Chapter Text
From his seat beside the window, Jisung peers at the outside world. Students stroll casually by, past the pavement Jisung can see from his perch, far enough that they look like ants.
Some people wear their uniforms neatly, cutting sharp figures across campus. Each button buttoned, creases ironed out the night before, cuffs tightly folded. Some leave their shirts open, tiny chest hairs in full view, ties loosened. Each person wears a badge with Neo emblazoned across. It looks lively, pleasant. Jisung rips his eyes away. The sun from the window was heating up his face uncomfortably. He turns the other direction.
The lazy stall of midafternoon has taken hold over Neo Academy, and the buzz of excited students has quieted since this morning. Jisung picks at his nails and counts each tick from the clock hung behind him. He doesn’t want to be here right now.
“And your dreams,” Mr. Qian probes, “how are they?”
He never wants to be here, sitting across from Mr. Qian in this tiny chair that squeaks every time he breathes. Mr. Qian watches him attentively, kindly. It makes Jisung squirm, which of course, makes the chair squeak again. A streak of sunlight cuts across the room, dust motes suddenly visible.
“They’ve been okay,” Jisung offers, “I guess.” His skin prickles uncomfortably. He thinks he can feel the dust on his skin now that he sees it, tingles shooting up his arms.
Mr. Qian’s paper crinkles in the thick silence that follows as he scribbles down some sort of note, expression unchanging. Still kind, polite, welcoming.
“Why don’t we end with that today? I’ll see you next week, same time.”
It’s a kindness Mr. Qian is giving to Jisung. They both know what it means when Jisung can’t sit still, picking at his nails as his eye bags mark deep indents in his face; his sleep has been pretty horrible.
When Jisung blinks, the back of his eyelids grab hold of him, sharp claws sinking into his body. Flashes of his nightmare from last night are relived, over and over again.
Dark, shadowy figures slide across a bleak, violet sky. His feet are planted in the gritty loam, roots deep in the earth. He can’t move. The shadows circle around him, getting closer-
The counselor neatly piles his notes onto his desk and scoots his chair out, standing up. When he rolls up his sleeves to his forearms, he reveals thick ropes of ink black wrapping around his hands and arms. The mark of a spirit handler is unique to each person, but Mr. Qian’s looks like a snake coiled about his arms, fangs outstretches in menacing patterns over thick bunches of muscle. Jisung tries not to stare and politely dismisses himself.
“Jisung!”
When he opens the door, a flash of pink flits past his eye and he’s swallowed in a bear hug that smells like peaches and...basil?
“Ah, hyung-”, Jisung wheezes as his lungs compress, “too tight!” His arms flail up and down, but Jaemin hangs on stubbornly.
When Jaemin finally lets go, Jisung’s wide eyes take in a vision of pink and green. Jaemin’s uniform looks incredibly disheveled, wrinkled and torn in multiple places. Moreover, his pink hair is dotted with leaves, that upon further sniffing, proves to be literal leaves of basil.
“Haven’t seen you all day!”
Jaemin slings an arm across Jisung’s shoulders. The weight is nice, but it causes the pair to stumble a little as they walk out of the building. The shadows loosen their grip on Jisung, but they lurk in the back of his mind.
“What’s up with the basil though?”
Jaemin’s face pales, before splotchy red takes over his cheeks and ears. A hand reaches up to touch his hair, and comes away with the offending leaves.
“You mean I’ve had these on my head the whole way here?” Jaemin groans, collapsing in on himself. His body turns willowy and starts folding in on itself, though his long legs continue to take loping steps, feet not even touch the ground. Jaemin’s habit of contortion means his uniform is chronically wrinkled.
Jisung snorts and unfolds the spirit to roughly human sized proportions, pushing down on his shoulders so his feet meet the ground.
Jaemin shuffles the whole way home, grumbling about Donghyuck and basil.
The dorm, like always, is a mess when they open the door.
Renjun and Donghyuck appear to be locked in a screaming match, but looking closer, are battling it out through mid-day karaoke. Mark is sleeping through everything, slumped over on the couch. Jeno is nowhere to be seen, though his shoes are neatly placed by the door.
Jisung places his own shoes by the door and Jaemin mimics his actions. The spirit needs some help with the laces, but manages to do the rest by himself.
