Tease
Title: Tease
Rating: pg maybe pg-13 when it's done
Pairing: everyone centric haha
Genre: drama, fantasy
Summary: Lots of drabbles about the teasers. I'll update as they come out~~
Jongin ----------------
3:00pm London, March 18
He hadn’t been sleeping lately.
He hadn’t been sleeping for a long time.
It had been a long time since he had seen the others. They would occupy his thoughts, fueling him and draining him as he kept running and running and running and running.
He knew he was being watched. It became second nature to turn towards the camera click, to let them know he knew. He wouldn’t stay long in one place, but he didn’t feel ready to leave the city.
So he’d linger. He’d stayed, wandering the worn streets and avoiding those who’d ask him about where to go, what to do.
“I’m not from around here,” He’d say with a light smile. “Sorry about that,”
Then he’d catch the flash of a lens, a tripod hidden in the bushes.
1… 2…. 3….
The camera snapped.
He was gone.
Tao -------------------
10:10am Barcelona, March 19
“Algo más?” The waiter asked, a polite smile in their eyes.
“No, gracias,” He answered, mirroring their expression.
The waiter walked away and he was left with his newspaper and coffee, leaning up against the corner of the little shop. Kafka, it was called. He loved that name, it reminded him of the stories of psychological turmoil and suspense, eventually acceptance, that his favourite writer had penned out many years ago.
He lived romantically. He would come to the shop often to write or sketch, but he was always isolated. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, just something that happened. He was fine with it, being alone. He was fine with most things.
That day, something sparked a rare burst of concern in him. The newspaper was detailing out a sighting in the sky. Ten lights, it said. Unidentified, but not alone.
He felt deja vu prickling at his neck. This was so familiar. His eyebrows scrunched together he read and reread the article over and over until the words were burned against his eyes.
“¿Por qué?” He whispered to himself. “¿Por qué conozco?”
His thoughts were cut short as a sharp buzzing pierced his ears. He darted his eyes up for a split second, barely catching the sight of the light bulb overhead shattering. He flinched, hiding himself behind the newspaper.
It was as if everything was in slow motion. The shards slowed to a stop in midair, the light bulb spring frozen, dangling from the wires.
He peeked out, scanning the area for other startled people. Maybe there was someone coming to clean the mess, the waiter apologizing profusely to the customers carefully brushing glass out of their hair.
Nothing.
It was as if time had stopped. In fact, he was sure time had stopped. Everything was frozen. A man was in mid-sip for a full minute, his fingers contorted as if he was typing before. The barista had a towel in a cup, his fingers looking like they were about to slip, but the cup was frozen in place. He was so entranced by what was happening, he didn’t notice the feather-like touches of glass brushing as his face as he walked through the aftermath of the explosion.
The door opened, he pushed outside.
With a slam, the door closed behind him. The loud noise startled him and suddenly everything was back. Everything was in motion.
He saw people walking outside, talking at the tables. It was as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly a scream, the waiter frantically telling customers they’d have the mess cleaned up in a second.
Something had triggered it, something had happened. He was almost sure he was the one responsible.
And he knew he had to run.
Chanyeol --------------
5:11pm Arizona, March 19
He lifted his hat, squinting in the daylight. Evening was just brimming on the horizon, but there was enough sunlight to last him at least two hours.
Still groggy from his nap, he stood up. Field stretched out in all directions and he stuck a hand in his pocket, flipping open his pocket watch.
5:06pm.
There was still time.
It was a lot of walking that day, and he wondered why he had decided to dress up. It felt formal, wherever he was going. He didn’t actually know: it was more of a sense, a sudden purpose seizing his chest when he got out of bed. He pulled on an outfit that he considered nice, but casual, maybe even a little old fashioned. It seemed to make sense.
Then he was off, leaving home with just his hat and his watch. He had stopped at a convenience store for lunch, then wandering out into the wilderness.
It was miles and miles of field and then he found himself climbing. Up and up, the trees grew more and more. The view was stunning, and he couldn’t help but stop.
There were ruins towards the top. It wasn’t like anything he had seen, the stone barely rising his height above the ground.
