“Did you ever give back Hyunjin’s hoodie?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can. He already knows the answer though; he saw it hanging from the back of your chair in the classroom.

You sound amused, but he can sense the irritation underneath. “I think this is the third day in a row that you’ve asked me that.”

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You don’t reply to him. Instead you call for Ryujin to help you with your mussed up hair, so Jisung leaves the scene. He catches you staring at him, and you quickly look away. It’s not a shy “Is he looking at me?” stare; it’s a repulsed “What’s wrong with him?” one.

The answer is you. You are what’s wrong with him. You hardly acknowledge his presence anymore, and you only pay attention to Hyunjin. What about him? He’s been there for you since the very beginning, but as soon as Hyunjin starts encroaching on his territory, he’s forgotten. The longer he keeps thinking about it, the angrier he gets. His hands start twitching for something to hit, and he decides on the rolling platform next to him. There’s a loud, satisfying thwack followed by a few confused looks.

He doesn’t care.

Just another week, he tells himself. Before he never has to see this play or Hyunjin again.

During intermission, he sits by himself while the other cast and crew members go into the audience to talk with their friends who came to see the preview. You have a whole crowd of people around you, asking questions about the wretched kisses. He sees you repeatedly shaking your head, but that doesn’t stop anyone.

A similar thing happens when the show ends. After the bows and applause, you stick around in the audience to let your friends discuss the play with you. Jisung joins Chan, Jeongin, and Seungmin in the back of the house to listen in and to sit on Jeongin’s cushy rolling chair. Chan is still arguing about playing his mixtape over the speakers with Mr. Gi.

“There’s hardly anyone here anymore,” he protests. “And it’s like this one, too,” he says, referring to the current song playing.

Jisung fiddles with the knobs on the light board while straining to hear your conversation a few rows down. He surreptitiously turns down the volume of the music when Chan reaches for his phone.

He can catch a few key phrases said by your friends. He then wishes he could kick everyone out of the auditorium, so he can never hear, “Did you and Hwang Hyunjin kiss for real this time?” again. You say that you’re tired of replying to that particular question, but you seem too pleased by the prospect of kissing Hyunjin to actually be. Hyunjin, who is not too far away, is no different; he turns bashful when his friends ask, “Did you and L/N Y/N actually kiss?”

Jisung turns the volume back up, and his fingers “accidentally” slip, blasting the auditorium with the screech of a violin. Everybody winces, and he apologizes. No one starts leaving though.

At long last, they are dismissed for the day. There’s another pep talk about opening night, but no one’s really listening. They’re allowed to leave two hours earlier than normal, but Jisung feels more drained than usual. You’re the opposite. He passes you on his way to the prop room, and you’re talking animatedly with Yuna about the cast and crew dinner after the final show. Even as you head up the stairs, there’s a bounce in your step.

When he returns from his trip, you’re already inside the classroom, standing over Hyunjin, who is sitting down. There are other people in the room, but he can’t bring himself to go in. He hasn’t had the outside-looking-in feeling in a long time, but it hits him at full force right there. The two of you are both wearing the black cast and crew shirts, but they somehow look different from the one Jisung’s wearing, like it’s a deliberate couples outfit instead of a uniform for theater.

Hyunjin gazes at you like an astronomer would at the stars, and you have an identical expression on. Your lips move, but Jisung can’t make out the words. A soft smile spreads across Hyunjin’s face, and he absentmindedly winds a dangling lock of your hair with his index finger. You don’t flinch at the motion at all, but instead mirror Hyunjin’s smile. Jisung watches with bated breath and wonders when you got so bold. What happened to the girl who was too shy to stage kiss? Now you were being disgustingly close with your co-star off stage.

People start filing out of the room to go home. Soon, there’s no one but the two of you. You’re still mumbling, and Hyunjin’s replying at the same volume. Jisung still can’t move his legs to walk in. He could easily pop the bubble you and Hyunjin are in, but he’s frozen to his spot.

Hyunjin suddenly stands up, making you take a step back. Jisung can hear the hitch of your breath from where he is; that’s how surprised you are. Hyunjin then cups your face with his hands, but he’s not practicing a stage kiss. He places his forehead against yours, and your eyelids flutter close. You tilt your chin up and slowly wrap your hands around his wrists. At the same time, he lowers his lips to yours.

Jisung can’t breathe, and silence swallows the white noise around him. A million thoughts fill his head, but the single image of you and Hyunjin kissing is burned in his memory. He’s numb, then cold, then hot. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like several lifetimes to him. His whole body starts shaking uncontrollably, and when he blinks, his vision has a crimson filter over it. He wants spilled blood, shattered ribs, shallow gasps.

Hyunjin is the first to separate. He looks stunned by what he just did, and he’s even more so when you pull him in for a second one. It’s longer and deeper, and when the two of you finally resurface for air, you’re flustered. You nervously lick your lips and squeak at the implication. Hyunjin softly laughs and hugs you close to his chest. He’s beaming, and you’re burying your face into his t-shirt.

Blood thrums in Jisung’s ears. He can hear his heartbeat, its erratic thumping and skipped beats. Meanwhile, the pretty, delicate image he has of you contorts into an ugly, slashed counterfeit painting. He hates you so much. As much as Hyunjin, maybe more. He gave you everything he could, and this is how you treat him.

His rage melts the ice at his feet, but instead of walking inside to confront the problem, he goes to his refuge, the restroom. Thankfully, everyone has gone home for the day, and no one is present. He screams bloody murder and kicks all the stall doors until the bangs echo throughout the room. He hates you, he hates you, he hates you. How can you betray him like that? With Hyunjin, his sworn enemy? You are as good as dead to him.

His reflection shows that he has the eyes of a feral animal, but he doesn’t even care anymore. He storms to the classroom to collect his belongings, disregarding how disheveled he looks. No one else is in the room, and he’s a little disappointed that you or Hyunjin can’t see what you’ve done to him. When he heads out to the parking lot, you and Hyunjin are sitting close to each other while you wait for your parents to pick you up. He glares daggers in your direction and flings open the driver’s door of his car.

Just one week, he tells himself. Before he never has to see you or Hyunjin ever again.

~ ad.gray