hold me 𐦍 yeonbin

054ᯓᡣ𐭩

Yeonjun cannot react if he cannot make sense of Yoon’s words. They are reminiscent of a time he cannot recall. Something intercepted his memories when he returned to Terra, blurring them in an outline of blues and greens, a field of bluebells providing a barrier between his mind and that which he cannot remember.

Yeonjun nods for Yoon to continue.

“The pixie’s wings were destroyed upon contact when Taehyun brought his teeny tiny body into my lab after our…arrangement. I wish I could tell you why I was chosen, but as I’m sure you know, Taehyun is, as humans, capable of lying without consequence, so I could never be sure.”

Everything Yoon says is true. After Yeonjun kills Yoon, Yeonjun is going to kill Taehyun. Without a contract, without the promise of sentimental gain, Yeonjun is going to finish what Siyeon began.

“When the pixie’s wings were destroyed, I had no leverage. If I let the pixie go, he would never come back to me. Then, one day, during an open lung surgery, the anomaly inside the pixie erupted in my face.” Yoon emphasizes with his hands, mimicking the shape of an explosion. “Despite all my progress and effort, he vanished in a cloud of white dust that never existed until that day. I was sure I had blocked it all.”

White dust does not exist outside of Hye’s palace, yet somehow, Yoon is not lying.

As agreed, Yeonjun lets go of a small amount of purple that he had previously held back. Along with the horror he feels shame—shame he did not know there was a pixie with white dust on Terra, a pixie who Yoon killed. Shame that he let Yoon see his dust one more time.

“Is this what I missed when I had you on dust blockers?” Yoon gestures to the layer of purple in the grains of the wood surrounding them. “It’s beautiful.”

“How did you kill the pixie?” Yeonjun demands.

“I didn’t.” Yoon sits straight in his chair, legs crossed and arms resting at his sides. His pride sounds like shards of glass cutting into Yeonjun’s skin. “After his escape, the pixie went on to follow the only sound he found familiar—you know what, I’ll fast-forward through the boring bits. Taehyun made the story seem much more interesting.” Yoon’s voice drops. He’s excited. “The pixie flew away and, at the last gap between our realms, met a human,” he drawls, tilting his head to from side to side and rolling his hand through the air as his voice bounces with impatience, as if telling this story is a burden. “They fell in love, et cetera, the pixie refused to leave,” the speed at which he talks increases with each word, “the pixie’s dust depleted from the tears on his back until there was none left, et cetera, et cetera,” he finishes quickly with a sigh. He tilts his head back, like he’s bored, like this is a story he’s told again and again.

In a way, Yeonjun is thankful he does not draw out the time it takes to tell him the story. The quicker Yeonjun learns what he wants, the sooner he can kill Yoon.

“With his wings destroyed and an infinite pool of dust leaking from the scars on his back,” Yoon continues, “the pixie eventually lost every last drop of what made him pixie. You know how it goes. Or, do you?”

Bright white flashes behind Yeonjun’s eyes when he blinks. He is still in the chair, still meters away from Yoon, but he can feel the heat from the lamps and blinding fluorescents swinging above him as if he is under Yoon’s control once again. As Yoon’s confidence grows, Yeonjun’s wavers.

“Taehyun had no reason to be angry with me—I had no idea destroying his wings would eventually kill the pixie!” He throws his hands in the air.

Yeonjun flinches at Yoon’s movements, remembering what always came next. He braces for a sharp pain that does not come. They are not in the operating room.