✓ 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 | ateez

10:45

the bus crawls silently on smooth concrete, headlights gleaming through the creeping fog. the time reads 10:45pm and yeosang hops on, plugging in his earbuds and inspecting the rows of empty seats.

the bus is isolated, save for the driver and a small boy in all black. yeosang chooses to sit on the other side of the bus to the boy; the seat that had a little more leg space than the other seats (his favourite spot- perfect for admiring the view and watching other bus-users from afar).

the gentle hum of the bus engine and occasional soothing click of the turning indicator blends into his quiet music, and yeosang finds himself getting sleepier and sleepier. he slaps himself across the face (not too harsh to draw attention) and plays a much more upbeat tune to wake himself up. the driver whistles a merry tune to accompany it. the atmosphere is one of serenity and that weird nostalgia you feel on late night car rides.

soon into yeosang's thirty minute bus journey, the calmness turns unsettling. he feels an uneasiness grasp at his heart and snake around his throat. it silently and slowly suffocates him. he finds himself glancing towards the other boy frequently. it is too peaceful, so peaceful that yeosang keeps zoning out, unable to shake himself from the clutches of a dissociative state.

maybe he should sit closer to the boy, to stop this anxiety getting the better of him, he thinks.

the fallen night sky outside shrouds the bus in a chalky black that streetlights struggle to shine through. the darkness sits on top of passing cars and empty roads and lifeless houses, leaving silhouettes for objects and stripping them of any colour. what should be a stress free bus ride home from a perfect evening is slowly turning into an anxiety-inducing nightmare for yeosang.

the driver stops whistling, and yeosang has never felt more awake.

he takes out his earbuds to remain vigilant, and types up a number on his phone. wooyoung's name illuminates his face, and he keeps a slightly shaky finger hovered above the dial button.

call a friend if you feel anxious in a scary situation! his parents, his peers, his teachers would always repeat in safeguarding lessons. and for once, yeosang was going to listen.

the click of the turning indicator matches yeosang's fearful heartbeat now, its pace speeding a touch too fast and sounding a little too sinister than it should. or maybe, he was just imagining things. curse mingi and his intolerance for anything remotely scary- he's having an effect on yeosang's rational thoughts.

he breathes in calmly once, holds, and exhales slowly. he counts the seconds and watches his hot breath cloud the glass. he doesn't feel any better. his neck feels stiff and his muscles ache from being so rigid, he hasn't moved since he sat down, he feels like he's being watched, like something is waiting, something is wrong-

the tyres screech violently on the tarmac and screams into the night. yeosang snaps his head towards the driver.

a bloody lump barely recognisable as a head is slumped over the dashboard, multiple deep gashes from god knows where squirting thick streams of blood that shines jet black in the weak moonlight.

yeosang stops breathing. a gasp is caught in his throat and he makes a small, strangled noise, his eyes popping out of his skull in shock. he stands up, transfixed to his spot. what the fuck are you supposed to do in situations like these?

the bus swerves off the road and slips into a ditch, crashing through foliage. yeosang stumbles and cries out, crashing into the side of the bus. something in his back breaks.

the bus still hasn't stopped. it feels like it's picking up in speed. that is, until it crashes into something (yeosang suspects it crashes into a tree, thought he doesn't have much time to think about that) and the vehicle bends in half.

sharp metal prods yeosang's body (he's still stuck to the side of the bus), stabbing his skin. his legs won't move, and a sharp pain cuts into his skull. his phone, although smashed and destroyed, still blares wooyoung's name like a good omen. thankfully, it's at an arms reach, and yeosang dials his best friend.

what does he even say to wooyoung? can he speak? why isn't his mouth working? when did his tongue get so heavy?

before wooyoung can even pick up his call, a heavy boot kicks his shattered phone, and all yeosang can do is helplessly watch it ricochet across the floor. the impact of hitting several different things instantly kills his phone, and yeosang's last lifeline.

yeosang finally moves his head down to see the damage done to his body.

even if yeosang wasn't impaled by the sharp teeth of metal in his back, he'd still be trapped; his right leg is hooked under a low seat and twisting his foot at an unnatural angle. he's almost thankful he's immobile, since it seems any bit of movement would break his foot and cause excruciating pain.

he screws his eyes tight as he feels the shadow of a person loom over his small, frail, vulnerable body. the state he's in is pitiful.

it's the boy from earlier. the boy sitting calmly in front of yeosang just five minutes ago. a boy that makes yeosang feel like he's going to die in five seconds flat.

the levels of embarrassment he's feeling seeps through his chest like blood from a wound and stains his cheeks pink. he's so exposed and so vulnerable right now- the boy can see exactly who he is, whilst yeosang doesn't know anything about this boy. long, dark haired bangs cover his eyes and he sports a black facemask and black hoodie. he reeks of petrol and blood.

the boy in question quietly lifts a black combat boot and send it plummeting onto yeosang's trapped leg.

blinding hot white shoots through yeosang's body- even with his eyes closed, he's blinded. he can't breathe, the pain is too much, too much, too much.

his throat is sore, but he doesn't know if he's screaming. the pressure on his broken leg doesn't alleviate; instead, the boys pushes harder, and harder. so hard that yeosang now knows for sure he's screaming, his head is thrown back and he screams and howls and yells and cries so, so hard.

yeosang has never been one to overthink death. but without much thought, he's always wished his own death to be a quiet, painless, and quick one.

and it feels like his tormentor knows this, and is especially making sure yeosang gets the exact opposite of his wishes.

it feels like hours, days, years until yeosang finally dies.

pain by itself cannot kill someone, but the extreme shock of excruciating pain will send a victim's body into circulatory shock, causing fatal damage to the organs and brain.

this is what yeosang learnt in school.

this is what the boy in black learnt too.

—

welcome to illusion city!

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