nct dream jaemin x jeno

dark corners

being a creature made from ash and all things evil has its highlights

~ inspo ~

chaconne by enhypen

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   After many long, tiresome years, a family finally bought the mansion and filled it with the gaudiest pieces Jaemin had ever seen. Ornate mirrors that would tarnish if someone blew on them too hard, outrageous fixtures that twist in painful loops, paintings of royalty of whom the family couldn't pronounce their first name. It was stuffed with junk, packed with so many things that the house became swollen, bending at the edges and puckering at its hinges. Jaemin found this all so exciting, for this was his most eventful year in quite a while, given that he could no longer meet a peaceful end and was left to wander the dark corners of the house. No one has spoken to him in centuries, he doesn't think anyone from his time would remember him - they're probably dead, dumbass - and he's become dependent on these homeowners. He needs their lives, their souls, their tacky decor, for it's the only thing that's easing the gaping sadness in his chest.

   There's a hole through him that he can't seem to fill. He runs through families like cigarettes and craves them all the same, but he's trapped. This mansion is where he's been placed for eternity, and he's got to make it work, for he can't keep running anymore. Jaemin's early days were overflowing with lavish festivities, waterfalls of lust, and a hunger so acute it cast his brain into madness. Now, once the opulence had worn thin and reality showed its cruel, sinister face, he realized he was above those in the house; they were confined by their morality, chained to a clock to slave away at. But not Jaemin, no, for he's become one with his morality - or lack thereof, in this case. He'll take it for a dance and try to trip it into a ravine, show its reflection back to itself in a broken mirror, melt it into a darkness that he can wear on his shoulders, weave around his hands, card his fingers through. His morality, frankly, is scared of Jaemin, and he would like it to stay that way.

   It's easier for everyone, anyway. Best for him to stay in the shadows among the dead flowers, and lucky him, Jaemin thinks they smell the sweetest.

   After the family settled in, Jaemin started noticing a boy. He looked around the same age as when Jaemin's life turned upside down, had blonde hair and an impressive build. He dragged his stuff into one of Jaemin's favorite bedrooms, having to slink under the bed in a rush. He watched the boy unpack, saw a CD player and crate of albums, rolls of posters and stacks of classics, and, oddly enough, candles. The long, waxy, unscented kind Jaemin knew from his early days. Interesting.

   Months passed and Jaemin learned the boy's - Jeno, he overheard one day - routine. He rose at daybreak, exercised in the backyard, which was a clear view from his room, came in for a shower and sat down for his studies. Most of the day passed with Jeno's head smushed against those textbooks, dusty old things that Jaemin took a peak at one night; nothing groundbreaking, just he was a psychology freak and harbored a strange obsession with mental disorders. Jaemin was all for self-expression, but a mansion secluded in the countryside with stacks of Freud to pass one's time had him extra observant. Once his studies concluded, he was off to dinner, then to a dedicated 'free time' that entailed one of the following: reading, sketching, or swimming, and he was off to bed. It was a schedule that became dull to Jaemin, and he couldn't leave his house, so Jeno's got to keep him entertained somehow.

   Then, one night, when Jaemin was paging through a compilation of case studies, he heard a creak, looking up just in time to see Jeno roll upright and pause. He was being stared at, Jaemin, and all he did was sit and stare back. This wasn't a first, but there had been a turn of a century.

   Jeno rubbed his eyes before croaking out, "Who are you?"

   He sounded... intrigued. Most were petrified, and Jaemin would give them that, it's not every day you see someone like him.

   "What do you want me to be?"

   Jeno titled his head. Fuck, this usually goes bad.

   "A friend."

   Given that Jaemin hadn't heard the word in a while, he was taken aback. Someone saw the monster in their closet and reached out their hand to shake; he wasn't the slightest bit scared. Who is this kid?

   Whatever happened that night was not brought up again until a week later, when Jeno explicitly stayed up until twilight hit. Jaemin rounded a corner, entered his room for another cozy read about neurological malfunctions, and was stopped in his tracks. He was awake and waiting for him. This became a new addition to Jeno's routine, and it made Jaemin feel conflicted. He was a creature in the shadows of their darkest corners, yet some boy wanted to draw him, inspect him. All his life he's been ignored, cast aside, and forgotten, that he ended up forgetting about himself too. Yet, this could be good; he's been abandoned, yes, but maybe there was something someone wasn't telling him. Why would anyone want a friend who has sat back and watched life burn to the ground around him, walked through their desolate halls and admired the wilting flowers, the rusting doorknobs, the peeling wallpaper? He liked to toe with the edges of cliffs, spin knives along his fingers in hopes they'd slip. And, of all things, Jeno wanted to know more.

   Yes, this was good, and it only took a couple months and Jeno bringing him out into the backyard. There was a patio strewn with woven chairs and sofas, hedges that flanked the sides of the house, and a wide expanse of grass. It felt nice under his feet, something colder than him. The boy started spinning, the headphones of his CD player tight around his ears. He spun in wobbly circles, almost drunk, and Jaemin indulged with a venomous smile, an evil slash across his face. This was all so reminiscent, of what, Jaemin couldn't place it. This dance felt right, Jeno felt right, and their relationship felt right, like this was supposed to happen. Like he knew this was going to happen.

