The Second Chance of A Suicidal Idol

The Truth (1)

MAJOR TW!!!!! ( 🛑 will mark the start and the end for it.)
    •    IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT

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It was quiet in the practice room. It was quiet and it was the morning, Ha-rin could tell from the birds congregating at the window. Next to her was the t-shirt she had worn while practicing. It was off and she felt the cold polished wood floor against the bare of her back. She only wore a sports bra and grey sweatpants that smelt only of sweat. Her practice sneakers were off to the side, scattered in different directions of the room. 

She couldn't see her face, but she knew she had a black eye. It stung in the back of her mind and all she could imagine was how ugly she looked like this. Her hair was oily and in need of a wash. Her face felt dirty. Her arms felt dirty. Her legs felt dirty. Her breasts felt dirty. And her eye was probably bad too. Didn't she have a photoshoot sometime today? She cursed internally.

She was supposed to return to the dorm after getting some extra practice last night. She was supposed to. She only imagined how annoyed Gim Mi-Cha and the others were right now. She had promised them, she really had.

She was gonna make fried chicken for dinner. And they would all cheer and gather around the kitchen island and munch down with happy faces. And they would talk as they never did. About external stuff, about cute fan art or fan mail they'd received or family relations, friends, new hobbies, maybe an idea for their next comeback. They would've talked and they would've been close like every other K-Pop group was.

She tried to sit up, but she couldn't. There was a sharp pain in her lower half. Ow, she thought, f*ck. Part of Ha-rin never wanted to dance again. Maybe if she wasn't such a workaholic that wanted to perfect dances, their dance instructor wouldn't've offered to help her out. Maybe he wouldn't've locked the practice room door behind him. Maybe he wouldn't've. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe he wouldn't've slowly approached her and block her swings of self-defense. Maybe he wouldn't've pinned her to the wall, the floor, against the door– with his hands traveling wherever they wanted.

If she wasn't such a practice bug. If she wasn't–

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Joon-woo awoke in a fit of gasps and sweat. He swore and cursed in short mutters. He had known recalling such memories to evoke acting emotion would lead to this. He felt his face and his eye didn't sting to the touch. There was a dark room before him.

He wasn't in that practice room. He wasn't. He heard Reggie's quiet snoring a few yards away. Ryeo Hyun was also in his own bed, sleeping. He was in the dorm. He was safe. He was away.
He scratched at his wrists, trying to gain control over the overhaul of emotions. His skin hurt and in light, would be revealed to have red scratch marks.

He kicked at his blanket. It was heavy. It was heavy and it felt similar to that of a clothed man toppling him. The blanket hit the floor with a quiet thud and revealed Joon-woo's legs in grey sweatpants. Hadn't he worn such pants that day? That night?

Perhaps it was the sound of the AC and the plumbing systems and the clock that combined to be so loud, that Joon-wo didn't hear the flapping of wings. So loud Joon-woo didn't feel the feet of birds grabbing at him, trying to get him to calm.

"-woo, Joon-woo!" Kite pecked at Joon-woo's cheek.

Ow. Joon-woo thought, going to hit the bird off his shoulder. He didn't want to be touched by anything. He didn't. He didn't. But then he stopped, his vision adjusting to the dark and by proxy, Kite.

"Kite." Joon-woo recognized.

"Did you– y'know– have another dream?" Kite cautiously asked, looking frazzled.