(no subject)
Title: Obscuration (or, The Fine Art Of Seeing) 3/3
Part 1/3 | Part 2/3
Myungsoo woke with a mouth full of cotton and a massive headache, feet dangling off the end of the mattress. His right arm was dead and his legs felt extremely uncomfortable in his jeans, not to mention he was laying in a puddle of his own saliva.
The world seemed to be spinning and the rays of sunshine playing in the thin curtains got on his nerves. He kicked the blanket off and crawled to the wall side of Sungjong’s bed where the younger had slept, slowly working through everything that had happened and then groaning.
That was not how the previous night was supposed to go.
Myungsoo had plotted it all out - he would spend time with Sungyeol, making inside jokes while playfully roughhousing and if Sungjong came, Myungsoo would mention pot in a roundabout way and the younger would give him some kind of a vague hint about his connections.
Instead, he had downed shots after shots, spying on Sungyeol and his girlfriend as they made out in Kibum’s backyard.
And then he had kissed Sungjong. Oh fuck.
The memories hit him like a ton of bricks and Myungsoo wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He wasn’t given much time to wallow in despair, though, because then Sungjong came marching in.
“Oh, you’re up,” Sungjong said, sounding remarkably normal and unconcerned.
Myungsoo grumbled a hello in reply, his voice rough from the crying he’d never admit he did.
“Do you want anything?”
Either Sungjong was unbelievably slow and/or incredibly indifferent because despite Myungsoo’s confession about being attracted to boys, he still didn’t seem to think twice before stepping out of his baggy pants and underwear, even bending over to scour for a fresh pair in the third drawer of his wardrobe. Myungsoo averted his gaze quickly, but not fast enough not to notice how smooth his skin looked and how-
Yes, better not go there.
“Myungsoo? Are you hungry?” Sungjong turned to him, yanking up some plain black boxers. Myungsoo made the mistake of allowing himself a peek, gulping at the sight of the cloth sitting so snugly around Sungjong’s crotch.
“Nope,” he croaked out, feeling his face heat up and jeans get a bit constricting.
“Water?”
“Uh...”
Sungjong was blissfully oblivious, discarding his shirt and revealing his nipples, pointy from the cool air of his bedroom. To Myungsoo’s luck, the teen didn’t flaunt his slender little body for too long, slipping into a sweater that was a few sizes too large for him - a christmas gift from Sungjong’s mother, who no longer knew what her son looked like.
There was a type of men Myungsoo often lusted after - tall, toned, loud and witty. Skinny quiet guys like Sungjong ordinarily left him completely disinterested and soft. Sungjong proved to be an exception.
“Myungsoo? Do you want some or not?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Myungsoo tried to clear out the fog stuck in his head. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not quite certain about what he had just agreed to.
The younger left, not bothering to wear pants much to Myungsoo’s charigin, and the senior busied himself with finding shapes that kind of looked like human heads in Sungjong’s flower patterned wallpaper.
He didn’t feel nauseous, but rather like someone had shaken up his insides and his stomach lurched violently.
After a short while, Sungjong returned, carrying a glass of water and a wad of tissues that he dipped into the glass before handing it over for Myungsoo to drink. Sitting up and chugging down all the water in one go, Myungsoo was about to ask what the tissues were for but he got his answer before having to verbalize it.
Something cold and wet was held to his cheek and Myungsoo lowered the glass to find Sungjong’s face suddenly much closer and scrunched up in concentration.
“... What are you doing?”
Sungjong wiped the corners of Myungsoo’s eyes, showing him the stains of black left on the tissue. “You look like crap.”
Had it been anyone else, Myungsoo would have probably been at least a little offended, but hearing Sungjong say something so teenager-ish only made him laugh. It was nice to sit on Sungjong’s bed like that, with the younger kneeling in front of him, cleaning his face with uttermost care.
“Thank you, Sungjong,” he mumbled, when Sungjong reached his other eye and erased the tracks that tears had left in Myungsoo’s eyeliner.
The words were loaded with gratefulness for more than the gentleness Sungjong was demonstrating at that moment. There was more emotion in it than even Myungsoo himself could comprehend.
Sungjong rubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge with the tip of his thumb and Myungsoo got the craziest urge to kiss him. He wanted to flip the teen around and press him into the mattress, shatter Sungjong’s unwavering self-control and make that pretty mouth gasp for air while Myungsoo left marks on his neck.
His desires were evident in his half-lidded gaze, but Sungjong somehow didn’t seem to notice, moving out of Myungsoo’s reach as soon as he was done.
Throwing the used tissues into a trash bin by the door, Sungjong frowned down at the messed up sheets. “How do you feel?” he asked Myungsoo, yanking two of the quilts off the bed and examining them. He figured he’d have to wash most of the bedclothes.
“Do you think you could get up now?”
He meant for Myungsoo to sit somewhere else but the man understood his words in an entirely different way, his earlier excitement gone. Crestfallen, Myungsoo placed the glass on the floor next to the bowl Sungjong had left there and and got to his feet.
“Ah, well. Yeah,” he murmured, voice almost breaking and a dejected expression in his face. An ugly, disturbing idea rooted itself in his thoughts - that maybe Sungjong put up with him only because he didn’t know how to deal with people, how to act in such situations, thus he didn’t know how to say no. “Could I, uh, use your bathroom before I go?”
The teen nodded absentmindedly, bending over to reach a pillow in the far corner of the bed and giving Myungsoo a nice view of his thighs. Myungsoo cursed silently and forced his body to move.
When he came back, Sungjong had thrown the soiled linens in a huge pile on the floor and was fiddling with his phone, apparently texting someone.
“I’m. Uh. So I’m just gonna go now?”
Sungjong hardly noticed. Discouraged, Myungsoo lingered for a few moments and since the teenager was still pouting down at the buttons, Myungsoo headed to the hall where he found his shoes and jacket.
It was oddly quiet, Sungjong’s flat, not to mention, small, but Myungsoo wasn’t in the right state of mind to find it strange. He left without a proper goodbye, equal parts ashamed and disappointed, guessing that Sungjong wouldn’t care about etiquette.
Waiting for the elevator, he figured such an abrupt ending to their strange little sleepover was probably for the best. He had a band meeting to attend on that day anyway.
Now if only he could find himself some aspirin.
-
Howon wasn’t picking up his phone, namely the calls from Lee Sungjong. There were also two new messages in his inbox - one stating that Sungjong needed a favor and the other asking to meet at the library. Hoya ignored them both, putting his phone on silent and shoving it into a worn rucksack.
He wasn’t prepared to face Sungjong yet, even more so if the teen expected them to continue as they were, he wasn’t that masochistic.
That wasn’t to mean that Hoya didn’t think of Sungjong - he did, freestyling to the hottest verses, he imagined Sungjong looking for him and stopping in his tracks, mesmerized by the sharp twists of Hoya’s body.
The harmless little daydreams about impressing Sungjong motivated Hoya to try harder, even if they weren’t on a speaking basis in reality.
Dongwoo grinned at him, eyes wide with enthusiasm.
They were friends now, Hoya could say, mainly because Dongwoo’s irresistibly friendly nature dissolved most of the competitive animosity Hoya had towards the older. But their rivalry was still going on strong and the two were constantly showing off and lurking at the park after midnight with a boombox and ratty trainers for some extra practice. The only difference was that now they patted each other on the back once their turn was over.
Jang Dongwoo, a performing arts major and a guy with an unlimited amount of childishness, bordering on naivety, also proved to be a great confidant. It was probably that very personality trait that allowed him not judge Hoya for being enamored with a totally apathetic and possibly asexual man.
And while Dongwoo found his situation kind of laughable, he laughed about everything so Hoya didn’t take that as an insult.
Hoya was bent backwards on the makeshift stage, hands on the ground behind him and ready to kick himself up into the next stance, when he first caught a glimpse of a familiar black-and-yellow hoodie. At first he shook it off as his imagination getting out of hand, but during a spin, Hoya was able to confirm that it really was Sungjong, hair messy and face typically void of emotion.
He froze and missed a step, almost losing his balance.
Dongwoo, who had been watching from the sidelines and bopping his head to the beat, looked slightly worried. “What’s up?” the older shouted, turning down the music by a couple notches. “Did you twist your ankle or something?”
Shaking his head, Hoya pushed himself up off the ground and jogged to the other, picking up a water bottle and taking a few long gulps.
