Chapter Text
The lyrics are stuck, that morning.
His notebook is fragments of half-finished lines, one-off sentences. Feelings unable to be captured by mere words. Jisung draws a flower in the corner, watching how the lines come together to form a blurry sketch.
There's an image in his mind, just out of reach. Blurred behind a mess of broken dragonfly wings that cling to Jisung's fingers. It's frustrating. Writer's block always is, but it never gets easier.
His phone rings with the timer he set, and Jisung closes his notebook with a sigh. No lyrics will come to him today either, it seems.
His cat watches him from the cat tree.
He doesn't make a sound as Jisung packs his back lethargically, taking a comb to his hair to make sure he's at least somewhat presentable. The moisturizer taunts him from the dresser, but Jisung doesn't have the energy to do his skin care. He hasn't in a while.
The world has seemed so dull for a while now.
"Don't get into trouble while I'm gone," Jisung says as he puts his shoes on. His cat chirps in response, almost like he understands exactly what Jisung is trying to convey. It brings a small smile to Jisung's lips, probably his last one of the day.
Routine, this is.
Jisung's already looking forward to climbing into bed later.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Jisung's not stupid. He knows that if he tries, he'll be able to understand what the professor is talking about. Something about different frequencies and what happens when you cut them in an EQ. It's not new to Jisung. He's fiddled with EQ setting countless times on his computer, trying to make his voice muddied enough to sound like it was coming from the radio he hid in his childhood bedroom to keep up with the different supernatural fights happening in the city.
But when Jisung tries to focus, really tries to pin down the words the teacher says…something slips. Jisung slips. His mind slips through his fingers like dry sand. It deems the lesson inconsequential and moves on. The clock on the wall always moves slowly, too slow. Like a fucking snail. Jisung writes the words on the slides mindlessly, part of him wondering when he'll be able to get out of the classroom.
A cloud shifts, and a burst of sunlight blinds Jisung for a moment. He winces and sighs in irritation, bringing a hand up to block it.
The professor closes the slides, saying something about a practical demonstration before pulling up Cubase. He records a vocal quickly before pulling up his EQ, fiddling with the different levels.
Jisung looks down. Unconsciously, his hands have begun doodling the Wings that patrol the college neighborhood.
It's a bit of an obsession of his, the Wings: the superheroes that keep the citizens safe. Ordinary citizens who can transform into magical warriors, growing beautiful wings that help them fly and battle. Nobody knows who the people behind the magic are, since the magic also stops people from recognizing them, and it's not like their wings stay out once they de transform. The thought of having to go through normal life with giant wings at his back makes Jisung shudder.
Jisung himself would never have the courage to do something like that, but as a kid the Wings were cool as hell. They were a safe role model, and that childish obsession stuck. But, well, it's the reason he's able to write half of his songs, so Jisung's not going to complain.
He hasn't met the two Wings in this area, but he's heard nothing but good things. Haven and Hearth, the wonder duo. Haven's the sun and Hearth is the fire; they're a passionate duo who radiate care and warmth.
Jisung shivers. He pulls his cardigan closer to him.
He hasn't been warm in a long, long time. Maybe that's why the Wings haven't met him yet; they know instinctively to avoid the black hole that Jisung is. He probably radiates negative energy for miles. It wouldn't surprise him, honestly. He gets it. He'd not want to be friends with himself either.
When Jisung was young, he would imagine himself as a Wing, wondering what color his wings would be, what size…everything. But as he's grown older, he's realized that it's no use wondering, because he's the antithesis of everything that a Wing embodies.
If he had wings, anyway, they'd be small. Mangled. Kind of like crushed dragonfly wings. Yeah, his wings would definitely be some kind of bug, rather than the angelic feathery ones so characteristic of Wings. It would be another thing setting him apart, marking him as other.
