Butterfly
Title: Butterfly
Author: Jongbuttbutt
Characters: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: character death
Wordcount: 5144
Summary: Himchan wants to die. So Yongguk kept the butterflies safely in his gut and held Himchan's hand a little tighter.Because Himchan was a butterfly. And butterflies flew away.
A/N: [Written for Rasspberrymilk for thebrowniebunch] Big apology to the mods for being troublesome and to Rasspberrymilk for possibly not writing the way you intended this prompt to be. Wrote elections!au halfway and switched to this (that went back and forth a few times before I stuck to this)! I hope you like it anyway!
>>>
Blame it on the butterflies. Why else would he still be alive- well physically intact at least. It had to be the butterflies. Little panicked flurry of wings in his gut as he stood at the edge of the building, toeing the edge like an expert tightrope walker. Fingers so ready to let go of that tag- laminated paper, ripped from his wrist. But the butterflies held him back, his body was paralysed. They whispered softly to him; firmly-
Live.
❊
1 hour, 51 minutes, 12 seconds to.
Yongguk was a passenger on the train, arriving in Seoul with little more than a suitcase full of inexpensive belongings, temporarily suspended from the monotone of life until he reaches his destination, kept alive only by the routinely spinning of his pen between slender fingers. He could only hope Seoul was exactly like what he had imagined, what he'd been writing all these while in his lyrics- the life and virility of Hongdae; the almost sinful lure of Itaewon.
Reality was beautiful in fast forward.
The telephone lines ran on to infinity, the greens of spring blended soulfully with the blue-greyness of the skies. The coffee perched on the side table fogged up the base of the glass, casting coy chiffon where the tracks could have been seen.
He got off at when the announcement pronounced Seoul station in an accent he heard often on news channels, and Yongguk was a little too nervous to realize that the city smelt different from what he had imagined. Mid-day traffic, solid smells and drafting familiarity. Everything was magic. Even the winding streets that led to his ratty apartment. There wasn't much to explore in the bare expense of his apartment. Dry wall so thin you could hear the neighbour's secret affairs, window grills rusted beyond salvation. But it was the shelter he needed for now. The number 7 on his door shed gold paint, a mock-attempt at some grandeur.
The door to number 6 was open and Yongguk couldn't help his wandering gaze. The room was dimly lit, its yellow light seeping past the small gap between the worn wood and the doorframe. There was a man, his side facing yongguk, eyes scanning a blank canvass, fingers tracing it gently. So gently that Yongguk had to look away. There was something strangely intimate about the scene playing out before him. He was beautiful, features sharp, slightly intimidating, frown giving him an aura of purpose. Yongguk liked his lips the best though. Philtrum ending in a cupid's bow; pinkish skin; so so soft. It was that slight pout that made him seem a little more approachable; reachable. The stranger had a mark on his arm, fine detail etched on skin. A mark or scar of some sort. Yongguk may have been stretching it, but to him, it looked like wings. A pair.
A butterfly.
The man turned to face yongguk and the latter was left struggling to breathe, quick ‘sorry’s spilling past his lips.
"That's ok... It was getting stuffy so I left the door open. You're number 7 aren't you? I'm Kim Himchan. What's your name?"
'Himchan' stood from his high stool, making his way towards Yongguk and Yongguk wonders which question he should answer first.
"Uhm... Yes... Uhm... B-Bang Yongguk..."
Yongguk stuttered eloquently, reaching out to shake Himchan's hand, surprised to find them warm.
"Well... Would you like to come in?"
Yongguk didn't know why, but he couldn't say no.
❊
2 weeks since.
Himchan invited him in for a drink.
The drinks grew, and Yongguk found himself staring at those lips once more.
Yongguk felt a strange something around himchan. "You don't really know why you love someone. You just know you do". And now yongguk knew it was
so damned true. But everything was happening too quickly for someone like Yongguk. Someone who put great deliberation in his actions. But then again love wasn't really logical, it was all feeling, really. Illogical, stupid, brash and bold as yongguk leant in to kiss himchan. His lips were soft, Yongguk never felt so alive. His hands reached up to cup himchan face and was surprised himchan leaned in to the touch, more so into the kiss. There was no hesitation.
Time had frozen.
