Chapter Text
The inability to focus didn't come from the familiar way his pre-licked forefinger and thumb slips between frayed edges of timeworn pages, casually and flippantly. Certainly not because of his obsessive familiarity with a specific childhood fairytale. Definitely not from his comfortable position on Mingyu's bed, obviously soiled with tepid beer, if the frat boy that staggered out of this bedroom before him was any indication—Seungcheol sniffs, scrunching his nose in retaliation. Okay maybe the piss-beer odor is equally distracting.
"Seungcheol, you bastard!" That. That is the reason.
Attention dissipating away from his story, Seungcheol sneers at his best friend currently leaning on the open doorway. The thumping music entering the previously dampen room instantly reminding him why he'd chosen to seclude himself in the first place. Simultaneously, it's also the reason why concentrating is borderline impossible.
"Join the party!"
The party.
Glaring, Seungcheol ignores his intoxicated companion, deciding to reread his paragraph instead. Jane Chatwin deserves that modicum of respect.
Ignoring Mingyu however, becomes evidently impossible when his gargantuan friend drapes himself across his thighs. Seungcheol can feel it becoming numb already. Regardless... Fillory awaits.
Thumbing to the forefront of the section he begins rereading.
"Ugghh," Mingyu whines, tossing in his lap.
Next page.
"Uggghh!" Another whine. Seungcheol can't confidently say grinding teeth together is healthy, but it's not like other choices are available.
Ignoring his friend in a last ditch attempt, he barely makes it three lines before—
"Ugggghhh..."
The book slamming overpowers the loudness transpiring outside. Giving up, Seungcheol tosses the storybook (carefully) onto the nightstand, folding his arms, perfectly emulating a petulant child.
Two petulant children inside the room, how amazing.
"You won."
Jumping suddenly, Mingyu smiles, before his acid reflux forces him to surrender to gravity. "Jesus, fuck, I think I had too much to drink."
Considering the swaying's reminding Seungcheol greatly of a tree dancing in a hurricane, he agrees.
"If you have nothing substantial to contribute to the conversation then I recommend you pass out now," Seungcheol comments, wanting desperately to return home and bury himself underneath a pile of Fillory books.
And maybe Xanax.
"Oh please, like your fairytale is any contribution—you're sucking out the atmosphere in the room!" His friend whines, words slurring together, an eruption of giggles following consecutively after.
Oh...his friend is drunk drunk. But Seungcheol still can't forgive the comment. "You used to like that book by the way," Seungcheol remembers, "what's partying gonna do anyways?"
Hearing this, Mingyu brightens before amending himself with a sheepish smile, apologizing silently for offending Seungcheol. "I do like those books—before. But those are fantasies." grabbing the book from the nightstand, Mingyu begins flipping through the pages, as if it proves a point "Created for feeble-minded children with nothing else better to do."
Wrestling the storybook from Mingyu's fingers, Seungcheol grumbles. "Your point being?"
"There're so many wonders the world can offer, Cheol—partying expands your horizon, plus—your college interview's tomorrow..."
Seungcheol sighs, deeply. "Yale."
"Exactly." Scooching closer, Seungcheol's able to see the desperation in his childhood friend's eyes. Essentially begging Seungcheol to move on. "Everybody out there I invited because of their connections—most of them from Yale."
It's not like Seungcheol didn't attempt any sort of intermingling. He brought his deck of cards for this specific reason. But entertaining a bunch of drunk-off-their-assess or high-of-their-assess college students with magic tricks isn't exactly what Seungcheol calls interesting.
Seungcheol lives for Fillory. Something about it's fantastical, magical quality entices him. It isn't because Seungcheol's afraid he'll fail with accustoming himself to such high prestige. But having only been released exactly thirteen days from the mental institution still weighs heavily. Besides, he has a sneaking suspicion that he won't belong.
Mingyu's intentions are good, setting-up Seungcheol's interview is probably his way of showing attentiveness. Unfortunately, it seems to give the opposite, more stiffling, effect. It's like he's still constricted, but with different appendages. Figurative ones.
"You'll do amazing."
"Easy for you to say; you're perfect, you have everything."
When the kindness falters from Mingyu's expression is when Seungcheol realizes his mistake. "Oh shit... I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
Mingyu fiddles the silver ring circling his pinky finger, eyes watering almost instinctively. Floating under the fickleness of numerous types of alcohol didn't help either. "It's okay, it's been like, what now? A year?"
Seungcheol nods solemnly. "Almost."
Wonwoo, Mingyu's boyfri—ex—boyfriend, has been missing for precisely eleven months. Mingyu should've gotten over it by now, but the three of them used to be thick as thieves. It pains Mingyu to see the gaps in the room Wonwoo should fill whenever he's with Seungcheol. Mingyu never verbalize this, of course, but Seungcheol's not emotionally inept.
Now Seungcheol feels guilty.
