✓ 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 | ateez

11:15

⚠️ tw: suicide !!
since it's a really sensitive topic, i'll try not to be graphic about it!!!
<3

he's shaking terribly now, a mess of frail limbs and muddy jeans. his hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, but he's so, so cold.

unmistakably, wooyoung sees the top of mingi's house peering through the forest clearing he's standing in. unusually, all the lights are off, but wooyoung has bigger problems to be worrying about than his friend's electricity bill.

petrified would be an understatement, to describe his blown pupils and stolen breaths. he briefly remembers a phone call of sorts, and a quick scroll through his mobile confirms a chat with his friend mingi just over five minutes ago. he breathes a fresh sigh of relief; (he's not losing too much memory yet) he remembers maybe talking about yeosang, about a tree, and that is it.

he completely blanks out after that.

this has been happening for a while now, he knows: going somewhere he needs to be, and then turning up somewhere else with no recollection of what he's doing and what he's done. like dimensia, but he's sure he's too young for the disease.

it's dangerous, it's frightening, it's deeply worrying. and now wooyoung is lost in a forest he can't remember heading into, with the moon's head tilted high above him as if it's turning up it's nose at him. getting lost again? what next, wooyoung? it drawls lazily.

he shudders, his too-thin black jacket and too-heavy black boots serving no warmth. the moon's light is weak and cold, and it peaks devilishly through choking clouds that only allows wooyoung's eyes to see the black silhouettes of his hands and nothing else. shy streaks of yellow from the streetlights are kind enough to stop him from crashing into tree after tree. he tumbles out of the clearing in a rush, sharp leaves and violent twigs leaving their mark on him. in the middle of the deserted street, the quiet forces him to tune into his own racing thoughts and it gives him pains too agonising to be just a migraine.

from behind him, the rustling of leaves is heard, and a boy appears looking less disheveled and much calmer than himself.

he's a boy wooyoung's age and height, wearing similar (if not, the same) clothing, albeit the other is wearing a grotty facemask and blood accessorises his entire body. the glint of fresh cherry red and the pungent stench of metal brings mingi back to wooyoung's worrisome mind.

before he can open his mouth, or move away, or attack him, the boy surprisingly talks first.

"hello," comes a muffled greeting underneath a hood and mask.

there is nothing stopping wooyoung from running as fast as he can away from this nightmare. yet he stays, trapped in a spell of curiosity and hopelessness.

"who are you?" he asks, instantly regretting it.

he chuckles. wooyoung already knows he won't get a straight answer.

"you already know who i am." he looks knowingly at wooyoung, full of cocky tones and amused attitudes. his heart is in his throat, and if it travels up any higher, wooyoung feels like he'll choke. he speaks in short sentences, but the words spoken carry too much information, and his answers leave wooyoung with more questions that he had originally.

"you're not me," wooyoung whispers, voice jumpy and muscles taut, "you're not me."

he laughs again, the bastard.