The world was coloured for once- not monochrome- Himchan saw it in Yongguk’s eyes. Felt it against his skin as they kissed, back against rough sheets. They weren’t thinking, the alcohol did that for them. Yongguk felt butterflies in his gut, and he wonders if Himchan had them too. There was no guilt, nothing- not when the fabrics peel back from their skin and their limbs tangle in a lovely mess.
Himchan woke up to the steady rhythm of yongguk's heart and it's the most constant thing he's heard in ages. And the most rooted he's felt in a while. Like he was here. Fully here. And it scared him; excited him. His stomach erupted into a violent frenzy of butterflies.
"Morning..." Yongguk murmured against himchan's hair, voice roughened by sleep. Himchan smiled at the tingling that ran up his spine.
"It seems like we're doing everything backwards..."
Himchan laughed, blinking the remnants of sleep away, "No not entirely, I did know your name first..."
❊
Himchan sold his paintings on lucky days. Not many appreciated an artist who only painted in monochrome. No one understood his paintings. They all refused to believe what was hidden beneath each deliberate stroke. Himchan’s paintings spoke of death- his past, his scars, and the voice in his head that told him he needed to be free.
Himchan caught Yongguk staring at the crumpled blue-ish tag pinned on the corkboard above his desk. The tag with his full name, the names of several of the drugs that had to be in his system, some numbers Himchan never figured out.
“I’m crazy, Yongguk…”
Himchan said. As if it was the most normal thing in the world- confessing to your neighbour that you’re crazy. Himchan looks at Yongguk- you are making the biggest mistake of your life, I will be the biggest mistake of your life. But Yongguk held his hand and dipped the brush into yellow paint, making a careless stroke within the black form taking shape on the canvass, after which he allowed a giggle to slip past his lips. And Himchan let him because there was something strangely beautiful about colour, especially since Yongguk provided the warmth that exudes from that unplanned brushstroke. He smiled, and soon they were painting obnoxious coloured stripes on each other’s faces, some of it getting into their hair. Yongguk had never felt quite the same before- so unguarded, so exposed. They were kissing and laughing like they were young and had nothing to lose. Yongguk’s smile faded beneath tongue and moist lips, his eyes fixated on the name of the anti-depressions on the tag. The one he recognised- the one he had heard of on television.
Then I must be crazy too…
❊
That feeling where you’re falling so fast and hard that you get scared, but there’s absolutely nothing you can do. Because the ground seems so far away and on the way down the wind rushing against you feels like freedom, and the adrenaline gives you strange comfort. That feeling where you’ve left your mind behind when you willed the jump. That feeling of a million thoughts running through your head at an unorthodox hour in the morning, all of them relating to that one person. Yongguk thought up a list of things he liked about Himchan. He stopped at a hundred because there was simply too many-
Himchan’s a little over the top laugh, his inappropriate behaviour in public, his rude jokes, the way his voice always seemed to complement his own persistent silence. The way he’d knock on his door at 2am in the morning and slide under the sheets with him when the days got colder…
He then thought of an empty apartment. Comfortably sized with sufficient room for two- or three, perhaps even four. There was nothing in the apartment, but he saw Himchan in it, curiously peeking into all the rooms, big smile tugging at his lips as he walks through the door. And Yongguk knew that he was home.
❊
Their first date lasted till after midnight, till they were both lightheaded from the wild exposure to atmosphere that had been lacking in the apartment. They were standing at the top of a building, Yongguk holding onto Himchan’s hand as he stood dangerously close to the edge. But his expression changed when Himchan put both his hands up around his mouth in a makeshift loudhailer.
“I’m on a date with Bang Yongguk!”
Himchan shouted at the top of his lungs, the wind softened to a breeze and Yongguk pulled Himchan back as he caught curious glances from the ant-like people at the base of the building. Himchan was laughing. He rolled his eyes at Yongguk because he was being a prude. Yongguk scoffed and grinned like a Cheshire, standing at the edge, head tilted up to the heavens, voice loud to anyone willing to hear his modest confession-
“Kim Himchan you’re mine!”
❊
Himchan was a butterfly. He was flighty, kept his feet safely off the ground. The world didn’t allow him to slow down, or he would fade into the earth, little glass eyes and wings crumbling to dust. He was so tired. But when the winds got too harsh for flight, he found refuge in the arms of strangers willing to take him in.