"Okay..." Seungcheol drags with a sigh. "Introduce me to people or whatever." Mingyu's snaggletooth grin reveals his eagerness. Seungcheol rolls his eyes in retaliation but the grin infects him anyways. "but, I'm sleeping early—Yale is definitely a big deal. Resting is important." Even if it isn't personally important to Seungcheol people would still kill for such a prestigious opportunity. Besides, his body can't recuperate as quickly as it previously could.
"Deal."
♤♤♤
"Do you think sunglasses are inappropriate for a college interview?" Seungcheol whispers gruffly, barely tolerating that amount of volume.
Mingyu's condition isn't any better, with bags hanging darkly underneath his eyes, and the way he keeps squinting menacingly at the sun. But this isn't his interview. No, Mingyu's already enrolled, for four semesters now so his worries is completely empathetical.
The complications of being imprisoned inside a might-as-well-be asylum is the way time freezes so heartlessly inside. For everybody outside the world keeps turning.
Seungcheol can't decisively declare if he misses that passage of time he's been excluded from, but presently he's aware he dislikes the subsequent tardiness.
They arrive before the anticipated home-office department earlier than expected. Which to say they're both still tardy.
The building, Seungcheol observes, stood forebodingly over his fate. When he reaches the knockers, Seungcheol's enraptured with the magnificent detail of the ornament. A beautiful decoration shaped like twin rams' head facing away from one another, the design somehow familiar to Seungcheol—it couldn't be.
"Knock again?" Mingyu, voicing his worries, snatches away Seungcheol's attention enough to knock on the door. Hearing the hollow echoes reverberating inside.
It isn't long before his attention returns towards the peculiar ornament. It's definitely gold-plated, shiny as if brand-spankingly-new. It looks strikingly misplaced upon the relatively simplistic modern architecture of the building and it raises a couple of suspicions within Seungcheol.
Awaiting minutes passes, nobody answers. Seungcheol frowns before Mingyu knocks on behalf of him, harder.
Click.
"Uhm...should we welcome ourselves inside or..." Seungcheol muses before Mingyu snatches his gesturing hands.
"Fuck it, let's just do it."
Barreling inside, they encounter face-first a wafting of dust particles and a smell of something unpleasant. The atmosphere is damp, like nobody has entered or exited in some time.
"Hello?" Mingyu scans around the room, finding nobody living in sight. "Okay, you go to the right, I'll go left."
Seungcheol ends up stumbling across, presumably, the office. First impressions of the interior delivers a solemn disappointment within Seungcheol. From the outmoded-ness of the ram door knocker, he expected everything inside to be decorated with oldfangled furniture and antiquity. Instead, modernistic drab, linear designs, and minimalistic furniture dominates the equally unremarkable interior.
"Well that's disappointing," he whispers before snooping around the desk area.
Documents scattered atop the glass table serves as the only disruption inside the perfectly structured space. Seungcheol inspects the documents only to find a layering of dust when he touches it.
Weird.
He doesn't dwell much when he discovers his documents. Reaching forward, a clock chiming suddenly startles him from his inspection.
"Fuck." Clutching his chest, Seungcheol turns towards the grandfather clock furiously, only to be flabbergasted.
The ordinary grandfather clock Seungcheol is expecting in actuality is anything but. That's why the door knocker's design is familiar to him. Of course; the rams' heads are designs he's familiarized himself with by reading religiously his favorite fantasy storybooks.
"The enchanted grandfather clock," Seungcheol gasps, mouth hanging open.
He giddily approaches the ornate memorabilia, noticing immediately the disturbed dusts underneath it. The grandfather clock must be a new instalment.
Inspecting the attention to detail, Seungcheol can't help but to fanboy; the textured glass, the curving wood shaped meticulously into butterflies, and of course the hulking ram's head atop of the collectable timepiece
"Fucking Fillory and Fur—"
"Holy fuck!"
Seungcheol turns, noticing first Mingyu's disgusted expression before he catches sight of the reason. A man slumping sideways on an oddly positioned swivel chair, mouth hanging open with greenish liquid cascading downwards his adam’s apple, slumps listlessly.
"Please tell me that isn't the interviewer."
♤♤♤
Calling upon paramedics isn't exactly the twist of event Seungcheol predicted for today. Ironically, it's almost expected with his luck.
The gurney strolling outside turns both Mingyu's and Seungcheol's head in discomfort.
"Oh, wait, sir—" Mingyu catches the attention of one of the paramedics "—so has he been..."
"Deceased long? - most likely." Mingyu nods gingerly, grimacing at the thought of inquiring more. The paramedic seems to understand and nods. "The matter of death is natural—heart attack."
"Thank you."
Mingyu skedaddles back to Seungcheol, who sighs deeply, slumping backwards on the concreate wall.
"What the fuck am I gonna do now, gyu?"
Resting his hand comfortingly on Seungcheol's shoulder, Mingyu begins to rub circles onto the knotted flesh. "Don't worry, Jihoon—the guy's assistant—" he explains, Seungcheol quirking his brow "—He's supposed to be here an hour ago, he's probably running late."
