Mabsuli Blood || txt

Twenty-Seven: Broken Fragments

Yeonjun was confused.

And he didn't know why.

Which only made him more confused because there is absolutely nothing for me to be confused about, zilch, nada, nothing. Everything is normal. Everything is fine.

Except something felt off.

On the surface, everything seemed fine with him. He messed around with the only other prince, Soobin. He poked fun at Seokjin's failed attempts to get Namjoon's affection. He kept a stoic face as King Choi spouted bullshit about not finding any suitors for Soobin in the past two months only to roll his eyes at it when his back was turned. He spent time with Queen Choi in the back garden, curled up into her side like a child with his gaze staring blankly at the swaying grass as she ran her fingers through his hair.

But behind that calm expression was a raging storm of gray overanalyzation and discomfort. Wherever he went, the air beside him felt especially cold, as though something was supposed to be there, but wasn't. Shadows turned solid for a split second, and for a moment everything felt okay again, but then the dark mass would disappear and Yeonjun was left feeling hollow.

It didn't help that there was an itching in the back of his mind, like when one is trying to remember the math formula during an exam. It's flashing in front of your eyes, the memories of doing it flashing by, but too fast to grab onto and too blurry to make out. Specifically when he walked by the guest bedroom and extra office. For a second, he swears he sees light shining from the crack of the door, but whenever he opened said door, the room would be silent, cold, and dark. It didn't help that the guest bedroom was right across from his own; an empty grave void of any phantoms that once might have been, haunting his dreams.

Except for the days when he hears a voice singing what sounded like Disney songs on the other side. But it was gone before he could get a real listen, a chance to pin that voice to a face because he swears he knows that voice.

But I don't. If I don't remember it, then I don't know it.

And every night when he laid down to sleep, he saw them. Ghosts and phantoms and shadows dancing in the back of his eyelids, their figures too blurry and too far to make out.

He sees wind.

He sees two figures vanish.

He sees everyone around him fall.

He falls along with them, but attempts to stand.

He sees someone step in front of him with icy cold breath and silver eyes narrowed like a wolf's.

Then it's all gone, and his head hurts.

But the ghost of the silver eyes still lingered, drilling holes into his back and sending shivers down his spine as he's enveloped in that familiar icy coldness even while standing in the sunlight, the scars on his right wrist stinging like the day Soobin had found him in the forest, as though they'd been freshly carved into his skin again.

It didn't help that everyone else seemed completely fine, going about their normal lives and normal routine and feeling normal and being normal and just living normal. Yeonjun wanted to live normal, and he tried. He tried pushing aside the chills and the lights and the voices and the shadows and the ghosts and the phantoms and the silver eyes gleaming with a hatred that comes with knowledge.

But he couldn't.

Not when they were following him everywhere.

"Junnie, you okay?" Chills had once again risen up on his arms, and Soobin frowned as he wrapped his own arms around Yeonjun to try and warm him up. And Yeonjun tried to relax into his hold. It wasn't often they could be intimate like this, with all the servants and the two rulers and Soobin's responsibility as heir. And Soobin's hugs were like no other. As Fred said while hugging Baymax in Big Hero 6, it's like spooning a warm marshmallow.