Inhale. (Mafia!Soobin-centered)

!!Trigger Warnings: Mentions/Descriptions of the following: Blood, Nightmares, Anxiety, Prescribed Medications

!!Notes: Based on this character of mine: The Heir

All he knows is to inhale. He isn’t sure what it’s going to do but it’s the only command his body seems to be listening to. He inhales deeply, his eyes falling closed as he does so, while he tries to figure out what his next step should be even though he hasn’t moved from his current spot. He can hear them and they’re loud, spewing nonsense and babbling incoherently. There’s so much noise as they all talk over one another. Yet, when he opens his eyes, they’re silent. A large marble door lies ahead of him, nothing grand in color or design aside from its size. The doors are slightly ajar and he can see them reaching out, hands of what appear to be shadows come to life. He isn’t sure what causes it but, the next thing he knows, the doors are creaking, opening little by little. He takes a step back and then another but then stops, realizing that moving backward only triggers the doors to open quicker.

He stares, terrified but not allowing it to show on his face. The doors finally fly open and he doesn’t flinch, even as the shadows all rush past him. The room is so dark now. He stands there for a moment longer, taking one step forward, keeping his eyes ahead. When it feels as though it takes some pull to actually move from his spot, he finally glances down. There’s a thick liquid coating where he’s standing. Stepping out of it, he only steps into another puddle of the same somewhat viscous liquid. Soon, he feels it under every step he takes. They’re no longer separate puddles but, now, the entire marble floor is covered in it. The shadows have become more of a fog sitting just above the floor, the room looking akin to a swamp now.

When his steps finally carry him to the window just ahead, he stops. The moonlight cuts through the shadows and illuminates the liquid layer coating the floor. It’s red.

Blood red.

That’s when the iron smell of it starts to burn his nose, tinging his nose hairs. He knows that scent and doesn’t want to admit that he does but it’s not like he has to say it aloud. He’d only be admitting it to himself. That’s when it really hits him.

He’s completely alone.

The black fog starts to rise up his legs, ghosting over his limbs and working its way up to his throat. He’s expecting to choke as he catches the sight of its movement in his reflection in the window. His flow of air stays consistent though. For some reason, that’s much more terrifying. He glances down at his hands and then at his clothes. They’re all tainted red.

He’s covered in blood.

He doesn’t feel himself doing it but, when his eyes meet his reflection, he’s aware now that he’s smiling. That feeling in his chest isn’t fear. It’s something akin to giddiness. Deep down, some part of him is telling him that he shouldn’t be happy about this but his consciousness isn’t listening. He’s not just okay with this.

He’s basking in it.

He hears his name called and follows the sound. It leads him through the doors that he saw before, that once held the shadows. He spots a throne sitting atop the handful of stairs, making his way to take a seat. It feels strange but only for an instant. Soon, he feels right at home. His worries are gone and there’s nothing on his mind, not until the shadows flood the room again, taking on vague basic human shapes. He watches as they kneel before giving a single bow of his head. There’s no telling what he’s trying to cue or convey but they rush toward him and consume him, although it would be more accurate to say that he consumes them. His vision darkens at the edges and then it’s as though he’s having an out-of-body experience, floating in front of himself and looking himself right in the eyes. His eyes are now pitch black and, when he smiles, blood rushes from the throne and down the steps.

His physical self seems aware of the floating version right in front of him, locking eyes with him. He smiles and stands, gesturing to the room.

“You keep pretending you’re not me,” the physical body speaks, and it’s his voice, loud and clear, “You're scared to become me but you’re already the monster you see before you. Your castle stands on blood and darkness. Why do you keep lying to yourself!?”

His physical self raises his voice toward the end and that’s when the floating him is grabbed and dragged closer by shadow hands. When he opens his eyes, he’s looking in a gilded mirror, holding a gun up to his reflection before aiming the gun at the child-aged version of himself standing next to him.

“Aren’t you just ready for the kid in you to die,” his reflection asks him, “This feigning innocence needs to go, Soobin, so you can finally be the king you were born to be. You chose this life yet you’re scared of it. How pathetic!”

The child him holds a gun up to him before aiming and firing at the mirror. His older self is cut by the shards that fly off but he doesn’t flinch. Dropping the gun, the child eyes him, staring at him.

“You’re not scared to become that. You’re scared it’s who we’ve always been.”

He doesn’t answer.

The child seems angry at the silence, yelling, “You are a monster!”