“What happened, then? You usually execute that move without a hitch? Yah, Hoya?” Dongwoo pestered, because as a perfectionist, Hoya rarely tolerated mistakes.
“Nothing.”
“Dude, you almost snapped your wrist-”
Sungjong advanced towards them almost shyly by a few meters, sending Hoya choking on a mouthful of water.
Only then did Dongwoo notice the small-framed teenager watching them with a pout. He patted Hoya on the back as the dancer coughed to free his airways and after a long minute, Dongwoo’s eyes widened.
“Hey, is that… The kid you told me about?”
Hoya panted, sending Dongwoo a pained look that the older took as an answer.
“Are you gonna talk to him? He seems kinda, uh, pressed.”
“No,” Hoya grunted curtly in reply, turning his back to Sungjong and tucking his water bottle back into his bag. His throat still felt a bit rough so he cleared it one last time before exhaling deeply.
“I just needed a drink,” he told Dongwoo, a sharp note in his voice implying that the conversation was over. “Same song, from the top.”
Dongwoo didn’t seem to approve of this stubborn way of avoiding Sungjong but Hoya really didn’t care, shoes scuffing against the concrete of the raised platform they used as a stage. In his defence, he had already been rejected and if it wasn’t an apology or a confession Sungjong had for him, Hoya didn’t want to hear it.
Frowning as if he had a puzzle he couldn’t solve, Dongwoo rewound the song and pressed play. For a while, he followed the line of Hoya’s body as the man smoothed himself from position to position, footwork impressive and face trained into a mask of impassiveness.
Then, Dongwoo’s eyes wandered off to find the boy standing not far off, stil pouting and looking kind of helpless, not at all like the heartless minx Hoya had bitterly described him as.
His eagerness and concern got the best of him.
“Hi, I’m Dongwoo,” he introduced himself with his trademark grin, hoping Hoya wouldn’t skin him alive later.
Sungjong seemed perpetually displeased from up close, but not in a possibly dangerous underaged drug dealer-ish way, leaving Dongwoo to wonder if this harmless flower boy could really be the infamous Lee Sungjong Hoya was moping about.
“I need to talk to Hoya,” the teen declared.
“Well, uh, he doesn’t need to talk to you,” Dongwoo blurted out, fascinated by the way Sungjong’s expression darkened. “Your name… Is it Sungjong?”
The boy nodded, shoulders drooping in disappointment.
“Oh, uh, then… Why don’t I talk to you instead!” he grabbed Sungjong’s arms, pulling the younger’s hands out of the pockets of his hoodie. “You can tell this hyung all your worries!”
Startled but not fighting against the gentle grip Dongwoo had him in, Sungjong studied the fashion disaster of a man scrutinizingly, eyes narrowed. After a short period of awkwardness, Sungjong muttered a question, “who are you?”
“Dongwoo. I’m a friend of Hoya’s. He’s a bit busy right now, as you can see. So. If you want to leave him a message or something, I can-”
Sungjong freed himself from Dongwoo’s grasp, scandalized. “No, you don’t get it, this is important.”
“Important, huh?”
“Yeah, if you could just tell him that Sungjong needs a favor, I’m sure he’d find a moment.”
A part of Dongwoo wanted to test out that theory, resulting in a shadow stalking off in Hoya’s direction. His solid form, though, stayed sure to himself and chose to respect Hoya’s decision of not talking to Sungjong.
Plus, if Sungjong was as much of a brat as he seemed to be. Dongwoo didn’t want Hoya to fall into that pit of depression he’d struggled so hard to get out of a couple weeks back.
“See, this is why Hoya isn’t here with you right now. Do you always go looking for him only when you want something?” Dongwoo asked, not unkindly, sitting down on the grass to lessen the chance of Hoya spotting them.
After watching a transparent clone of himself head towards the stage, Sungjong shrugged before lowering himself down next to Dongwoo. If he needed to get through Hoya’s guard dog before making his request then so be it. He had time to waste since school was over and Minjung would receive him at all hours.
Besides, he was kind of antsy about telling Hoya about this huge change in his life anyway. It was no secret that the man was his favorite “client”.
“Do you consider him a friend?”
Tilting his head to the side as if to wordlessly ask how that was relevant to anything, Sungjong gave it a moment’s worth of musing, “No?”
Dongwoo’s smile dropped. “Oh. And there’s your problem. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be there for you all the time if he didn’t think you two were friends. Seriously. You… Might need to rethink that.”
“No. No, all his actions are compensated. In fact it’s him that benefits from our… Our, uh, acquaintanceship.”
“He doesn’t want your drugs.”
“And I know that-” Sungjong paused, glancing at Dongwoo, who was staring ahead mirthlessly. “He told you about our deals? Hm. Not that it’s any of your business, but why would he keep agreeing to it, then?”
Saddened by Sungjong’s inability to see through Hoya, the man adopted a more direct approach, “He cares about you. You should use that pretty little head of yours a bit more.”
And Sungjong really tried, recalling all those times when Hoya’s behaviour had seemed weird to him. He wondered why exactly Hoya felt the need to confront Sungyeol, why did he insist on meeting Sungjong at parties.
Sighing, Dongwoo observed him from the side.
“He really likes you a lot, you know.” Sungjong lifted his head to look at him searchingly and Dongwoo held the eye-contact, “And did he tell you that he won the street dancing tournament that was going on? I came in second. He said he really hoped you would show up to see him. It seemed to matter a lot, but you never came.”
“I didn’t know,” Sungjong muttered, strangely feeling like he needed to justify himself.
“So. Yeah, if you need any more of those favors or what not... Why don’t you find someone else?”
“No, you don’t get it-”
“You don’t get it. Give him time, okay? It’s not easy to keep running after someone that doesn’t give two shits about you,” Dongwoo said glumly. He was half-bluffing because Hoya was never one to hold something against a person that was dear to him for too long.
“He kissed me!” Sungjong protested.
“And that gave you a right to treat him like he’s disposable? That you can just use him and throw him away?”
Now, Sungjong didn’t think he deserved such treatment and the conversation had not only gone off-track, it was also exhausting, “He’s been avoiding me ever since, what can I do about it?”
“Talk to him like he’s a person, not a thing!”
Three of Sungjong’s shadows had already stormed off by the time the teen stood up and dusted his pants. “Look, Dongwoo, was it?” he gave the man a stern look. “I am about to move out of this city and I need to ask Hoya for his assistance.”
Dongwoo opened his mouth but Sungjong cut him off, taking note of how big the man’s mouth seemed.
“And okay, so, maybe you think I’ve been shitty to him. But he has never called me on his own, and outside of the deals, we’ve barely even talked. How am I supposed to know what he wants, huh? So before you start accusing people, get both sides straight.”’
With that, he left to find Hoya.
The guy was still dancing, although his movements were bordering on the edge of half-assedness and he was obviously not in the best of moods. Hoya had been furious upon seeing the direction Dongwoo took and he was planning on giving his friend a piece of his mind later.
“Howon! I need to talk,” Sungjong called out, only for the words to get muffled by the loud music. Frustrated, Sungjong fiddled with the speakers, accidentally unplugging them completely.
Hoya came to a halt, looking positively livid and not at all willing to listen. A shadow burst out of him, childishly stomping off but luckily, the man himself had more sense than that.
“What do you want, Sungjong?” he demanded, eyes shut like he couldn’t tolerate looking at the teen.
The clouds above them were starting to look threateningly dark and Sungjong knew he had to make this fast if he wanted to find shelter before it started to rain. The advice Dongwoo had forced on him flew through his mind and some of it stuck.
Friendship was something impossibly difficult to define for Sungjong, but he supposed he could use his relationship with Minjung as an example and go from there.
“My mom asked me to move back in with them.”
Some of the anger in Hoya was instantly replaced with confusion. “What? Why are you telling me this?”
“Um, well. I was living alone because… They thought that would be best for everyone. But now, my mother invited me to live with the family. They’ll be moving to Busan and I’m going with them.”
“When?”
Just as Hoya thought he was prepared for anything, Sungjong spewed this on him. Dread pooled in the pit of the dancer’s stomach at the thought of never seeing the teen again, as
much as Sungjong’s withdrawn attitude had brought him grief.
“In, uh. Two days, actually.”
At loss for words, Hoya stared at the teen he’d known for the past two years as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh. Is- is this a goodbye?” his voice quivered slightly.
“No,” Sungjong assured him, smiling slightly. “That was the favor I wanted to ask you - my mother offered to come and pick me up but I thought that if you could… I’d rather have you drive me off?”