“Shoes are a drag, Jisung,” Jaemin drawls, slinking into his room, “absolutely cruel and unusual punishment.” But of course, a spirit who doesn’t need feet to walk would think shoes are unnecessary.
Jisung throws his backpack by the couch, where Donghyuck and Renjun also threw their bags. Mark’s still wearing his bag, looking ready to spring up and rush off to whatever class or club or internship he’s got next, even in his sleep. Gently shoving Mark’s legs to the side, Jisung makes a space for himself on the couch.
“Hey,” Donghyuck shouts, ears blown from karaoke, “when’d you get home?”
Renjun blinks and turns his head to look at Jisung as well.
“Oh, hey Jisung.”
He's been sitting here doing homework for a few minutes already, but something about his irregular spiritual patter makes it harder to sense his presence, especially since he's not normally so loud anyway. Jisung feels the looks that Renjun and Donghyuck send him particularly sharply, watching as their faces distort in anger and displeasure, and involuntarily, his body freezes in place. Did he interrupt them? His shoulders twitch, about to curl in around his body, trying to make him look as small as possible, as small as he feels. Then, he blinks, and the illusion is gone. They're grinning, happy to see him. Jisung breathes in and out through his nose, grinning back just in time, just before the pause would have been too long, a cause for concern.
Jaemin flies through the wall, freshly changed out of his uniform. He tackles Donghyuck and they wrestle for a few minutes about basil and something or other before collapsing into a two person cuddle pile.
Renjun sheds his human appearance and turns into a shadowy figure. Slowly, the dark cloud that is Renjun floats over to Jisung and sits on his head like a hat. A clicking noise emits from Renjun, which Jisung would guess means something similar to hi, thanks for the seat .
Jisung pats Renjun twice before going back to studying. Spirits have a sort of texture to them that’s hard to describe; something like touching a pillow, maybe, but your hand comes away with a cold film over it. Renjun starts sinking tendrils of inky energy into Jisung’s scalp and through his head, tightly intertwining their energy. The spirit undergoes the process of smoothing out Jisung's energy veins and untangling any knots. It feels a bit like dipping your head in cold water, but your brain gets waterlogged too. Jisung kind of likes the feeling.
Six Years Ago
The worst part of a short life expectancy is probably having to spend so much of the time he has left at the hospital. The doctors and nurses grin when they see him, bright and warm, eyes just a little blank. They don't need to tell him where to go - at eleven years old, Jisung has been to the hospital more than his parents ever had. His dad squeezes his shoulder and takes a seat in the waiting room, watching as Jisung pads over to the third door down and disappears into the hallway. The sign hanging outside is new and embossed, Spiritual Therapy written in large, bulky print and a caricature of a spirit grinning invitingly takes up the bottom left corner.
Jisung walks himself down the hall, greets each nurse by name, and enters through the last door. Mr. Qian grins as he walks in, a genuine smile. Jisung likes that Mr. Qian's energy is so uniform; everyone, from his school teachers to friends to even his own parents, are surrounded by a mass of spiritual energy. Some people, mostly children, walk around with pure yellows, pinks, and opalescent energies swirling about. His parents are often hues of the sunset, rich and warm, until they look at him and their sadness tints their energy the color of a rainstorm.
Mr. Qian, on the other hand, is almost always blank white. When he's smiling, the edges grow just a little yellow. When he's upset, his energy grows just a bit dull. As a spirit handler, a strong understanding and control of one's own spiritual energy is mandatory, Mr. Qian had said when Jisung asked the first time they met, which was really just last week. Mr. Qian then revealed that most people can't see the color of others' energy; usually, people have to train a long time for that, but since Jisung's energy is so erratic, it must've given him this ability. Jisung thinks that it might be better to not be literally dying than to be able to see some colors, but it is what it is.
Until Jisung had met Mr. Qian, the doctors assumed he was just a sickly child that would die before twenty. They were certainly correct, but Mr. Qian seems to know how to extend his life span indefinitely, if all goes well. Jisung's parents had cried when they heard the news, energy bursting with the brightest colors they'd ever had, flooding the room in neons. That day, Jisung decided to give his all with this therapy - it's his last shot, and honestly, while Jisung was planning on turning down this therapy, his parents don't deserve to have to outlive him.