When Soobin opens his eyes, he’s staring up at his bedroom ceiling. Trembling violently, his sheets are sticking to him thanks to the sheen of sweat coating his skin. He can’t get himself to move other than his fingers curling wherever they already lay in his sheets, the fabric crumpling up in his grasp. He hears shuffling, not fully aware of who it is until the face interrupts his line of vision. Yeonjun sighs and swears an entire symphony of curses as he sets the glass of water down on the nightstand, glad that he went to go get it when he did. Soobin hears the rattling of a pill bottle followed by a sigh of relief before Yeonjun is working on guiding him to sit up. He sits on the edge of the bed and draws Soobin close. He holds him tightly with both arms, Soobin’s face instinctively burying into his shoulder. The heir’s hands break away from their hold on the sheets to grab at Yeonjun instead, his breathing shaky and he only realizes it because of how easy and steady Yeonjun’s is. With the other not wearing a shirt at the moment, Soobin’s nails dig slightly into the other’s skin but Yeonjun is used to it so it doesn’t phase him, though his brain does still register the sting. Yeonjun starts counting down from ten, patting once on Soobin’s back with each number. Soon enough, Soobin isn’t scratching at his skin.

“Are you going to fight me this time or are you going to be good and cooperate, honey,” Yeonjun asks, tracing back and forth over his lower back.

When the other finally pulls away, Soobin pouts and just looks down at his hands, shivering some again but not nearly as much as before. He reaches to take the glass of water that Yeonjun picks up but the other shakes his head.

“You’ll spill it. Your hands are still shaking.”

Soobin’s hands drop into his lap and Yeonjun raises the glass to his lips. After the heir drinks from it, Yeonjun sets it back down for a moment to shake a pill from the bottle on the nightstand. He holds that out to the other instead, looking at him with a hint of concern but his expression relaxes when Soobin manages to get the pill in his mouth. He waits until the other swallows it before helping him drink the rest of the water down. Yeonjun finally sits back down once the empty glass is placed on the bedside table again. This time though he’s sitting right next to Soobin, making it much easier for Soobin to lean on him. Yeonjun sighs and rests his temple on the top of the other’s head, an arm draped around his waist to hug him close.

“If you’re having that dream again, it means that you’re bottling something up again.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t noticed it but Keonhee and I have. When something is really bothering you and you don’t say anything about it, you start having that dream over and over again. You’re not easy to read but we both have spent so much time with you, we’ve figured out the telltale signs.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“It’s moments like this where I try to be careful. You’re my boss but you’re still my friend. I won’t hit you unless I have to but I don’t get why you still lie to me.”

Soobin looks down and then closes his eyes. He knows that Yeonjun is right. As far as Soobin is concerned, no one knows him as Yeonjun and Keonhee do but there’s just some part of him that still doesn’t feel comfortable telling them everything. He knows they’re there for him, happy to hear and oblige any of his requests and concerns.

“Your parents ask us about you sometimes, you know,” Yeonjun’s staring blankly ahead at the wall, “Sometimes, we just don’t know what to say. We can’t say that we’re worried about you because that’ll make it worse for you and it’ll just make them worry more. Even if you don’t tell your parents or your grandparents, Keonhee and I just want to help you.”

“We do,” Keonhee calls from the doorway, his hands in his pockets as he releases the handle, “We can’t help you though if you don’t tell us.”

“I can’t burden you guys with stuff like that. You both deal with enough.”

“If you don’t start telling us, we’re going to take you back to counseling,” Keonhee folds his arms over his chest, “We’re still your friends, whether you’re out there handling business or you just want to stay at home. You’ve got us in your corner.”

“And besides, it’s not like we can’t beat someone’s if we need to,” Yeonjun hums proudly, “We’re your elites for a reason. We’ve got your back no matter what.”

“You might have to tell your parents, at least your mom, about the pills,” Keonhee leans against the wall, his hands back into his pockets again, “You used the wrong card last time and they called her about the pharmacy and psychiatrist charges, and that’s apparently not the first time.”

“I'll think about it,” Soobin sighs and sits up, thankful that he’s not shaking anymore though he’s exhausted all over again.

Yeonjun glances up as Keonhee checks the time on his watch. They nod and Yeonjun gets up from the bed, guiding Soobin to lay back down before tucking him in.

“Get some more rest, Soobinnie. We’ll come and get you when it’s time to get ready to go,” Yeonjun nods firmly and smiles at him.

Soobin manages a smile in return, feeling a little more at ease after having spoken to the both of them. He watches them leave, smiling wider to himself as he hears them talking about Yeonjun getting another bat and Keonhee questioning why he just won’t get rid of the old one already.