Chapter 1: 1. DAISIES FOR FORGOTTEN UMBRELLAS
innocence, purity, rebirth and new beginnings
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¬ EARTHY TENDERNESS
It was pitch black in Wooyoung's subconsciousness, so deeply immersed in his peaceful reverie that nothing seemed big enough to put him out of it. A result of a tiring all-nighter spent to finish his unsolved project about familiar's invocation spell-marks and its antics. But even in his utterly needed sleep, the thunder's rage was able to drag Wooyoung back to reality.
The weather was pouring outside, the sky's loud shouts reminding Wooyoung of where he was. There was darkness filling almost every corner in the spacious lab, only a few counters illuminated by the angered lightnings that would inconsistently flash at times. Wooyoung squints his eyes, even if they were barely open before, looking for a meaning in slumber. With a hand rubbing off the sleepiness and the other randomly let down on the table in front of him, Wooyoung comes to find his stuff all around the high counter.
Books and papers littered in a silent laziness, since he didn't really care about organizing when it came to studies, especially when there's not a soul he could bother and his attention pivot was finishing his project as soon as possible.
Another thunder strikes, seemingly closer than last time– it turns on a button in Wooyoung, who immediately remembers he shouldn't be in the lab, adrenaline ripping off any drowsy sign of him.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Every single student knew it was forbidden to stay in the labs after class hours, which was common sense as magical labs– especially the conjuring ones– could often be endangered by vile creatures or side-effects from previous reactions.
But unfortunately, Wooyoung wasn't known for his common sense.
Reason why he sneaked in when there was no one around, using a little trick to summon the door key from the janitor's board– a mischievous side of his major privileges– to get in. In his moral defense, the project was due for the next day and since the exams would start next week, he couldn't let this slip.
Besides, it was far more secure to do spell-marks in the lab than anywhere else. Wooyoung actually tried to do it in the dorms, but after accidentally invoking his neighbor's familiar by mistake, he decided the invasion was for the best.
But if someone caught him, Wooyoung would be dead, real dead meat. Which is why he hurriedly gathered his stuff, messily shoving everything inside his bag, too focused on doing it fast.
Safe for his essay, the one he took time to carefully stack it in.
Scrambling on his feet to get to the door, Wooyoung takes one last look at the room to check if he forgot anything that could lead to him. Not caring enough and oblivious to the bright lightnings in the sky, Wooyoung runs down the hallway. Everything was empty, only shadows and the occasional contemporary statue here and there– much to Wooyoung's frightened heart– as expected from an early moody Wednesday. Honestly, if there was someone there at five in the morning besides him, then it would be worrisome.
By now, his eyes were well-accustomed to the lack of illumination. His fingers were still shaking a bit, maybe from being suddenly awake– but Wooyoung had this itchy hunch that it was because of his anxiety. It may not seem like it, but gothic biker aesthetic aside, he wasn't an anarchist of any kind.
His getaway was practically a success, Wooyoung could already see the entrance door giving an opening to the dark cloudy sky. Finally having the nerves to slow down and regain his breath, his lungs were already crying in pain from the lack of air. Wooyoung bends forward, gripping the black fabric on his thighs as his equally dusky hair hidden his vision. Well, fuck.
Of course it was raining, a thunder had woken him up. A loud shout, screaming the pouring presence Wooyoung uselessly forgotten. He also forgot to bring an umbrella an–
"Hey! what are you doing here?!"
Looking behind, there was a chubby guard coming after him, flashlight dancing on the shadows as he jogged. Wooyoung groans, already feeling the soreness the future running would bring to his body.
"Uh, I'm sorry, dude–" Wooyoung sprints to the door, maneuvering a paper clip to the knob. His heart beating shrilly in his ear. Thankfully, the entry door was easy to unlock– "but I gotta go!"
"You can't be here! Students are not allowed–"
"That's why I'm leaving!" With a panicked chuckle, Wooyoung throws the stolen key in the guard's face, who stumbles to catch it. "Here, thanks for the key."
The security guard fails to pick it, letting it fall to the ground. An easy target, to say the minimum. Just as he crouches to get it from the ground, Wooyoung slips through the door with his bag tucked inside his denim jacket– an attempt to postpone his papers to get soaked from the rain.
