I am Atlas.
luhan-centric | pg-13 | angst sort of
i wrote most this when i woke up randomly at 4am last night and couldn't sleep for another two or so hours, and i've been mulling over actually putting it up or not all day, but here, why not - enjoy my abstract ramblings.
i may or may not to do a prologue/epilogue to this. we shall see.
I am Atlas, I carry the weight of the skies upon my shoulders.
Baekhyun was chattering away enthusiastically, as he always did, but Luhan wasn't listening. The syllables spilling out from between the other boy's lips had dissolved into white noise, all static and incomprehensible, nothing beyond a fuzzy husk of meaning by the time it registered in his brain as being there at all.
He shifted in his seat, and he swore he could feel the sloshing of too much medication in his blood, weighing inside him like tiny anchors in his veins, tethering him to the ground. That was the point, he supposed - to be tethered, to keep your head from floating too long among clouds and birds and treetops.
As a kid, Luhan had always been told he had his head in the clouds, wedged too tightly between the stars that lit up the night and hid during the day. He had been calm and gentle, even timid when he was very young (something he had grown out of), and would always retell the tales of Peter Pan or Rumpelstiltskin to his stuffed animals, reenacting the scenes excitedly as he tried to be every character at once. The Frog Prince had always been his absolute favorite story, and his mother had shrieked when she found him in the backyard one afternoon with a little toad cupped in his hands, raised to his lips and about to be kissed (Luhan had desperately tried to explain that there was a person in there, and that it could have been the love of his life - a princess even - but his mother would have none of it).
When he was very little, he felt like a prince who would find his own frog to kiss, to save from a terrible fate so he could be the light that shone in their darkness, a compass to show them what way they were meant to be headed (even if he didn't quite understand how compasses worked or how to use them, just that they pointed northwards). When he was a little older, he started to feel more like a frog than a prince, like he was the one who needed a kiss, a light, and a little guidance.
Luhan still liked stories, but he didn't quite feel like a frog anymore. Now, he felt like Atlas, the god who had to shoulder the weight of the entire sky, secluded on his mountain top, to keep the heavens from crashing onto the world below.
From his peak on the mountain, Luhan could look down into the valley, and there nestled in the dip was his entire life; all his friends and family in the shapes of trees, his thoughts the singing the birds, his heart a worn house at the center, and there were woodlands and rivers and marshes, all at the foot of this whitewash mountain, Luhan at its summit. He stood crouched, bare feet grappling for purchase in snow and sleet, while his muscles would tremble with the terrible weight of every constellation upon his body, threatening to smash into the valley below should he falter for but a moment - but his spine was cracking, and his skin was tearing, and his feet were slipping.
The skies, pressing ruthless bruises into his back, would leak their blues across his shoulder blades, slipping down the rungs of his ribs and slithering down the back of his calf, collected into pools at his feet. They reflected the sight of this faux Atlas carrying the heavens on his shoulders, but Luhan would never look into them, never steal a glance at his crumbling body in the blue-tinged mirror.
He had never liked mirrors.
It had been years now, of skittering around reflections, be them in puddles or windows or the shiny metal of passing cars. Though they never uttered a word of it, he knew his parents found it strange; he could almost overhear their thoughts about how he had adored taking photos and being photographed as a boy - and now he didn't look at his photos anymore. Not photos, not reflections, certainly not mirrors. He didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he was severing in two, that his flesh was ripping apart and that he was crumbling. He was sure that if he looked at his reflection, all he would see would be dust and sinew clinging to broken bones.
Instead, he ghosted his way about, still ever playful and boisterous among friends, but sullen when he was alone. When alone, he felt as though there was always something... off. Some minuscule little thing, like a crooked painting on a wall or a stutter in a video tape, but there was something undeniably wrong all the same - and he was never quite able to put his finger on it. It was easy for him to drown in thoughts when he was trying to figure it out, discern-
"Hyung."
-discern what exactly had gone wrong, where-
"Hyung."
-where the missing puzzles pieces were so he could slide them into place, make everything whole and pretty and-
"Hyung! Are you even paying attention?"
"Yes, what?"
"Hyung, come on..."
"What? What is it?"
"Hyung..."
Brow furrowing in confusion, Luhan looked around, and it was only then that he realized it wasn't him Baekhyun had been talking to. He opened his mouth again, but found that little more than whispers could be heard, easily mistaken for a gentle gust of wind coiling in through an open window. He would tip his head, wave his hand and try to grab the attention of his friend, but wasn't given so much as a glance. Frustrated, Luhan rose from his seat in the cafe and padded towards the exit with a sigh, not bothering to leave any change to pay for his coffee (Baekhyun could take care of it, it was the least he could do for ignoring him). Right beside the door with the jingling bell that led to the streets, Luhan saw a full length mirror out of the corner of his eye, and ducked his head as quickly as possible, averting his gaze and hurrying out of the shop.
On his way down the roadside, he wasn't sure that he had seen a reflection in the mirror at all.
He wasn't sure if he had heard the bell ring when he had opened the door.
I was Atlas, I carried the weight of the skies upon my shoulders.