The face on his page starts to take the shape of Haven. Jisung adds some sparkles on a whim, drawing Haven's name in fancy script. Maybe he could write a song based on the Wing; he has a certain you only live once chaotic dog energy that would be interesting to put into song form. EDM would fit him so well. Something high, not too piercing. Some yells interspersed, a fast drum beat…
"Han Jisung," the professor calls gently. "What are your thoughts on the current EQ graph?"
Jisung looks up and narrows his eyes. "Too harsh of a low-pass."
"Quite right. If we adjust this right here…"
Jisung turns back to his doodles and decides to try his hand at lyrics again.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
His coffee is lukewarm when the barista hands it to him.
It curdles in his mouth. His nose scrunches in distaste. The one time he decides to get a hot latte…his Americano would never have betrayed him, but he wanted to try something new today.
Summer is changing to autumn. A dragonfly flits too close to the window; Jisung flinches back. It leaves a black shadow on the table, indelible even when gone.
He'd heard that changing routine was a good way to freshen the mind. Get inspiration. Maybe Jisung should just write a song about his terrible coffee? My love for you has gone lukewarm, too much sugar spoils the cup — ah, that's horrible.
There's a sunflower wilting near the window of the cafe. Jisung stares at it, mind drifting, floating higher than the store until he can see all of District Nine; all of Korea; all of Earth. So large, so vast…and yet he can pick himself out like a stain.
Jisung hopes the sunflower is watered soon.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The academic quad is not as loud as Jisung expected, though everybody's probably in class already. Four buildings surround a patch of green marked randomly with lawn chairs. There are a few sparse trees with ropes around them, holding cards drawn and written by the graduating class. The sun is bright, giving the place a kind of ethereal, summery glow.
Jisung makes his way to a batch of three deserted lawn chairs, sliding into the middle one with a sigh. He lets his bag fall to the side, tilting his head up to feel the sunshine on his face. It dapples on his face gently, reaching him from between the leaves of the tree.
His hands find the keychain on his belt loop. It's a small thing, detailed with gems and all. Merchandise for Jisung's childhood hero, the one he doesn't think he'll ever forget.
Sunflower Wing was an icon. Genuinely a legend among Wings. Jisung had seen one video of her as a kid, and her confident expression, taekwondo skills, and her soothing voice calmed something in him. Even her name; all Warriors take a name with the Wing epithet symbolizing who they are as a person, and everybody thought that Sunflower would be a weak, frail thing. Who names themselves after a flower?
But is it not the flowers that are the strongest of all? Blooming in the rain? Giving all of themselves to provide some fleeting beauty?
Sunflower Wing was Jisung's biggest inspiration.
And then, three years later, when Jisung was in his second year of junior high, Sunflower Wing had died.
Once a Wing dies, nobody but true fans care to remember them. New Wings crop up each month, just as old ones die. There's entire merch lines for the more popular Wings (of which Jisung is guilty of falling prey to), but the dead ones are pulled almost immediately. Like they never existed. Their duty is over so they should be forgotten. They never get a memorial service or anything.
Nobody even knows their true names.
Jisung clutches the Sunflower Pact (a small copy of her transformation item) and exhales.
"Hey, is this seat taken?"
Jisung blinks out of his thoughts, looking up at the speaker. He looks slightly foreign, with broad shoulders and a small dimple. Curly black hair sways in the breeze. Behind him is another man, blond hair shining in the sun angelically, freckles accentuating his bright smile.
Jisung stares for a beat too long. "Ah — of course, feel free to sit. Should I move —"
"No need!" The blonde skips to the seat on Jisung's right, while the other slides into his left. "You were here first, so it wouldn't make sense to make you move, would it? Chan-hyung and I won't stay long anyway. Hey, what's your name? I'm Lee Yongbok, but everyone calls me Felix. You can too! That's Chan-hyung, or Chris if you're feeling spicy —"
"Felix, slow down," the other (Chan?) chastises gently, shooting an apologetic smile at Jisung. "The poor guy can only process one thing at a time, right?"
