Psycho

He dug his nails into his back where the bones and soft feathers turned into pale skin. He dug deeper, loving the feeling of the barrier breaking and the warm liquid slowly oozing out, painting his nails a beautiful red. The loud cries coming from the smaller man beneath only made him feel more giddy, it drove him wild.

He bore deeper, gouging out the bones connecting flesh to wing. The bones sequestrating him for them. Seeing him like this felt euphoric. Kim Dokja, in pain. In his arms. Blotchy tears covered both of their shirts and lamentful whimpers of pure agony left his small mouth. Seeing him like this drove him crazy. The fact that he was the cause of all this pain made his head swim.

It had been three years. Three arduous years since he left. Everything was in ruins. The whole company had separated without Kim Dokja, the glue that held all the broken pieces together. How dare he leave them for ruin. He must have known they would barely survive without him.

In one swift moment, he grabbed onto the bone, connecting Kim Dokja to his wings in his bloody back before ripping them both out. Dokja screamed, ripe and unadulterated until his voice grew hoarse and he fainted, body slumping onto the perpetrator of his pains.

He made sure he would never leave again. He couldn't ever leave again. Not when was deprived of its wings. Not with his bloody back. It was for the better. All his companions would appreciate Dokja having to stay with them forever. Everyone would be so much better off with him grounded with them. He could feel tears that were once coating long lashes soaking through his shirt.

Maybe if it was like this, Kim Dokja would finally understand. This wasn't just a story. Not anymore. All these so-called characters were real people, too. People with deep feelings and emotions. People so complex that you will never be truly able to fully understand even over a thousand lifetimes. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't even understand himself sometimes. Why was he doing this?

He looked at his bloodied hands and further passed them at the unconscious imbrued man on his lap.
His pupils dilated in delight at the sight of his raw, open back still leaking copious amounts of blood. Such a pretty hue. He contemplated making it his favourite colour replacing black, but the fact that it was coming from Kim Dokja gave him too much of a bias. He reached down to touch it, causing Dokja to shoot up, eyes wide open, utter anguish running through ever fibre of his being. He gave him a look that insinuated the veritable betrayal he felt. He had never seen such an array of emotions on his face before, let alone ones he actually felt not faked. It made him want to torture him more.

Would causing him pain make him let go of the wall that stood between them, the wall separating him from the reality he so desperately denied? Could he slightly fracture his mask and see an emotion other than faux-happiness through the cracks? Pain looked so good on him. So raw and natural. It was probably the only thing Kim Dokja didn't need to fake as the torturous feeling was all to real.

"I wouldn't have to do this if you just stayed".

Him staying couldn't be the only reason he was doing this. But what other reason was there? Maybe Kim Dokja himself would know why he was like this. He always had the answer.

But it was okay now. Dokja couldn't go anywhere. He would have to stay with him, with all the people he so effortlessly managed to save. People Joonghyuk wouldn't have given a second glance if it was up to him.

Kim Dokja gripped onto his arms tightly, trying to hold himself up. Like he was his anchor. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but all that escaped was a groan of pain before he belatedly gave up and once again fell unconscious in his embrace.

Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk was psycho. His mind was completely gone. He raised Dokjas chin so he could get a better look at him. His face was scrunched up in displeasure even in his dream like state.

He stared, a grin splitting his face in two, ardour in his clouded eyes. So what if he was crazy? Kim Dokja was too in his own ways. All the best people are. He eventually let go of his chin, letting his face fall to his chest.

Hundreds of stories spilt through the gaps of his torn, fragmented skin, swirling in the breeze before fading into the unknown.

Kim Dokja would never fly again.