They were curled up on the couch, television providing a calming static. Yongguk’s fingers were threading through Himchan’s hair and Yongguk could feel his scattered; strong heartbeat against his lap. Himchan breaks the intricate connection by turning to see the expression on his face when he tells him of all the ugliness in his life.
Himchan was 16 when he ran away from home. He never wanted his father to hit him again. He fell into the arms of another boy, at times he was kind, so kind that Himchan wouldn’t ask for anything more. The other times he was the devil. At that time Himchan discovered he had wings, a mark left on his arm by his lover. A scar that stroke an uncanny resemblance to a pair of wings. Himchan rekindled with his obsession with heights. And he made a promise to himself that one day he would be free. He fleeted from a pair of arms to another, strange sheets followed by rough backseats. He woke up in a hospital the next day, wrists bound to a bedframe and all thoughts muted in his head. He was told he had tried to kill himself by the strange doctor who entered with more pills. They secured that tag around his wrist.
Himchan was crying. Not because he pitied himself, he was past that. He was crying because Yongguk didn’t understand, his hands were wiping the tears on Himchan’s face, voice low, soft, telling him it’s okay. But nothing was okay. Yongguk was supposed to leave like the others had, or at least make Himchan want to leave. But then again the others hadn’t loved him. Yongguk was different- gentle with him, made him smile, held him tight when he was having a rough day, made a place for him in his future. Yongguk didn’t understand that Himchan was a butterfly, and this moment could have merely been a temporary sanctuary from the drafts that swept him off course.
Himchan still wanted to die. But Yongguk’s finger tracing his lips, telling him that he would never hurt again was a feeling he never wanted to let go of.
❊
“What are you doing?”
Himchan came over to Number 7 when Number 6 got stifling, he put his chin on the table and felt the scratches of pen on paper. Yongguk pulled Himchan to his lap and kissed him gently against his collarbone. Because he dreamed of Seoul, of living his dreams, his lyrics were going to get him somewhere, he hoped. With Himchan, his dreams softened around the edges, the apartment washed over with gentle paletttes.
“Earning money for a home…”
Yongguk said simply, knowing smile on his face as if he had just made a secret pact with himself. Himchan raised a brow and changed a few words on Yongguk’s manuscript, taking pride in his edits. Himchan often laughed at Yongguk because the latter had capacity for emotional expression that was “similar to that of cement”. Yongguk read the line Himchan added after the younger repeated “why butterflies” over and over again to which he refused to answer- not yet. The older male mouthed the words, they tasted sweet against his tongue. He hoped that that was Himchan’s promise to him-
Even if forever was fragile like a butterfly’s wings, I would still live a thousand flights for you.
❊
Himchan told Yongguk the story of the butterfly lovers. They were sitting at the edge of the parking complex, watching their feet kick back and forth towards the rough direction of hongdae. It was a tragic story really. With a bittersweet ending that Yongguk could neither yearn for nor detest. "Maybe we could be like them..." Himchan said, eyes crinkling and sparkling as the sunset hit them. The lines at the corner of his eyes like feathery wing tips. Yongguk hated how the words sounded. He didn't want them to be butterfly lovers. Temporary; fleeting; only joined in death. He wanted them to be happy in this life, in a world that he had just found new beauty in. He didn't want them to be butterflies. So he keeps the butterflies safely in his gut and holds Himchan's hand a little tighter.
Because Himchan was a butterfly. And butterflies flew away.
❊
Himchan was at one of Yongguk’s gigs at a bar downtown. He was a rapper, essentially, and Himchan was sure that a guitar couldn’t produce the required beat. Yongguk smiled, announced his new song and looked Himchan straight in the eyes. That was the first time Himchan heard that song. His song. The one he had unknowingly helped write.
Even if forever was fragile like a butterfly’s wings, I would still live a thousand flights for you.
Himchan looked at himself in the mirror that day. Really looked. And wondered what Yongguk saw in him that wasn’t faded, that was special. For the first time in a while he smiled as his own reflection. He would refuse to admit it to Yongguk the next day, slapping his shoulder and cringing inwardly at the term “butterfly”. But that was the best Yongguk could come up with and even though he would refuse to admit it, Himchan was happy.
❊
Yongguk got his first pay check and they were out celebrating with gogi and a helping of soju. Himchan watched the chicken pieces like a hawk, never allowing them to burn too much at the edges, wrapping them almost too delicately in the lettuce. Yongguk opened his mouth upon stern request and relents, face brightening into an uncontrolled smile.