Which wouldn't take long since it was fucking pouring.
The raindrops were hard against Wooyoung's skin, gelid fillets sliding down his nape. From the shivering and numb lips, he decided to look out for a shelter before hipotermia would get to him. There was no way he could stay by the closest building's walls, the ragged wind was shooting water against it, and inside– with the security watching out for him– was not even an option. With a breathy grunt, Wooyoung curses at the weather.
Until his eyes catch a glimpse of a light, ghosting in the corner, just behind the construction to his left.
He sprints for it, starting to feel his denim getting damp by the tic. Luckily, hidden after the nature department, was the communal greenhouse. Its lights shining brightly in the grayish violet tinted sky, visible clouds of green and earthy colors making itself present from the glassy walls.
Wooyoung doesn't think twice before going for it, grateful for the easy path and barging in before the sneaky droplets could soak his notes on the bag. His breathing was uneasy, both from the coldness and running, but now he could make up for it. Wooyoung glances around, hand sweeping his wet locks back. "Hello? I'm sorry for entering like this, it's just..."
Between small trees and vivid bushes, it seemed like Wooyoung was talking to nobody.
"... pouring outside and I had nowhere else to go, I guess."
Maybe the last person in here forgot to lock it rightfully. In such a hurry that they even left the lights on, or maybe this place wasn't as well maintained as he thought. Either way, Wooyoung couldn't help but think that the universe must be on his side today.
His knowledge about plants and botany was limited to the beans he had grown once in middle school. Still, Wooyoung had to admit that the greenhouse was stunning gorgeous. So many different plants, he couldn't even begin to count. Deep bright colors popping from the greenish scrubs, it was a soothing change for Wooyoung's tired eyes.
It's a shame such a beautiful place was more than often left aside by the university, equally forgotten by the students themselves.
In general, institutions with magical majors would always spend all resources on it. Yes, magic was more expensive– but they were also more recognized than others, the ones that bring prestige and sponsors. Especially when it came to witchcraft, society definitely had a complex about it.
Witchcraft is such a useful and powerful knowledge, surely a guarantee to a successful career as it could be applied to anything. Better than machines, crafters had multiple processes and, as people, they could adapt to every needed situation. Departments like that would take the all spotlight in any campus, leaving common majors to be neglected.
Well, witchcraft was indeed a successful path if it wasn't necromancy. Much to Wooyoung's delight.
Tired from roaming in the greenhouse, Wooyoung finds a white hand-painted bench sitting below a small tree with reddish flowers.
"I wouldn't sit there if I was you."
What he didn't notice was a boy, a blue haired boy high in the stairs, who stopped his watering work to look down on the intruder. Making Wooyoung jump, frightened from the creepy gardener.
"You'll crunch the daisies under the bench with your feet if you do it."
Wooyoung stares at him, confused for both the boy's origins and the warning, asking himself why would someone make a bench to not sit on it.
And maybe, just maybe, he was also staring because the male was stunning– cute and charming features complementing his face. Fluffy blue hair waterfalling in his eyes, two small clips seemingly useless to hold it back.
Perhaps he just moved around so much, it had slipped back down.
He doesn't say anything else, peaceful and impassive look directed to Wooyoung. It held tenderness, the same you felt from the muddy smell after-rain. Earthy, grounded gentleness bathed by sky's tears, gathering all the suffering to make life from it. Feeding seeds to make flowers blossom from it. Creating beauty from hardship.
"I'm Wooyoung." He tries, "I study conjuring in a nearby building."
There's a gentle tune in the boy's voice as he proceeds to water the plants. "Nice to meet you, Wooyoung from conjuring."
His hair is sticky on his forehead again, the intruding breeze from outside making his body chilly. He puts his bag on the bench instead, swinging his arms to rip off the freezing from his body. Your mind is stronger than the cold, stronger than the cold.
"What are you doing here, exactly?" Wooyoung takes a look at his watch, it wasn't even half past six.
"Watering peonies." the gardener climbs down from the stair, moving it to another point in the corridor. "I always take care of the greenhouse, actually."
