tacenda (noun) - things better left unsaid

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ walk on water by slander; rory

IT HAD BEEN A FUCKING
MONTH SINCE ECHO VANISHED

Joon.

It's not the first time that Joon has been woken up by Echo's voice, and if she continues to be gone for much longer, it very likely won't be the last either. Of course, if Echo is gone for much longer, she might not come back at all.

The thought sends his stomach rolling, and Joon has to force himself to relax, laying back down on his back to stare up at the dark ceiling. It's not midnight, at the very least, and the first promising streams of light have turned the sky hazy. Scattered clouds are meshing together, so it wouldn't be all that surprised to see a morning rainstorm.

He doesn't really know how much longer he can actually hold out. He's trying, really, he is, to hold them all together, but it doesn't feel the same.

Echo.

The name sends a burning sensation down his throat, deep cold snaking through his veins as if whatever magic is inside of him is reacting back to the thought. It feels like an internalized snowstorm, icy arcana coating his mouth. He doesn't hate it, honestly. It gives him a little hope, that his magic, his power, his whatever is still reacting to her name, like it was entirely its own entity. Like it knew she was still breathing.

No one has found her. Not even Cue. All of their hopes seem to be dwindling by the day, and the island seems quieter than ever. Sighing to himself, Joon pushes himself back up to sit on his bed entirely. He's accepted the fact that he's not going to get a full night's sleep as long as Echo is missing, so really he probably should get used to it. Especially if she never gets back.

Especially if she never gets back.

Even the thought sends a bitter feeling down his stomach, clenching it in phantasmal talons as that flicker of sharp cold retracts its own touch.

Joon pushed himself off the bed, strolling over to the window to watch the clouds for a moment, then closed his eyes. Echo liked the rain. Not as much as the snow, but she liked it enough to want to sit on the closed patio with her notebook to write. The memory is painted in starlight, and after a brief moment, Joon opened his eyes again.

Echo hadn't given up on any of them. Ever. It just wasn't in her nature, and if it had been, she'd probably have gone against it anyway. Even after everything that had happened to her, she didn't give up. Not on her life, or her friends, or how desperately she loved people. There had to be something; anything that would tell him where she could have gone.

He didn't have wings, or the ability to track people through dreams. He honestly wasn't even sure what he exactly had from a magic standpoint, but he did know himself better than anyone. And contrary to popular belief, Joon knew what he was capable of.

No, he wasn't Cue Hathor, and thank the sweet heavens for that.

He was Park Ye-Joon.

And he was going to find Echo if it killed him.

The cupboard.

Joon hardly wasted another moment before he was pulling on clothes for the day, something semi-hot at the very least, because if he was going to find Echo (which he was, and no he will not be taking criticism), he's gonna look hot as fuck while doing it. Maybe it was a little bit of an escape mechanism to avoid the actual reality that he might be facing, but that wasn't the point. Hurried, he gathered his sketching journal, filled with maps and directions of the island along with the places he'd gone with Echo. Without wasting another moment, he darted towards the door, skidding to a stop as he passed the kitchen, then backtracked.

In the last rays of light that filtered through the window, before the clouds encompassed it entirely, was the glittering tiara from the festival that had been held only a month ago. The last day any of them had seen Echo.

The last day he had seen her.

Pent-up frustration burned holes in that coating of ice, and re-ignited determination darted right back up it. With a muttered curse, he stormed over to the tiara, taking it and shoving it in his bag. He didn't exactly know why he grabbed it, but somewhere, in his subconscious, he knew that wherever Echo was, she wasn't okay.

Echo didn't like being alone for more than a day. She wouldn't have stayed away from them for a month without there being something severely wrong. And if there was something severely wrong, well, Joon would be Joon, and poke fun at just about everything (including himself if necessary), until he heard that glittering giggle.

Refusing to think more about it, he slid his shoes on at the door before opening the wooden monstrosity, and stepping into the early morning air. The prologue of petrichor hung in the air as he made his way to the main house, where he'd found that stupid hidden cupboard. It wasn't Cue's. He knew that much. Mainly because Cue was so secretive and brooding, all of his mysteries were probably locked up like Fort Knox in his own house.

So it had to be Echo's.

Cool, fresh air flooded his lungs as the main house came into view. It was dark, but it wasn't all that surprising. It felt empty; abandoned almost. Joon didn't really blame the others, it hurt to come back to a place with such fond memories of the person you're missing. It's a different feeling. They're just gone one day, and suddenly nothing looks the same. Nothing feels the same. You're never prepared for it, but how could you be?

You can't prepare for something you never saw coming.