“Really?”
“Can you?”
As Sungjong had predicted, it started raining. It was a misty sort of drizzle, though, so they didn’t run for cover yet.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course I can,” Hoya said, still caught in disbelief.
“Thank you. I’ll text you about the time and place?” Sungjong zipped up his hoodie, wiping droplets off his face while Hoya stood, unmoving like a statue. They hardly noticed Dongwoo appearing and hurriedly packing up the speakers.
Hoya nodded dumbly, raindrops getting into his eyes.
“Okay, bye then!” And with a simple wave, Sungjong turned on his heel and left, hugging himself to keep warm.
Too busy staring after Sungjong and wondering if it was really him or, perhaps, his kinder twin or something, Hoya wasn’t aware of Dongwoo’s presence until a bundle of cloth hit him in the face. He spread it out to realize that it was his own sweater and then Dongwoo was laughing at him.
“He’s a firecracker, isn’t he?” Dongwoo asked, referring to Sungjong. “I like him.”
Dongwoo’s smile was contagious and even though Sungjong was leaving and would probably never care for him like he wanted to be cared for, Hoya was happy, because this felt like a step in the right direction.
-
Two days later, on his last evening in Seoul, Sungjong was waiting in front of the library as a last attempt at tying up loose strings. His therapist had given him a small bouquet of flowers and a notebook with nice wishes on every page and Sungjong didn’t know why - weren’t gifts usually given when a person was declared fully healed?
Myungsoo was early but not as early as Sungjong and he didn’t notice the longing looks Sungjong gave the building his loveliest memories were connected to as they walked away.
“I want to take you somewhere,” was all Sungjong had said when Myungsoo arrived and that was okay, because Myungsoo had gotten his hopes up. Sungjong hadn’t shunned him upon hearing the truth, hadn’t pushed him away when Myungsoo tried to kiss him. And after Sungjong asked to meet up privately, he could dismiss his humiliating departure from the other day as a drunken misunderstanding.
It wasn’t that he was no longer in love with Sungyeol, Myungsoo reasoned with himself while Sungjong gaped at a pale glassy hand wrapping around his. Sungjong was simply there and Myungsoo couldn’t chase after someone who would never love him forever.
The silence they shared gave Myungsoo the time to write scenarios in his head, one cheesier than the other but all ending up with him and Sungjong falling madly in love while Sungyeol glowered from the sidelines in jealousy.
The walk was quite long and when Myungsoo wasn’t preoccupied with wondering what would happen if he kissed Sungjong there and then, he took notice of how the streets they passed got poorer and dingier. Meanwhile Sungjong was furiously blinking to get rid of the leftovers from all the ridiculous choices Myungsoo had unknowingly made.
Sungjong picked at the petals of the flowers he’d been given, walking down a road so familiar that he could easily do it blindfolded and backwards. Myungsoo, though, grew uneasy as they got to the area commonly known as the Hill. He’d never set foot to the place before.
He briefly hoped that Sungjong might be taking him to the graveyard or something, to introduce Myungsoo to some dead relative as the love of his life. But as the strobe lights got brighter and the alleyways narrower, he couldn’t focus on his daydreams anymore.
“Sungjong?” he asked, fearing that this could be some sort of a punishment for deceiving the teen. “Where are we going?”
“Two blocks left.”
“Where?”
Heaving a sigh, Sungjong picked up the pace. “You want Sungyeol.”
After half an hour of imagining taking Sungjong out for silly little dates where the teen would fall head over heels for him, Myungsoo felt quite a bit guilty while agreeing, frustrated over the lack of information Sungjong was giving him. Sungjong, of course, witnessed his hesitation and not giving the real Myungsoo a chance to flee, he sped up even more.
“To get Sungyeol, you want drugs.”
Scowling even though Sungjong’s statement was absolutely correct, Myungsoo rushed to keep up. He found it a waste that some of the flower petals were falling to the asphalt with the careless way Sungjong was holding the bouquet.
“Why, uh, are you running? Are we late for something or…?” Myungsoo asked, more out of breath than he’d like to admit, but no longer considering leaving so Sungjong slowed down, not a word of explanation given in a very Sungjong-ish way.
“I can’t get you Sungyeol,” Sungjong said, unexpectedly coming to a halt and Myungsoo almost cursed, irked about being dragged along like that.
“But I can get you the drugs.”
There was a pregnant pause during which Myungsoo processed what Sungjong had just announced and then Sungjong scaled a set of low steps and opened a door.
Myungsoo’s mouth snapped shut as he took in the house and it’s darkened windows, fluorescent lights promising a quick and cheap service, the buildings at both sides giving even more ominous vibes. At Myungsoo’s bewilderment, Sungjong allowed himself a smirk. “This is my scene,” he said, mocking the senior.
Laughing unsurely, Myungsoo scrambled to follow him into a room, where besides for numerous doors and posters of women in various states of undress, was a reception desk.
A girl sat behind it, obnoxiously chewing on her bubble gum while going through a fashion magazine. Sungjong cleared his throat.
“Ah, Jongie,” she said after looking up and dropping the magazine. She got up from her seat, giving them both a good view of the large dragon tattoo she had on her midsection, only clad in a crop top and a pair of extremely short shorts.
“... And a guest?” the receptionist added after a moment’s delay, winking at Myungsoo. ”Boss is waiting for you.”
This seemed like some twisted alternate universe to Myungsoo, with way too many colours and sins, but Sungjong was totally unruffled, muttering a soft “I know, thanks” and leading him past the girl’s desk.
“See, thing is. I’m not really a dealer or anything,” Sungjong whispered, leaning close to Myungsoo so the girl - who was observing them with amusement - wouldn’t hear. “It used to be all about usefulness, you know? You help me, I help you. But this time it’s kind of different, yeah?”
He knocked on a unsuspicious wooden door and Myungsoo prayed that this was all a dream, that he would wake up and be in a safe place, not on the Hill with who knows who watching.
“Okay,“ Sungjong said mostly to himself before pushing it open and revealing a smallish office with low lights and a woman sitting in a leather armchair.
“Ah, here you are, doll. Sit down, sit down,” she gestured towards the chairs in front of her and Sungjong slid down into one with Myungsoo following suit. “You’re late, I thought you wouldn’t be showing up at all.”
“Sorry. The traffic was insane,” Sungjong joked, bending forwards to place his elbows on the table before them. “But we’re here now, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”
With a flick of his wrist, Minjung told him to go ahead.
Sungjong turned to Myungsoo but his eyes darted to the corner of the room - he simply got tired all of the vibrating Myungsoo’s shadows caused, “I took the liberty of telling Minjung of your situation and she is, very kindly, willing to help.”
By this time, Myungsoo was more intimidated than he’d ever been. He had seen Sungjong as a tsundere-type, if speaking in manga terms - someone with a hard exterior but who’s soft and easily influenced on the inside.
“But you didn’t make a deal with me, see, so you can’t really expect me to get you drugs, yeah? And I don’t think you have the money to pay for them all by yourself so-”
“Wait, what are we talking about here?” Minjung interrupted, glancing between them.
“A party mix, I think,” Sungjong answered before Myungsoo could even comprehend what the woman meant. “Weed with some extras, the guy’s an adventurous type. Anyway, as I was saying-” he sighed, having done more talking for the past few days than ever, “I, uh, we made some arrangements for you. If you really want the dope, you’re going to have to work for it.”
“What?” Myungsoo asked, temporarily snapping out of his fear-induced daze.
Minjung took over, seeing as Sungjong didn’t feel like it. “Firstly, I’d like to say that my name is Minjung,” she shot Sungjong a playful glare. “And if you agree to the terms, I could be your new boss.”
It was true that Myungsoo had thought about working on the side to live more comfortably, but - “What terms?”
“Ah, dear, nothing much. The work isn’t bone-breaking, I’m just in a need for an extra hand since some of my people are quitting. You’ll need to assist in cleaning, maybe fix a few things here and there, nothing illegal, I assure you. The pay is good.”
“But… The terms?”
Laughing, Minjung searched for her cigarettes. “Simple things. If someone asks, you don’t know of this place, you’ve never heard my name… Nothing that would set you in danger, dear, I like to keep an eye on my workers.”
”You can get paid in marijuana, if you want,” Sungjong chirped in and Minjung’s laughter turned into a full-blown open-mouthed guffaw.