"Ah, you're right." Felix blinks as if the idea had never occurred to him. "Sorry, mate."
"No, it's alright," Jisung finds himself smiling back, if only to reassure the others. "You guys can stay for as long as you want, I have to head to class in like a half hour anyway. I'm Han Jisung, but Jisung is fine. Should I call you two…Felix and Chan? Hyung? Wait, what years are you?"
"I'm a second-year, and Chan-hyung's a fourth-year," Felix replies sunnily. "I'm 20, and this one's 23."
"Ah, I'm 20 too. So…Felix and Chan-hyung?" Jisung's throat suddenly decides to constrict. "Wait, is hyung too informal? Should I use -ssi — wait, you two are my upperclassmen! Fuck, I'm —"
A hand claps Jisung's shoulder hard, making him jump in his seat. "Woah, easy," Chan says, voice low and reassuring. "Sorry, should have asked, but you're freaking out over nothing. Hyung is totally fine. You're okay, yeah?"
Jisung exhales; it's a bit shakier than he'd like, so he takes another breath, trying to ground himself. He reaches for the Pact, counting the grooves in the plastic. "I'm alright," he says finally. "Sorry about that, I. Um."
"No worries!" Felix's voice is noticeably softer than before, but it still has that injection of brightness that seems to be just a part of him. "As long as you're alright. I was jumpy as all hell as a first year too, so I get it!"
"Yeah, it's…been a lot," Jisung sighs, carefully omitting the fact that being jumpy is more a Jisung-thing than a freshman-thing. "I'm sure you don't need to hear my complaining, though. Um." Jisung quickly runs through every ice breaker he endured during orientation week. "What are you guys studying?"
Chan purses his lips, but doesn't press. "Well, Felix here's a Performing Arts major, concentrating in dance, and literature double major. I'm doubling in Music Production and Cinema and Media Studies."
Jisung's eyes widen. "No shit? I'm here for Music Production too."
Chan laughs. "Holy shit! What are the chances? I have to adopt you as my dongsaeng now," he grins, leaning over to pull Jisung into a one-armed hug. Jisung freezes for all but a second before melting into it. It's not even much of a conscious decision. His muscles relax before he can tell them not to, his walls giving way for but a moment.
Chan's warm, and his arm's a nice, grounding pressure on his shoulders. He'd probably give great hugs.
"No fair, I want to cuddle too!" And then Felix is bounding in front of them, throwing his arms around the two with a giggle. It forces Jisung to lean back a bit, but he doesn't find himself minding it. He just clutches onto their hoodies tighter so as to not fall, soaking in the warmth and laughter.
This is…incredibly foreign to Jisung. Not in a bad way, but he hasn't had anybody but his cat touch him like this in…it must be years at this point. But Chan and Felix don't have bad intentions, no, none at all. Jisung can sense their purity so clearly it almost turns his stomach.
It's…odd.
It does nothing to alleviate the coldness inside Jisung, so he can only hope it doesn't seep into Chan and Felix's cores. They're too bright to be tainted by Jisung's aura.
When they finally pull away, it's slowly and a bit reluctantly. "That was a really nice hug," Chan says, a bit surprised. Jisung finds himself nodding despite himself.
It was a really nice hug.
Felix's grin grows a bit more teasing. "Say, does this mean we have an excuse to seek out Jisung-ah? Cuddle-time?"
Jisung feels his face grow hot. "I — um. Sure?"
The two burst out laughing, and Jisung can't help but chuckle along with them. They're a riot, like twin suns, and Jisung's the sunflower trying to soak up the light.
When Felix goes to sit down, Jisung catches sight of a pendant on his neck.
A very familiar pendant.
"Ah, that's…"
Felix cocks his head. "That's?"