Joon sighs, shaking the thoughts from his head as he pushes his hand against the wooden door. The inscription, written in runes that Joon can't really place, glows - as if permanently inlaid with stardust - at the touch. All the doors are supposed to do that, they react to the arcana buried in the soul of the immortal. He doesn't know the actual language. Echo told him once that it was Cue's mother language, so surely something that had died out long ago. Cue's probably the only person who still knows it.

Four days ago, Echo's door stopped reacting.

The memory sends that wave of nausea over him, which sucks, especially considering he just got rid of the last one. Joon pushes open the aching door with a heavy creak as he recalls the moment it happened. It was a bright day, much too bright to forbode the shuddering realization that was only moments away from happening.

They were gathered outside of Echo's house, watching the flowers that bloomed on the outside begin to wilt away. Joon knew deep down it wasn't from lack of watering. They'd all thought that maybe they could find some kind of hint towards where she might have vanished too, but when Cue pressed his hand against the door, the inlaid characters sputtered, and went out.

There weren't any words for the feeling that crashed down upon them, watching the living magic drain from the door, as if it had only been holding onto it for that long to simply prolong the mass devastation it would rain down on the island.

Shaking the thought away, he turned towards the bathroom where he'd located the hidden cubbyhole, back behind the loose panel of the bathroom cabinet. Adrenaline shot up his spine as he removed the slate once again, revealing this time, not an empty hole at all.

Rather, a leather-bound journal.

Sweet relief burned down his throat as he delicately picked the journal up, sitting back against the bathroom floor of the darkened house. Quickly, he placed the journal back in his bag, getting up himself to retreat from the shadowed hallway, instead heading for the familiar kitchen of the main house.

The one where they used to all sit and eat together.

Joon can almost see it when he walks in; can almost hear the bright, bubbly laughter of Echo as she delves into another fantastical story. Can see Cue shake his head, looking up from his book as Cordelia swats his arm in a kind of scolding motion. Can see Freddie set his head on Amir's shoulder, watching with bright, glittering eyes as a legend is painted before him in verbal artistry. Can see Cassian leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes flicker between Echo and Asia, whose own features are aglow with pride.

Sickened nostalgia drips from the skies as gentle rain begins to fall, splattering against the very beachfront where Cue showed them all his wings, simply because Cordelia asked him too. He still couldn't believe that.

Shaking away the thick emotion that began to rise in him, he removes the brown-patent journal from his satchel, unwinding the string that had locked it onto the button on the back. He might have felt guilty if Echo wasn't gone, but in complete honesty, this evil outweighs the one he'd have to face if Echo was never found at all.

On the front page, in pretty, almost italicized writing, was 'how far into immortality, does your heart stop beating?' Joon reads the words over, tracing the page as his fingers find the corner before noticing the bottom of the page. A date of some kind. It's the markings of this calendar year, and it takes him only a moment to realize that this is only the book for this decade. She probably has dozens, potentially hundreds of poetry books.

The next pages are small, poetic phrases of the friends of this decade. He doesn't linger on the lines, it feels unsettling almost, as if he's not just stealing a visual representation of Echo's thoughts, but something far more intimate than that, like he's stealing a piece of herself.

He can't really help stopping when he sees about fourteen pages in, is a picture of her and Asia. It's of them at the piano. Echo's wings are out, white and glorious, and Asia is next to her. Joon can't tell what they're playing, but he can tell it's outside, on the back porch of Echo's home, where garden views have settled in deep forests, and sunlight blooms like it thrives on the sensation.

'I wonder when the world will understand that I am already broken, and there is no need to break me again.' Below that, at the bottom of the opposing page, is written in small, delicate letters, 'do not worry sister, i am a master of the art of Kintsugi'

Kintsugi, the art of repairing broken objects, traditionally with gold.

Joon blinks hard, turning the page. It's Freddie and her, out doing their morning yoga, as cascading droplets scatter around them. Echo's smile is bright, and beside her, Freddie's is just as radiant, glittering with that same adoration.

'If I die, I hope I will be missed by someone, at the least. Is that so much to ask?' Below: 'i would cry loud enough that the oceans would write a response'

It's Amir next, watching some kind of rom-com story together. Joon suspects Bridgerton, both of them surrounded by a number of snacks, in the middle of a breakout of laughter, as if nothing in the world could bring more happiness than being right there in that moment.

'I wonder how many days it will take for people to realize that I am simply not worth the fight.' Written below, once again, 'I would choose to fight for you over and over again.'

Then Cassian, on a motorcycle with Echo evidently. They're in the midst of some kind of plaza, clearly shopping for something. He's not really sure for what exactly, but knowing them both, probably gifts.

'My head is a horrible place to be in. Please, do not stay long.' Joon almost smiled at the response Echo gave, 'I've seen worse.'

Then Cordelia, both of them sitting under the stars. Not on the beach, but rather on the front porch of the main house, pointing out constellations to each other. Cordelia's smile was light, but it was genuine. Which genuinely was a feat in itself.

