S Y N O P S I S

Jaemin's life is an absolute wreck. A college drop out overtaken by drugs and has no purpose in life.

That is until a particular sadistic angel is sent his way.

***this is part of a mini series. there will be multiple parts for this!

Jaemin's not exactly sure when his life went to shit.

Perhaps it was the day he blacked out and when he woke up nothing was the same. But, that doesn't matter anymore. At least, not right now. It has no substance in his life.

Nothing really matters if you've already lost everything.

Jaemin giggles, cheeks flushed and eyes bloodshot red. His hair is mussed up from the amount of times he ran his hands through it anxiously, but now all he can feel pumping through his body is pure adrenaline.

He's sitting on an empty bus bench. The next bus is meant to come in an hour, and the wind is slapping his face and he's piss-drunk. A little high out of his mind, too. That much is evident. His phone is in his hand, casting a bright blue light against his pale skin. His canine tooth tugs on his raw lip as he taps on the contact that he should have blocked ages ago.

The line rings, and rings, and rings, until, "Jaemin?"

Another giggle escapes his lips. "Hi, Jeno." He nearly sing-songs.

His deep breath sends shivers down his spine, a thread of what used to be stringing him along. "It's three in the morning. Why the hell do you still have my number?"

Jaemin smiles almost uncontrollably. He stretched his legs out, swinging them excitedly. His heart is going a mile a minute, and he can't seem to control it. He seems to lack control in a lot of aspects of his life, but he doesn't really give a fuck. Honestly.

"You answered."

There's a long pause. "You called," before a sigh ensues. "Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?"

Jaemin's heart sinks in his chest. He's not quite sure why he called Jeno, or what he was expecting from it. Perhaps a fight—maybe a chance to get every dirty, vile thing that rested on his tongue like vermin out— but he should have known Jeno would be too mean to hold any grudge against him like he wanted him to.

He is too kind, and that was ultimately their downfall.

Another long silence. Some rustling on the other end, and a few mumbled exchanges. "Where are you Jaemin?"

His feet stop swinging as he shakes his head, uttering drunken rambles to himself. Flashes of tear-glazed cheeks, the shake in his own voice, begging for it to stop play in his mind, over and over again and the boy is reminded why he was meant to be alone.

"Jaemin?"

"You were a mistake." He says stoically before shutting his phone off, any previous hint of energy and elation disappearing

His eyes search the empty streets as he pushes himself up from the bench. At the nearest trash can, he dumps the phone inside, ignoring the way it lights up with missed calls. The streets are completely empty. Not a single soul on the silver-kissed roads other than himself. The world was unnaturally quiet, but it didn't bother the drunken boy. Not with his thoughts filling his mind a mile a minute.

There was an odd sense of tranquility in absent nights like these that Jaemin desperately clung too. The crisp air and soft air caressing his cheeks, whispering sweet nothings to heal his broken soul, and the flickering lamps as he stomped through the streets. As if it were all his; his own terrain.

Nobody could stop him here. Nobody could be a witness to his own demise, only himself.

Freedom is such a controversial concept. Everyone has a different idea of it; whether it be having the option to just up and leave, take a road trip on your own, carry a gun, or spew hateful words to someone who has wronged you. Any of those can free you, but Jaemin doesn't think he's ever felt more free than when he was blasted off his mind.

Perhaps that's what every addict thinks.

Only if you ignore the absolute deranged-ness you plummet into once you reach the peak of the high, and it all crashes down on you like a raining parade—leaving you with nothing but heaving lungs and a shattered heart.

He blinks away the tears that clouded his vision as he picks up his pace and turns it into a run. The wind kisses his cheeks and his jacket flaps against his body and it feels so, so cold, and yet Jaemin couldn't have felt any better. The idea that he was the only human in the world; and no one would know how to find him.

Sometimes Jaemin entertained that idea too much--it scared Renjun.

Renjun always said that, though. Constantly nagged him to take better care of himself, to get better. And maybe Renjun is just being a good friend, and Jaemin is being a total dick, but he can't find it in him to care.

That part of Jaemin left a long time ago.

His feet took him to the outskirts of the town, where the street lamps slowly dwindled down to none and weeds began to grow between the cracks of asphalt. It takes him to a lonesome hill in between two run-down houses with broken-in windows and peeling paint. A chain-link fence is wrapped around the edge of the hill, but that didn't stop anyone from running.

Jaemin settles down into the dying grass, crossing his legs as he watches the moon descend from the hill.

Moments like these made Jaemin feel like he simply wasn't real. The moon cascades over the hill, silvery pools of light pouring from the sky. The soft blades of grass ran with the wind and entwined with silk strands, and all Jaemin could think of was running with them. To lay his back onto the dirt and sink into the soil, be one with the earth even if it means he suffocates—as long as it's the end of his suffering.

He rests his elbows on his knees, inhaling a deep breath. Sometimes he wonders when his last one will be--when all the damage he's caused will catch up to him.

When those thoughts cloud his mind, he never can decide which concept is better. The lingering idea that each breath could be his last--sending him into euphoric adrenaline, or casting unknown oblivion over each and every consequent thought.

Goosebumps litter his easily bruised skin as he lowers his head into the dark pit between his knees, mouth hanging agape. His own breath rattles his body from the sheer amount of energy it takes out of him. When Jaemin has these somber awakenings--when the sun slowly begins to rise and that addicting rhapsodic high wears off and Jaemin can feel the bloody cracks attacking his lips and the dry, itchy feeling in his throat come back up like acid--is when he begins to feel like it'd be so much easier to sink into the ends of the earth and never come back.

That's why it was such a vicious game--being a drug addict. There is no sugarcoating it because that's exactly what Jaemin is.

Perhaps he doesn't want to be anymore.

Maybe the sun would shine a little brighter if he didn't wake up in the afternoon with a blaring headache, eyes squinting and cursing at the sky. If he basked in its warmth, would it shine its gratitude?

Between closed eyes, pitch darkness transcends into a faint, warm red. Behind closed eyes, he hears a faint fluttering and soil squelching under a newfound weight.  Groggily, he flutters his eyes open and looks up. Right on the ledge stands an angel of its own, tan skin and a smile that could battle the sun--so different from his teasing smirk that normally dances across his lips, but more than welcome. His sheen white shirt snaps against the wind, pressing against his soft-edged body. He stands against the blood-painted sky, the sun rising above his head in soft rays.

He extends his hand, the other behind his back.

A single tear escapes and trails down his cheek as he reaches up, hand enveloped by the sun-kissed boy's warmth.

He tilts his head, warm smile never leaving. "I told you I'd still be here."

Yay for development! :D
Jaemin finally accepts Hyuck's help, what next? Any guesses lol.

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