(no subject)
Daseul has always been a gifted boy. Bright as a bulb when he was growing up, the thrill of gaining knowledge fueled him into becoming a very academically driven young boy. His parents happily enrolled him into accelerated programs and presented him with multitudes of tutors to keep him in a league above the rest of his classmates and peers.
However the busier his schedule got and the more demanding his classes were, the less enjoyment he got from it, until eventually there was no joy left in any subject he studied, and going through the motions of learning, recalling, and regurgitating into other forms became a monotonous task. Bit by bit, all the things he used to enjoy became more and more empty to him until he woke up one morning feeling like a robot whose purpose was to do nothing more than repeat information. Essays he was tasked to write were nothing more than repeated information corrugated into a slightly different form, new songs for the violin were only old chords rearranged in a slightly different way. Nothing was new anymore, and nothing was fun.
He stated to desire failure just for a taste of something new, but all the avenues he took only lead him to more success. There was no challenge left with each hurdle he was tasked to overcome feeling like nothing more than a small step, and all the people around him too afraid of his family to give him any kind of confrontation. There was nothing fulfilling about anything he was given to do left.
Until a boy named Jaejung showed up and started to relentlessly bully him. Frustrated with his inability to grasp the #1 spot in their class, he took it out on Daseul who could get it with ease despite not even wanting it. What started with intimidation quickly grew into physical assault with Daseul's total lack of reaction or retaliation, and Daseul loved every second of it. It was a break from the norm and the monotony of constantly taking in and regurgitating the same information over and over, and something he couldn't control and couldn't win; something that was always new and different.
However the busier his schedule got and the more demanding his classes were, the less enjoyment he got from it, until eventually there was no joy left in any subject he studied, and going through the motions of learning, recalling, and regurgitating into other forms became a monotonous task. Bit by bit, all the things he used to enjoy became more and more empty to him until he woke up one morning feeling like a robot whose purpose was to do nothing more than repeat information. Essays he was tasked to write were nothing more than repeated information corrugated into a slightly different form, new songs for the violin were only old chords rearranged in a slightly different way. Nothing was new anymore, and nothing was fun.
He stated to desire failure just for a taste of something new, but all the avenues he took only lead him to more success. There was no challenge left with each hurdle he was tasked to overcome feeling like nothing more than a small step, and all the people around him too afraid of his family to give him any kind of confrontation. There was nothing fulfilling about anything he was given to do left.
Until a boy named Jaejung showed up and started to relentlessly bully him. Frustrated with his inability to grasp the #1 spot in their class, he took it out on Daseul who could get it with ease despite not even wanting it. What started with intimidation quickly grew into physical assault with Daseul's total lack of reaction or retaliation, and Daseul loved every second of it. It was a break from the norm and the monotony of constantly taking in and regurgitating the same information over and over, and something he couldn't control and couldn't win; something that was always new and different.
(no subject)
He's always been pristine. That's something that his father has always prided him in, always bragged about when he was growing up to various business ventures and potential new connections. Daseul has always been the kind of son that any parent would fall over themselves to talk up. A true prodigy with the violin, straight A grades since kindergarden, polite, well enunciated, and poised. A boy who always knows the difference between serving chopsticks, cooking utensils, and which knife to use at what point of a Western-style meal.
These are the kinds of things that go through his head as he stands in front of the mirror, glancing behind him in his reflection to make sure that he's well and truly alone. There's not a soul around, and it makes his heart race a little; he lifts his shirt, just for one more look before he goes on stage. Behind the curtains, hundreds of people waiting in silence to listen to him play; paid for from his father, of course, but he doesn't mind. It isn't fun for him, it's just something he has to do, something he always does.
As he lifts his shirt over his waist, the skin starts to grow mottled and grey, with dark spots of yellow, red, and purple. Some of them are in the shape of fingers, hands, or the soles of shoes, but most are nothing more than swollen shapes going up his ribcage. A worrying sight if anyone else were to see, he knows, but in his eyes the shapes only thrill him and make his heart feel tight with excitement. He bites his lip just to make sure he stays grounded in reality; he has a job to do after all.
Hearing the door behind him open, he quickly lowers his shirt, tucking it back into his pressed slacks, picking up his violin, and following the stagehand out and leaving her behind as he takes his place on centre stage. There's only a few moments for him to survey the crowd as he tucks his violin under his chin and lifts the bow. Father is front row, of course, with Minseo folded politely beside him; the picture of perfection, their museum-worthy family.
Then he catches someone else out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment he feels his heart stop, and everything slows down for a moment, if only to give him enough time to process. Of course, he's here again. He's slouched in his chair, legs spread, watching with an unimpressed expression and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
And it makes Daseul's heart race.
These are the kinds of things that go through his head as he stands in front of the mirror, glancing behind him in his reflection to make sure that he's well and truly alone. There's not a soul around, and it makes his heart race a little; he lifts his shirt, just for one more look before he goes on stage. Behind the curtains, hundreds of people waiting in silence to listen to him play; paid for from his father, of course, but he doesn't mind. It isn't fun for him, it's just something he has to do, something he always does.
As he lifts his shirt over his waist, the skin starts to grow mottled and grey, with dark spots of yellow, red, and purple. Some of them are in the shape of fingers, hands, or the soles of shoes, but most are nothing more than swollen shapes going up his ribcage. A worrying sight if anyone else were to see, he knows, but in his eyes the shapes only thrill him and make his heart feel tight with excitement. He bites his lip just to make sure he stays grounded in reality; he has a job to do after all.
Hearing the door behind him open, he quickly lowers his shirt, tucking it back into his pressed slacks, picking up his violin, and following the stagehand out and leaving her behind as he takes his place on centre stage. There's only a few moments for him to survey the crowd as he tucks his violin under his chin and lifts the bow. Father is front row, of course, with Minseo folded politely beside him; the picture of perfection, their museum-worthy family.
Then he catches someone else out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment he feels his heart stop, and everything slows down for a moment, if only to give him enough time to process. Of course, he's here again. He's slouched in his chair, legs spread, watching with an unimpressed expression and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
And it makes Daseul's heart race.