"Why is that?"
Wooyoung is taken aback by the boy, who intensely glares at him. For some reason, he felt like the gardener was also startled by his question. Or his annoying insistence in this conversation. Wooyoung shouldn't have opened his mouth.
For a split second, the boy blinks multiple times.
"I love doing it." The gentle smile is back at his face, whitey clips almost shining under the bright lamp.
He was mesmerized once more, so deep in the boy's small crinkles that Wooyoung didn't realize the itching on his nose. Noticing it only when he pointedly sneezes– simultaneously happening at the exact time a thunder roared outside.
The stranger giggles with its odd connection and Wooyoung's chest flutters, enhanced by the other's soft expression.
"Do you want something to change?" Flower boy points at Wooyoung's wet clothes, getting a nod as response.
The gardener leaves the stair in place, walking over to the back on the white tiled floor. It seemed crunchy, probably because of the dirty from the plants that would fall on it. But in every step, there was this disturbing noise. Similar to gremlin's teeth gritting– is there gremlins underground?
In the back, beside the full-of-fertilizer bookcase, was a box on the ground filled with clothes. He was given an old tee and a hoodie with the biology major's emblem on it. Apparently, people would often get dirty from gardening and the teachers would mostly get mad at his sloppy students, so there was always clothing laying around.
With the clothes in hands, Wooyoung searches for the boy, who was now taking a sack of 'Healthy Sunshine' from the shelf. And just like the thunder woke him up to his surroundings– the sound of the sack hitting the wheelbarrow made him notice there was no place to change.
"Is there a bathroom... I could... use?" Wooyoung tries, eyes following the boy's trail.
The gardener was already gone, back turned and attention solely focused on fertilizing a medium size tree.
Ignored. But at least he could hide behind the bookcase to change in peace. Not a creepy weirdo. Surprisingly.
Putting the wet clothes in a plastic bag he found laying in the table, Wooyoung lets his mind wonder around the glassy structure. Crystal walls and ceiling smudged by the time and nature, both from weather and the growing plants– but clean enough so he could see reflexions in it. Maybe this place was more well-maintained than he previously thought.
Just like with ghosts, Wooyoung could lose himself between reality and the mirrored illusion. From the giant tree in the middle to the multiple vases floating here and there. Everything could be seen with such perfection in the glass that, somewhere along the way, your eyes wouldn't really care if it was illusion or not.
But, as always, it's harder to be kept in the doss. It only takes a piece of truth– of harsh, concrete truth– to be brought back.
It's a staircase going up in the corner, leading to the balcony circling the sides, that reminded him of his tired eyes. More specifically, the odd pattern visible on the handrail. Iron molded butterflies reviving a quoting from his essay, body suddenly weighting tons.
"The rain has slowed a little." The stranger points, attention snapped by Wooyoung's loud yawn.
He was looking up to beyond the glass, carefully pushing a blue strand out of his sight without using his dirtied hands. His whitey clip was practically just hanging by now. The muddy smell seemed even more peaceful in the sunrise bliss, lighting kissing their way out from the enraged clouds.
Another look on his watch tells him it was almost 7am, reason why other building had begun to light up. "Yeah, i think it's time to go. Thanks for the clothes."
"No problem." The boy just waves off with a soft smile.
Simply ethereal. Affecting even his frozen legs, making them wobble in the slightest as he walks away.
Maybe too much.
Reason why Wooyoung went home feeling delusional, the clouds in the sky mirroring the ones in his head. He was thinking that, perhaps, the flower boy was a spirit. Maybe a product from his imagination.
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¬ TORRENTIAL MADNESS.
When Wooyoung was little, he couldn't really control his body's form, mostly sticking to his human state as it was the predominant one. Not that he didn't make efforts to achieve it, it was just too hard to even change small body parts. Always looking up to his parents and brother, wishing he could also shift like them, with graceful fluidity. Like water in a river.
After all, a shapeshifter's pride is the precise, smooth control of their ability.
"Not going to play anymore?" Daesung bumped their shoulders, a gentle grin plastered on his face.
"I hurt my knee. Can't play."
