Work Text:
may 20, 2017
Wonwoo reckons that depression isn't like drowning, contrary to what everyone says. For him, it's being so caught up in the clouds above Earth that you can't find your way back down. That nobody can pull you back down; they don't have the will to pull you back down. Wonwoo can barely breathe up there, caught in the sky, and all he can do is look down at the Earth below him, wishing he could be a part of it. He really, truly wants to be happy again.
But he can't, and he doesn't know why.
He feels so detached from the planet he calls home. Sometimes, he doesn't even recognize himself in the mirror. All he sees is a shell of a human being; hiding behind a facade of contentment. Luckily for him, nobody notices the dark circles under his lifeless eyes. They don't notice the faded scar marks on his upper thighs, or the ugly red marks adorning his torso. All they see is an aloof expression and thin-rimmed round glasses. It's okay though; Wonwoo doesn't want them to know anyways. It's better that way.
Oftentimes, Wonwoo wakes up before everyone else. It's the same routine each morning; he sits up in his bed, rubs his eyes, and shuffles over to the window. He tends to observe the bleak sunrise with withered brown eyes, wishing that he was the rising sun itself. Watching over the world, bathing the city of Seoul in its blistering light. The sun, Wonwoo thinks, has it easy. All it has to do is rise, set, rise, set. He wishes life was that simple; that mundane. Instead, he's stuck in the sky, dreaming of being under the sun's gaze. The sun loves Earth, and Earth loves the sun. Wonwoo loves Earth, but Earth doesn't love Wonwoo.
Other times, Wonwoo can't even bother to wake up, let alone get out of bed. The nightmares never go away for him, always blank faces and abandoned bodies. Dreams are always the same; death, the inevitability of it, and how nobody would care if Wonwoo died. He'd end up being just another corpse, another ashen figure in a pile of billions. In all honesty, Wonwoo would rather just get death over with. Maybe that way, he can finally be pulled back down to Earth- six feet below the ground in a wooden coffin. Then again, he may not even be buried. Maybe nobody would even notice he's gone.
He tries his best to push those thoughts away, though.
Interviews and fansigns are always a much-desired distraction for him. He's able to feel grounded for a fleeting moment- he's able to hide behind the illusion of happiness before he's torn away from it, yanked back into the bustling lifestyle of an idol. Well, he wouldn't exactly call it a lifestyle anymore. That's a stretch. Wonwoo's hardly been doing any kind of living for the past few years.
After the others wake up in the morning, his mask is put back on. He smiles, he laughs, he jokes. He does whatever he can to please them, because that's really all he can do. Wonwoo knows that they're never exactly fond of him though. Some will linger for a bit; like Seungcheol or Junhui, but the rest will hardly even send a glance his way. And even the ones that linger eventually disappear. Their voices are merely a ghost of a memory in Wonwoo's head, even though he sees them every day.
On the worst days, Wonwoo feels like his body isn't even his. The urge to bring one of those gleaming silver blades against his skin pounds in his veins, makes his head hurt so much that he can hardly take a breath. The urge to climb the steps to the top of the dormitory building is even more prominent. The voices in his head telling him to move, just go up there and stand on the edge, are so loud that he can't hear anyone talking to him. Maybe if he stands on the edge he can finally come back down to Earth. He can take the leap and plummet down, down, down until he's reunited with the soil. Maybe then he'll finally feel alive again. How nice it would be, to feel like himself again.
Nighttime has always been Wonwoo's favorite though. He'll do his best to forget the torturous hours of the day, and sometimes it almost works. Wonwoo can breathe a little bit when the moon comes out. Even though he wishes he could be the sun, he finds the moon much more comforting. The light of the moon cuts through the night like a knife, glistening a harsh silver like the color of his blades. Normally, the thought of blades would scare Wonwoo. He's terrified of the ominous feeling that he gets when he looks at the sharp edges. However, he knows that the moon's blade is at least 384,000 kilometers away, where it can't hurt him. It's a nice feeling.
Falling asleep is a difficult task for Wonwoo. After he's done looking up at the moon, mocking it for its distance, he shimmies under the thin covers on his twin mattress and looks up at the ceiling. The ceiling is too low for Wonwoo's taste- he always feels like it's going to close in on him, make a pact with the four walls around him to crush his body while he's lost in his nightmares. If that were to happen, he knows he could never reunite with the Earth. Not only would it crush his limbs, it would crush his single dream.
Before he finally drifts into unconsciousness, spirals into the dark omens that haunt his head, Wonwoo always thinks about Mingyu.
About their sweet nothings whispered into pitch dark practice rooms.
About the perspiration the dribbled off of their glistening skin.
About the closeness that they used to share.
About the sex that used to leave Wonwoo breathless.
It's all his fault.
it is essential that you read the other two works in the series when i release them, they directly tie into this and all add up to equal the happy ending