"That's a Haven Wing Pendant!" Jisung's eyes must be bugging out of his head, but he doesn't register anything but the necklace, so similar to his own keychain. "I didn't know they were making merch of that yet! Or, well, there's obviously merch but Haven and Hearth are only really active around here, so I wasn't expecting it. Is it a local thing? Where I'm from we have a lot — and by a lot, I mean a shit fucking ton — of KiraKira Wing A La Mode merch because their headquarters are like, right next to us. Is it something similar here? That's so cool! Is it a commission? Etsy? Did you make it?"
There's a beat of silence. And another.
Jisung contemplates stepping into traffic.
"Was that…too much?"
Chan and Felix glance at each other and burst out laughing.
Jisung is mortified.
"…I'm just. I'm gonna go now —"
"Wait!" Before Jisung can get far, Felix is clutching at his sleeve. "Don't! Sorry, that was really rude. I'm just really happy you recognized it!"
Jisung balks. "Are you sure."
"Extremely! And you're in good company, I swear," he laughs. Jisung's eyes find Chan, but the older smiles reassuringly. "We love the Wings too! I noticed your charm earlier, but I didn't know how to bring it up."
"Ah, really?" When Jisung looks down, he's already fiddling with the charm. "Well. As long as you're not weirded out by it. I can get a little…"
"Dude, no, what the hell?" Chan's stood up to be eye level with Jisung, eyes full of a warmth that reminds Jisung of standing by a fireplace, warming his hands. "If anything, it's inspiring; god knows the Wings need more support than they get, and I get the feeling that you're not of the type that views them as human meatshields."
Jisung shudders with his full body. "Holy shit. No. Yeah, I've never understood that."
"We — well, the Wings need more people like you, Jisung," Chan says solemnly, Felix nodding along — and, what? Why are their eyes so heavy with emotion? What happened to the atmosphere from five minutes ago?
Perplexed, Jisung hums his assent.
"Right. Well." Jisung checks his phone quickly. "We have like, ten minutes before class, so. Should we get going?"
And as he says this, he notices how the Quad has started picking up activity, students walking with their friends and partners, smiles on their faces clear like sunlight. The sight of so many people should fill Jisung with anxiety, but his heart feels…well, it's not anxious, but there's an odd pressure in his chest like somebody pumped him full of helium and left him to float. Jisung clutches his keychain, trying to breathe through it.
"Ah, you're right!" Felix bounces up. "Where's your class? My class is close so I can walk you."
"…I think it's in that building?" He reads off the room number and building code, watching as Felix's eyes light up. Before he knows it, Felix is dragging him away by the arm, laughing about something Jisung can't hear, with Chan waving goodbye in the background.
"You should give me your number," Felix says as they reach, though there isn't a flirtatious hint anywhere in his voice. "I think we could be a good group, me you and Chan-hyung!"
Jisung really wants to doubt Felix's words. Historically, this kind of thing has only ended up in tears, at least on his end. But Felix's words are dripping in kindness and honey, something like raw hope in his eyes, and Jisung's never been on the receiving end of a gaze as pure as that.
"Yeah," he smiles, "I think so too."
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Jisung wakes up with an iron band on his chest.
Well, not really, but it certainly feels like it. It feels like dry ice, hissing and bubbling, but internally. There's no proof outside that Jisung's melting, oxidizing, dissolving. Only the pain in his bones and the too-loud beating of his heart.
It persists as he gets ready, as his cat watches him struggle to breathe with something close to sentience. It stays through his morning class, where he zones out once again. It presses tighter when he walks into the dining hall at the wrong time and the line for food goes out the door. He inches forward, hyper-conscious of each accidental brush and push against him. Jisung's breathing through his mouth because if he uses his nose the air will get trapped in his chest, forming a ball and suffocating him. Like this, he can feel the air against his throat. It's dehydrating in a grounding way.
All he wants is to go to his dorm. He'd cuddle with his wonderful cat — if he isn't hunting, the little bastard — and curl under the comforter and sleep. But alas, the problem with trying to get better is that you actually have to try to get better. And for Jisung, that means forcing himself out of bed, into the cold.