She looked at Sungjong fondly, “Yeah, even that. And,” her expression sobered as she examined Myungsoo, “after all the good and… Bad I’ve heard of you, Kim Myungsoo, I do think you could use a lesson in responsibility.”
Myungsoo seemed, naturally, less than enthusiastic, so Minjung made an attempt at persuading him, a cancer stick already dangling between her lips.
“A bit of hard work resulting in good money; weed, if you’re serious about that. You can quit whenever and no resumes or applications are necessary, you can consider this your interview.”
But Myungsoo’s mind was completely blank and he couldn’t say anything to such an offer so after a drawn-out minute filled with uncomfortable silence, Minjung took mercy on him, finding a piece of paper and scribbling something on it before sliding it to the senior.
“This is the number of this place. Think about it. If you’re interested, just call and say you want to work here. We’ll talk about the rest later. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” the relief in Myungsoo’s expression was almost pitiful.
“Yeah,” the woman nodded. “You can go. But think about it.”
Sungjong had never seen anyone get up faster than Myungsoo did, almost tripping on his own feet in the rush to leave. He lingered unsurely in the doorway, though, eyes on Sungjong.
Chuckling, Minjung waved him off. “Go, now, Myungsoo, I have something to discuss with Sungjong here.”
And after that exchange, Myungsoo really did not want to know what the two might need to talk about so he obeyed, closing the door with a click and ignoring the receptionist that kept flashing him suggestive smiles.
He was scared and aghast but at the same time undeniably intrigued, adrenaline making him jittery.
Myungsoo left the notorious area half-running and glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming after him. All the while, the number Minjung had given him was safely tucked into his backpocket.
After calming down and trying to be rational, he couldn’t help but to ponder about how the two might’ve met - how Sungjong, underage and seemingly so fragile, could look so confident on those corrupt streets.
He decided to find out, even if it meant he had to work at that shady motel.
It was exactly like the script of an entertaining shojo manga and Myungsoo felt like he finally got to be a main character.
But what he didn’t know in all his excitement, was that on the very next morning, Hoya would drive up to Sungjong’s apartment building in the car his parents had presented to him a few years ago. He would help Sungjong carry the few things the teen cared enough about not to leave behind and then they would drive for hours in companionable silence.
What Myungsoo didn’t know that night, strolling around the at city centre and arriving home late for dinner, was that Sungjong was about to disappear from his life and he didn’t even get to bid him farewell.
-
Three years and some months later.
-
“Stop it!”
Dongwoo tried to sound menacing, but with Hoya’s fingertips pressing into his sensitive sides, it was quite impossible. He was crouched over, pressed against the large mirrors of the practice room and failing to push the younger man off him.
“Aah~! Stop that!” he half-whined before dissolving into another fit of giggles. “The group is arriving in a minute, Hoya!”
Smiling down at the man affectionately, Hoya continued his relentless attack, slipping an arm around Dongwoo’s waist to keep him upright. “Not until you agree. We’re gonna talk to them whether you like it or not. Say yes.”
“No!” Dongwoo cried out and Hoya’s hand moved down to tickle the undersides of his knees - the man’s weak spot.
“Say yes and it’s all over. My brothers have a hunch anyway.”
There were actual tears in Dongwoo’s eyes and if it wasn’t for Hoya’s firm grip, he would’ve crumpled down on the polished floor.
“F-fuck you,” he swore breathily when the pads of Hoya’s fingers ghosted over the bare skin of his abdomen. His shirt had gotten bunched up around the arm that supported him and Hoya, naturally, took full advantage of that.
“Say yes,” Hoya whispered back, gently blowing on his earlobe and smirking when Dongwoo shuddered. “Do you really want a bunch of young idols to see you like this?”
Dongwoo muttered a select few curse words, the familiar heat already tightening his stomach. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed while all he wanted was to press back into Hoya and retaliate.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Are you happy now?”
And Hoya really was, helping Dongwoo steady himself before placing a large wet kiss on his mouth.
“Okay, yeah. Finally. Your sisters are going to love me.”
Just as Dongwoo was about to tell him off - you can’t win everything with tickle fights - the door burst open and three former members of a band called Infinite, now about to debut as an idol group under the same name, marched in with their manager in tow.
Sunggyu and Woohyun were bickering about something that had to do with medicine and cosmetics, nothing out of the usual. Myungsoo hung back, perfectly playing the role of a quiet prettyboy visual.
“They’re actually in the city right now, I think,” Dongwoo murmured to Hoya, who was struggling to stay at a respectable distance from his boyfriend because Dongwoo’s cheeks were still delectably tinted pink and his hair was all messed up. “You could meet them tonight, if you want to.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, now let me do my job.”
Ignoring Dongwoo’s attempts of waving him off, Hoya stood close to his dance instructor of a lover and watched the trainees prepare for practice. “That’s a good idea- oh, wait, I can’t.”
“You’re the one that wanted to.”
“Yeah. And I really do, but. I promised to meet Sungjong tonight.”
Considering this, Dongwoo nodded thoughtfully, aware of why this was important to Hoya. Then he turned towards the stereo search through the stack of cds on top of it. “You can meet them some other time, that’s fine.”
A little after that, Dongwoo kicked Hoya out of the room and busied himself with the trainees, all stiff-jointed and tired from vocal training and lectures about idol life. Myungsoo seemed especially out of it on that day, strangely energetic but at the same time, distracted.
Dongwoo felt sorry for the guy.
-
Sungjong was exactly where Myungsoo hoped he would be, sitting at the back of the library with a book in front of him. He didn’t have much time, Myungsoo had taken off right after dance practice and his manager would be noticing his absence soon.
But he couldn’t resist.
A part of Myungsoo wanted to scream or kick something, possibly both, at the sight of Sungjong reading serenely, as if the three years never happened. The fear of Sungjong dissolving into thin air, proving to be nothing but a product of his imagination, was the only thing that helped Myungsoo control himself. He fixed his hair and then walked over.
Sliding into the seat opposite from Sungjong and feeling his heartbeat in his throat and hands and all over his body, Myungsoo studied the man that had changed his life.
He had certainly grown up well. Gone were the ill-fitting clothes and the overgrown hair, Sungjong was in a simple shirt, his hair cropped relatively short and dyed a lighter colour that brought out his eyes and complimented his fine features.
“Kafka on the shore,” was elegantly written on the cover of the hardback Sungjong was immersed in and Myungsoo felt a pang of nostalgia.
“Kafka again, huh?”
“By Haruki Murakami,” Sungjong said without looking up, but his lips quirked upwards into a genuine smile. It was almost like he’d been waiting for Myungsoo. “It’s about two guys, one of them can’t feel anything. Their stories intersect and there are talking cats.”
“... And do you like it?” Myungsoo asked and there was this weird sense of peace about it - the sunlight flickering on dust particles, a librarian stacking shelves not far away, the smell of dusty old books and Sungjong in the middle of it all.
The world was spinning on its axis again.
“Mm, well, it’s undeniably interesting,” Sungjong mused, flipping a page. “How’s Minjung?”
The unintentional smile Myungsoo had been wearing dimmed a bit, as he recalled the drama and the worry they’d been put through after her disappearance. “Somewhere in Canada, I hear.”
Sungjong nodded, unsurprised by this. Myungsoo observed him for a minute or two, baffled by the normalcy Sungjong showed, as if he never left.
“Welcome back,” he exclaimed gracelessly, the anger and betrayal and hope and mistrust from the previous years bubbling into a ball of unsubduable emotion. Sungjong finally met his gaze and for once, Myungsoo thought he could see something in the lines of his face - soft but clear delight.
”It’s good to be back.”
Many things had changed but in a way, it was all the same with Kafka and feelings and insecurities and Myungsoo staring at Sungjong miserably while a transparent clone broke apart from him.
Leaning over the table, the shadow pushed Sungjong’s book aside and hovered, almost reaching, its cool breath on Sungjong’s lips.
Myungsoo mimicked its actions a moment later.
A/N: Posted in three parts because it was too big. =__=
This thing took me many little forevers, believe it. But it was fun trying to write a story in which the main character has both an unusual ability and a dark-ish past without either of those being the focus of it all.
Dedications: to the irl friend that first had the idea and encouraged me to write it,
to Myrfie for holding my hand through it and calming me down when I freaked out about the fic sucking,
to lucentic for being the best yeob ever and beta-ing this monster (gently)
and to mhn77 simply for existing.
Love you all!
