People Should Be Less Like Ants

A foggy view from a clear window.
A rare myungxan crackship fic... This is more about the simple dynamic of the relationship the characters have than the characters themselves.
I hope you enjoy reading it...


3. 003

Dear Eloise,

When it rains, it pours.

The sky rips with the sound of tossing his dreams deep asunder, and shards of cerulean jagged edged glass shower him with little to no mercy. Black, midnight streams of salted coffee without stars. A sprinkling of cuts decorate his soul, varying in depth, in meaning. He shivers, but he doesn't beg; he doesn't stutter when he speaks. The chrysalis deep inside of him has rotted to the point of no repair; he breathes the forlorn hope of thousands of skeletons of purple butterflies. His fingertips sprout wilted flowers. And he cries mercy, he cries forgiveness as they suffocate him, pulsating veins dragging him down to the depths of fury filled hell. 


There is no bigger picture. 


Life is a side effect of death. And when people tell me that I, I don't have the audacity to matter in this world, this world filled with billions of people, plants, animals, hatred and love... It kills me a little. Why is this world so fond of killing, so fond of murky depths of unknown death?


Myungsoo looks over Xander's shoulder, admiring the spilled ink that adorns his parchment notepad. A birthday present. Xander isn't a professional writer, but Myungsoo thinks he ought to be. It's a shame how the jems get cast aside, sink in the ocean. The quiet concentration in transferring crowded thoughts from his terribly beautiful mind onto the paper in front of him gives him the utmost respect from his partner. Xander often wrote to Eloise, but as far as Myungsoo was aware, she was a pleasant figment of his imagination. 

He'd stumble upon upon Xander at 5am in the morning, writing to Eloise, or simply staring out of the window as the hazy sunlight as it took it's time, bathing him and changing him into someone new. Xander doesn't like himself, but his process in changing himself is regressive, useless. 


Myungsoo doesn't try to fix the broken, he knows it's a path of self discovery. The scars are just gingerly kissed with the hope that one day they'll all be shriveled and dried beyond recognition, diary entries of the past. 

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