Mingyu had mentioned knowing an acquaintance of an acquaintance that might be able to straggle in Seungcheol for an 'unofficial' interview. This Jihoon must be important.
The guy standing in five foot three, dressed in a oatmeal-colored trench coat, hand-knitted beret, and harry potter glasses running with stubby legs somehow doesn't fit Seungcheol's image of 'importance'.
"Seungcheol...Choi?"
"That's me." Seungcheol raises his hand, stepping forward in greeting.
Jihoon halts, staggering when he sees the paramedics carting his superior onto it. "Oh shit..." Somehow, he doesn't sound overly surprise.
"Jihoon." Mingyu inches forward, taking Jihoon's hand as well. "I don't suppose you could set-up another interview for Seungcheol?"
Jihoon winces, "Ooh... I'll see what I can do. In the meantime—" Opening his parcel bag, Jihoon fishes a manuscript before thrusting it towards Seungcheol, who takes it hesitantly.
"What is this?"
"Fillory and further—Professor Pickwick intended to give this to you after the interview but he gave it to me and I forgot it this morning, ran back to my apartment, yada-yada-yada and uhm... well..." Jihoon trails. Unfortunately unfortunate events happened.
"Fillory and further? Why would a college professor give me this?" Curiously thumbing through the pages, Seungcheol's heartbeat accelerates when he realizes these passages are unfamiliar to him. "What—"
"He's a niche collector of everything Fillory, your resume mentions your interest in it as well, I believe," Jihoon explains, sounding suspiciously well-rehearsed.
Seungcheol spares a doubtful glance towards Mingyu who shrugs abashedly. "What?—Yale likes creative people."
"That indeed," Jihoon hums.
Seungcheol, unfortunately, is still dumbstruck on the manuscript he was given. Jihoon, noticing his agitation flips the manuscript over softly, pointing at the cover. "Volume six."
"There has never been a volume six," Seungcheol points.
Shrugging, Jihoon burrows himself further into his coat, shivering at a phantom chill Seungcheol suspects is just a secret the other's adamant in hiding. For what though, Seungcheol doesn't know. "I don't know much about Fillory books." There's a dissonance Seungcheol discerns between the words, noting the glimmering of knowledge behind Jihoon's eyes.
For the sake of politeness, Seungcheol doesn't ask further questions.
"Thank you."
Jihoon inclines his head, "You're welcome. Well if you'll excuse me, I have to tie some loose ends with Professor Pickwick but I'll inform you again if another interview's available. I have a feeling you won't need it though."
Raising a brow, Seungcheol's disappoinment grows when the other doesn't elaborate.
"Alright, thank you again Jihoon," Mingyu says.
"No problem."
During their return, Seungcheol uncontrollably skims over several pages of volume six. The first immediate changes he notices is the point of view difference; from third to first. The personal decision affects the characters portrayal greatly, it's intimate and infinitely more realistic. There's something magical encompassing the storybook Seungcheol loves dearly, drawing him ever deeper within the lore. Teeming with anticipation of returning to his apartment, he—
"Seungcheol! Are you listening?" Mingyu's shrill voice cutting through his fantasizing puts Seungcheol into an instantaneous aggravated mood.
"What?"
"We need to make another game plan. A new interviewer means new interests." Mingyu snaps his fingers, irritated at his friend’s inattentiveness. "Come on, Cheol, you need to get on top of this."
Seungcheol acknowledges Mingyu's argument, but the realization his childhood friend who had previously share his interest in the magical universe of Fillory is currently ignoring an important masterpiece stings a little. Seungcheol has always known Mingyu's someone infinitely more mature than him. That's probably why Mingyu had gotten together his act in time for college season; he'd stopped partying and having fun in general. Until recently. Seungcheol, however, went the opposite pathway.
"Mingyu, Fillory and Further volume six doesn't exist—" Seungcheol waves the manuscript around for emphasis. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"
Mingyu scoffs.
It's strikingly clear between the two, Seungcheol's the one with loose priorities. Maybe it's his parental issues, or his clinical depression, but he finds solace within magical fairytales, also from pretending. Because to him it's real and bone-chillingly vivid inside his mind.
Maybe Mingyu's beliefs in discovering the fictional universe of Fillory has dissipated. Forgetting their childhood scribbles, maps, wanting an expedition that'll eventually lead them to Fillory, but Seungcheol still remembers.
Seungcheol doesn't know about an expedition, but this volume six is tangible. Enough so that Mingyu should understand the stability it awards Seungcheol.
"Oh yee of little faith."
"Jesus, grow up Seungcheol!" Mingyu snatches the manuscript away, finally receiving Seungcheol's complete attention.
"Give it back."
"Not until you get your head out of Fillory's ass and focus!"
Their struggling captures attention from passersby until Seungcheol immerges victorious. The manuscript ended up moderately crinkled but otherwise unharmed. His heart however, is constricting at their first big fight after being separated during his mental institution retreat.