Under the ominous moon, Wooyoung was side by side with his older brother, sitting on the balcony's front bench. Scratched knee held close to his chest.
The warm weather was docile to the children, bunches of them playing around the street. Running and hiding from each other in a muddle joy, their mothers watching from afar or making dinner in their homes. Lukewarm pleasure taking place between a few trees and lamp posts, smiles and giggles roaring through their chests.
And yet, Wooyoung's stubborn pout couldn't be bigger.
"Is that so?" Daesung humms, balancing his weight on the hand placed behind him. "Then you won't play anything?"
The tone in his voice made a thrill go through Wooyoung's veins, big eyes instantly gauging his words. Making Daesung chuckle from his brother's bipolarity. The way his innocence could be easily enhanced was amusing.
There was an implicit secret behind the question, one that Wooyoung was very proud to know of. As noted before, even if he couldn't control it, he did make efforts to achieve it. And Daesung was the one who supported him the most, teaching him everything Wooyoung could possibly understand in his short age. They played games– small but essential ones– where they would thumb war each other, but, with shifted fingers.
If Wooyoung could do much.
He never went further from getting feet paws or feline-like ears. Black fur and tiny claws scaring the heck out of his mother when it slipped from under the blanket, a sneaky idea from Daesung at bedtime. Wooyoung got a week of an earful for almost killing his mom from their little prank.
"What do you have in mind?!" The scratched knee seemed like a forgotten memory.
On that lukewarm night, the goal was to play with his shifted eyes and search for anything they could describe, so the other could guess. And incredibly enough, he was able to do it. With Daesung's words of encouragement, guiding him through their game– magically knowing every step he was feeling– his feline eyes showed him much more than Wooyoung could ever imagine.
Paws and ears weren't that amazing– of course, the sensibility and hearing was way more complex than most. But his vision– his black cat eyes– were completely different. A true experience from another world.
The moment he blinked his eyes open, Wooyoung discovered the blessings of it. Privileges earned by ancestrals from the gods performing on his own skin. It wasn't just empowerment from his feline nature, it was unearthly better. He could see better during the night– his pixie neighbor hiding behind a vase was a clear sight, even from miles away.
It was known that black cats were tantalizing creatures of mystic, it wasn't for nothing that witches thought they were a blessing. The untouchable world has always been drawn to black cats. Reason why they could swift along both sides. And for being a black cat, he could see– sitting in a corner of the sidewalk, right next to the brownish vase– the pixie's grandfather watching her from afar. Ghosts, spirits, invisible creatures– all of them, could be seen in his black cat eyes. The untouchable world was a fluid woof in the concrete world.
Wooyoung couldn't be more stunned by the dead, feeling like he was made for it.
"Made for what?!"
At the time, it took a few minutes to explain to his panicked brother that he didn't mean to die– but for death. Later he learned that it was actually called necromancy, not death itself.
"Hey, Wooyoung!"
The familiar voice comes closer to him, snapping his concentration from the camera in his hands. The dimmed pub around him engulfing his thoughts and making it disappear among the buzzling of small talks. After spending so much time in here, Wooyoung was well-accustomed to the once bothering noise. "Yeosang, how you doin'?"
"Just fine." He breathes out once he reaches the small table, "how long until the band starts?"
"They'll go up in fifteen minutes or so."
Yeosang nods as he slouches on the high stool, spinning it a little in the process. Without hesitating, Yeosang takes Wooyoung's drink in hands, small sips as he looks around. Which was honestly a normal thing, he got to admit.
For a friendship bonded three years ago, when both of them moved for college, a Cuba wasn't much of a big deal. Perhaps it wasn't so long but when you see each other so constantly as they did, it seemed almost weird to not grow in intimacy. That is– if crisp chicken wasn't involved.
"So, how is midterms?" Yeosang places the drink back on the table. "Is that essay still stressing the shit out of you? It was due today, right?"
"Yesterday, actually.'' He groans, remembering all the trouble he went through, "you have no idea. I had to stay over in the labs and– ha, never doing that again."
"Were you caught?!"
The growing smile on Yeosang's face made Wooyoung question his taste in friends. He crosses his arms, disbelief present as he raises his brow. "No. But a guard saw me, so I had to run."
