𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐲.𝐬. & 𝐥.𝐝.

prologue

"i'm telling you, this video will rack up thousands, maybe even millions of views in days. days, min!"

dongmin's grip on his motorcycle handles tightens, gloves feeling too restricting against his palms. "and what if it doesn't, 'gyu? what if it flops — what if i flop?"

there's a sonorous laugh from behind the camera, a movement that surely makes the footage unstable. mingyu has talent when it comes to knowing what sells online and what doesn't, but a motorcycle stunt in the rain, near the edge of an already-crumbling cliff? it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

the worn leather of dongmin's jacket becomes clingy, droplets of rain collecting in the hollow space between the boys' nape and his collar, as he shouts out a, "if my bike gets even as much as a scratch on it, i swear to god you bunch of idiots owe me 3 to make up for it!" before revving the engine.

he doesn't wait to hear their response, but judging by the smiles on their faces when he takes a glance back, he's presuming it's not a submissive one.

as the motorcycle roars to life, tendrils of thick black smoke leaving the exhaust in a way that can't do the environment any good, dongmin feels it. the shift in gear which shouldn't be happening, shouldn't be propelling him forward and over the cliff edge without warning.

dongmin's first thought is: it's so loud. there's screaming — both from himself and who he thinks are his friends — accompanied by a cyclone-like wind in his ears and all over his body, lashing at parts which were covered only seconds before; a whip so forceful he wouldn't be surprised if it left marks, red raw against his porcelain complexion.

he'd felt wind like it before, back in oido on vacation as a child, a particularly strong gust which blew his ice-cream cone to the ground and into a nearby passerby — a boy (presumably) his age with lips plump and eyes wide. a giggle, a reassurance, and a name: kim myungjun; that's what dongmin gained from his misfortune.

but, it didn't last into his adult life. like all good things, it had to come to an end at some point. inevitably, just like the fall which was bringing him ever closer to the ground.

he feels it before he sees it — a warm sensation, almost equivalent to the way large droplets of rain would feel in the middle of a summer heatwave; viscous and heavy — and then it's there. so very there. crimson in colour and dense; even more so than he'd ever seen before, real life or on television.

had he not known what it was, dongmin would've marveled at how picturesque it was. how could something be so red and opaque, even with pellets of rainwater mingling into it to make a watercolour version? he could only imagine that his skin, down his cheekbone and under the dip of his chin, looked like the most striking canvas belonging to a renowned artist, but that was all he could bring himself to do — simply imagine — because the reality of it was much less beautiful, a crime scene instead of a composition.

the noise comes next.

it's subtle at first, a soft hum in the background of every other thing contributing to the metaphorical spinning of dongmin's head, but then, almost as if someone has flipped a switch, it's flooding his ear drums. no more screams can be heard, no more rain falling on the solid ground around him, but solely what sounds like a kettle coming to its' boil.

it's insistent, and increasing in volume, until it becomes too much to bear. dongmin's eyes are forced shut, tears welling up and sinuses burning, and then — after what feels like an eternity of struggling — everything is black.

and things stayed that way, for 189 days.

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a/n: stan astro