"Did you ever think that I don't wanna go to Yale!" Seungcheol shouts, beginning something he's unconfident he'll be able to finish.
Mingyu scoffs, folding his arms over his chest, quite clearly disappointed. "What other option is there?—Hogwarts? You can't keep playing card tricks forever and expect them to miraculously turn magical!"
Now they've started.
There's a saying; the true mark of friendship is how one’s relationship fairs in the face of adversity. Unfortunately, this isn't fairytale nor make-believe. There's no brotherly relationship maintaining Mingyu and Seungcheol's togetherness besides the ones they'd manufactured. Magic obviously doesn't exist, there's nothing withholding whatever this situation's devolving into.
Mingyu clutches his ring automatically, the action usually happening whenever a hurricane is subjugating his brain.
Seungcheol clutches his bottle inside his pocket, because that's the singular reason preventing him from being hyper insensitive.
"Seriously?" Mingyu jutting his hip, crosses his arms exasperatedly, before tilting his head. It's the posture that Seungcheol associates with numerous derogatory curses.
"Oh, come on—Yale?—I'm not ready Mingyu. I'm a fucking magician who barely escaped the mental institution for fuck sake!" The reason this explosion’s probably marginally important is the fact that everything's rooted from the reason of Seungcheol's admittance. Specifically, the butterfly-effect.
The pressure of college life, the effortlessly put together life of his best friend—despite his losses. Seungcheol's immaturely clinging onto fairytales because he can't handle reality...
Something sombering suddenly takes over Mingyu's face. The pure sympathy it gives churning Seungcheol"s stomach the wrong way."Is this about your dad?"
Seungcheol groans, hands swiping his face, and there it is "Oh come on!" They've garnered a couple looks now, but Seungcheol's already pass the point of caring.
Truthfully, his father being diagnosed with cancer right before he was admitted is a soul-destroying moment, but him passing whilst Seungcheol was trapped inside was worse. It's a memory Seungcheol vehemently separates from their current situation. Call him idiotic but he likes processing his feelings by avoiding it entirely.
Nobody can be as perfect at dealing with loss as Mingyu.
"It's about you always suffocating my interest! I know Fillory isn't real, I'm not stupid," Seungcheol sighs, "Y'know you once love those stupid fairytales too."
"Yeah? Well I grew up!"
Seungcheol scoffs, they've pulled themselves aside to an alleyway, avoiding any collision.
Seungcheol can feel his guilt already racking up even before their crescendo. "Not everybody is as perfect as you."
Mingyu wavers, an offended smile compulsorily invading his expression. "Is that what you think? That I'm forcing my agendas onto you?"
"Everything's perfect for Mingyu Kim; Cum laude future, penthouse apartment, no boyfriend but I'm sure you got some lining up." And as soon as those bullets slips pass his mouth, Seungcheol regrets everything immediately.
Nodding, Mingyu steps back, face scrunching in disbelief. "Okay," he says, overwhelmingly sarcasting in his understanding. Almost condescending. "You're not in the right head space, go home, Cheol, get some sleep."
With that Mingyu takes the last words, walking away with his pinky finger quivering.
Regret mercilessly consumes his entire being. Jealousy; that's what it boils down to. Mingyu's always perfect, his accomplishments and perseverance prevailing, whilst Seungcheol... Seungcheol believes in fairytales and does card tricks periodically.
Similarly to Peter Pan he's unable to grow and move on from his childhood crutches. In a way, Mingyu is also a crutch. Seungcheol doesn't know how to process that information.
Fidgeting with the bottle in his pocket he feels the dampen clacking of his pills hitting against one another. For how much he's glorified those medication, he'd only realize now he hasn't taken any in over a week.
♤♤♤
Stepping into the elevator, Mingyu ponders the situation that transpired.
It's obvious Seungcheol is hurting, suffering within his terrible head space. Maybe seeing the interviewer deceased is what triggered his outburst.
"Stupid gyu," he whispers, the statement delivered efficiently with a knock upside his temple.
The mirrored-walls of the elevator sending him upwards provides insufficient companionship for Mingyu. The sight of himself multiplied, echoes his disappointment.
He should've known pushing Seungcheol into college-life directly after everything was a horrible mistake. His friend is still sensitive. A year inside a mental institution isn't a miraculous cure-all.
But Seungcheol's also in the wrong. Maybe it's because Mingyu's an expert on compartmentalizing his emotions but contrary to popular belief, he's not okay. Whenever he arrives inside his apartment the reminder of Wonwoo and what could've been cosntantly destroys him.
Seungcheol expresses himself outwardly. Mingyu realizes that. His friend won't hesitate with fangirling over Fillory and further, which, Mingyu still loves privately. It's nothing to proudly parade.
He'd grown up. Nothing horrible with that.
The elevator dinging indicates his arrival. Looking downwards, Mingyu unenthusiastically ambles towards his apartment expecting the familiar monotonously decorated hallway and constant monochrome as the harmonious parallel of his mentality.
