xiuchen | exo; wc: ~831 words
he's at his tipping point.
warnings: character death
a/n: actual first exo fic that i rewrote, mama!au-ish, kinda.
—grey edges.Jongdae frowns at the skyline. He’s been oddly concerned over his sanity, only slightly—no not slightly, he was extremely concerned. He’s worried for many reasons; he’s starting to become increasingly forgetful. His memories are slowly slipping out his finger like sand, long term memories, short term memories; they’re all slowly fading away from the recesses of his mind. He feels the slip, he can feel how the memories slowly spill over as days, weeks, and months go by. But the most concerning issue, he thinks, is how he got onto the rooftop of such a tall building, towering over the other structures surrounding it and why was he so close to the edge, teetering over the ledge of the building?
It baffled him. It made him dizzy. It made him nauseous. He catches himself on the railing, preventing his falling doom. His grip on the metal railing tightens. He stares down at the busy, noisy, mundane life occurring below him and wonders why he’s on the rooftop staring down at the small, ant-like people. He wants a reason.
Was he here to end his life? Jump off to end it all? Was it for a revelation? To answer unanswered questions that swirled within his head? He doesn’t remember.
His eyes wander to the sky. A dark grey looms over him. The sky is heavy with rain, ready to cry. Ready to pour the emotions it holds within it and fall onto the people below it. He thinks, maybe he did want to jump off the edge and fall into a blissful slumber? Maybe it’s to soothe the pounding ache in his heart? But what about family, friends, loved ones, he thinks. What about Mi—Min? Minsu? Who again?
It hurts. The ache in his chest blooms into a pulsing pain. Why does it hurt?
(Minseuk? Seokmin? Min—Min who?)
He recalls the worried expressions of his friends, the words of concern they gave him:
“Are you okay?”
“You’ve been a bit off later, feel better!”
“You’ve been getting forgetful, don’t leave us like Min—“
Words echo throughout his head. (Min? Minseo—Minsuk, was that their name?) It wasn’t like he wanted everyone to be concerned over him. He doesn’t want his friends and family to worry over him, to fret over his wellbeing. He didn’t want any of this, not when he still had someone he loved so dear—did he have someone? Did he? He doesn’t remember. Faces blur together, he can’t recall his friends’ faces anymore, fragments of their words rings in his ears. Memories were just a documentary, one with grainy film in black and white. Small sparks fly off the tips of his fingers.
He vaguely remembers a person, someone who was like him. Lost their grip on their memories, became someone new completely. Someone who was close to him. What was their name again? Min—Min… He can’t recall it. He needed to remember the name. It’s painful, the flower of pain grows, blooming more leaves, more petals of hurt. Why does it hurt? Why? He just wants to remember, was it bad that he wanted to remember? To remember the name of the mysterious person who holds his heart. Then he remembers.
His name was Minseok.
Minseok. Minseok. MinseokMinseokMinseokMinseokMinseok. His Minseok. His Minseok that was once warm, but became cold like the frost that decorated their lashes. His Minseok that forgot all about him, that forgot about everyone and became the personification of Death. His Minseok that disappeared months ago, leaving him to fend for himself. Leaving him to break down and lose himself in the electric currents and memories that slipped away. Memories pour in, more memories spill out.
He feels the tears prick at the edge of his eyes. More sparks fly from the tips of his fingers, attaching themselves to the metal railing. He doesn’t understand why, but it hurts. It just hurts. He found it strange how memories with Minseok were so clear and yet memories of everything else was a blur.
He wants Minseok back in his life. He wants him back in his miserable life.
Minseok was his only reason. His only reason to live up until now, but his reasons of life are lost, replaced with the cold persona of Death. Was that why he was on top of such a tall structure, teetering off the edge, ready to fall into the oblivion of grey?
A bitter smile tugs the corner of his mouth. He loosens his grip on the railing, leaving over it, slowly creeping towards the empty space below. Not enough, he needs more, he needs to be closer, closer to the sky, closer to the ground. He climbs on top of the railings, trying to stand on the thin metal and keeping his balance. The sky lets out a loud clap, applauding the man, and lights decorate the sky.
He takes a step forward. He lets himself fall into the clouds of grey.