He stood atop the bricks, transfixed on the scenery. The moon peeked out from behind the blue sky, the forest looming in the distance.
“That’s it,” he heard himself saying aloud. “That’s where I need to go.”
Another hour and he was in a forest. The trees cast long thin shadows, stripeing the ground. He inhales the warm forest air, closing his eyes for a second as he took in the birds and the rustling of the leaves.
Something was wrong.
Well, not wrong.
He opened his eyes, feeling something stirring. He wasn’t sure if it was something nearby or something welling within himself, but there was a presence. The woods was getting colder as the darkness of night draped itself around the branches and the bushes.
He shivered, clutching his arms closer to him. He could barely see in the forest, and suddenly the tweets and rustling got more and more menacing. Fear was clawing at him, the lump in his throat getting harder and harder to swallow down. If only it was warmer, if only there was light.
And then, like the flick of a match, everything was ablaze. Flames engulfed every tree, engulfing every leaf, every stick on the ground.
Engulfing everything but him.
Minseok ---------------
5:07pm Berlin, March 20
At this point, he was too drunk to care. Skateboard under one arm, music blaring in his ears, he stumbled through the street, not really caring if he didn’t make it home that night.
But he did.
Twirling his keys in victory, he leaned against the door, shoving them into the lock and pulling the door open. His steps were uneven and clunky, but he still managed to walk up the stairs with some (very little) grace. He yanked off his hat, his hair sweaty and clinging to his headphones.
The steps came in rhythm, each step a beat his headphones pumped out. He leapt up two at a time, slowing to one during the bridge of the song. Eyes half closed, he reached the first platform, the second, stumbling and spinning with the music pulsing in his ears. He bumped against something, not thinking much of it.
“Entschuldigung!”
A voice barely pushed through his headphones, but he looked over to see a man glaring at him. Words weren’t coming to him, so he replied with a sneer, scrunching up an eyebrow as he watched the man roll his eyes and walk away.
The alcohol was beginning to wear off as his steps stammered. Dodging all the half-finished books scattering the floor, he threw his skateboard and bag onto the couch, not hearing if they landed cleanly or not. He slumped down between them, reaching over to cradle a cup of day-old water in his hands. There was a ringing in his ears. Maybe not a ringing: it was a spinning sound, as if there was a freshly spun top just waiting to topple nearby. He decided it was just a headache.
He didn’t wonder why the glass was so cold. Everything had been cold lately. It wasn’t an unpleasant chill though, he had always loved snow and ice, choosing skateboarding as his main means of travel since it was the closest he could get to snowboarding in the streets.
He glanced over to his hat, folded against a pillow of the couch. The fur around the border was a little wet, but he couldn’t fathom how that could happen. Maybe it was sweat. He reached over to touch it, just to make sure.
Cold.
He assumed that it would be warm and wet. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, why would his hat feel like it barely passed the freezing point?
He pushed the question away when he noticed the television had turned on by itself. A static burned on the screen, black and white garbled together as little streaks, a face maybe, appeared. Words flashed. He squinted, leaning forward.
Words?
Words and images. Edinburgh 15:25, what looked like a university’s mascot: a wolf head. White streaking the static.
Edinburgh.
Heart thudding, he felt something seize him. It was something stronger than the pounding music or the waning effects of 4 shots. It was as if all the years of living in his tiny flat, floating from job to job, were finally coming together. It all led up to this moment, this message. His hands were shaking as he slammed the cup against the table.
Edinburgh.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, headphone plug trailing behind him, he shot out the door. He didn’t notice the cup had completely frozen solid.
Sehun -----------------
3:25pm Edinburgh, March 21
It was cloudy, but that was to be expected. It was always cloudy.
He turned the corner, the familiar gaze of the Windmill Walk sign watching over him. He took out his phone, checking the map. It didn’t display his location, but he wanted to get lost today: he was following a different map.
A little check to show he made it home this day, he headed on: it was a straight shot, although about 20 blocks, to his house.
The weather was admittedly a little ominous, a little windier than usual. The sky was darkening a little, but he took it as a sign of the approaching evening.