Instead, everything is bright—suspiciously bright.
Snapping up, Mingyu's eyes follows a never-ending row of floor to ceiling windows. Everything is illuminated by incessant natural lighting. Afraid, Mingyu stays within the shadows. He's absolutely positive this isn't seventeen stories up a building. Outside he can see people sauntering about—not directionless, but somewhat frantic. Like they're late.
"Wait!" He shouts, hoping anybody responds to him.
Nobody seems to care, so Mingyu opted for running along the hallway.
Was he drugged?
Turning a corner expecting some similarly long-winded hallway, his expectations is surprisingly met. Additionally, there's something else—somebody; a boy, hips cocked, eyes rolling exaggeratedly into his skull, wearing some expensive button up and slacks that strangles curves into position. He's holding a card in his hand, blank, save for two words, he reads, "Mingyu...? Kim...?"
Mingyu looks around like somebody's about to surprise him, announcing whatever prank is happening currently. When nobody does, answering seems like the wisest decision. "Yeah?"
"Follow me. You're late."
The boy starts speed-walking, and Mingyu—all gangly limbs—struggles to catch up.
"Wait a minute, late for what? Who are you?"
The boy spares him a glance, giving him a domineering once-over before answering, "Seungkwan."
Okay... that's enough.
Mingyu snatches the other's elbow, turning him around. The other sighs exasperatedly.
"Okay, explain to me, please." Speaking slowly, Mingyu hopes his imperativeness delivers through, "Am I hallucinating?"
Rolling his eyes for the innumerable time, Seungkwan leers condescendingly. "If you are—how would asking me help?" Is all the answer Mingyu receives before he resumes walking again.
"Are you coming?" Seungkwan hollers over his shoulder, beckoning Mingyu who's frozen in spot.
He figures there isn't exactly any other alternative presented besides following, this is completely undiscovered territory after all.
"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," He mumbles, before resuming his walk.
♤♤♤
Seungcheol admittedly feels discombobulated.
The student-guide...Soonyoung —who approached him, alludes ominously regarding an entrance exam when all he desperately wanted to discover is how the fuck he got there.
Upstate New York, constricting, unimaginative, gloomy, nearly raining if he remembers correctly, is somehow confoundingly spacious, grandiose, even the surrounding atmosphere's unbelievably lighter. He'll be jumping with excitement if he's certain this isn't a hallucination.
Sitting on one of the unoccupied desks, he raises the booklet sitting atop it. "Entrance exam...so, Soonyoung explained."
Everybody else seems captivated already. Several important-looking people eyes him curiously, fronting the room. The person in the middle smirks.
There's a hulking banner proclaiming 'Brakebills University' behind him. "Welcome, you may address me as Dean. I know you have questions and they will be answered in time. Now, your only responsibility is to answer the examination before you—" He pauses to choruses of bated breath. "Begin!" He announces.
Scrambling, Seungcheol launches towards his booklet. Flipping through its content, he's furthermore disoriented. These are...calculus? Long divisions?
It's one of those nightmares, he theorizes. Any minute now he'll be butt-naked.
That's until the numbers, symbols, shifts erratically. Moving around before settling into a drastically different image. Hand gestures, specific postures, are depicted onto the paper and Seungcheol gasps, rather loudly.
He actually knows how to answer these.
Avoiding overthinking, Seungcheol immediately begins answering, iterating functions he never knew is a requirement for an educational institute.
Finishing the exam, Seungcheol feels surprisingly content with his answers. Almost everything he's answered confidently. He doesn't know why he's putting in genuine effort into something he's unenlightened of the purpose of yet, but for the first time in sometime he feels excited.
Slotting the exam inside a box, something exits the opposite side. The autorotative looking man takes it, delivering it towards Seungcheol with a semi-prideful look upon his face. "Please report to the next room for your final examination" he instructs firmly.
Seungcheol, accepting the card alongside his fate, begins walking towards the exit before he spots a familiar head-of-hair. "Mingyu?" Seungcheol watches the other turning, confirming his intuition.
"Mingyu!" The two hug immediately, depending their lives on one another. It's relieving to have somebody familiar within unfamiliar territory. "How did you get here?" Seungcheol inquires, drawing closer, maintaining their minute distance.
"I-I don't know it was weird. I got into the elevator and got outta—"
"Okay, okay, Thank God."
"Thank God, why?"
Seungcheol steps backwards, resolve crumbling with his relief. "That you're seeing this," He whines, before hugging his companion again. "Cause I just restarted consuming my medications and—"
"Please," a woman beside the doorway implores suddenly, outwardly inclining her head, "report to the next room."
♤♤♤
As spinningly-quickly as they became reunited. Mingyu discover himself separated from Seungcheol again.
Whilst his friend was transported towards a waiting area, Mingyu's instructed to enter a secluded office instead.
