Home is barren and dark, at least this evening. Or rather, the apartment is. Baekhyun would never go as far as to suggest that a place like could ever be classified as a home, not to a person like him.
It's a resting place of sorts, as safe as could be with Baekhyun's mind residing within its walls. As safe as any place could be with Baekhyun stepping through the corridors. He's followed by whispers as he closes the door behind him and blinks to see in the dark, voices that are not his own and yet still his own, like being watched by eyes that can directly into his thoughts.
Do any of your thoughts speak in your voice? He wonders to himself in a voice he cannot recognize, keys clattering loudly, echoing against dusty walls. The light that flickers on in the kitchen is exhausting in it's brightness, and Baekhyun's head immediately starts pounding, an unwelcomed headache after a long day.
But they aren't my thoughts, Baekhyun counters back, ignoring the fact that this voice too, doesn't belong to him. The only time Baekhyun hears his own voice is when he speaks aloud, something he rarely does. Usually, Baekhyun's thoughts exist in patterns upon patterns upon patterns that make sense to no one but him.
Baekhyun isn't lonely in this understanding. After all, each voice has its own distinct personality, sounds that warp his very thinking into knowing that he isn't alone, contouring his own personality to fit whoever speaks in his ear that day. Not multiple personalities or anything of that sort, but the voices are convincing, loud and persuasive and understanding of him.
They know, and it's a comfort to Baekhyun as he sits across an empty television screen and thinks of tomorrow. He has a concert tomorrow, and he'll need to be left alone, will need his mind to be quiet and not speak words he doesn't want to hear. His prescription is late coming in, and Baekhyun's worlds lacks silence, too loud for even the violin to drown out.
He can hear the strings though, screeching and offkey, a snicker that echoes because Baekhyun is terrible at violin and everyone in his mind can hear that he is. His professor had once called him life changing, a natural talent, but when the voices get loud, when they say otherwise, he starts to wonder if the event had actually happened, or if it had just been another voice telling him sweet words, things he's always wanted to hear.
Even as he falls asleep they speak, lullabies for a better day that lie in his ears and run sickeningly sweet in the air around him. Baekhyun can't sleep with someone talking to him.
The walls are barren and yet they shake, black and confining and terrible, disembodied words contorting into shadows that fall from the ceiling tiles onto the foot of his bed.
"Leave," Baekhyun whispers, tugging his feet up to his chest and training his eyes on his violin case. It's too late to play, too loud for the neighbours even when it's not loud enough for the voices. "Please leave."
onyu you're up!