   Now, Jaemin's been at this house for years, so this was not something new to him, but it was different. Jeno didn't flinch, didn't show outward signs of fear; he had what Jaemin liked to call a 'deadly curiosity' that would have suited greatly if directed at his dictionaries, not the thing that lived under his bed. It was the curiosity that brought the two of them outside that night, Jeno wondering if Jaemin could go anywhere else aside from the house. He was testing Jaemin's limits, and unbeknownst to him, Jeno would come to find out there were no limits to him. Jaemin was a constant, an infinite, and because it took him so long to figure that out, Jaemin is just now prodding with the terms and conditions of his sentence, which just so happened to include Jeno as well.

   What became abundantly clear as summer turned to autumn was that the darkness caved to Jaemin's will, bent to his every command. Jeno clued into that fact not long after voicing an observation of his on a snowy, chilly night: Jaemin was really lonely. At first, it stung, burned through him and scorched the ends of his fingers. How dare he label Jaemin as lonely, he doesn't even know the first thing about it. How it's all-consuming, hungry yet never sated; how it's impossible to trick, even harder to outsmart; how it never leaves you alone. It becomes your new friend, lover, partner, and despite his efforts to shake it, Jaemin can never get rid of it. Since he found a way to evade Death, the creature sent his evil older sister as revenge. Spiteful pieces of shit.

   Soon after, Jaemin began embracing this 'loneliness' - he still didn't believe the nonsense coming out of Jeno's mouth. Just because he reads Skinner and self-help books for pleasure doesn't mean he knows what he's talking about. The boy is bound by something, Jaemin isn't, so if anything, the latter should be making the calls here. Regardless, if this loneliness of his was so potent and present as Jeno says it is, maybe he's mistaking it for the shadows that decorate his hands, the dead flowers he likes to keep in his pockets. Whatever Jeno was seeing, it was wrong, for Jaemin has never felt more alive. Nothing could touch him; death feared him, the dark submitted to him, and Jeno was the joker in his grand deck of cards. This was so...invigorating.

   Don't tell Jeno, but in the early hours of the morning, before the sun rose, when twilight was its most saturated, Jaemin would wish for something different. He liked the life he once had, but as time passes and memories begin to fizzle out, he yearns for something he can't remember even existing. Originally, he collected that longing and thrust it onto others, desiring not just their person but the life that flowed through their veins. Now, with all of those people sucked dry, he found it harder to indulge in those parties; they were still thrown for him, but everything became slower, like his life was dipped in honey. He just wished his honey was a little sweeter; he could handle the color, just not the tooth-rotting sugar.

   Jaemin had his flowers and his mirrors and was content, he didn't understand why he was letting some kid mess with his head. Fuck, Jeno even dragged him to dance, spin around under the stars and moon and just feel. Jaemin was tired of feeling, he's spent centuries of this worthless excuse of eternity feeling every minor disagreement, every keen sense of despair that coursed through his body. And death couldn't silence it all because, in case anyone forgot, Jaemin can't fucking die. He's stuck here, stuck in this god-forsaken house with its god-awful patrons and their psychotic fucking son. But, at that moment, Jaemin felt a freedom that hadn't touched his tongue in a long while. It was sweet, floral, vibrant.

   Jaemin was starting to unravel; Jeno was in his head, rummaging around, seeking something, and it needed to stop. But he still showed up every night in the boy's room, stayed for every conversation, listened to all he had to say. Dare he say it aloud, he was beginning to find Jeno bearable, likable even. Something about the swoop of his hair, the apparent strength of his jaw, the vastness of his back. Jaemin was fraying at his seams, and it needed to end soon. He was content with being called a monster, he'd accepted that fact long before this, but Jeno didn't see him as such, and that was the nucleus of his problems. Frankly, he couldn't care less what others thought about him - the thing was, they had to perceive him first, but that is its own can of worms - but Jaemin's come to notice he cares a little too much about what Jeno thinks, and he needed to put a stop to it.

   Jaemin needed Jeno to know who had the power in this...relationship, though the former grimaced when he thought of them as such. He was here first, and yes, he was going to be petty and immature. Jeno doesn't get to waltz in and dissect who Jaemin is whenever he wants, and while he's at fault in a way for allowing the boy to do such nor stopping himself from seeing him, please enlighten him, what else was he supposed to do? He could only entertain himself with the shadows for so long, and watching as they worked along Jeno's shoulders was quite a sight for sore eyes.

   One faithful night, Jeno sat on his bed while Jaemin lay at the foot; the boy had the latter's hand in his, holding it up as he fiddled with the fingers, massaged the palm. Jaemin had an inkling of what the boy was doing, and he found it assuming, for he wasn't going to find anything - not there, at least.