"And then you were caught?"
Wooyoung's face twitches in irritation.
"Okay!" Yeosang raises his hands to surrender, "You weren't caught. But a boy can dream, can't I? What happened next?"
More and more people were starting to gather near the simple, wooden stage. Between dark walls adorned with rock posters and cold metal furniture, the whole place was heated with spirited youth. Wooyoung lets his facade dissolve into a thoughtful sigh.
"Met a boy in the greenhouse."
Immediately, the information piques Yeosang's interest. Enough it distracts him from ordering his own drink. "Greenhouse? Like, in your campus?"
"Yeah, there's one near my building." Wooyoung chugs the rest of his cuba, taking his camera from where it was resting on his lap. He feels the tip of his ears burn. "Anyway, it was pouring and he was nice."
'Nice.' That doesn't do much justice to him, I guess.
"He even lent me some clothes since mine were soaked." The memory of the disgusting sound of his wet socks squelching, along the crusty floor from the greenhouse, makes Wooyoung scrunch his nose– but funny enough, it took only a second for the thought to be diminished by a tender, earthy smell. "And he was kind of real pretty."
Even when Wooyoung was looking intently at his camera configuration– obviously trying to dim the burning on his ear– he could hear the smirk on Yeosang's voice, almost picturing the wiggle of his brows. "What's his name?"
Silence.
Such information didn't exist in Wooyoung's data, thanks to his dumb self. It just hit him when he got home, body sprawled in bed and phone in hands– ready to search for flower boy in any social media– that the gardener never answered his question. And for Yeosang, reality hit him when the waiter delivered his coke on the table.
"Wait, you don't know his name?!" He exasperatedly asks, body coming forward to directly stare at his friend. "What about the clothes?"
Wooyoung finally snaps from the camera's buttons. "The clothes?"
"Dude, you know you have to give it back, right?"
Yeosang had to raise his voice in the end, the question almost disappearing in the air when loud cheers were released. On the stage, in the middle of the pub, the announcer didn't have to say a thing before the public would react. It was an expected moment, procedure already known for the most.
The lights flipped, yellow and brown giving space for mystical violet and silver glam. It was time. Like he did every week, Wooyoung was there to film the show, so the band could upload it on Youtube later. He knew it was a green flag for his adored job to start. And Yeosang, as MIST's enthusiastic and Wooyoung's best friend, also knew that.
He just waved him off. "Go do your job. But for real, you gotta return the clothes".
With a nod and a hand on Yeosang's shoulder, Wooyoung aims for the stage, swimming through the people and trying to dodge any excited hand. It was unbelievable how many times someone accidentally slapped him during the shows, especially his face– or worse, his camera.
Ghosts would laugh at his face in moments like that.
MIST was an independent rock band who would always play in the pub, at least since Wooyoung knows of. They didn't have any contracts with producers, so everything they achieved was completely on their own. From composing to videoclipes– filmed and edited by Wooyoung, of course– or getting live performances, it was all thanks to their own work.
With a loud cheer and girlish shrils, Seonghwa gets to the main mic. Grinning widely as the other members followed him up on the stage.
"Hope everyone's ready to rock." He smirks, eyes roaming through the packed pub.
The music starts with Seonghwa's remarkable voice, tingling on the crowd's feet. Dusky golden strands glimmering in the purple spotlight as he takes the mic. The electric keyboard was setting the rhythm, melodically energizing them, like rising up a flag high in a mast.
The tall bassist instantly drops his head, a smile crepting to his face, like he knew a funny secret. Tiny pupils gazing through his lashes.
Mingi really knew how to put on a show.
With his tongue protruding on his cheek, the drummer skilledly spins his sticks. Wooyoung giggles at that, reminding of how San would clumsily bonk his head with it in the beginning.
When the drumsticks touch the cymbal, he licks his lips, stargazing at his own movements as the music starts to pick up. The song spoke of society's judgement and mistakes, criticism between subtle stabs. Wooyoung hears some people in the crowd singing along, excitedly clapping and shouting encouragement when San puts his heart to hit the drum's pale skin.