EPILOGUE
i wrote most this when i woke up randomly at 4am last night and couldn't sleep for another two or so hours, and i've been mulling over actually putting it up or not all day, but here, why not - enjoy my abstract ramblings.
i may or may not to do a prologue/epilogue to this. we shall see.
I am Atlas, I carry the weight of the skies upon my shoulders.
Baekhyun was chattering away enthusiastically, as he always did, but Luhan wasn't listening. The syllables spilling out from between the other boy's lips had dissolved into white noise, all static and incomprehensible, nothing beyond a fuzzy husk of meaning by the time it registered in his brain as being there at all.
He shifted in his seat, and he swore he could feel the sloshing of too much medication in his blood, weighing inside him like tiny anchors in his veins, tethering him to the ground. That was the point, he supposed - to be tethered, to keep your head from floating too long among clouds and birds and treetops.
As a kid, Luhan had always been told he had his head in the clouds, wedged too tightly between the stars that lit up the night and hid during the day. He had been calm and gentle, even timid when he was very young (something he had grown out of), and would always retell the tales of Peter Pan or Rumpelstiltskin to his stuffed animals, reenacting the scenes excitedly as he tried to be every character at once. The Frog Prince had always been his absolute favorite story, and his mother had shrieked when she found him in the backyard one afternoon with a little toad cupped in his hands, raised to his lips and about to be kissed (Luhan had desperately tried to explain that there was a person in there, and that it could have been the love of his life - a princess even - but his mother would have none of it).
When he was very little, he felt like a prince who would find his own frog to kiss, to save from a terrible fate so he could be the light that shone in their darkness, a compass to show them what way they were meant to be headed (even if he didn't quite understand how compasses worked or how to use them, just that they pointed northwards). When he was a little older, he started to feel more like a frog than a prince, like he was the one who needed a kiss, a light, and a little guidance.
Luhan still liked stories, but he didn't quite feel like a frog anymore. Now, he felt like Atlas, the god who had to shoulder the weight of the entire sky, secluded on his mountain top, to keep the heavens from crashing onto the world below.
From his peak on the mountain, Luhan could look down into the valley, and there nestled in the dip was his entire life; all his friends and family in the shapes of trees, his thoughts the singing the birds, his heart a worn house at the center, and there were woodlands and rivers and marshes, all at the foot of this whitewash mountain, Luhan at its summit. He stood crouched, bare feet grappling for purchase in snow and sleet, while his muscles would tremble with the terrible weight of every constellation upon his body, threatening to smash into the valley below should he falter for but a moment - but his spine was cracking, and his skin was tearing, and his feet were slipping.
The skies, pressing ruthless bruises into his back, would leak their blues across his shoulder blades, slipping down the rungs of his ribs and slithering down the back of his calf, collected into pools at his feet. They reflected the sight of this faux Atlas carrying the heavens on his shoulders, but Luhan would never look into them, never steal a glance at his crumbling body in the blue-tinged mirror.
He had never liked mirrors.
It had been years now, of skittering around reflections, be them in puddles or windows or the shiny metal of passing cars. Though they never uttered a word of it, he knew his parents found it strange; he could almost overhear their thoughts about how he had adored taking photos and being photographed as a boy - and now he didn't look at his photos anymore. Not photos, not reflections, certainly not mirrors. He didn't want to be reminded of the fact that he was severing in two, that his flesh was ripping apart and that he was crumbling. He was sure that if he looked at his reflection, all he would see would be dust and sinew clinging to broken bones.
Instead, he ghosted his way about, still ever playful and boisterous among friends, but sullen when he was alone. When alone, he felt as though there was always something... off. Some minuscule little thing, like a crooked painting on a wall or a stutter in a video tape, but there was something undeniably wrong all the same - and he was never quite able to put his finger on it. It was easy for him to drown in thoughts when he was trying to figure it out, discern-
"Hyung."
-discern what exactly had gone wrong, where-
"Hyung."
-where the missing puzzles pieces were so he could slide them into place, make everything whole and pretty and-
"Hyung! Are you even paying attention?"
"Yes, what?"
"Hyung, come on..."
"What? What is it?"
"Hyung..."
Brow furrowing in confusion, Luhan looked around, and it was only then that he realized it wasn't him Baekhyun had been talking to. He opened his mouth again, but found that little more than whispers could be heard, easily mistaken for a gentle gust of wind coiling in through an open window. He would tip his head, wave his hand and try to grab the attention of his friend, but wasn't given so much as a glance. Frustrated, Luhan rose from his seat in the cafe and padded towards the exit with a sigh, not bothering to leave any change to pay for his coffee (Baekhyun could take care of it, it was the least he could do for ignoring him). Right beside the door with the jingling bell that led to the streets, Luhan saw a full length mirror out of the corner of his eye, and ducked his head as quickly as possible, averting his gaze and hurrying out of the shop.
On his way down the roadside, he wasn't sure that he had seen a reflection in the mirror at all.
He wasn't sure if he had heard the bell ring when he had opened the door.
I was Atlas, I carried the weight of the skies upon my shoulders.
EPILOGUE