Every peculiar knick-knack catches his attention. There are several crystal balls lining the window sill, refracting lights in a beautiful array of colors. The books collecting dust on the shelves utters names of people Mingyu's never heard of before. There’re several arcane-looking objects distributed sporadically everywhere; wooden boxes with unidentifiable hieroglyphic-like writing engraved onto it, weird contraptions, viles brimming of everchanging liquid—
Mingyu startles from his inspection when a kind-looking man wearing a wool-knitted sweater enters the office, document in hand. "Mingyu Kim?" He perches opposite Mingyu.
"Yes," Mingyu answers after a pause. "What is this?" He questions, gradually becoming impatient.
the stranger exhales, "Well, you’ve just been given an examination on your magical aptitude. We had reasons to believe you possess certain...nascent, abilities."
Mingyu straightens within his seat, his mind a million thoughts of jumbled nonsense. His clenching knuckles fists atop his jittering thighs, it's almost unbelievable if it weren't for the fact that he's here. In an impossible place, taking an impossible interview, with an impossible person. His experiences for most of his life tells him there's no such thing as magic. Yet the experiences he'd experienced these past couple hours springs a hopeful smile onto his expressions. "Magical?—I always believe—"
"—And perhaps you did—previously."
And just like that spring turns into winter. "Regrettably you failed your written exam." The person rolls his sleeves, kind-heartedness disappearing instantaneously. "I'm here to prepare you to go home."
"I—what?" Mingyu stutters, he should've known nothing comes effortlessly in this forsaken universe. That his steadfastness of choosing reality over fiction will bite him in the end eventually.
Seungcheol's not the only one who runs away. They just run on opposite sides. Statistically, one of them's bound to be incorrect. Statistically, it shouldn't be him.
"It's alright. We'll provide you an alibi for your missing time—"
"—That examination was insane," Mingyu accuses, "Any normal person—I-I mean—every single question kept transforming—"
"Be that as it may—"
"No!" Slamming his palms onto the table, Mingyu reiterates his determinations, "Don't you want students who makes actual inquiries instead of accepting like sheep?"
The man smiles placatingly at his outburst. Mingyu finds himself disliking the pity.
"I apologize. It's just—I can't return to Yale after knowing magic exists," he apologizes, downcast towards his heavy ring finger.
"Which is why we'll make sure you won't remember this place's existence. Standardize procedure."
Getting whiplash from looking up quickly, Mingyu begins stuttering excuses, "What?—N-No!"
The man turns, standing up silently despite the protesting, rummaging through equipment inside his chiffonier.
Mingyu's eyes dart erratically everywhere, scrambling for something quickly that'll allow him to remember. Because he can't return to that soul-sucking apartment building waking up every day until forever, attending an uninspired university to study fucking psychology, when he could be studying magic instead.
Wonwoo wouldn't want such a monotonous destiny for him.
Wonwoo...
His ring, it's understated, something without numerous eye-catching decorations except for a piece of diamond embedded in the middle. Wonwoo once proclaimed diamond would be the popularly chosen material for a sword if it weren't for its heaviness.
Hurriedly, before the examiner turn, Mingyu uses his ring to lacerate from his wrist upwards his forearm, silently thanking whatever deity that necessitated him to wear long-sleeves this morning.
Wincing, he watches the beads of blood surfacing his ripped epidermis beginning to flow. Unrolling his sleeves, he barely manages to react accordingly before the examiner turns around.
"This won't hurt a pinch."
♤♤♤
Seungcheol, painfully unprepared, uncoordinatedly repeats his question. "W-what?"
"Real magic, Seungcheol."
The people that had overseen their written examination alongside the Dean are observing him expectantly. For the last minute he'd been persistently recycling shitty card tricks. Unfortunately, the standard-looking deck given to him turns out quite slippery, causing him to repeatedly fumble cards onto the ground.
"I-I don't know what—"
The Dean stands—glasses glimmering judgement within the prestigious walls of their surroundings. Even the others are sitting atop high-chairs, dauntingly resembling medieval thrones.
"Do you like this place, Seungcheol?" The Dean inquires—or more—interrogates. "You have a gut feeling, that... something special?" The Dean circles Seungcheol predatorily, compelling Seungcheol backwards. Seungcheol flounders gracelessly over the cards.
"You wanna return to Columbia?" The mention of his mental institution stutters Seungcheol's heartbeat. How did he—
"That pointless miasmic march to death you call life?" Seungcheol despises every single notion, his head begins to shake without his volition, "Family that never calls, friends that don't understand you, and feeling alone and wrong—" the Dean drawls endlessly "—until it crushes you."
Gulping down apprehension, Seungcheol tries straightening his spine. "N-no," Seungcheol manages to strangle out, head-to-toe body tremors wracking over him like a sledgehammer.
"Then stop. Dicking. Around!"
Seungcheol can't possibly handle all this- this screaming. His head's a spiraling disarray of expletives alongside self-derogatory statements. He barely escaped the mental institution with his life and now...magic? "Stop," he whispers.
"Seungcheol Choi!"
"I said stop!"
Cards fly everywhere and Seungcheol becomes incapable of stopping it.
