coincidental | minsung

01

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

The air in the room was stifling. It seemed like the oxygen had been replaced with spirits, and the carbon dioxide clouded with smoke. The heat of too many bodies packed into a too small room wasn't helping either, fogging up the windows and causing sweat to slick the skin of the people at the party.

To say there were hundreds of people might have been an overstatement, but none of them seemed to mind being part of a crowd. A mix of girls and boys, all somewhere between college- and university-aged, most high on liquor or drugs or music. A speaker plugged into the corner of the room hums with music turned too high, the bass throbbing through the walls.

It was hard to make out the faces of the people dancing in the room. Cheeks were flushed pink, makeup beginning to slide off of skin, eyes rolled back in bliss and hands waving in the air. But anyone would've noticed him.

There was a small space – barely visible – as though the people around him didn't feel worthy of pushing and crashing against him like everyone else in the room. His head was thrown back, blushed lips cracked into a smile, eyes narrowed as he moved in sync to the music. Dirty blonde hair, long but not long enough to tie back, was fluffy at the top yet slick with sweat around the base of his neck. Specks of glitter flashed iridescent across the bridge of his nose and his lips seemed almost bruised with the remnants of someone else's smudged lipstick.

Han Jisung was ethereal. Renowned as one of the most talented boys in his school, an ace in his studies, in music, in dancing, in just being annoyingly perfect, he cast out an aura of cocky confidence that easily made him the life of the party. The only thing pulling him away from perfection was the way it seemed he knew he was perfect. That he had everything, wanted for nothing, talent and looks and charisma to spare.

Even when someone else bounded blindly through the crowd and banged harshly into Jisung's shoulder, he just grinned at them and moved lightly out of the way so that the stranger could squeeze past with a squeaked-out 'Sorry!'. Barely registering it, Jisung allowed himself to become reabsorbed in the music. He didn't recognise a single person near him, and nor did he care. He was solely there to dance, to enjoy.

But then, out of nowhere, the lights flickered off and the music cut out with a harsh bang. Jisung swore it resounded up his spine and hew flinched, hands coming up protectively to cover his head.

It was eerily silent for only a second before the other people in the room began to groan, complaints rising with smoke into the air. Jisung barely realised he had pinned his own lips shut and that his hands were still curled around his ears.

Breathe, he tried to remind himself. But his lungs defied him, constricting and forcing the last remaining bits of air to sear up the back of his throat.

Too much. Noise, people, darkness, heat, smell, sound, touch, taste, sound, smell, heat, darkness, people, fear.

Unable even to gasp in enough air for another breath, Jisung braced slim elbows and began to force his way through the crowds. He kept his head down to keep his façade up. He didn't want – no, couldn't have anyone seeing him like this. He tucked his chin so low that his jawbone ached against the sharp lines of his collarbone. The pain kept him moving, kept him conscious. It felt like the sea of people was never-ending. Jisung worried that he was doomed to this forever, the harsh smells of a party and the even harsher sounds of pissed-off partiers.

But then-

Fresh air, cool and still and quiet. Absence of noise, of people. Jisung has pushed his way through a patio door, and he staggers only for a moment before leaning back against the brick wall of the house. The cold stone eats through the thin layer of clothing, but again, he welcomes the way that it hurts.