✓ 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 | ateez

10:20

the walk from the treehouse to hongjoong's house is tranquil. the sweet smell of wildflowers and fresh air calms him down as his favourite tunes deafen his ears.

moments like these are what hongjoong lives for.

happiness is found in small doses, and this was definitely one of those times.

making sure no one else is around on the silent street, he allows himself to smile widely. his heart is full of good music, belly-aching laughs and perfect company. the perfect evening.

hongjoong rarely experiences times of pure happiness; times like these were stolen by school stress and pressure from parents and ravaging anxiety.

maybe everything will be okay now, he thinks to himself. he hugs his jacket tighter and turns up the volume of his music.

he closes his eyes as the first melodic notes fills his ears, savouring the sweet sound.

until they widen again, pupils blown and body tense.

goosebumps crawl onto his arms and the nape of his neck. the blood in his hands run cold, yet they still profusely sweat.

he swears he's not alone.

the sensation of being stalked never wavers as continues his journey. he turns down the volume and stares straight ahead and walks a little quicker. his house is only a block away, if he can just walk a bit faster-

and then the eyes that were following the back of his neck stop.

the feeling of being watched dissipates, and hongjoong breathes a sigh of relief.

idiot, there's no one here, he reassures himself.

he's been watching too many horror films and spending too much time with mingi.

still, he doesn't dare slow down his pace. he turns up the music to maximum volume and hums to himself, as if it were a mantra to ward off anything (not that there's anything there) that's following him.

a hip hop song full of bass and drum beats cloud his senses, leaving vulnerable hongjoong unaware of his surroundings.

and then he hears a scream loud enough to pierce through the song and shoot through his head. there's pain. pain everywhere. every inch of his body shivers.

he yanks the headphones off forcefully and tries to look around.

it's excruciatingly painful to move his neck.

there's nobody else on this street.

his vocal chords feel raw.

and that scream was his.

there's something sticky trickling down his shirt, ruining his new jacket.

he feels for his throat. his fingers go right throught a gaping wound in his neck, pushing into the tendons and bone. his cold fingers feel like ice in the warm, sticky blood.

he can even feel his slowing heartbeat dying out through his flesh.

he slowly pulls out his fingers from the deep gash (the squelching sound makes his face turn a sickly green shade) and he watches a spray of vermillion trickle a few feet in front of him. blood flows freely into his mouth, metallic and sickly sweet. he accidentally swallows, and the sensation of his own thick, warm blood pouring down his throat only to come right back up into his mouth makes him want to sob. his tongue feels heavy and scarlet stains his chin.
and yet he's as still as a statue; paralysed.

everything is happening agonisingly slowly. and all hongjoong can do is wait to die

his legs finally give way, and he falls on his back, probably snapping a few bones. blood soaks the concrete beneath him and dyes his mullet red.

he looks up and sees a boy staring back at him.

he knows him! he's-

but hongjoong can't quite place a finger on his name.

the blood loss tampers with hongjoong's once-intelligent mind and amnesia takes its place.

who is he?

who am i?

where am i?

am i dying?

—

welcome to illusion city!

population: 7