'You are so kind to me, and i would like nothing more than to tell you to stop, but i think instead, i will let myself live this lie a little longer.' His gaze again flicks back to the photo, recalling the anguish that ran in rivers the night Cordelia arrived before returning to the page, 'my love is no lie.'

Joon's fingers hesitate to turn the page. Assumedly, he's next. Either way- it's going to hurt. If he is there, sickening sweetness will thicken in his stomach, and his feelings for Echo, no matter how much he's denied will suddenly become very, very real. And if he's not, well, he'll be crushed in more ways than one.

He blinks hard, and that's all he needs to turn the page, staring at the photo of them. It's them on the beach, the night she lost her wings. Only minutes before the disaster. Deepend rays of sunset skittered down the beach, illuminating both of their faces as they shared stories about their tattoos. Biting back the rising sickness in his stomach, he turned his eyes to the page following.

'I am home.'

There was no response. The words weren't on the top either, like he'd seen before. They were in the middle of the page, staring back at him as he realized what they were saying. What Echo had been saying to him.

They felt the same way about each other.

And he knew exactly where to find her.

Without wasting another breath of a moment, Joon placed the leather-bound notebook back into his bag, throwing the door of the main house open as he took off down the path back towards his own house.

Cue couldn't find Echo because she wasn't off the island. She was here.

Home.

He couldn't go to her house the normal way. The door was no longer responding, but contrary to popular belief (mostly the other immortal's beliefs), Joon wasn't stupid. He threw off the satchel, skidding through his house, momentarily forgetting about his own rule about shoes as he narrowly avoided slamming into the back door of his house. The one that he could program.

Joon slammed his eyes shut, letting himself fall deep into the cold, icy waters of his own magic, pulsating in glowing waves of glacial galaxies. That deep blistering sensation ran down his veins again, and he forced himself to draw in a slow, even breath. He'd seen Echo do this, program a door to become a portal to their desired destination. He didn't dare open his eyes to see if the door was glowing in response, instead choosing to focus directly on where he wanted to go. On who he wanted to see.

Echo.

Something happens. Like a click of some kind; an internalized one. The flooding arcana seems to calm, soothing itself against raging storms. Joon opened his eyes, watching as light bleeds into the door before him, spinning in rings around the frame and illuminating the characters in front of him in brilliant light.

Please.

Forcefully, he puts his hand on the door, closing his eyes again to mentally beg whatever forces might be at work that this would work. Because if it didn't well- Joon didn't want to think about that.

The door gives way, and the relief that pours through his entire being vanishes almost immediately as he takes what he sees in.

Echo's house is in shambles. The walls are intact, but that's pretty much it. Black streaks scour down the walls and floors, painting angry burn marks across the room. Paintings and pottery are shredded, shattered across the floor as the heavy scent of soot and smoke lingers in Joon's nostrils. Hesitantly, he takes a single step inside, looking around the room with wide eyes. There is hardly anything recognizable left. It's as if he stepped into a half-finished construction project after it had been abandoned for catching fire. The stairs have entirely been dismantled, and glass litters the floor with each careful step he takes. For the moment, he's grateful he broke his own rule about shoes.

The house is silent, like it had been carved out entirely. Not a breath of sound was heard, that is, until Joon reached the edge of the curved hallway that circled Echo's writing room, where her bedroom was connected too. The hallway wasn't dark, but the stripes of fire-burdened figures ran deep into the walls.

Joon sucked in another slow, even breath, stepping into the hallway, towards Echo's bedroom, where the sound originated from. It only took him a couple to register the sound as Echo.

He forgot his fear entirely, nearly tripping over discarded charcoal of what he assumed had been a painting in darting towards the entrance. He'd barely skidded in before his eyes caught the figure sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by nothing but ash.

Echo.

He didn't say her name, but she lifted her head anyway, eyes dark and dull, but alive. The clothing she was wearing was in tatters, but Joon's eyes were trained on the deep burns that had re-ignited back up her skin. He can't really tell what he's feeling, but it honestly doesn't matter. In another moment, he's moving again, kneeling in front of her. His chest feels tight, wound up from the sharp anxiety that bit at the inner part of his ribcage.

"Echo."

Her broken eyes are locked on his again, and it hurts enough Joon feels his throat constrict. She can hear him. He knows that much. Even if she doesn't answer, Joon reaches into his bag, removing the journal from that abandoned cubby in the bathroom of the main house before showing it to her.

"I heard you, Echo."

Echo doesn't respond, but Joon doesn't really care. Honestly, he doesn't. He sets down the journal, rapidly trying to assess the situation. He doesn't know what to say, or do, or anything like that.

Yes, you do.