"Hey," greets Mr. Qian, "how's it going?" Jisung blinks, thinking it over. Is this person really qualified for the job? Jisung just had tubes sticking out of him last week, getting transfusion after transfusion, arm full of needle holes and his dark circles are darker than they've ever been. The eleven year old can't hold back the look in his eyes that says something like, are you serious?
"Good," Jisung mutters, regardless. Mr. Qian laughs, for some reason, energy just a bit yellow. Jisung eyes the door behind him. It's not too late to run out and go home.
"Now, before you make a run for it," Mr. Qian hurriedly says, "let's have our first session!" Jisung blushes, deeply embarrassed that he was so transparent; his mom would have called that kind of behavior rude, but Mr. Qian just hands him a lollipop before helping him circulate his energy, pale energy mixing with Jisung's pallid green.
"Hmm," Mr. Qian hums with furrowed brows, "that's not quite right." Well, not much is right with Jisung's body. So, sounds pretty spot on.
After about thirty minutes of prodding into his energy veins and random questions, Mr. Qian walks him back to his dad and props his hands on his hips the way one does when they feel very proud of an accomplishment.
"Well, first of all, I know what's going on and why," he pauses so Jisung's dad can recover from his shock, "do you want to know now, or wait for your wife?"
His dad thinks for less than a minute before they're walking back to Mr. Qian's office.
Back to Present
Jisung doesn’t need it, but it really helps when his spirit roommates untangle his energy veins. With constant supervision from Mr. Qian and continued therapy, Jisung has not only maintained his energy, but improved it. Even so, it can’t hide the fact that he was born with a weak body.
Because of this, though he now has a normal amount of energy to go around, his energy veins are prone to tangling and getting torn from overexertion. By Renjun or Jaemin sinking little tendrils of energy into his chest and plucking his veins like a guitar, he can thankfully avoid most of the damage. They’re pretty good at making sure he doesn’t go too long with tangled veins.
Renjun sitting on his head is comforting enough that Jisung almost drowses off into his textbook, but this is only his second year at the academy and he can’t already become like Mark, who’s still snoring beside him.
Renjun hums and purrs. Jisung guesses he’d said something like all done!
“Thanks hyung.”
Jaemin, seeing Renjun back in his natural state, can’t hold back anymore and dissolves into an inky black mist as well, still wrapped around Donghyuck, who calmly continues to scroll through his phone. Jisung knows from experience that it feels like lying in a waterbed, but the bed wraps around you like a burrito.
“I’m ordering dinner,” Donghyuck calls out, loud enough that Jeno finally leaves his room for a break from gaming.
When Jisung first arrived at the dorm last year, he’d been intimidated by Donghyuck and Mark, scared by Renjun and Jaemin (who, newly summoned, couldn’t maintain a human form, but rather constantly morphed into various shapes), and downright terrified by Jeno.
Jeno was an incredibly buff, older teen who didn’t say much and hardly grinned. Instead, he glared at Jisung from under thick brows, leaving the room whenever Jisung entered. Later, Jisung found out Jeno was actually just shy and couldn’t approach Jisung, though it still wasn't easy to make friends with Jeno, since Jisung was honestly just as shy. They didn't really get close until Jaemin told Jisung that Jeno desperately wanted to be friends, but had no idea how to start a conversation; he said this, of course, with Jeno present.
Renjun detaches from Jisung to scuttle over to Jeno, who picks up the dark blob like a cat, cradling the fidgeting spirit and cooing. Renjun lets out a few grating clicks and a titter of maybe-laughter comes from the cloud surrounding Donghyuck, who snorts.
“What,” Jeno demands, looking defensive, “why’re you guys laughing?”
“ youuu only....come out...hssssss….for fooooood…..hhghhghh ... like dog.”
Renjun managed to explain that much while in spirit form, which was incredibly impressive considering he didn’t have a mouth or even a face in that form. Jeno blushes but can’t deny the accusation.
“Whatever, see if I give you a ride to class next time.”