He eats slowly but doesn't even manage to finish half the plate.
The smeared pasta taunts him.
He throws it out.
Jisung's clutching his keychain, walking towards the arts building (a full ten minutes from where he is, a full ten minutes too long) when a voice behind him startles him out of his thoughts.
"Jisung-ah!" It's Chan, waving at him from a few meters away with…is that a dog?
"Chan-hyung," Jisung greets quietly. He can't really muster up a smile, but he lowers the head of his hoodie. "Good afternoon, I didn't know you had a dog?"
As if he knows exactly what Jisung just said, the dog's eyes brighten, panting harder and wagging its tail faster. It's big, coming up to Chan's hip. A golden retriever? It has silky golden fur and a pink, studded collar.
He's beautiful.
He also decides that Jisung deserves to be sniffed to high heaven. Jisung can only watch in shock (and a bit of amusement) as the dog sniffs his knees, then his shoes, then walks around to sniff his backpack. The tail doesn't stop wagging.
"This is Lix," Chan explains, his smile coming through in his voice. He looks smitten with Lix, which is so understandable because Jisung would be too if he had this ball of sunshine with him all the time. Jisung holds out a palm in curiosity, flinching a bit when Lix's cold, wet nose bumps into it curiously. Lix investigates the land, mouth closing as he sniffs very seriously, before giving it a solid, slobbery lick.
A laugh escapes Jisung before he can control it.
"Lix likes everyone, but I think he likes you a little extra," Chan teases. "What's your secret, Jisung-ah? Maybe he can smell the squirrel on you?"
"Squirrel?" Jisung looks up at Chan in abject horror from where he's started kneeling to give Lix more access to himself. "Is that what you see me as? A squirrel?"
"Well, you're more of a quokka, in my opinion," Chan grins. "I mean! Look at those cheeks!"
"My cheeks."
"Yeah! They're so round, Jisung-ah. Do you stuff them with food when you eat? You seem like the type."
Jisung absolutely does, but there's no way in hell he's giving Chan that information.
"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy," he opts to say, relaxing at Chan's amused giggle. Lix nudges at Jisung's hand impatiently — and speaking of…
"Lix? Like…Felix?" Jisung looks up at the upperclassman, eyes wide. "Are you telling me your best friend has the same name as your dog?"
Chan freezes.
It's only for a moment, but as a Professional Freezer and Anxiety Haver, Jisung can tell. Though, to his credit, Chan recovers smoothly, grinning softly. "Neat coincidence, isn't it? Felix was bouncing off the walls when he found out."
"I can imagine." Lix presses closer to Jisung, snout now over his shoulder in a facsimile of a hug. It's comforting in the way a weighted blanket is, and Jisung brings his arms around the dog to properly hold him. His fur is like silk under his fingers. The ball of air trapped in Jisung's chest finally dissolves.
Jisung breathes, freely.
His lungs catch, to his absolute horror, and he buries his face in Lix's mane to calm down.
Chan doesn't say anything. Instead, he shifts to the side of the sidewalk to let other students pass by, pulling out his phone. Is it that obvious that Jisung's a mess? Well, Jisung can feel his hands slow their trembling, and it's only now that he even realized they've been shaking all day, so. Maybe he is a mess. It would be extremely on brand for him to not even realize his gradual zombification.
Lix is more patient than Jisung would have thought a dog could be, situating himself comfortably and breathing with Jisung, in double time but endearing nonetheless.
It helps. It helps a lot.
Jisung suddenly misses his cat, a physical ache in his chest.
When Jisung finally manages to pull away, it's to see Chan looking down at him with something inscrutable in his gaze. Warm, soft, and inviting. Jisung's shell has already been cracked too many times today, and he feels something warm, sticky, and embarrassing start oozing out.
"Sorry about that," Jisung decides to say. "Rough day."