By the time he got home, he was ready to collapse onto his bed. He shoved his hand into his pocket, only to realise he had left his key inside when he left. Frowning, he made his way to the back door: his brother would probably have forgotten to lock it after playing outside. The sky darkened, the wind tousling his hair. He smiled to himself, thinking about how, maybe, the breeze was mimicking his frustration.
The door, as predicted, was unlocked.
Something felt weird as he opened the door. He peeked in, cautiously stepping onto the hardwood floor. The air inside felt light: it was faintly breezy. He felt at ease, and yet something prickled at the back of his neck.
He glanced at the wooden plane floating next to his head. With a gentle tap, he spun it around, feeling the air currents around it, lifting it into the air.
“Odd,” He murmured, continuing inside.
Stepping into the main room, he saw his little brother and his friend sitting beneath their toys.
Beneath?
The toys hovered above and both children were transfixed as the gusts kept the blocks and cars afloat. From afar, it looked as if the kids were maybe telepathically manipulating them, but as he took a step in, they both turned to look at the tall lanky boy standing in the doorway.
His brother nor his friend were controlling the blocks. Their expressions were still, but something seemed to ask ‘are you the one doing this?’ He felt himself stepping back, nerves pushing up his throat.
The wind started picking up.
It started when the windows started rattling. He looked out, catching the last glimpses of the sun before it disappeared into an eclipse. An eclipse? The world went dark. The wind smacked leaves and branches against the windows, the clatter and slaps shaking the house. He felt fear gnawing at him, tugging. It wasn’t safe here, not in this enclosed space, not with people he knew. He didn’t quite understand why, but he had leave.
It would be better with no explanation, he thought, chalk it up to the supernatural. His brother could tell people that he had superpowers he couldn’t control and didn’t want to hurt people. Did he? Was the wind his fault?
Sharp gusts charged through the house, whipping up his hair, rustling the plants, and sending the toys flying in all directions. The two younger boys dove to hide, looking on as a near apocalypse experience unfolded before their eyes.
He had to leave, lest he hurt someone.
He sprinted out, slamming the door behind him.
The wind followed.
Rating: pg maybe pg-13 when it's done
Pairing: everyone centric haha
Genre: drama, fantasy
Summary: Lots of drabbles about the teasers. I'll update as they come out~~
Jongin ----------------
3:00pm London, March 18
He hadn’t been sleeping lately.
He hadn’t been sleeping for a long time.
It had been a long time since he had seen the others. They would occupy his thoughts, fueling him and draining him as he kept running and running and running and running.
He knew he was being watched. It became second nature to turn towards the camera click, to let them know he knew. He wouldn’t stay long in one place, but he didn’t feel ready to leave the city.
So he’d linger. He’d stayed, wandering the worn streets and avoiding those who’d ask him about where to go, what to do.
“I’m not from around here,” He’d say with a light smile. “Sorry about that,”
Then he’d catch the flash of a lens, a tripod hidden in the bushes.
1… 2…. 3….
The camera snapped.
He was gone.
Tao -------------------
10:10am Barcelona, March 19
“Algo más?” The waiter asked, a polite smile in their eyes.
“No, gracias,” He answered, mirroring their expression.
The waiter walked away and he was left with his newspaper and coffee, leaning up against the corner of the little shop. Kafka, it was called. He loved that name, it reminded him of the stories of psychological turmoil and suspense, eventually acceptance, that his favourite writer had penned out many years ago.
He lived romantically. He would come to the shop often to write or sketch, but he was always isolated. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, just something that happened. He was fine with it, being alone. He was fine with most things.
That day, something sparked a rare burst of concern in him. The newspaper was detailing out a sighting in the sky. Ten lights, it said. Unidentified, but not alone.
He felt deja vu prickling at his neck. This was so familiar. His eyebrows scrunched together he read and reread the article over and over until the words were burned against his eyes.
“¿Por qué?” He whispered to himself. “¿Por qué conozco?”
His thoughts were cut short as a sharp buzzing pierced his ears. He darted his eyes up for a split second, barely catching the sight of the light bulb overhead shattering. He flinched, hiding himself behind the newspaper.