“I think you found your calling…”
“What? Flipping chicken pieces at 11 pm?”
“No…” Yongguk rolled his eyes, “No no… Cooking and feeding me…”
Yongguk wasn’t usually so cheesy. They were making more noise than necessary, shouting across the table as if they weren’t close enough. Surely the whole eatery knew they were dating by now. But neither of them cared. The alcohol took care of that. They looked like an ordinary couple, one that had stuck together for much too long. Yongguk revelled in that image. Yongguk declared that Himchan would be his little apron-wearing husband. The apartment that had settled itself in Yongguk’s head was now filled with warm smells of cooking, and Himchan’s voice greeting him when he walks through the door to hang up his coat.
❊
They lay there, looking up at an indefinite sky. Hands warmly wrapped in one another’s. Dates often ended like this, simply for the lack of money to spend. But what more could they ask for. They had the world at the dangle of their feet, the universe on their eyelids. The day that both of them learnt how love was self-deluding.
“I’m going to make it one day, Chan-ah… We’ll move out of the apartment… We can buy a house somewhere, one with a balcony…”
Himchan nodded and gave Yongguk a warm smile. But his eyes were so far away.
“That’s still a long way to go, guk…”
“Not when I’m with you…” Yongguk refused to believe it. Refused to believe that he might be the only one clinging onto hopes of forever. Himchan was never certain. Even Yongguk was a grey area, one that was painted more boldly than the other cold shades in his life. Yongguk liked talking about the future, he always seemed to see it more vividly than others. A certain pragmatism that Himchan had lost as a child.
“That’s too far away…”
Himchan stared at the farthest star and wondered if letting Yongguk love him, would bring him that much closer to the heavens.
“Too far away…”
❊
“What’s wrong?”
Yongguk asked as Himchan broke away from their kiss, turning his head too abruptly to the side.
“I think we should stop seeing each other… Just… We should stop…”
And Yongguk felt his world spiral into a bad teenage chick flick, with a twist of bad fate and possibly the worst ending he can imagine.
"Why?"
Yongguk put simply, tone almost imploring. Himchan stood, putting more distance between himself and the man whose touch he wanted on his skin. But the butterflies were stilling now, it was time. Yongguk had only been a distraction from the world. The world was just one big bell jar over their heads and Himchan couldn’t live like this, he couldn’t breathe as he heard himself raise his voice over the whispering in his head.
"The world?" Himchan hated the look of utter dejection on Yongguk’s face, "Us... That was my world, Himchan."
Himchan had wanted to die. Wanted to, for so long, to fulfil his promise, set his soul free. But before he could the butterflies stopped him, told him to stay for a little while longer. To meet the man that would paint his world with hues of the sun. It was Yongguk, it had always been him all along. And now the butterflies are gone when he stands at the edge, his last purpose had been fulfilled. Yongguk found him, made his life beautiful and Himchan had to leave it at that. But Himchan felt his heart shatter into a million cutting shards as he heard Yongguk push those words past his lips-
“You were my world, Himchan…”
❊
When Yongguk woke up the next morning Himchan was gone. And Yongguk cursed himself for not holding him closer. There was no note, no traces, no Himchan. He was so scared. He searched all the tallest buildings in Seoul, where they used to sneak silent glances at each other. He made queries at the quaint coffee shop Himchan sometimes worked at. Himchan wasn’t there. Himchan was nowhere and Yongguk was broken.
❊
Yongguk received a call one day from the Chungryangri Mental Institution. It was weird to see Himchan again. After months of sleepless nights, months of searching. For that one person and there he was, sitting on a chair side-facing the window, like a doll behind a display case, waiting for someone to claim him. Yongguk stood at the door frame and watched as Himchan raised his hand in front of him, tracing the pink evening. He contemplated leaving, he was angry after all- angry- well, a little. There was a dull ache in his heart, and he didn’t know why.
“You came…”
From Himchan’s tone, it sounded more like a question than a statement.
I’d been looking for you; hours, days, months-
Yongguk walked closer, gingerly.
I died, I died not knowing where you were; I saw you die over and over again in my dreams. I saw your body mangled on the sidewalks.