Comments are always appreciated. <3
(especially since i dun have much faith in my writing abilities anymore................ haha)
Part 1/3 | Part 2/3
Myungsoo woke with a mouth full of cotton and a massive headache, feet dangling off the end of the mattress. His right arm was dead and his legs felt extremely uncomfortable in his jeans, not to mention he was laying in a puddle of his own saliva.
The world seemed to be spinning and the rays of sunshine playing in the thin curtains got on his nerves. He kicked the blanket off and crawled to the wall side of Sungjong’s bed where the younger had slept, slowly working through everything that had happened and then groaning.
That was not how the previous night was supposed to go.
Myungsoo had plotted it all out - he would spend time with Sungyeol, making inside jokes while playfully roughhousing and if Sungjong came, Myungsoo would mention pot in a roundabout way and the younger would give him some kind of a vague hint about his connections.
Instead, he had downed shots after shots, spying on Sungyeol and his girlfriend as they made out in Kibum’s backyard.
And then he had kissed Sungjong. Oh fuck.
The memories hit him like a ton of bricks and Myungsoo wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He wasn’t given much time to wallow in despair, though, because then Sungjong came marching in.
“Oh, you’re up,” Sungjong said, sounding remarkably normal and unconcerned.
Myungsoo grumbled a hello in reply, his voice rough from the crying he’d never admit he did.
“Do you want anything?”
Either Sungjong was unbelievably slow and/or incredibly indifferent because despite Myungsoo’s confession about being attracted to boys, he still didn’t seem to think twice before stepping out of his baggy pants and underwear, even bending over to scour for a fresh pair in the third drawer of his wardrobe. Myungsoo averted his gaze quickly, but not fast enough not to notice how smooth his skin looked and how-
Yes, better not go there.
“Myungsoo? Are you hungry?” Sungjong turned to him, yanking up some plain black boxers. Myungsoo made the mistake of allowing himself a peek, gulping at the sight of the cloth sitting so snugly around Sungjong’s crotch.
“Nope,” he croaked out, feeling his face heat up and jeans get a bit constricting.
“Water?”
“Uh...”
Sungjong was blissfully oblivious, discarding his shirt and revealing his nipples, pointy from the cool air of his bedroom. To Myungsoo’s luck, the teen didn’t flaunt his slender little body for too long, slipping into a sweater that was a few sizes too large for him - a christmas gift from Sungjong’s mother, who no longer knew what her son looked like.
There was a type of men Myungsoo often lusted after - tall, toned, loud and witty. Skinny quiet guys like Sungjong ordinarily left him completely disinterested and soft. Sungjong proved to be an exception.
“Myungsoo? Do you want some or not?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Myungsoo tried to clear out the fog stuck in his head. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not quite certain about what he had just agreed to.
The younger left, not bothering to wear pants much to Myungsoo’s charigin, and the senior busied himself with finding shapes that kind of looked like human heads in Sungjong’s flower patterned wallpaper.
He didn’t feel nauseous, but rather like someone had shaken up his insides and his stomach lurched violently.
After a short while, Sungjong returned, carrying a glass of water and a wad of tissues that he dipped into the glass before handing it over for Myungsoo to drink. Sitting up and chugging down all the water in one go, Myungsoo was about to ask what the tissues were for but he got his answer before having to verbalize it.
Something cold and wet was held to his cheek and Myungsoo lowered the glass to find Sungjong’s face suddenly much closer and scrunched up in concentration.
“... What are you doing?”
Sungjong wiped the corners of Myungsoo’s eyes, showing him the stains of black left on the tissue. “You look like crap.”
Had it been anyone else, Myungsoo would have probably been at least a little offended, but hearing Sungjong say something so teenager-ish only made him laugh. It was nice to sit on Sungjong’s bed like that, with the younger kneeling in front of him, cleaning his face with uttermost care.
“Thank you, Sungjong,” he mumbled, when Sungjong reached his other eye and erased the tracks that tears had left in Myungsoo’s eyeliner.
The words were loaded with gratefulness for more than the gentleness Sungjong was demonstrating at that moment. There was more emotion in it than even Myungsoo himself could comprehend.
Sungjong rubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge with the tip of his thumb and Myungsoo got the craziest urge to kiss him. He wanted to flip the teen around and press him into the mattress, shatter Sungjong’s unwavering self-control and make that pretty mouth gasp for air while Myungsoo left marks on his neck.
His desires were evident in his half-lidded gaze, but Sungjong somehow didn’t seem to notice, moving out of Myungsoo’s reach as soon as he was done.
Throwing the used tissues into a trash bin by the door, Sungjong frowned down at the messed up sheets. “How do you feel?” he asked Myungsoo, yanking two of the quilts off the bed and examining them. He figured he’d have to wash most of the bedclothes.
“Do you think you could get up now?”
He meant for Myungsoo to sit somewhere else but the man understood his words in an entirely different way, his earlier excitement gone. Crestfallen, Myungsoo placed the glass on the floor next to the bowl Sungjong had left there and and got to his feet.
“Ah, well. Yeah,” he murmured, voice almost breaking and a dejected expression in his face. An ugly, disturbing idea rooted itself in his thoughts - that maybe Sungjong put up with him only because he didn’t know how to deal with people, how to act in such situations, thus he didn’t know how to say no. “Could I, uh, use your bathroom before I go?”
The teen nodded absentmindedly, bending over to reach a pillow in the far corner of the bed and giving Myungsoo a nice view of his thighs. Myungsoo cursed silently and forced his body to move.
When he came back, Sungjong had thrown the soiled linens in a huge pile on the floor and was fiddling with his phone, apparently texting someone.
“I’m. Uh. So I’m just gonna go now?”
Sungjong hardly noticed. Discouraged, Myungsoo lingered for a few moments and since the teenager was still pouting down at the buttons, Myungsoo headed to the hall where he found his shoes and jacket.
It was oddly quiet, Sungjong’s flat, not to mention, small, but Myungsoo wasn’t in the right state of mind to find it strange. He left without a proper goodbye, equal parts ashamed and disappointed, guessing that Sungjong wouldn’t care about etiquette.
Waiting for the elevator, he figured such an abrupt ending to their strange little sleepover was probably for the best. He had a band meeting to attend on that day anyway.
Now if only he could find himself some aspirin.
-
Howon wasn’t picking up his phone, namely the calls from Lee Sungjong. There were also two new messages in his inbox - one stating that Sungjong needed a favor and the other asking to meet at the library. Hoya ignored them both, putting his phone on silent and shoving it into a worn rucksack.
He wasn’t prepared to face Sungjong yet, even more so if the teen expected them to continue as they were, he wasn’t that masochistic.
That wasn’t to mean that Hoya didn’t think of Sungjong - he did, freestyling to the hottest verses, he imagined Sungjong looking for him and stopping in his tracks, mesmerized by the sharp twists of Hoya’s body.
The harmless little daydreams about impressing Sungjong motivated Hoya to try harder, even if they weren’t on a speaking basis in reality.
Dongwoo grinned at him, eyes wide with enthusiasm.
They were friends now, Hoya could say, mainly because Dongwoo’s irresistibly friendly nature dissolved most of the competitive animosity Hoya had towards the older. But their rivalry was still going on strong and the two were constantly showing off and lurking at the park after midnight with a boombox and ratty trainers for some extra practice. The only difference was that now they patted each other on the back once their turn was over.
Jang Dongwoo, a performing arts major and a guy with an unlimited amount of childishness, bordering on naivety, also proved to be a great confidant. It was probably that very personality trait that allowed him not judge Hoya for being enamored with a totally apathetic and possibly asexual man.
And while Dongwoo found his situation kind of laughable, he laughed about everything so Hoya didn’t take that as an insult.
Hoya was bent backwards on the makeshift stage, hands on the ground behind him and ready to kick himself up into the next stance, when he first caught a glimpse of a familiar black-and-yellow hoodie. At first he shook it off as his imagination getting out of hand, but during a spin, Hoya was able to confirm that it really was Sungjong, hair messy and face typically void of emotion.
He froze and missed a step, almost losing his balance.
Dongwoo, who had been watching from the sidelines and bopping his head to the beat, looked slightly worried. “What’s up?” the older shouted, turning down the music by a couple notches. “Did you twist your ankle or something?”
Shaking his head, Hoya pushed himself up off the ground and jogged to the other, picking up a water bottle and taking a few long gulps.
“What happened, then? You usually execute that move without a hitch? Yah, Hoya?” Dongwoo pestered, because as a perfectionist, Hoya rarely tolerated mistakes.