Right. Joon raises his eyes again to hers, and a well-worn, easy-going smile appears as easy as breathing, speaking as he rises to his feet, picking up the journal again to put it delicately in his bag, eyes returning to hers. "Alright pretty girl, let's get you out of here, yeah?"

For a moment, Echo doesn't so much as blink. Only when Joon begins to regret his decision, he watches as she lifts her arms to him in silent request. He doesn't need to ask again, and he's not about to wait for a verbal response, so Joon again leans down, mentally mapping out Cue and Cassian's movements when they'd picked someone up like this. He slides an arm under her knees, the other one below her back before effectively lifting her up.

She feels a lot lighter than she should, but Joon puts a pin in that thought, instead focusing on taking careful cautious steps back towards the back door of the house, where it's still swung open, revealing the warm, welcoming home of his own. He's rather fond of it actually. It plays well into his traditional heritage, and the wood components of the house make him feel more secure than they would otherwise. Not to mention, there's plenty of rooms to adorn with the things he's collected from the others- in his mortal life or otherwise.

Habitually, he slips off his shoes as he re-enters the house, determined to make up for breaking his rule the first time. He carries Echo to one of the bedrooms closest to him, setting her on the bed before kneeling down again, sliding off the remnants of whatever shoes she'd been wearing. Slick black soot slid against his fingers, but Joon didn't say a word, setting aside the shoes before looking back up at her, offering another warm, flirtatious smile. "In my bedroom already huh, Echo?"

Desperately, he searches her face for any kind of reaction, and in absolute delight realizes that her eyes flicker, shining in temporary amusement. Honestly, it's good enough for him, and he pushes back to his feet, sliding his hand onto her face.

"Do you want to take a shower, angel?"

Echo blinks slowly, raising her eyes back up to his. Joon fights to not look at the deep, blistering wounds that scatter down her body. Her voice is soft, horse, like it's been coated in the same ash that burned her on the outside. "Ye-Joon."

Joon feels his chest tighten again, rising emotion sending waves of anxiety and relief spiraling down his throat. "What is it?" He responds with equal softness, one that wasn't inherently intentional.

"I.." She swallows hard, as if it's hard for her to speak, "I don't know who I am." She blinks again, slowly as Joon's thoughts race to catch up. "My name is Echo, I know that. I know - I know my history. I know who I am technically, but I-" Her chest hitches, and it sends a crack down his chest. "I feel like I just take pieces from everyone else. I just-" Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and Joon feels once trace a path down her cheek, smudging against the dust that had settled on her skin. "Am I just an echo of everyone around me? Is that what I was meant to be?" A choked kind of sob rattles her chest, and he watches as pain sears her features at the ragged movements, "I don't remember myself-"

"I remember you." Joon barely realizes he speaks for a moment, initial thoughts racing in circles in his head. His eyes narrow, catching hers in the middle of whatever heart-breaking poetry she was about to carve out of her soul. "I remember you, Echo." He repeats the words, not just for himself, but for her, because her chest hitches again, like she's holding her breath waiting for him to continue. 

It's quiet again, but not the same kind of suspenseful silence; the kind that teeters on the edge of everything. It's soothing, and soft. Joon takes his other hand, taking her own in his, interlacing them the same way she did only a month ago.

"You like the snow more than the rain." He raises her hand to his mouth, pressing his thumb into her palm so her fingers stretch. Gently, he places a kiss on each of them in between his words. "Your favorite color isn't pink, it's yellow, more specifically, amber - some might argue it has orange undertones, so it should be a shade of orange, or maybe brown, but you already knew that." He looks back to her, evenly stroking his thumb under her eye where her tear had originated from him. "You're witty, and sarcastic, and smart, but you hide it between those stupid, fucking sweetheart comments." His sigh is affectionate, placing the hand he'd been holding against his chest. "You're the only person who made me want to beat up fire." he watched her eyes flicker then, that beautiful, breath-taking light illuminating them for a moment. "I know it was your idea to kidnap me that day."

Echo's eyes glint, shock flickering into them, "but.."

"I'm pretty observant, Echo." Joon holds her hand tighter, "You already knew that. Because you've known for a long time how observant I am, and it's only because you're the same way." Joon softened his voice, leaning closer to her, "You already knew I liked you, Echo, didn't you?"

Her eyes are wide, but she doesn't answer. Not verbally at the least. Instead, he feels her hand tighten against his, gaze trained on his directly.

"You were wrong." Joon watches her features shift again. As always, he waits a beat for that dramatic pause, his grin near feral as it dances over his own features.

Echo seems to realize what he's about to say right before he does, because her eyes light up again, and Joon, for a moment, thinks that whoever designed the sky had Echo as their muse.

"I love you."

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

wyn !!

twentieth chapter done !

this is the longest chapter
i've done - 4k words , holy shit

: )