It was as if everything was in slow motion. The shards slowed to a stop in midair, the light bulb spring frozen, dangling from the wires.
He peeked out, scanning the area for other startled people. Maybe there was someone coming to clean the mess, the waiter apologizing profusely to the customers carefully brushing glass out of their hair.
Nothing.
It was as if time had stopped. In fact, he was sure time had stopped. Everything was frozen. A man was in mid-sip for a full minute, his fingers contorted as if he was typing before. The barista had a towel in a cup, his fingers looking like they were about to slip, but the cup was frozen in place. He was so entranced by what was happening, he didn’t notice the feather-like touches of glass brushing as his face as he walked through the aftermath of the explosion.
The door opened, he pushed outside.
With a slam, the door closed behind him. The loud noise startled him and suddenly everything was back. Everything was in motion.
He saw people walking outside, talking at the tables. It was as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly a scream, the waiter frantically telling customers they’d have the mess cleaned up in a second.
Something had triggered it, something had happened. He was almost sure he was the one responsible.
And he knew he had to run.
Chanyeol --------------
5:11pm Arizona, March 19
He lifted his hat, squinting in the daylight. Evening was just brimming on the horizon, but there was enough sunlight to last him at least two hours.
Still groggy from his nap, he stood up. Field stretched out in all directions and he stuck a hand in his pocket, flipping open his pocket watch.
5:06pm.
There was still time.
It was a lot of walking that day, and he wondered why he had decided to dress up. It felt formal, wherever he was going. He didn’t actually know: it was more of a sense, a sudden purpose seizing his chest when he got out of bed. He pulled on an outfit that he considered nice, but casual, maybe even a little old fashioned. It seemed to make sense.
Then he was off, leaving home with just his hat and his watch. He had stopped at a convenience store for lunch, then wandering out into the wilderness.
It was miles and miles of field and then he found himself climbing. Up and up, the trees grew more and more. The view was stunning, and he couldn’t help but stop.
There were ruins towards the top. It wasn’t like anything he had seen, the stone barely rising his height above the ground.
He stood atop the bricks, transfixed on the scenery. The moon peeked out from behind the blue sky, the forest looming in the distance.
“That’s it,” he heard himself saying aloud. “That’s where I need to go.”
Another hour and he was in a forest. The trees cast long thin shadows, stripeing the ground. He inhales the warm forest air, closing his eyes for a second as he took in the birds and the rustling of the leaves.
Something was wrong.
Well, not wrong.
He opened his eyes, feeling something stirring. He wasn’t sure if it was something nearby or something welling within himself, but there was a presence. The woods was getting colder as the darkness of night draped itself around the branches and the bushes.
He shivered, clutching his arms closer to him. He could barely see in the forest, and suddenly the tweets and rustling got more and more menacing. Fear was clawing at him, the lump in his throat getting harder and harder to swallow down. If only it was warmer, if only there was light.
And then, like the flick of a match, everything was ablaze. Flames engulfed every tree, engulfing every leaf, every stick on the ground.
Engulfing everything but him.
Minseok ---------------
5:07pm Berlin, March 20
At this point, he was too drunk to care. Skateboard under one arm, music blaring in his ears, he stumbled through the street, not really caring if he didn’t make it home that night.
But he did.
Twirling his keys in victory, he leaned against the door, shoving them into the lock and pulling the door open. His steps were uneven and clunky, but he still managed to walk up the stairs with some (very little) grace. He yanked off his hat, his hair sweaty and clinging to his headphones.
The steps came in rhythm, each step a beat his headphones pumped out. He leapt up two at a time, slowing to one during the bridge of the song. Eyes half closed, he reached the first platform, the second, stumbling and spinning with the music pulsing in his ears. He bumped against something, not thinking much of it.
“Entschuldigung!”
A voice barely pushed through his headphones, but he looked over to see a man glaring at him. Words weren’t coming to him, so he replied with a sneer, scrunching up an eyebrow as he watched the man roll his eyes and walk away.