It shoots up right through Wooyoung's veins, adrenaline picking up with the song.
Mingi smiles at that, bass vibrating along with their souls. You could hear their hearts dancing in the dimmed pub, freedom and youth transpassed by the vocalist's words.
Seonghwa glances back at Jongho, taking the mic off the pedestal to watch the exact moment his fingers powerfully brush the strings. Wooyoung approaches him knowingly– as always– Jongho made a show for the camera, swinging passionately with the instruments.
He enjoyed being in the spotlight as much as people were delighted to see him in it. They were good at enhancing the crowd.
The music comes to a drop, Seonghwa's voice growing powerful in the silence filled only by the key instrument. Until it shifts up again, the whole band plays in an explosive outburst.
Wooyoung crouches beside the drums, just by the speakers. He stays in the corner to film, finding amusement when the vocalist reaches him to wink at the camera.
Looking at the other side, Mingi was playing with his bass directed to the keyboard player whose fringe was covering his intense eyes. Junyoung had this intimidating aura– Yeosang always said he was more of a drum's guy than keyboard's.
The beat sets one final peak, a vivid outburst of feelings coming up in shivers against the skin– electric bliss floating in the full-of-hope lyrics. You could see the energy coming from the band, all enlightened by silver and violet spots.
For Wooyoung, it might not be his ideal job, but it was really close to it.
The music ends with a strong sequence of hits from San, last note being sung by Seonghwa and Jongho in unison.
But the silence didn't last. Just as lungs would exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide, the band continued the show, starting another song. And another. Breathing in and out the sound, filling the air with their music.
"Yo, Wooyoung!"
Just as he was about to leave the back room– common privilege for him as MIST treated him kindly– when the sickening sweet voice of Junyoung called him. He puts a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder, patting it roughly. "You did a great job, huh? But, please, tell me why you barely filmed me."
Truth be told, Wooyoung had a grudge against the keyboard player, it was hard to find the beauty aspect that motivated him the most. More often than not, it was pleasant to leave him aside. And maybe, today he was so excited about the new music that Wooyoung forgot had to film him. In his defense it was kind of hard to unfocus from the other's.
"Did I? I didn't notice, honestly." Wooyoung frees himself with a grin, trying to avoid the upcoming storm. "I'll be sure to make it up to you next time, ok? I'm sorry."
He turns on his feet, ready to reach the corner where he knew Yeosang would be. The dangling light in the ceiling made his eyes hurt, reason why Wooyoung never really enjoyed the back room. Different from the others, who took their time in regaining energy while slouched on the sofa. Always leaving the poor-decorated room as soon as he stretched his sore body– after being crouched for an hour or so, his legs needed it.
But Junyoung didn't care, not-so-gently yanking his shoulder back. His intimidating aura is more apparent than ever. From the corner of his eyes, Wooyoung can see the attention snapping to them both.
"Jun, what are you doing?" Seonghwa spoke, pointedly moving his head to stare, "Let it be, it's just a vid."
Jongho comes forward, snicker on the tip of his tongue. "Why? Are you gloomy 'cause I appeared more than you, baby?"
It made Junyoung scowl, obviously bitten by the venom. He pulled Wooyoung back again, fully facing his front to tower him. Dark eyes visible behind his damp fringe, sticking daggers. As if Wooyoung would be intimidated by a douchebag like him. Oh, please.
"I asked you a question. I wouldn't ignore it, if I were you." He inquires again, dangerously warning consequences to an impassive Wooyoung.
He was clearly annoyed but still did nothing about the scum, just sizing him from his words. Wooyoung wouldn't let himself be dragged into this mess. The moment Junyoung puts a finger on his face, Seonghwa is by their side, shoving them apart by Junyoung's shoulders. "Cut this shit, Jun! No need to be aggressive, ok?!"
This time, the keyboard player looks baffled. "Aggressive?"
"You're the one pushing me, Seonghwa!" The false, disturbing sweetness in Junyoung's voice makes Wooyoung sick at his gut. He puts a hand over his chest, venom morphed in a feigned, frightened tune. "You're, again, the aggressive one here!"
As if he wasn't just about to do shit to me.
