sistar, soyu/dasom, 1420w, pg
notes: womp :|. for the unniedearest halloweenus exchange, prompt was aliens. one down, two to go.
“It’s weird,” Dasom mumbles over the phone. It’s late and Soyu’s already half-asleep but she blinks through her tiredness because Dasom would never call this late for no reason.
“What’s weird?” she asks as she yawns, not even bothering to hide it.
“I don’t know,” Dasom admits after a pause, “everything.”
“Everything is weird?” It doesn’t make much sense to Soyu, not now and she doubts it’ll make much sense tomorrow either and she says so, mumbling with her face pressed into her pillow.
“It just- it feels weird,” Dasom urges.
“Everything feels weird?” Soyu repeats, if only because she has nothing else to say.
“I think something was here,” Dasom whispers.
Dasom hangs up before Soyu can respond but as hard as Soyu tries she can’t keep her eyes open for long enough to call her back.
She barely remembers the conversation the next day and Dasom doesn’t bring it up, save for leaning into Soyu’s embrace and mumbling “I feel better now” as she presses her lips to Soyu’s jaw.
Soyu doesn’t question it.
It’s two am the next time it happens and Dasom shows up on her doorstep shivering in her thin shirt and shorts. Soyu lets her in without a word; Dasom knows her apartment like she knows her own and she’s in Soyu’s bed by the time she’s able to wrestle her door chain into place.
“Something was in there,” Dasom whispers when Soyu pulls her close. Soyu can feel Dasom’s breath on her neck as she speaks and it makes her shiver, “in my room, I could feel it.”
“Should we- I don’t know," Soyu tries, “call the cops? Tell your building manager?”
“Not someone,” Dasom says, shaking her head, “something.”
Soyu stays silent, combs her fingers through Dasom’s hair and tangles their legs together.
“Go to sleep,” Dasom sighs before Soyu can say anything.
Soyu doesn’t bother to argue.
Dasom shows her the marks one night, tugging her shirt down over one of her shoulders and turning so that Soyu is facing her back. Soyu’s brow creases in confusion as she takes in the sight; small hexagonal marks cover Dasom’s shoulder, black like ink and scientifically neat.
“Can I?” Soyu asks, dragging her fingertips up Dasom’s arm, stopping at her elbow. She waits for Dasom’s small nod before bringing her hand up to trace the marks. They’re hot to the touch and Soyu hisses in surprise when she presses her index finger against one. “Does it hurt?”
Dasom shakes her head but stays silent, reaching back to wrap a hand around Soyu’s arm and pull her close.
“It’s okay,” Soyu says, pulling Dasom’s shirt back over her shoulder and nuzzling into her neck. She can feel the head radiating from Dasom’s shoulder through her shirt and she frowns. “It’s okay.”
Dasom exhales, quiet and shaky, and Soyu holds her tighter.
“Are you okay?” Soyu asks; it’s four am and all Dasom’s done since calling her is breathe quietly on the other end of the line.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
Soyu bites her lip, fists her hands into her sheets, “tell me what happened.”
She waits, counting the seconds with the faint tick of the clock that Dasom keeps on her night stand. Five, ten, fifteen, thirty, forty five, eighty. “I don’t- my shoulder,” Dasom says quietly, shifting slightly on her end. Soyu can hear the rustle of her sheets and clothes as she moves.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“It’s cold,” Dasom says. Soyu imagines her lying on her side, phone resting on her pillow while she worms her hand under her shirt to press against her shoulder, “there was something here again. God, it’s so cold.”
“Are you okay?” Soyu tries again urgently, desperately.
“I don’t know,” Dasom repeats.
She hangs up before Soyu can say anything else.
Soyu’s waiting for her in the lobby of her building the next morning. She lays her hand against Dasom’s shoulder over her cardigan before Dasom even gets a chance to say hello. It’s hot, scorching even, and Soyu rips her hand away, not knowing what to make of it.
“I’m fine now,” Dasom says, smiling as she reaches for Soyu’s hand.
Her fingers are like ice in Soyu’s grasp and Soyu winces because she doesn’t know what else to do.
Dasom falls asleep on her couch and Soyu finds out that she shakes in her sleep now, breathing heavily as she spasms. Soyu watches her for all of thirty seconds before she reaches out to shake her awake.
Dasom blinks at her a moment, eyes glassy and unfocused before she turns over and goes back to sleep. She goes stock still, doesn’t move a muscle, and breathes so quietly that Soyu wonders if she’s even breathing at all.
Soyu doesn’t know which scares her more.
Dasom’s apartment is different from how Soyu remembers it. Organized chaos, Dasom would joke as she walked through the mess, it looks disorganized but it’s not. Soyu used to find some odd kind of satisfaction from going through the place, picking up Dasom’s discarded clothes and trying to tidy it up.
It’s nothing like that now. It’s clean, Soyu will give her that, but it’s almost too clean like a hospital ward and everything is sitting precisely in its place like Dasom took a ruler and marked out the exact distance between objects. Soyu stands awkwardly in the center of the room, not wanting to upset the balance of things but feeling like she already has.
Dasom sits with her back pressed against one of the walls. There’s a picture hanging above her head; Soyu can’t make out what it is but she knows the frame is cracked and broken because Dasom accidentally overlooked that when she’d bought it.
“I’m so tired,” Dasom says, motioning for Soyu to come closer, for her to sit down next to her.
Soyu does, as fast as she can, sliding down the wall and letting Dasom lean against her. “Your room is over there,” she says, gesturing to the door across from them.
“Not there,” Dasom tells her wrapping one of Soyu’s arms around her, Soyu notices the lack of heat emanating from her shoulder and wonders if that was Dasom’s intention, “it’s cold in there.”
Dasom never lets her stay, no matter how much she begs and she pushes Soyu almost forcefully out of her apartment when she wants her to leave.
“Don’t want them to see you,” she mumbles as she shoves Soyu out the door.
Soyu doesn’t know what to make of that and she tries not to be offended when Dasom shuts the door in her face.
Dasom still calls though, in the early hours of the morning, voice shaky as she responds to Soyu in short sentences and tired sighs.
Soyu supposes she should be glad for that.
Dasom calls her early one night and Soyu’s first thought is that something is really wrong.
“It’s fucking freezing,” Dasom spits; Soyu splutters at the curse – Dasom would never – but says nothing while Dasom rambles. “They’re coming back soon, I can feel it.”
“Who?” Soyu asks, “Let me come over.”
“Them,” Dasom says, “they- those things are all over my arm now.”
“I don’t know,” Dasom cuts her off before she can finish, “I don’t know.”
She hangs up before Soyu can stop her.
It’s quarter past one and Dasom is late for lunch. Soyu clutches at her phone and wills it to ring.
The next time she calls Soyu doesn’t hear anything except the shift of metal against metal and vague murmuring. The sound is grating and makes her head spin but she stays silent, listening for something, anything else.
She gets nothing and the line goes dead before she can even count to twenty.
Soyu doesn’t see Dasom again and when she goes to visit not even her neighbors remember her.
“You know, it’s weird,” Soyu whispers into the phone. Dasom’s voicemail is short; she hasn’t changed it in years – hi, leave a message please, thank you – and Soyu’s always found it oddly irritating, “but you’re right, everything feels weird.”
Soyu sighs, brushing a hand over her arm. It’s covered in goose bumps and she doesn’t know why.
“I think-,” she says, pausing to pull her sheets tighter around her, “I think something was here.”
She hangs up before she has to think about the silence on the other end.
- and unerased (sistar, soyu/dasom)