Nothing in his twenty something lifespan could ever prepare him for this.
Seungcheol watches disbelievingly as all fifty-two cards dances around the air, flying sideways and upwards. All Seungcheol's thinking is how absolutely erratic everything is—it'll be helpful if things are coordinated.
And then, just when he begins to think that maybe everything is manageable, that nothing can surprise him anymore the formation transforms. The cards arranges almost precisely according to pictures inside his mind. It keeps stacking and building and eventually—
Before him stands grandiosely a perfectly replicated Whitespire Castle from Fillory and further, complete with the spinning diamonds floating atop the pillars.
"Seungcheol!" The Dean suddenly hollers gleefully. No evidence of authority left behind his voice. "You did it!"
"Fuck..." and then there's only blackness.
♤♤♤
Spiraling, Seungcheol inadvertently rounds the tree he's attempting to escape from. Little stone-paths covering the soil provided limited explanations on what he's required to follow, but the girl knows-
"Hey!" Seungcheol beckons, only for the girl to scurry further away. "Hey, please!" Waving his hands he watches as the familiarly attired entity disappears into the thinly-veiled forest "Fuck," he breathes.
"Looking for somebody?"
Seungcheol yelps, rather girlishly, before turning. "You—" he accuses, swearing the girl had successfully evaded him.
Stepping closer, mysterious girl's identity becomes apparent. "Jane Chatwin," He breathes, rather disbelievingly. It's not every day your favorite Fillory character comes invading your uncharacteristically comprehensive dream.
"Oh good!" She chortles, "You realize this is a dream."
"Oh...kay?"
"Now," stepping forward, her features contort from the previously unguarded childlike expression into something appallingly serious. "I have a message for you," she utters forebodingly.
"Which is...?"
She smiles again, and this time the smirk is overpowering. "Stay on the garden path Seungcheol Choi."
"Wh-what does that even mean."
Stepping impossibly closer she tilts her head, her signature periwinkle beret tilting alongside her motion. "Find out, would you?" She delivers the statement with a barreling open-palm hitting towards his chest. There's a symbol embroidered onto it that Seungcheol doesn't recognize, but he doesn't have to.
Panting, Seungcheol tries reorienting himself with the unfamiliar atmosphere.
"Ah!" He hisses, turning his palm over to inspect something burned into his skin. So... that's the symbol.
Observing his surrounding, Seungcheol finds himself somewhere he's positive he wouldn't ever see—a standardize college dorm. Complete with a bedside drawer and a study table on the corner.
Realizing his situation, Seungcheol grins ear-to-ear.
"Stop that!"
Seungcheol flinches, halting whatever images assembling inside his brain.
Being overly preoccupied celebrating, Seungcheol didn't realize somebody is occupying the bed opposite him, eyeing him intimidatingly.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Your thoughts," the person explains, slamming whatever book he was reading. "It's annoying."
Seungcheol doesn't understand the statement one bit. Unless-
"Yes," The person answers before Seungcheol voices anything.
Are you—
"Yes."
So, can you-
"No—look, just shut up. Stop thinking so loud, I'm trying to read," the person grumbles.
"I'm sorry," Seungcheol repeats, feeling anything but.
"Whatever," the person responds, picking up his book. "And my name is not 'the person', anyways, okay, it's Minghao."
"Oh-kay, I'm—"
"Seungcheol, I know. You have some self-aggrandizing thoughts."
Getting comfortable within his already personalize side of the bedroom, Minghao steadfastly ignores Seungcheol. When Seungcheol continuously mishandles his way through everything Minghao sighs, closing the book louder this time.
"Would you just go, please."
"Go where?"
"Dean's office—y'know... report back or whatever."
Seungcheol isn't aware that is something someone has to do.
"Well now you're aware."
Right, mindreader. This is gonna be fucking exciting.
♤♤♤
"So, this is..."
"Brakebills University for Magical Pedagogy."
Seungcheol exhales. "And I'm enrolled?"
"Congratulations!"
"But there's gotta be a mistake—if Mingyu—"
Leaning forward, Dean Fogg finally takes off his sunglasses. Seungcheol has a feeling he's in for an intensive lecturing.
"Mister Kim failed his entrance examination by his own misguidance. It has no correlations with your standardize aptitude," he explains, "You, Seungcheol, is simply...magical."
"Right."
Dean Fogg chuckles, "Well don't overreact. You've been casting magic your entire life."
"Card tricks and slight-of-hands maybe."
"Seungcheol," Dean Fogg leans further, like he's about to whisper something conspirational. "You're horse-shit at close-up magic."
Seungcheol's actually offended by that.
"It's true," Dean Fogg cackles. "What you've been performing is transmutation—moving objects from one area to another."
Seungcheol can feel an oncoming protest developing underneath his stomach, but—rethinking, he realizes several coincidences that's becoming understandable now. "Holy shit," he whispers.
He'd always figured whatever card he manages to make disappear had been catapulted randomly wherever he was. That's why he'd always find his cards in peculiar places afterwards.
