Title: Lights Go Out Again
Pairing: DooSeob (Doojoon/Yoseob)
Summary: When you grow up, it isn't your parents who will scare away the monsters for you.
Notes: This was written to fill one of six prompts picked out from this list by my best friend. This is my first fic I'm posting to the K-Pop fandom, so I don't really know what to do with myself but... whateva! Hope you enjoy, and without further ado, this was my first fill:
4. Sensory deprivation
Lights Go Out Again
When he was small, he had been afraid of the dark. The small prick of light in the corner of the room where his mother had kindly installed a night light was no help to him. He clung, sometimes for hours, to the rocket-ship-patterned comforter, staring widely at the ceiling he and his father had covered with glow-in-the-dark stars. At that time he'd listen-- sometimes to the distant snores of his father, the click of the bathroom door, the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, but most of the time it'd be the erratic beating of his own heart as he imagined what lurked in the darkest corners of his mind.
His imagination had always been vast, monsters would spring up as shadows that encompassed him, and he'd wake up sweating, flailing, screaming and his parents would rush in but they'd never understand. Never understand what it did to him when they said their 'I love yous' to him at night, complemented with a forehead kiss, then turned the light off and closed the door on their terrified son. They'd always turn off the light for him, always.
Eventually, he grew out of it.
Until the lights went off again.
He remembered it vaguely as a bright day, he'd never fully appreciated the sun when he had it and he'd woken up that morning with a headache. Yoseob had to kick him out of bed to get him up, and still he shielded himself from the precious sun with his arms as he dragged his socked feet to the bathroom to wash up. He remembered – gray socks, white wife-beater, his orange toothbrush and he remembered Yoseob sidling up next to him. All blonde, and pale, with puffy pink cheeks and swollen eyes and a bedhead to boot. He had a bright blue t-shirt on, too big for him, and the neon green of his toothbrush was nearly blinding so he had to look away.
The morning ritual had been the same, get up, wash face, brush teeth-- they had a schedule that day, a tight one full of practice, interviews, a live performance. The manager was rushing them out because they were already behind track for their hair and make-up styling for that day. The manager had been red, flushed with anger in his blue zip-up track jacket and navy blue sweatpants, the ones with white streaks on the side. He remembered, because he hated them, because they meant a busy schedule.
He was the first out, followed by Yoseob who plopped down next to him in his bright blue shirts and baggy jean shorts. Yoseob's eyes were closed, the sun casting shadows on his peaceful face through the windows and he had decided to do the same since the manager was still trying to usher the other members out of the dorm and into their sleek black van. He had closed his eyes, too, not knowing he'd regret it for the rest of his life.
The scariest part of his dreams always happened first, starting with the dark and usually leading up to a brighter, happier dream. This time he was an astronaut, strapped into his spaceship with a few other people, faces hidden behind helmets. They were ascending fast, and he was rattling around in his seat, back and forth and back and forth and then he felt something was wrong. For a split second, he was out of his seat, and then everyone around him was screaming and he tried to open his eyes but the splitting pain in his head brought that idea to a screeching halt.
Briefly, he felt alive, with excruciating pain dicing across his head like a cracked egg, and he felt the yolk gently oozing out of it and onto the hard pavement below as the world howled.
Then he was back to space, back to being an astronaut. There was no more pain then. He felt like he was floating through the air, past the stars that lined the ceiling of his room and for once, they lit up every corner. Below, the shadows of his action figures danced together and laughed and he floated down to join them. They'd greet him like one of their own, but sometimes he'd hear a distant crying and ask them who it was, they never knew what he was talking about. He felt like the dream lasted decades, like he'd never wake up and time and time again he wondered whether this was a dream or reality. Several times, when he found himself thinking this, everything would go black. He'd hear a steady beep beep beep and sometimes there would be voices, saying his name or whispering in hushed tones. Sometimes there would be warmth on his hand or on his arm or on his face and sometimes it'd be cold and soundless.
It was terrifying, and he'd force himself back into the dream, re-open his eyes to the world that got dimmer every time. He'd look up at the stars and see they were fading, slowly but surely. He was forgetting what colors looked like in the world of black, white, and gray. And eventually, that's all everything was-- blacks, whites, grays.
When everything went black again, he found himself on his bed- clinging to endless sheets and staring wide-eyed, unseeing at the ceiling with no stars. There was no pinprick of light, no dancing shadows, no nothing except for the constant beeping and the whispers and he woke up screaming.
Only this time it wasn't a dream – or was it reality he'd woken up from? His parents weren't coming, the door wasn't opening, the lights weren't coming back on and he was screaming and thrashing and there were hands on his shoulders . There were no blacks, whites, grays, no colors to discern voices from faces and faces from voices and he was screaming. There was black everywhere and alien hands on him, probing as he shouted for help from anything and he flailed tirelessly under the gravity of reality as the beeping sped up until they were indiscernible above the whispers
in his ear.
“Shh, Doojoon, shh, it's okay, shh..”
He recognized that voice, a light blue and a neon green sparked behind his eyelids and he stopped moving to focus on that sound. That sound that sparked color in his memory and he blinked once, twice to make sure his eyes were open and that he wasn't dreaming. The beeping had slowed down and there was a pain in his wrist, a hot warmth seeped down from it like liquid fire and he felt so cold. There were hands on his cheeks, stroking softly and he relaxed into them, reaching up to cover them in his own to make sure he was real. He was there even though it was dark and he couldn't see himself anymore.
Like the monsters in his imagination, lingering in the dark of his mind, he existed. He existed in the dark with the monsters.
“Yoseob,” he choked, and he could feel the crack of his unused vocal chords. His tongue felt like a rock in his mouth.
“Shh, I know, I know,” Yoseob's breath tickled his ear, and Doojoon felt the hot streaks of water down his face like the liquid on his wrists, and knew he wasn't dreaming anymore.
The lights weren't going back on. The monsters were there to stay.
I'm not even sorry.
- Current Location:My house
- Current Mood: embarrassed
- Current Music:E.R by Dalmatian