The alcohol was beginning to wear off as his steps stammered. Dodging all the half-finished books scattering the floor, he threw his skateboard and bag onto the couch, not hearing if they landed cleanly or not. He slumped down between them, reaching over to cradle a cup of day-old water in his hands. There was a ringing in his ears. Maybe not a ringing: it was a spinning sound, as if there was a freshly spun top just waiting to topple nearby. He decided it was just a headache.
He didn’t wonder why the glass was so cold. Everything had been cold lately. It wasn’t an unpleasant chill though, he had always loved snow and ice, choosing skateboarding as his main means of travel since it was the closest he could get to snowboarding in the streets.
He glanced over to his hat, folded against a pillow of the couch. The fur around the border was a little wet, but he couldn’t fathom how that could happen. Maybe it was sweat. He reached over to touch it, just to make sure.
Cold.
He assumed that it would be warm and wet. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, why would his hat feel like it barely passed the freezing point?
He pushed the question away when he noticed the television had turned on by itself. A static burned on the screen, black and white garbled together as little streaks, a face maybe, appeared. Words flashed. He squinted, leaning forward.
Words?
Words and images. Edinburgh 15:25, what looked like a university’s mascot: a wolf head. White streaking the static.
Edinburgh.
Heart thudding, he felt something seize him. It was something stronger than the pounding music or the waning effects of 4 shots. It was as if all the years of living in his tiny flat, floating from job to job, were finally coming together. It all led up to this moment, this message. His hands were shaking as he slammed the cup against the table.
Edinburgh.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, headphone plug trailing behind him, he shot out the door. He didn’t notice the cup had completely frozen solid.
Sehun -----------------
3:25pm Edinburgh, March 21
It was cloudy, but that was to be expected. It was always cloudy.
He turned the corner, the familiar gaze of the Windmill Walk sign watching over him. He took out his phone, checking the map. It didn’t display his location, but he wanted to get lost today: he was following a different map.
A little check to show he made it home this day, he headed on: it was a straight shot, although about 20 blocks, to his house.
The weather was admittedly a little ominous, a little windier than usual. The sky was darkening a little, but he took it as a sign of the approaching evening.
By the time he got home, he was ready to collapse onto his bed. He shoved his hand into his pocket, only to realise he had left his key inside when he left. Frowning, he made his way to the back door: his brother would probably have forgotten to lock it after playing outside. The sky darkened, the wind tousling his hair. He smiled to himself, thinking about how, maybe, the breeze was mimicking his frustration.
The door, as predicted, was unlocked.
Something felt weird as he opened the door. He peeked in, cautiously stepping onto the hardwood floor. The air inside felt light: it was faintly breezy. He felt at ease, and yet something prickled at the back of his neck.
He glanced at the wooden plane floating next to his head. With a gentle tap, he spun it around, feeling the air currents around it, lifting it into the air.
“Odd,” He murmured, continuing inside.
Stepping into the main room, he saw his little brother and his friend sitting beneath their toys.
Beneath?
The toys hovered above and both children were transfixed as the gusts kept the blocks and cars afloat. From afar, it looked as if the kids were maybe telepathically manipulating them, but as he took a step in, they both turned to look at the tall lanky boy standing in the doorway.
His brother nor his friend were controlling the blocks. Their expressions were still, but something seemed to ask ‘are you the one doing this?’ He felt himself stepping back, nerves pushing up his throat.
The wind started picking up.
It started when the windows started rattling. He looked out, catching the last glimpses of the sun before it disappeared into an eclipse. An eclipse? The world went dark. The wind smacked leaves and branches against the windows, the clatter and slaps shaking the house. He felt fear gnawing at him, tugging. It wasn’t safe here, not in this enclosed space, not with people he knew. He didn’t quite understand why, but he had leave.
It would be better with no explanation, he thought, chalk it up to the supernatural. His brother could tell people that he had superpowers he couldn’t control and didn’t want to hurt people. Did he? Was the wind his fault?
Sharp gusts charged through the house, whipping up his hair, rustling the plants, and sending the toys flying in all directions. The two younger boys dove to hide, looking on as a near apocalypse experience unfolded before their eyes.
He had to leave, lest he hurt someone.
He sprinted out, slamming the door behind him.
The wind followed.