"What? I–" Seonghwa's face scrunches– "I'm not."
At that, San smashes his palm on the coffee table placed just in front of the sofa.
The drummer was stormed– absolutely mad furious– with dark deadly eyes that Wooyoung never saw before. It's been years, and Wooyoung never once saw San more than upset, with only a pouty frown on top. But now, he was actually fearing Junyoung's death for him.
"You–" He points, getting up from the couch– "You're a selfish toxic bastard! Always trying to make Seonghwa look bad in front of the fans!"
"What?! There's no–" Junyoung tries to retort back, only to stomp backwards when San lands a freaking punch on his face. Cheekbones throbbing from the roughness of it.
"Shut the fuck up! Always jealous about them getting attention–" San gestures to the others violently– "Always making Mingi feel goddamnit small with your heartless comments!"
The badly illuminated room never held such a tension, air so dense that San could cut it along Junyoung's throat if he wanted. He pushes Junyoung again, ferocious eyes almost ripping his soul. Wooyoung felt his chest tighten at the lack of air.
"Blaming his fame–" San shouts, rage coming as one more punch in Jun's face before Jongho could hold him back– "on the fact that he's an angel! Bullshit!"
From the corner of his eyes, Mingi could be seen lowering himself on the sofa. It wasn't uncommon for angels to be chased by envious people like Jun– especially when they had natural charms to attract people. But it wasn't an excuse to be assholes to them.
San shakes his body in order to free himself from Jongho, face red from the anger. He inhales deeply, trying to control his ragged breathing. Taking a look at Seonghwa– who also held a stern look– San chuckles humorlessly, opening his arms in defeat.
"I can't anymore, Jun. I might be the lazy one, but you're the one who always comes late to practice." Wooyoung watches as San closes the distance between him and Junyoung to the minimum. Stopping before him with a dangerous glare.
"Jun, you're out."
"Wh–"
"Never." The drummer takes his shirt's collar, making Jun cough own his words, deadly menacing as he warns– "never try to hurt my friends again."
Junyoung is left speechless, looking around helplessly, trying to search back up in one of them. Even Jongho, who went to hold San back, was far from helping him.
"Get out" Jongho demands, nodding his head to the door. "You heard him."
Wooyoung wants to laugh at the way Junyoung storms out, bumping his feet while landing one final offense– that had no effect– to all of them.
Fucking coward.
As the calming relief after finding out the earthquake meant nothing, San goes to the sofa again. Demeanor changing drastically to his peaceful one again. He drops himself face first in the brown fabric, letting his legs be crumpled in Mingi's lap.
"This shit just drained all of me." He whines while getting more comfortable.
The air finally comes back to Wooyoung's lungs, who can't help but chuckle along with Jongho. Tension vanishing, as if Junyoung's existence never went further from ephemeral.
"What are we going to do now?"
"We find a new member." San simply says.
It makes a short– but heavy– silence between the band, Wooyoung presence merely existing in the moment. As much as he was close to them, he wasn't in the band. Although he knew it was troublesome to find someone new, who would fit well with MIST. Wooyoung hears Jongho clasping his hands, roughly breaking the awkward mood with a smirk on his face.
"I'm going to get some drinks."
To which Mingi promptly gets up, throwing San's legs– and practically his whole body– to the ground. Earning more whines from the drummer. "Yeah! I'm going to get shit faced tonight!"
Feeling excited with the idea, they both jogs to the door– where Wooyoung was still standing, the corner where he wanted to meet Yeosang, forgotten midst chaos. Jongho latches an arm to his neck, bringing him out of the back room with a too-strong hold. But friendly, anyway.
"Are you coming?" Seonghwa asks, eyeing San on the couch– but going after the others nonetheless.
San lifts his head for a second, lidded eyes glancing around, before landing it back on the sofa.
"Nah, too tired for that."
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CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
maixtex
maixtex merry christmas!!
*proceeds to play jingle bells rock*
hope you liked my gift aka woojoong's first met. i was really anxious to post this one!
i think i heard 'some kind of disaster' from all time low 565263175751 times to write the show part haha.
with lots of love, ©maixtex.
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