DREAMY_DECAY

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Fluff

Smooth, as if he is gliding over air. 

One single push of his leg and now he is in movement. His knee locks in place, the muscles of his thighs and calves engage in the right moment and the motion over the ice becomes fluid and tidy.

His posture is first slightly curved downwards, trying to increase the momentum of his impulse, but soon he returns it upright. Reaching an imaginary point on the ice. He finds impulse.

The way his feet leave the ground and his world spins at very high speeds almost breaks him from his idyllic dream state. It doesn't feel real, but what does feel real is the way he mechanically adjusts his own body to keep the momentum and land safely.

Back, leg and core muscles engage perfectly and soon he makes the perfect return to the ice.

To search for an ideal, is to search for suffering. To bring peace is to invite despair first. Oh how to cherish you, unreachable height. Untouchable treasure behind broken silver and glass.

It seemed that acknowledging them was the wrong movement, because the smaller fox almost jumped out of his skin and several feet in the air. The bull man tried to support himself up to get in a sitting position, by the time he achieved that, the younger fox had dissipated as if the morning dew.

The other fox remained regardless, and stared at him with big black eyes that held nothing but a small sense of curiosity not a single movement.

Meursault huffed mostly in animalistic reflex, not expecting more from creatures terrified by him. He knew he was quite imposing in image, so he no longer cared about such petty reactions, he even expected them at this point.

He is not really that focused on solving the mystery of finding his own soulmate, he considers it a secondary priority he will sort out once he gets his current employment dealt with.

Meanwhile it’s just that, a mark. A mark right on the left side of his right arm, running along the veins and arteries under his skin. Most of the time covered with “Soleil”, he doesn’t find the obnoxious talk of fixating over who is supposedly the most compatible individual with one self.

He is secretly relieved he hadn’t so far to explain his mark.

Contains adult content

There is no air to breathe, none at all. Between this man and the wall, there is nothing but his assured demise. Yi sang almost feels tempted to request his imminent death, to be crushed and be done with this nightmare.The box the doll came in was an undisclosed cardboard box, no decoration or indicative elements on the surface beyond the serial numbers and a very smudged mail sticker. Big red letters on the bottom corner of the lid read the legend "refurbished" along with others that said “fragile”. It was really generic, even the cardboard was left unpainted in its natural color. Really an oddity in a market where enhancing the robot companions' features was the main worry of the several competing companies.

Yi Sang considered himself a level headed person, but one could only endure so much of Hong Lu’s whining about stupid hair bands before choosing to break the rules. The dumbass sinner had forgotten to take with him all the things he would need for the week in their obligatory leave. Now this would have been a minor thing if it had been anyone else, asking Dante for permission to fetch the forgotten thing and returning as if nothing had happened.

The problem was, that the person in leave wasn’t anyone but the most intimidating sinner of the whole company: Meursault.

Yi sang no longer knows where is he going, what is he doing here. He came to the first place where he can feel something besides numbness, the place where he first he saw wings extend until they touched the sky. He wants to rip these memories, these feelings, like a bird rips off their own feathers. Rip away these pretty things that bring him nothing but frustration.

Words, no, sounds that somewhat resemble words. They slip off his lips, his brain is trying to convince him to get away from the metal railing. Self-preservation is the only thing that is left once he empties all the other things. Not a single thought can’t save him anymore, he is but a husk of pain and abandonment. Let him ramble the pain away, that's the only thing he is good at. Thinking and talking endlessly with no one to listen to it anymore.

when he finally arrived to his room. He quickly cleaned himself in the bathroom. Just a quick rinse before he went back to bed with nothing but the hopes for a botched sleep. He only did it because he wanted to get rid of the smell clinging to his skin, to his hair and maybe even his mind.

He likes to pretend that if he washes it hard enough, it will wash away like grim.

Yi sang is left alone with his ruminating but quiet thoughts

"Night goes eternally"

he mutters to the darkness in his bedroom, once more cold.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

As far as he has been alive, he has never been able to perceive smells. Since a baby up to the current days of his adult life as an office worker. The sense of smell has been evading him in all these years of consciousness.

In fact, it seems to be just a flaw of his design. For all his parts are accounted for and in shape. Regardless of how some people may perceive his behavior or characteristics, he is an acceptable member of society. He must fit in.

No matter how close he held the palm of his hand up to his nose, no matter how close or how much he slathered it with the product, the only closest thing he could perceive as a ‘smell’ was the slight sting of something hurting his nostrils, alcohol.

But...

Seeing the blood drip after painting thick lines on the pale skin. He realizes a very interesting thing, the sensation is only in his nose. He is perceiving the presence of his coworkers blood,but unlike the sting of stronger substances this one doesn’t bother his sinuses like others. This one comes to him almost subtle, as if he was instead breathing the sensation.

Not only that, he could perceive even more.

What was this?

"Will you go answer that?" his wife asks, barely making it to the sofa with the pile of clean laundry she has to fold. The insistent hard knocking at the door was really becoming a concerning annoyance.

"Not really, my hands are full"

His wife lets out an exasperated sigh, dropping the basket on the cushion for more dramatic effect. He can hear her footsteps go towards the front door and after taking off the lock, she opens it with a bit of a pause.

“Good afternoon? What’s your problem with- “

He poked his head out the kitchen when he heard a sudden impact sound.

"How was today's day at work?"

A soft whisper of air reaches his ears and becomes a smooth sweet voice that tantalizes his brain with small tickling touches that feel quite pleasant.

"Did your spirits grow so tired with overexertion so that's why are you now resting at the doorstep?"

His mother's way of speech has him hanging on every one of his words, but mostly the fact his mother is dedicating him a warm look that makes him hungry for more. He looks as beautiful as an angel and he can't stop himself from cherishing the image as if it was an eternal one.

"No maman, I was waiting for you to finish reading. Good evening maman".