Renjun immediately takes the form of a...cat? The spirit hasn’t seen that many cats in person before so his cat shape looks a bit wrong and distorted in ways Jisung can’t even put his finger on. He looks like a stuffed animal. Jeno relents regardless, infinitely weak to cats, pretty boys, and Renjun; this attack checks all three boxes.
Donghyuck orders pizza and the smell of it finally wakes Mark, who blearily scarfs down three slices before being carried (literally) to his bed in a combined effort to get him some sleep.
Nighttime
Jisung takes his assorted medicines before clambering into bed, tired after an okay day that lasted for forever. Mark went to bed earlier and Jisung’s other roommates recently went to bed as well, though the light from the crack of Jeno’s door indicates another long night of gaming.
Sometimes Jisung joins him, when the nightmares are better and his energy veins are pumping smoothly. Othertimes, the dreams don’t go so well.
Jisung tucks himself in, hums a lullabye and closes his eyes.
He opens his eyes to violet skies. Tonight, his feet are free to walk, though there’s no reason to. Everything looks the same, no matter which direction he turns. The spirits swirl around in circles, calmly floating by.
Sometimes, they’re aggravated for reasons Jisung doesn’t know, and he has to spend his night evading potentially violent ones. Sometimes, they’re just like any other spirit Jisung would see in the waking world. But always, there are recurring characters in his dreams.
He’s gotten to know the spirits well over the past nine or so years of seeing them every night. One looms incredibly tall over the barren earth, thin and lanky, taking broad steps across the land. Another is a tiny ball of energy that crosses distances with unbelievable speed. One, that takes a slug-like shape, dislikes Jisung horribly, slithering away as soon as it sees him, though this spirit cannot move fast. Jisung kindly moves away for the spirit’s sake. Most of them, though, are nice enough.
Jisung sits down next to a familiar spirit that likes to curl around his shoulders like a shawl and hiss. It’s a bit sad to say, but this spirit was probably Jisung’s only friend for a very long time, in the period when his condition was really bad but he hadn’t met Mr. Qian yet.
Either way, Jisung hasn’t seen his friend in over a week, and it’s been hard to sleep, since other spirits like to push him around when this one’s gone.
Tonight, the spirit wraps around him like a blanket and gurgles.
“Hi,” Jisung responds, petting the spirit like he would a dog.
His spirit friend wiggles around like always, but something is new. Today, his friend falls off and thrashes on the ground. Jisung watches as his concern grows - spirits are pretty eccentric but this one looks like it’s in pain.
Jisung tentatively reaches a hand out, unsure if touching it would even help, unsure if leaving it alone was better.
“What- what’s wrong?” His friend stretches and compresses rapidly, and shrieks a little bit before finally, the spirit rests. Jisung gasps, falls forward on his knees in awe.
His friend...is taking on a human shape-but Jisung can’t see his friend clearly, the spirit’s head is down. Slowly, the spirit lifts its head and Jisung can almost-
Almost see. He wakes up in his bed in the waking world, hand outstretched towards the ceiling. What in the world was that ?
2002
Jisung's parents love their child, would do anything for him. It's why it hurts so much to know there's nothing they can do besides cherish him for the time they have left.
In the cradle, his eyes twinkle like stars and he grips onto their fingers when they reach towards him. It's only going to get worse, the doctors had told them. They don't know what's wrong with him, but whatever it is will slowly sneak up behind him and snatch him away, leaving behind an empty husk. But they have him now, and it's the least they can do to at least give him a happy childhood.
Jisung's mom wakes up in the early morning to the sound of laughter. She holds back her sobs, and stumbles out of bed, rushing to the nursery without putting on slippers. When she sees Jisung, so lively and vibrant, giggling to himself, she can't help but feel her heart breaking within her chest. On the outside, she grins widely and tickles Jisung, picking him up and swinging him around. Over her shoulder, he stares into the distance, seeing something she can't, tiny fingers reaching towards an invisible friend.
She doesn't notice. No one notices, and they never do. After a few years, little Jisung no longer has these weird, inexplicable visions, because instead, he dreams.
Jisung used to think he had an overactive imagination, maybe some sort of internalized fear towards spirits.
Mr. Qian took one look at him and dismissed the thought.
Jisung doesn’t dream about spirits; he enters the spirit world every night.