“Nothing.”
“Dude, you almost snapped your wrist-”
Sungjong advanced towards them almost shyly by a few meters, sending Hoya choking on a mouthful of water.
Only then did Dongwoo notice the small-framed teenager watching them with a pout. He patted Hoya on the back as the dancer coughed to free his airways and after a long minute, Dongwoo’s eyes widened.
“Hey, is that… The kid you told me about?”
Hoya panted, sending Dongwoo a pained look that the older took as an answer.
“Are you gonna talk to him? He seems kinda, uh, pressed.”
“No,” Hoya grunted curtly in reply, turning his back to Sungjong and tucking his water bottle back into his bag. His throat still felt a bit rough so he cleared it one last time before exhaling deeply.
“I just needed a drink,” he told Dongwoo, a sharp note in his voice implying that the conversation was over. “Same song, from the top.”
Dongwoo didn’t seem to approve of this stubborn way of avoiding Sungjong but Hoya really didn’t care, shoes scuffing against the concrete of the raised platform they used as a stage. In his defence, he had already been rejected and if it wasn’t an apology or a confession Sungjong had for him, Hoya didn’t want to hear it.
Frowning as if he had a puzzle he couldn’t solve, Dongwoo rewound the song and pressed play. For a while, he followed the line of Hoya’s body as the man smoothed himself from position to position, footwork impressive and face trained into a mask of impassiveness.
Then, Dongwoo’s eyes wandered off to find the boy standing not far off, stil pouting and looking kind of helpless, not at all like the heartless minx Hoya had bitterly described him as.
His eagerness and concern got the best of him.
“Hi, I’m Dongwoo,” he introduced himself with his trademark grin, hoping Hoya wouldn’t skin him alive later.
Sungjong seemed perpetually displeased from up close, but not in a possibly dangerous underaged drug dealer-ish way, leaving Dongwoo to wonder if this harmless flower boy could really be the infamous Lee Sungjong Hoya was moping about.
“I need to talk to Hoya,” the teen declared.
“Well, uh, he doesn’t need to talk to you,” Dongwoo blurted out, fascinated by the way Sungjong’s expression darkened. “Your name… Is it Sungjong?”
The boy nodded, shoulders drooping in disappointment.
“Oh, uh, then… Why don’t I talk to you instead!” he grabbed Sungjong’s arms, pulling the younger’s hands out of the pockets of his hoodie. “You can tell this hyung all your worries!”
Startled but not fighting against the gentle grip Dongwoo had him in, Sungjong studied the fashion disaster of a man scrutinizingly, eyes narrowed. After a short period of awkwardness, Sungjong muttered a question, “who are you?”
“Dongwoo. I’m a friend of Hoya’s. He’s a bit busy right now, as you can see. So. If you want to leave him a message or something, I can-”
Sungjong freed himself from Dongwoo’s grasp, scandalized. “No, you don’t get it, this is important.”
“Important, huh?”
“Yeah, if you could just tell him that Sungjong needs a favor, I’m sure he’d find a moment.”
A part of Dongwoo wanted to test out that theory, resulting in a shadow stalking off in Hoya’s direction. His solid form, though, stayed sure to himself and chose to respect Hoya’s decision of not talking to Sungjong.
Plus, if Sungjong was as much of a brat as he seemed to be. Dongwoo didn’t want Hoya to fall into that pit of depression he’d struggled so hard to get out of a couple weeks back.
“See, this is why Hoya isn’t here with you right now. Do you always go looking for him only when you want something?” Dongwoo asked, not unkindly, sitting down on the grass to lessen the chance of Hoya spotting them.
After watching a transparent clone of himself head towards the stage, Sungjong shrugged before lowering himself down next to Dongwoo. If he needed to get through Hoya’s guard dog before making his request then so be it. He had time to waste since school was over and Minjung would receive him at all hours.
Besides, he was kind of antsy about telling Hoya about this huge change in his life anyway. It was no secret that the man was his favorite “client”.
“Do you consider him a friend?”
Tilting his head to the side as if to wordlessly ask how that was relevant to anything, Sungjong gave it a moment’s worth of musing, “No?”
Dongwoo’s smile dropped. “Oh. And there’s your problem. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be there for you all the time if he didn’t think you two were friends. Seriously. You… Might need to rethink that.”
“No. No, all his actions are compensated. In fact it’s him that benefits from our… Our, uh, acquaintanceship.”
“He doesn’t want your drugs.”
“And I know that-” Sungjong paused, glancing at Dongwoo, who was staring ahead mirthlessly. “He told you about our deals? Hm. Not that it’s any of your business, but why would he keep agreeing to it, then?”
Saddened by Sungjong’s inability to see through Hoya, the man adopted a more direct approach, “He cares about you. You should use that pretty little head of yours a bit more.”
And Sungjong really tried, recalling all those times when Hoya’s behaviour had seemed weird to him. He wondered why exactly Hoya felt the need to confront Sungyeol, why did he insist on meeting Sungjong at parties.
Sighing, Dongwoo observed him from the side.
“He really likes you a lot, you know.” Sungjong lifted his head to look at him searchingly and Dongwoo held the eye-contact, “And did he tell you that he won the street dancing tournament that was going on? I came in second. He said he really hoped you would show up to see him. It seemed to matter a lot, but you never came.”
“I didn’t know,” Sungjong muttered, strangely feeling like he needed to justify himself.
“So. Yeah, if you need any more of those favors or what not... Why don’t you find someone else?”
“No, you don’t get it-”
“You don’t get it. Give him time, okay? It’s not easy to keep running after someone that doesn’t give two shits about you,” Dongwoo said glumly. He was half-bluffing because Hoya was never one to hold something against a person that was dear to him for too long.
“He kissed me!” Sungjong protested.
“And that gave you a right to treat him like he’s disposable? That you can just use him and throw him away?”
Now, Sungjong didn’t think he deserved such treatment and the conversation had not only gone off-track, it was also exhausting, “He’s been avoiding me ever since, what can I do about it?”
“Talk to him like he’s a person, not a thing!”
Three of Sungjong’s shadows had already stormed off by the time the teen stood up and dusted his pants. “Look, Dongwoo, was it?” he gave the man a stern look. “I am about to move out of this city and I need to ask Hoya for his assistance.”
Dongwoo opened his mouth but Sungjong cut him off, taking note of how big the man’s mouth seemed.
“And okay, so, maybe you think I’ve been shitty to him. But he has never called me on his own, and outside of the deals, we’ve barely even talked. How am I supposed to know what he wants, huh? So before you start accusing people, get both sides straight.”’
With that, he left to find Hoya.
The guy was still dancing, although his movements were bordering on the edge of half-assedness and he was obviously not in the best of moods. Hoya had been furious upon seeing the direction Dongwoo took and he was planning on giving his friend a piece of his mind later.
“Howon! I need to talk,” Sungjong called out, only for the words to get muffled by the loud music. Frustrated, Sungjong fiddled with the speakers, accidentally unplugging them completely.
Hoya came to a halt, looking positively livid and not at all willing to listen. A shadow burst out of him, childishly stomping off but luckily, the man himself had more sense than that.
“What do you want, Sungjong?” he demanded, eyes shut like he couldn’t tolerate looking at the teen.
The clouds above them were starting to look threateningly dark and Sungjong knew he had to make this fast if he wanted to find shelter before it started to rain. The advice Dongwoo had forced on him flew through his mind and some of it stuck.
Friendship was something impossibly difficult to define for Sungjong, but he supposed he could use his relationship with Minjung as an example and go from there.
“My mom asked me to move back in with them.”
Some of the anger in Hoya was instantly replaced with confusion. “What? Why are you telling me this?”
“Um, well. I was living alone because… They thought that would be best for everyone. But now, my mother invited me to live with the family. They’ll be moving to Busan and I’m going with them.”
“When?”
Just as Hoya thought he was prepared for anything, Sungjong spewed this on him. Dread pooled in the pit of the dancer’s stomach at the thought of never seeing the teen again, as
much as Sungjong’s withdrawn attitude had brought him grief.
“In, uh. Two days, actually.”
At loss for words, Hoya stared at the teen he’d known for the past two years as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh. Is- is this a goodbye?” his voice quivered slightly.
“No,” Sungjong assured him, smiling slightly. “That was the favor I wanted to ask you - my mother offered to come and pick me up but I thought that if you could… I’d rather have you drive me off?”