"It wasn't strong. The cards always resurface near you."
Seungcheol doesn't care, magic exists and he's been unknowingly performing it his entire life. Seungcheol has a million questions brimming his lips—mostly, he wants to know how Dean Fogg seemingly knows everything about him, but that probably correlates with magic.
Unfortunately, as enthusiastic as he's feeling, the heavy guilt lumbering inside his stomach is persistent. Mingyu had been rejected. Surprisingly, for once, Seungcheol's the one who's worthy in comparison to his friend.
He's certain that Mingyu is light-years ahead of him in terms of intelligence. If somebody like Mingyu didn't make it, then he'll have to believe his enrollment is merely a coincidence, a mistake.
"I...don't belong here. I'm a depressed medicated sycophant."
A solemn expression settles upon Dean Fogg's features. He's getting extremely exhausted of reiterating the same heart-warming encouragements towards the same person.
"Seungcheol, you're not depressed. You've been alone," hands clasping together, Dean Fogg rearranges himself. "You're not crazy. You're angry, and... you are correct, but everybody medicates, but in here we hope you won't have to."
Seungcheol nods.
"Now, Soonyoung and Seungkwan will accompany you."
♤♤♤
"Oh, you didn't know?—sweetie, you've been unconscious for two weeks," Seungkwan explains, dodging floating apples flying above their heads. "Oh! a green one," grabbing one, Seungkwan bites into it, offering it towards Seungcheol.
"No thanks."
"So... nobody told you?" Soonyoung questions.
"Out of the regurgitation of information I've been bestowed upon, somehow... that one escapes me."
The two eyeing him curiously pauses.
"Nerd," Seungkwan hollers before breaking into a honking laughter, the boisterous couple intertwining his arms and keeping him within pace.
"Kidding—Shit doesn't matter. All you need to do is pay attention to the campus tour."
"Ooh!" Soonyoung points towards a cluster of students who are animatedly moving their hands. Their fingers up to their forearm follows some specific rhythm—almost dancing. And from those fingertips blooms energy wavelengths, fire, electricity, you name it. "Physical kids, rarest; move shit, lift shit. Most can fly." Stealing one of the floating apples himself, Soonyoung greets presumably his classmate. "Also, magnificent partiers—do not come by our cottage if you have shit to do the next day."
"Absolutely," Seungkwan corroborates unashamedly.
Atop of physical kids, there are several other disciplines, Seungcheol is informed. Psychic magic; i.e. possesses telepathic, empathic, and prophetic abilities.
"Otherwise known as weirdos."
"We hate you too Seungkwan!" A student shouts, completely ignoring their previous meditation.
That must be what his roommate, Minghao is.
"Then there's knowledge kids," Soonyoung drawls. "Freak of nature sleeps in the attic."
Seungcheol eyes widen. "Really?"
"Seriously."
"What do they do?"
Seungkwan sighs, honestly knowledge students are in his opinion the most boring. Having the ability to change a spell by mixing it with another just sounds like a cocktail of disaster waiting to happen, except it's presented in the nerdiest way possible. There's not much to differentiate between a knowledge student and a bored magician on a saturday night. "They mutate the shit outta a spell and create an abomination."
"Pompous know-it-alls," Soonyoung reiterates.
"Right."
Right as he's walking, Seungcheol trips over something hulking and fumbles onto the pavement.
Seungkwan only sighs, "Carter, don't be a dick."
And to his surprise, Seungcheol watches as a random student appears completely from nowhere, with his foot still outstretched .
"Illusionists," Soonyoung explains. "Damn bitches live in a castle," shaking his head, Soonyoung continous to card Seungcheol along.
Continuing, Seungcheol comes across a couple students with their heads downcast, their skin hauntingly grey from how lackluster they saunter.
"Who are they?"
"Oh..." Seungkwan hisses, grabbing Seungcheol by the shoulder to steer him away. "Third-year students. Their entire class went missing a year ago."
"So they just disappeared?" Seungcheol's flabbergasted.
"Rumor has it they died," Seungkwan whispers.
"Or stopped attending, or flunked, or maybe died seventeen perfectly natural deaths—we all signed this waver, hope you read yours. It says that spellwork is not unlikely to murder you and if so...oh well."
The matter was brushed away swiftly and they continue further into the madness and so far they've covered both healers and naturalist or 'Walking triages and Hippy gardeners' as Soonyoung described.
"That's pretty much everything. There's like—other disciplines like Horomancy and luck and whatever. But they all either flunked or don't exist here so...no need to worry."
"All you need to know are the people you can take advantage of," Soonyoung agrees.
"Precisely."
Seungcheol had a feeling these two will be a handful.
He can't wait to become friends with them.
"If there's no further questions then that's it," Seungkwan announces, clapping his hands excitingly together.
"That's it?" Alright, the campus ground seems easy enough to traverse.
"That's it. Welcome to Brakebills Seungcheol."