"Literally no problem, man," Chan reassures quickly, pocketing his phone. "I get it, it happens to everyone. No sweat. And Lix enjoys doing this kind of thing anyways. Did you know he was trained to be a therapy dog for a bit?"
"Ah?" Jisung looks at Lix in the eyes, and Lix blinks happily back. "I can see it, he has that…like, demeanor in him. He'd be good at that kind of stuff."
"Yeah, definitely." Chan drops a heavy hand on Lix's head, scratching affectionately. "Hey, listen, I know we just met but I live like a five minute's walk from campus. There's no way I'd be able to keep Lix in the shoebox dorms," he explains, chuckling. "Feel free to come over like, literally anytime. Just call me when you do and we can hang out, me you and Lix. I think he'd like that, and…well, tell me to fuck off if not, but you look like you could use it."
Jisung winces. "I look that bad, huh?"
"Not bad," Chan denies quickly. "Just like…a plant that hasn't been watered recently. If that makes sense. It's not your fault in the slightest, but if you ever need any extra support, Lix and I are here for you, yeah?"
When Jisung exhales next, it's with the release of the last of the pressure in his chest, whatever was left. "Yeah, that does make sense. I…thanks, hyung." Jisung pauses, considering. "And Felix too, right? Is he included in this?"
Chan startles minutely at that.
Huh.
"Yeah — yeah, of course, I'm sure if we call he'd be happy to come over," he says, words a bit rushed. "Don't even doubt it, okay?"
"…I'll try." Jisung looks away in fluster, bringing a hand to Lix's head again. "I just…can I ask why? We've literally just met, and I know I'm a mess today, but…"
Chan doesn't answer for a second, and when Jisung looks up, he sees the indecision in his eyes, the tightness of his lips, and suddenly he thinks he understands a lot better.
"I think…well, the best explanation is that I've been in your shoes before," Chan says eventually, smile back on his face, smaller and more melancholic. "If I saw somebody struggling and didn't do anything to help, I don't think I could have lived with myself. if somebody had done this for me freshman year…"
"…I get it," Jisung says, smiling in the most reassuring way he can. "This goes both ways, okay? I lean on you and you lean on me. I'm not going to freeload on your kindness."
"You're not freeloading —"
"Hyung."
"Ah, fine, fine, I got it," Chan relents, laughing. Lix barks, loud and happy, almost like a bell. Jisung's smile grows all the wider for it.
He does end up realizing that he's a half hour late to class, and he decides to just skip, to Chan's (pretend) consternation. The elder does have to leave, finish his walk with Lix, and Jisung has to reassure him that he'll be alright a total of five times before he leaves. Even then, he tries to convince Jisung to let himself be walked home. It would be nice, but Chan has things to do, and Jisung needs some space to clear his head.
The sky is blue, Jisung notes, when he starts his walk home. The sunflowers will be out, turning towards the sun. Jisung thinks about Chan, Felix, and Chan's dog, and wonders if he's slowly finding a sun for himself.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Coming back to the dorm is like stepping into sunlight. It shouldn't be, considering the window faces east and Jisung leaves before sunrise. But it is. Jisung's always been a homebody. And the dorm, a nice suite on the ground floor of the building, is where he can let go of the tension he carries through the day, finally relaxing into himself like a leaf seeing the sun after the night.
He drops his bag in the entrance, slipping out of his shoes. It's quiet. Either his cat is out hunting or he's on his way. Any minute now, three, two, one —
Mrrow?
"Minho-yah, have you been good?"
The black cat trots towards Jisung, pleased glint in his eye and all. He rubs himself on Jisung's legs, rolling onto his feet with a rumbling purr. Jisung giggles, high and delighted, as he brings a hand to thread through the long fur. "Yah, you little shit, trapping me in the entrance, don't you want me to make you food?"
Sometimes, Jisung really thinks Minho's sentient, because the cat meows at that, immediately rolling off Jisung's feet to walk into the kitchen, tail stiff and high in the air. Jisung smiles unconsciously and pads into the room dorm.