“Really?”
“Can you?”
As Sungjong had predicted, it started raining. It was a misty sort of drizzle, though, so they didn’t run for cover yet.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course I can,” Hoya said, still caught in disbelief.
“Thank you. I’ll text you about the time and place?” Sungjong zipped up his hoodie, wiping droplets off his face while Hoya stood, unmoving like a statue. They hardly noticed Dongwoo appearing and hurriedly packing up the speakers.
Hoya nodded dumbly, raindrops getting into his eyes.
“Okay, bye then!” And with a simple wave, Sungjong turned on his heel and left, hugging himself to keep warm.
Too busy staring after Sungjong and wondering if it was really him or, perhaps, his kinder twin or something, Hoya wasn’t aware of Dongwoo’s presence until a bundle of cloth hit him in the face. He spread it out to realize that it was his own sweater and then Dongwoo was laughing at him.
“He’s a firecracker, isn’t he?” Dongwoo asked, referring to Sungjong. “I like him.”
Dongwoo’s smile was contagious and even though Sungjong was leaving and would probably never care for him like he wanted to be cared for, Hoya was happy, because this felt like a step in the right direction.
-
Two days later, on his last evening in Seoul, Sungjong was waiting in front of the library as a last attempt at tying up loose strings. His therapist had given him a small bouquet of flowers and a notebook with nice wishes on every page and Sungjong didn’t know why - weren’t gifts usually given when a person was declared fully healed?
Myungsoo was early but not as early as Sungjong and he didn’t notice the longing looks Sungjong gave the building his loveliest memories were connected to as they walked away.
“I want to take you somewhere,” was all Sungjong had said when Myungsoo arrived and that was okay, because Myungsoo had gotten his hopes up. Sungjong hadn’t shunned him upon hearing the truth, hadn’t pushed him away when Myungsoo tried to kiss him. And after Sungjong asked to meet up privately, he could dismiss his humiliating departure from the other day as a drunken misunderstanding.
It wasn’t that he was no longer in love with Sungyeol, Myungsoo reasoned with himself while Sungjong gaped at a pale glassy hand wrapping around his. Sungjong was simply there and Myungsoo couldn’t chase after someone who would never love him forever.
The silence they shared gave Myungsoo the time to write scenarios in his head, one cheesier than the other but all ending up with him and Sungjong falling madly in love while Sungyeol glowered from the sidelines in jealousy.
The walk was quite long and when Myungsoo wasn’t preoccupied with wondering what would happen if he kissed Sungjong there and then, he took notice of how the streets they passed got poorer and dingier. Meanwhile Sungjong was furiously blinking to get rid of the leftovers from all the ridiculous choices Myungsoo had unknowingly made.
Sungjong picked at the petals of the flowers he’d been given, walking down a road so familiar that he could easily do it blindfolded and backwards. Myungsoo, though, grew uneasy as they got to the area commonly known as the Hill. He’d never set foot to the place before.
He briefly hoped that Sungjong might be taking him to the graveyard or something, to introduce Myungsoo to some dead relative as the love of his life. But as the strobe lights got brighter and the alleyways narrower, he couldn’t focus on his daydreams anymore.
“Sungjong?” he asked, fearing that this could be some sort of a punishment for deceiving the teen. “Where are we going?”
“Two blocks left.”
“Where?”
Heaving a sigh, Sungjong picked up the pace. “You want Sungyeol.”
After half an hour of imagining taking Sungjong out for silly little dates where the teen would fall head over heels for him, Myungsoo felt quite a bit guilty while agreeing, frustrated over the lack of information Sungjong was giving him. Sungjong, of course, witnessed his hesitation and not giving the real Myungsoo a chance to flee, he sped up even more.
“To get Sungyeol, you want drugs.”
Scowling even though Sungjong’s statement was absolutely correct, Myungsoo rushed to keep up. He found it a waste that some of the flower petals were falling to the asphalt with the careless way Sungjong was holding the bouquet.
“Why, uh, are you running? Are we late for something or…?” Myungsoo asked, more out of breath than he’d like to admit, but no longer considering leaving so Sungjong slowed down, not a word of explanation given in a very Sungjong-ish way.
“I can’t get you Sungyeol,” Sungjong said, unexpectedly coming to a halt and Myungsoo almost cursed, irked about being dragged along like that.
“But I can get you the drugs.”
There was a pregnant pause during which Myungsoo processed what Sungjong had just announced and then Sungjong scaled a set of low steps and opened a door.
Myungsoo’s mouth snapped shut as he took in the house and it’s darkened windows, fluorescent lights promising a quick and cheap service, the buildings at both sides giving even more ominous vibes. At Myungsoo’s bewilderment, Sungjong allowed himself a smirk. “This is my scene,” he said, mocking the senior.
Laughing unsurely, Myungsoo scrambled to follow him into a room, where besides for numerous doors and posters of women in various states of undress, was a reception desk.
A girl sat behind it, obnoxiously chewing on her bubble gum while going through a fashion magazine. Sungjong cleared his throat.
“Ah, Jongie,” she said after looking up and dropping the magazine. She got up from her seat, giving them both a good view of the large dragon tattoo she had on her midsection, only clad in a crop top and a pair of extremely short shorts.
“... And a guest?” the receptionist added after a moment’s delay, winking at Myungsoo. ”Boss is waiting for you.”
This seemed like some twisted alternate universe to Myungsoo, with way too many colours and sins, but Sungjong was totally unruffled, muttering a soft “I know, thanks” and leading him past the girl’s desk.
“See, thing is. I’m not really a dealer or anything,” Sungjong whispered, leaning close to Myungsoo so the girl - who was observing them with amusement - wouldn’t hear. “It used to be all about usefulness, you know? You help me, I help you. But this time it’s kind of different, yeah?”
He knocked on a unsuspicious wooden door and Myungsoo prayed that this was all a dream, that he would wake up and be in a safe place, not on the Hill with who knows who watching.
“Okay,“ Sungjong said mostly to himself before pushing it open and revealing a smallish office with low lights and a woman sitting in a leather armchair.
“Ah, here you are, doll. Sit down, sit down,” she gestured towards the chairs in front of her and Sungjong slid down into one with Myungsoo following suit. “You’re late, I thought you wouldn’t be showing up at all.”
“Sorry. The traffic was insane,” Sungjong joked, bending forwards to place his elbows on the table before them. “But we’re here now, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”
With a flick of his wrist, Minjung told him to go ahead.
Sungjong turned to Myungsoo but his eyes darted to the corner of the room - he simply got tired all of the vibrating Myungsoo’s shadows caused, “I took the liberty of telling Minjung of your situation and she is, very kindly, willing to help.”
By this time, Myungsoo was more intimidated than he’d ever been. He had seen Sungjong as a tsundere-type, if speaking in manga terms - someone with a hard exterior but who’s soft and easily influenced on the inside.
“But you didn’t make a deal with me, see, so you can’t really expect me to get you drugs, yeah? And I don’t think you have the money to pay for them all by yourself so-”
“Wait, what are we talking about here?” Minjung interrupted, glancing between them.
“A party mix, I think,” Sungjong answered before Myungsoo could even comprehend what the woman meant. “Weed with some extras, the guy’s an adventurous type. Anyway, as I was saying-” he sighed, having done more talking for the past few days than ever, “I, uh, we made some arrangements for you. If you really want the dope, you’re going to have to work for it.”
“What?” Myungsoo asked, temporarily snapping out of his fear-induced daze.
Minjung took over, seeing as Sungjong didn’t feel like it. “Firstly, I’d like to say that my name is Minjung,” she shot Sungjong a playful glare. “And if you agree to the terms, I could be your new boss.”
It was true that Myungsoo had thought about working on the side to live more comfortably, but - “What terms?”
“Ah, dear, nothing much. The work isn’t bone-breaking, I’m just in a need for an extra hand since some of my people are quitting. You’ll need to assist in cleaning, maybe fix a few things here and there, nothing illegal, I assure you. The pay is good.”
“But… The terms?”
Laughing, Minjung searched for her cigarettes. “Simple things. If someone asks, you don’t know of this place, you’ve never heard my name… Nothing that would set you in danger, dear, I like to keep an eye on my workers.”
”You can get paid in marijuana, if you want,” Sungjong chirped in and Minjung’s laughter turned into a full-blown open-mouthed guffaw.
