𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐦; 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐱

35‣ 𝙥𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

Watching Hyunjin and Felix return from the deep forest like that was a sight straight out of a fairytale Minho remembers reading when he was a child. Although it had all the beautiful elements of a whimsical romance like the way they were sitting, with Felix's legs dangling off of one side and Hyunjin's arm around him to keep him safe and protected, slightly long blond hair swaying in the air from the rough wind, reins in one hand and eyes squinted as if to ward off danger, Felix's delicate profile resting against Hyunjin's chest and his soft blue hair leaving writings on his skin

it still was starkly different from regular fairytales, because in those fairytales, the prince charming didn't have his suit tainted with blood and his veins raging with wrath, in those fairytales the prince charming wasn't a liar who hid behind facades, the prince charming wasn't a murderer. But this fairytale consisted of everything Minho believed he'd never see unrolling in real-time before his eyes

Hwang Hyunjin; the man he had known for as long as he could remember, helping down someone from a horse he'd rode with them, holding them in his arms as he headed straight inside his mansion, calling out guards for a doctor. The worry on his face, the guilt in his eyes. Minho never would have expected in a billion years that he'd watch Hyunjn run up the stairs to his room he never allowed anyone inside, place a stranger boy on the bed so gently, and kneel on the ground beside him like his life was on the line

Minho didn't understand what magic Felix had done on his friend, but it was definitely stronger than any he could think of.

Once it was announced that Felix was fine and had only fainted due to the after-effects of the drugs and the dizziness from the horse ride, only then did Hyunjin settle down and decided to change out of the bloodied clothes, scrubbing his body under hot water until it was red from the roughness because he wanted all taints of that monster's blood gone from his skin. Once he was done, he sat down with Minho and talked through their upcoming steps, what they were to do next, and how things would unfold in the coming time

Minho would have suggested Hyunjin to go and rest while Felix was asleep but he knew better than to poke a bear he knew had his claws sharpened so instead he put on his best professional mode and got all the work they needed to get done. At least, until the news of Felix's wakefulness had been announced and Hyunjin was dashing out the door of his study again, running down the hall to see the familiar face of the familiar boy

Felix's lack of prodding around Hyunjin's profession has left him like a gaping wound that was untreated, he wanted to know what Felix was thinking of him, wanted to know what Felix wanted to do next with their relationship which was only a complication clad with sensuality. Hyunjin knows it's not a relationship, and when he ponders this scenario he doesn't think of it as such but then again there is no different word for it, situationship? he's not caught up enough to know what that term means, friends with benefits? they're hardly friends, bedmates? That could be appropriate but then again, could it really?

no label fits them, it's obnoxiously difficult and Hyunjin doesn't want to try.

Not when he stands before the man in this very same room they have done earlier and watches him glow in this ombré lightning. Sitting with his hands settled on his lap, back rested against the headboard and face turned toward the direction of the window. Hyunjin fights the urge to sigh and steps forward toward Felix, unconsciously checking his shirt by looking down and making sure there is no blood on him although much time has passed since he changed his clothes

the light coming in from the window casts such pretty effects on Felix's face that Hyunjin thinks he belongs in a painting done by some insane painter in the mid-1800s or a treasured sonnet written by some tortured poet locked up in a department constructed for agonized hearts. It spills in saturated beams like yellows from the sun's liveliness, orange from its momentary death, purple from its bruised and aching soul, and a blended red to seamlessly tie it all together