The school granted this room to him as a medical necessity, since he'd need to be taking care of Minho. The cat is the only reason Jisung's anxiety is even close to manageable, honestly. Something about his quiet, loving demeanor softens Jisung's walls until he can let himself exist outside of his worry and nausea.
Minho hops onto the counter, watching as Jisung opens a can of cat food. His purrs have quieted to a low hum. He's a patient thing, playful when he wants to be, but generally quiet. Dignified. Royal, even, compared to the hot mess that is Han Jisung. Maybe that's why they work well together. Lots of people see their pets as their children, siblings if they grew up together, but to Jisung, Minho is his best friend. His moon in the night, giving his leaves light when they're about to wither. Minho allows him to bloom.
It's odd, but Jisung's never been normal. He allows it.
His mind flashes to Chan and his dog, the things Chan insinuated, and he thinks Chan would understand. It's a new thought. New to consider that somebody might…understand. Might get it.
His connection to Minho has only ever served to isolate him.
Will the past be a prediction for the future again? Will Chan let it be? Will Jisung? He doesn't want to let it, but does he have a choice?
Minho makes a small sound and bats at Jisung's hand.
"Yes, yes, your food is on the way, Your Majesty," Jisung snarks, smirking as Minho narrows his eyes. He adds some extra water into the pate — Minho can't eat too-dry paste — and mashes it with a fork because for all that he loves Minho, he can't deal with the feeling of cold tuna on his fingers. Once it's become a soupy paste, Jisung grabs the paw-shaped shaker and adds some salmon flakes for seasoning.
It's routine. This has been their routine for years, since his parents wouldn't care enough to make sure Minho was eating enough.
Jisung lets his brain shut off for a bit, moving on autopilot. The nervous energy, ever-present like a noxious cloud, clears for a bit. Either that or his mind floats high enough to avoid it. Whatever it is, he's thankful for it, the small moments of peace he finds.
Jisung taps the bowl three times. Minho stretches his back before hopping off the counter, walking to his usual spot with an impatient meow. Jisung smiles wide enough to feel it in his eyes, setting the bowl down and watching Minho start lapping it up like he's been starving.
He slides to the floor, back against the wall as he watches his darling cat, listening to the harmony his breath makes with Minho's noisy eating. His thoughts drift, and he lets them.
His homework will wait. He will study until one in the morning, until Minho has to jump onto his notebook and swat the pen away from his hands. Then, he will crawl into bed, pull the covers up, and let Minho walk on his chest for five minutes. The cat will get comfortable somewhere near Jisung's neck, as close to the man as possible, and Jisung will be sweating and warm but so comfortable and safe.
But for now, he lets himself close his eyes, lets the tension drain from his shoulders.
For now, he lets himself rest.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
In Jisung's dreams, he stands in a field of gold.
Sunflowers, dazzling under the blue sky, petals fluttering shyly in the wind. There are never clouds in the sky; the sun shines on the scene with all of the beauty and none of the heat. Jisung is always surrounded, pure, physical body almost intangible. He's there but he's also watching from somewhere else. Somehow, Jisung is everywhere at once.
He is the gold. Or is he reaching towards the gold?
The sun shines.
The warm yellow bleaches into something more sterile. Something reminiscent to the LED lights that lit Jisung's childhood bedroom. The sky loses its vibrancy. The sunflowers reach towards their sun, straining, stalks growing taught; every petal slowly hones onto the sun like a magnet, like if they stretch their arms out enough the sun will greet them with a kiss of warmth.
They start withering.
Jisung watches as they shrivel, as the sun's light becomes whiter and whiter, cold, hollow even, and he can't move. He's frozen. His gaze slowly rises to the sun, as something blindingly white overtakes what was once warm yellow.
It feels like an explosion. It feels like sinking into the sea. It feels like decomposition.
Jisung sinks to his knees and prays for even a second of shadow.