fever | ateez lore story

| the hostage |

time
/tʌɪm/
noun
1. the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.
"We need love. We are in time of love."
2. a point of time as measured in hours and minutes past midnight or noon.
"The time is 5:07."

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I've taken real interest in white doves. I can't help but imagine the control it has, over itself. I wonder what it's like to spread those wide wings and feel the wind blow through the feathers, with nothing getting in the way. As it glides through the sky, there must be an element of peace. Nothing but the sky, and the bird.

Must be nice.

I stare at the white birds dawdling about on the field, not a care in the world for the things surrounding them. If they feel threatened, they fly off. If only it was that easy to do something like that, I'd do it now. Without a second thought.

I'm tired of being caged. I want to fly.

"Yeosang?"

I flinch, hearing my name alerting my senses. I turn to my teacher, who gives me a look that tells me they are mildly irritated.

"What is so important outside that's keeping you from playing this piece?" They scold, motioning to the sheet music for The Four Seasons by Vivaldi, sitting idle in front of me.

It's just a piece of paper with black ink on it. What's important about this?

"Sorry." I mutter, laying the bout of the violin against my collarbone, and resting my chin on the chin-rest. I grip the bow in my other hand, and rest it on the strings, waiting for the green light to start playing.

I didn't have a choice. My family wanted me to learn. I wanted to learn the drums instead, but they called it 'excessive noise'. Being an owner of an entertainment company, you'd think my father would have some knowledge as to what music is. How it should make people feel.

He has no clue. That's why I want to transfer to another company.

I start to feel my mind wander again - oh how easy it is to do so. I start to think about the world outside. What's it like to travel? To go anywhere you'd *like* to go, seeing new places and meeting new people. Birds can do that, easily. All they need to do is push off the ground and leave.

Wonder how easy it is to do that.

"Yeosang."

What again?

"You're playing the wrong note." My teacher sighs. I can feel the stares of my fellow classmates burning into my skull, making me disintegrate.

"Sorry." I repeat, inhaling heavily, placing my bow against the strings once more.

It's like deja vu. The same situation happens over and over again. I drift off somewhere and get brought back by my teacher's voice. If I had the choice, today would be the last of my endless stream of apologies.

I sit ready, waiting for the cue to play. My classmates just stay staring at me, and I glance around, feeling incredibly small.

"Are you okay, Yeosang? You've been extremely distracted lately." My teacher queries, lowering their violin until it rests on their lap.

I just want to leave. To run away and never come back. To be distracted for as long as I want without the obnoxious calling of my name.

I nod, pressing my lips further together for the fear of crying. I can feel a ball of sadness waiting to be thrown out of me, but I hold back, not wanting to face embarrassment.

The teacher doesn't respond. Instead, they pick up the stringed instrument and place it back to where it was resting between their chin and their collarbone, the bow conducting us to prepare to begin playing.

I try and stay focused this time. I don't want word to go to my father about me being terribly distracted. He'll lash me out so much that I won't be able to hear the end of it.

So much of what I am today did not become through the choices I made. My parents shaped me into the person I am today. Though some people would be grateful for it, I am part of the small fraction of people that sees this presumed blessing as bad luck.

The only time I feel even just a lick of freedom is when I'm with Wooyoung. Whenever we train at my father's company, I can let my guard down. That's when I feel like I have a choice. He forces me in the right way - to stick up for myself. However. I can never bring myself to do it. The fact that I never touched base with trying to fight for what what was good for me, closed me off from ever attempting to do so. Though Wooyoung encourages me to do so, I just can't.

The notes I play somehow stop my wandering brain from wandering for a moment, the music giving me a small sense of comfort. The Four Seasons piece is calming, indeed.

Suddenly, I seek a small speck of pink pass my peripheral vision. It's so easily noticeable in this wide room with nothing but white walls. I pause, the last note I play, fading. I turn my attention back to the window, and feel my heart flip as I see the most beautiful sight.

The white birds I was watching began to take off from the ground, grouping into the sky. The purity of their white, innocent wings is accompanied by the dance of a thousand cherry blossom petals. The two colours mix, adorning the plain, blue sky with the purest colours the earth can have.

I can feel my eyes prick with tears. I have never been so jealous before. I want that. That...freedom.

"Yeosang?"

There it is again. The voice that holds me back from dreaming. I turn back to them, the same irritated expression growing more into grievance.

I suddenly want to run. I want to drop this wooden, stringed instrument and haul myself out of the room. I want to run outside and feel the wind in my hair, and the sun kissing every inch of my face. I want to spread my wings and fly as far away from this place as I can. My legs prick with anticipation, the urge to bolt out of my seat rising in me.

But...

"Sorry." I whisper, straightening my posture and placing the bow back onto the violin.

I can't disappoint my parents. Not like this.