She looked at Sungjong fondly, “Yeah, even that. And,” her expression sobered as she examined Myungsoo, “after all the good and… Bad I’ve heard of you, Kim Myungsoo, I do think you could use a lesson in responsibility.”
Myungsoo seemed, naturally, less than enthusiastic, so Minjung made an attempt at persuading him, a cancer stick already dangling between her lips.
“A bit of hard work resulting in good money; weed, if you’re serious about that. You can quit whenever and no resumes or applications are necessary, you can consider this your interview.”
But Myungsoo’s mind was completely blank and he couldn’t say anything to such an offer so after a drawn-out minute filled with uncomfortable silence, Minjung took mercy on him, finding a piece of paper and scribbling something on it before sliding it to the senior.
“This is the number of this place. Think about it. If you’re interested, just call and say you want to work here. We’ll talk about the rest later. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” the relief in Myungsoo’s expression was almost pitiful.
“Yeah,” the woman nodded. “You can go. But think about it.”
Sungjong had never seen anyone get up faster than Myungsoo did, almost tripping on his own feet in the rush to leave. He lingered unsurely in the doorway, though, eyes on Sungjong.
Chuckling, Minjung waved him off. “Go, now, Myungsoo, I have something to discuss with Sungjong here.”
And after that exchange, Myungsoo really did not want to know what the two might need to talk about so he obeyed, closing the door with a click and ignoring the receptionist that kept flashing him suggestive smiles.
He was scared and aghast but at the same time undeniably intrigued, adrenaline making him jittery.
Myungsoo left the notorious area half-running and glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming after him. All the while, the number Minjung had given him was safely tucked into his backpocket.
After calming down and trying to be rational, he couldn’t help but to ponder about how the two might’ve met - how Sungjong, underage and seemingly so fragile, could look so confident on those corrupt streets.
He decided to find out, even if it meant he had to work at that shady motel.
It was exactly like the script of an entertaining shojo manga and Myungsoo felt like he finally got to be a main character.
But what he didn’t know in all his excitement, was that on the very next morning, Hoya would drive up to Sungjong’s apartment building in the car his parents had presented to him a few years ago. He would help Sungjong carry the few things the teen cared enough about not to leave behind and then they would drive for hours in companionable silence.
What Myungsoo didn’t know that night, strolling around the at city centre and arriving home late for dinner, was that Sungjong was about to disappear from his life and he didn’t even get to bid him farewell.
-
Three years and some months later.
-
“Stop it!”
Dongwoo tried to sound menacing, but with Hoya’s fingertips pressing into his sensitive sides, it was quite impossible. He was crouched over, pressed against the large mirrors of the practice room and failing to push the younger man off him.
“Aah~! Stop that!” he half-whined before dissolving into another fit of giggles. “The group is arriving in a minute, Hoya!”
Smiling down at the man affectionately, Hoya continued his relentless attack, slipping an arm around Dongwoo’s waist to keep him upright. “Not until you agree. We’re gonna talk to them whether you like it or not. Say yes.”
“No!” Dongwoo cried out and Hoya’s hand moved down to tickle the undersides of his knees - the man’s weak spot.
“Say yes and it’s all over. My brothers have a hunch anyway.”
There were actual tears in Dongwoo’s eyes and if it wasn’t for Hoya’s firm grip, he would’ve crumpled down on the polished floor.
“F-fuck you,” he swore breathily when the pads of Hoya’s fingers ghosted over the bare skin of his abdomen. His shirt had gotten bunched up around the arm that supported him and Hoya, naturally, took full advantage of that.
“Say yes,” Hoya whispered back, gently blowing on his earlobe and smirking when Dongwoo shuddered. “Do you really want a bunch of young idols to see you like this?”
Dongwoo muttered a select few curse words, the familiar heat already tightening his stomach. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed while all he wanted was to press back into Hoya and retaliate.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Are you happy now?”
And Hoya really was, helping Dongwoo steady himself before placing a large wet kiss on his mouth.
“Okay, yeah. Finally. Your sisters are going to love me.”
Just as Dongwoo was about to tell him off - you can’t win everything with tickle fights - the door burst open and three former members of a band called Infinite, now about to debut as an idol group under the same name, marched in with their manager in tow.
Sunggyu and Woohyun were bickering about something that had to do with medicine and cosmetics, nothing out of the usual. Myungsoo hung back, perfectly playing the role of a quiet prettyboy visual.
“They’re actually in the city right now, I think,” Dongwoo murmured to Hoya, who was struggling to stay at a respectable distance from his boyfriend because Dongwoo’s cheeks were still delectably tinted pink and his hair was all messed up. “You could meet them tonight, if you want to.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, now let me do my job.”
Ignoring Dongwoo’s attempts of waving him off, Hoya stood close to his dance instructor of a lover and watched the trainees prepare for practice. “That’s a good idea- oh, wait, I can’t.”
“You’re the one that wanted to.”
“Yeah. And I really do, but. I promised to meet Sungjong tonight.”
Considering this, Dongwoo nodded thoughtfully, aware of why this was important to Hoya. Then he turned towards the stereo search through the stack of cds on top of it. “You can meet them some other time, that’s fine.”
A little after that, Dongwoo kicked Hoya out of the room and busied himself with the trainees, all stiff-jointed and tired from vocal training and lectures about idol life. Myungsoo seemed especially out of it on that day, strangely energetic but at the same time, distracted.
Dongwoo felt sorry for the guy.
-
Sungjong was exactly where Myungsoo hoped he would be, sitting at the back of the library with a book in front of him. He didn’t have much time, Myungsoo had taken off right after dance practice and his manager would be noticing his absence soon.
But he couldn’t resist.
A part of Myungsoo wanted to scream or kick something, possibly both, at the sight of Sungjong reading serenely, as if the three years never happened. The fear of Sungjong dissolving into thin air, proving to be nothing but a product of his imagination, was the only thing that helped Myungsoo control himself. He fixed his hair and then walked over.
Sliding into the seat opposite from Sungjong and feeling his heartbeat in his throat and hands and all over his body, Myungsoo studied the man that had changed his life.
He had certainly grown up well. Gone were the ill-fitting clothes and the overgrown hair, Sungjong was in a simple shirt, his hair cropped relatively short and dyed a lighter colour that brought out his eyes and complimented his fine features.
“Kafka on the shore,” was elegantly written on the cover of the hardback Sungjong was immersed in and Myungsoo felt a pang of nostalgia.
“Kafka again, huh?”
“By Haruki Murakami,” Sungjong said without looking up, but his lips quirked upwards into a genuine smile. It was almost like he’d been waiting for Myungsoo. “It’s about two guys, one of them can’t feel anything. Their stories intersect and there are talking cats.”
“... And do you like it?” Myungsoo asked and there was this weird sense of peace about it - the sunlight flickering on dust particles, a librarian stacking shelves not far away, the smell of dusty old books and Sungjong in the middle of it all.
The world was spinning on its axis again.
“Mm, well, it’s undeniably interesting,” Sungjong mused, flipping a page. “How’s Minjung?”
The unintentional smile Myungsoo had been wearing dimmed a bit, as he recalled the drama and the worry they’d been put through after her disappearance. “Somewhere in Canada, I hear.”
Sungjong nodded, unsurprised by this. Myungsoo observed him for a minute or two, baffled by the normalcy Sungjong showed, as if he never left.
“Welcome back,” he exclaimed gracelessly, the anger and betrayal and hope and mistrust from the previous years bubbling into a ball of unsubduable emotion. Sungjong finally met his gaze and for once, Myungsoo thought he could see something in the lines of his face - soft but clear delight.
”It’s good to be back.”
Many things had changed but in a way, it was all the same with Kafka and feelings and insecurities and Myungsoo staring at Sungjong miserably while a transparent clone broke apart from him.
Leaning over the table, the shadow pushed Sungjong’s book aside and hovered, almost reaching, its cool breath on Sungjong’s lips.
Myungsoo mimicked its actions a moment later.
A/N: Posted in three parts because it was too big. =__=
This thing took me many little forevers, believe it. But it was fun trying to write a story in which the main character has both an unusual ability and a dark-ish past without either of those being the focus of it all.
Dedications: to the irl friend that first had the idea and encouraged me to write it,
to Myrfie for holding my hand through it and calming me down when I freaked out about the fic sucking,
to lucentic for being the best yeob ever and beta-ing this monster (gently)
and to mhn77 simply for existing.
Love you all!
Comments are always appreciated. <3
(especially since i dun have much faith in my writing abilities anymore................ haha)