   Jaemin glanced at the window. It was open, curtains cast aside and fluttering as a gentle breeze blew in. He hummed.

   He pushed upright and walked over to the windowsill, took a seat. Jeno watched almost disinterested, maybe even disappointed if one looked hard enough.

   "Join me," Jaemin said, rubbing the area adjacent to him.

   Jeno braced himself, began to push, then stopped. He looked at Jaemin, really inspected him. Jaemin simply smiled.

   "Alright."

   The boy plopped down next to Jaemin, pretty close at that. This was new, for their fingers purposefully intertwined, their eyes pulled together by what lurked in the dark. Jaemin could almost feel the flowers in his pockets yanking him the other direction, taste the others on his tongue, the ones Jeno liked to keep on his bedside table. They were brilliant, or was that the boy in front of him talking? This was horrible - this was so right. Jaemin felt cursed, more so than he ever had in his life. All his time in this house, he thought the most beautiful thing could only be the death of what was around him while he lived to watch, for the finale is the best part; yet here he is, holding hands with a boy under the moon, surrounded by the only thing he's ever truly loved: the dark.

   "Please tell me your name," Jeno whispered, now but inches from Jaemin's face.

   Their noses brushed and Jaemin felt hollow. "Why?"

   "I would like to know the name of the person that I'm going to have my first kiss with."

   Jaemin didn't need to respond, for the boy melted into him, kissing him square on the mouth. The kiss was nice, warm, and tasted of something bright.

   He almost recoiled out of habit but brought his other hand up Jeno's chest, their laced fingers white from squeezing each other so hard.

   Then, Jaemin pushed them both.

   Jeno woke with a start, kicking his blanket off and scrambling up his bed. He was shaking, weeping, gripping the bed like he was being dragged to his death - bad time, Jaemin. Speaking of, he was in the corner, partially hidden by the boy's wardrobe, watching like he always was. It took a minute, which Jaemin understood, before Jeno stopped hyperventilating and looked around his room, finding him last. The boy skittered farther back on his bed, frantically clawing at his bedside table and knocking over his flowers. They hit the floor with a piercing shatter, spraying water and glass across his floor; it seemed as if Jeno didn't hear the sound, for he kept all of his attention on Jaemin, who just stood and stared back.

   Then, and Jaemin had to hide his smile, he started dancing. He spun in circles, entering the moonlight spilling into Jeno's bedroom and twirling around in its wake. It felt like a diamond veil upon his shoulders, a warm kiss. Jaemin skirted around the boy's bed and cast his foot into the glass, watching as his skin reflected onto the walls, his shirt created more shadows, his hands danced across the stars that decorated the ceiling. He felt nothing and everything all at once; the glass was but a brush of a petal, something that enhanced him rather than inconvenienced his dance. The flowers on Jeno's floor were starting to shrivel, for they curled inwards as if running away from Jaemin when he bent down to pick one up. He offered it to the boy, who couldn't find the strength in him to move, or so Jaemin observed.

   Jeno took a moment to really get a look at him, at the thing that he thought was a friend, the monster that he felt so deeply for. The glass on the floor fissured his face, etching pearly veins along his nose and cheeks, his forehead becoming three separate pieces: the facade, the reality, and the sinister in-between.

   "Who are you," Jeno whimpered, a lone tear trickling down his cheek.

   "Am I not your friend?" His control was starting to crumble, for a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

   Horrified, Jeno inched towards the other end of the bed. "You're a monster, a creature not from here."

   Jaemin finally let it all out: the cackling laugh, the wicked, jagged smile, the fat tears streaming down his face.

   "I've been called much worse, Jeno."

   In a flash, the boy sprung from his bed and ran, ignoring the gashes on his feet from the glass. Like always, Jaemin watched. Watched as Jeno sprinted down the hall, watched as his parents exchanged glances and sent him away, and watched as he backed into a corner and curled in on himself. And Jaemin smiled, he fucking smiled because he was cursed. Soon the family would leave, Jeno would look at him for the last time, and he'd be alone yet again. He was never meant to have anyone by his side, never meant to exist with everyone else. Perhaps because he was always this dangerous, or it was less complex in that the universe deemed him too powerful and separated him when creating the world.

   Jaemin would remain in his dark, inside his shadows, and never have the relief of the dying flowers in his hands. This was the cycle he was born into; this was the life that was chosen for him. Those memories of his old life? They were nothing more than the lives of the others he'd taken, warped them to fit his own twisted life. And worst of it all was he can't stop, couldn't stop, for Jaemin didn't know what else to do; all his eternity, he knew he could control death and wield it against people, yet when it really mattered, he could never shed his skin, hang up his coat.

   He was shackled, forever, and the only way to keep him from descending into madness was to shackle others, for maybe, just maybe, he could finally have someone to pass the time with.

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this might be a saltburn spinoff who knows...hehe

merry christmas and happy holidays everyone! i'm so glad to be back and please look forward for what's to come!

till next time <3