Yongguk hated Himchan. Hated his little games, hated that he was part of it all. Hated that he was here. He knelt in front of Himchan. He was so so tired, all he could do was pray Himchan wouldn’t slip away this time, even if he knew it was impossible. Himchan took Yongguk’s face in his hands, they were cold now, he smiled gently, wiping at the tears that threatened to fall. Yongguk didn’t have to suffer. It wasn’t Yongguk’s fault that he loved. That he loved an impossibility, too much for his own good.
“You came…”
❊
They were sitting out in the garden, sun reflecting off their faces. Watching idly as the butterflies wandered around their feet.
“You still love me?”
Himchan said, turning fully to face Yongguk, a sudden curiousity filling his face. And Yongguk nodded, pressing a soft kiss on his nose.
“Even if I’m crazy?”
Yongguk nodded, frowning in mock-distress, “I must be crazy too huh…”
Himchan chuckled, stretching out the soreness in his bones before pecking Yongguk square on the lips, watching as Yongguk’s ears reddened.
“No… You’re just my type…”
❊
Himchan was crying, the bell jar over him grew tighter, more constricting with each passing day. He didn’t know how long more he could resist the medication that flowed endlessly through his bloodstream.
“Yongguk I don’t want to do this!”
His body was thrown against Yongguk’s chest, his hands stilling against the elder’s firm body. He was shaking.
“You’ll be okay…” Yongguk rubbed soothing circles on Himchan’s back. He didn’t know what to do anymore, because they were dangling from a fine thread and he didn’t want to let Himchan go just yet. The imaginary apartment still found its way into Yongguk’s mind once in a while. Himchan’s mild cologne grew was increasingly faint, but he still heard his laugh, a line of praises and coos spilling from his lips, joined in by another voice. A smaller one. One that alternates between excited shouts of ‘daddy’ and ‘appa’.
“Remember how I told you I’d make it big one day… We can get married… In secret…”
Himchan’s hiccupping quietened.
“And we can adopt… I was thinking a boy… I don’t really know how to raise a girl… We can call him Junhong-”
“Jongup…”
Himchan corrected, “I like Jongup… Little Jonguppie…”
Yongguk chuckled fondly, nodding in agreement, whatever you say. And everything seemed ok. He parted the bangs that were plastered on Himchan’s forehead. They were like any other ordinary couple, and Yongguk clung onto that illusion for a while. And the sounds of family- his family- grew louder in his head.
Little Jonguppie was learning to draw. There was sounds of crayons being strewn everywhere. Daddy was teaching him.
❊
“Will you sing that song for me?”
Himchan asked, head resting on his pillow, drugs swimming in his blood, the touch of Yongguk’s finger pads on the back of his hand lulling him to sleep. Yongguk chuckled and cleared his throat, proceeding to get past the first few feeble notes. His throat had been dried by the cold air. He kept Himchan’s hand snugly between his own, rubbing at them so that they might regain the warmth they once held. He watched as Himchan closed his eyes, smiling that same contented smile he saw when Himchan was in the audience and he was the hopeless dreamer on stage. His voice became more urgent, he closed his eyes too, pushing aside all the thoughts that were surfacing in his mind. He was too scared to lose Himchan, but the tighter the blue tag curled around Himchan’s wrist, the more numb the younger was towards the touch of his hand. His voice cracked up at the bridge. Yongguk was a rapper, and the winds were too cold. But that made Himchan laugh so hard tears formed at the corner of his eyes, so Yongguk proceeds to sing again, this time thrice as bad. And the nurse had to check up on them to make sure they were, well, sane.
They didn’t mention anything about Death afterwards. But Yongguk knew it was hanging at the edge of Himchan’s mind, still, even after the pills they
made him take. This wasn’t his Himchan, but it was the closest Yongguk could get.
❊
The visits grew further apart. Sometimes Himchan would refuse to talk. Sometimes he’d look at Yongguk almost pleadingly and Yongguk would turn away because he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wanted Himchan to be alive, even if it means being here. A shell of what he used to be. He was being selfish- love wasn’t meant to be selfish.
❊
"Yongguk... Will you help me?"
Himchan pleaded with his eyes. Yongguk almost didn't recognize him. Heavily medicated; hands rubbing together for warmth; eyes nearly drained of life; the urgency in his voice clinging desperately to the air. Nearly. Yongguk shook his head. He could never bring himself to do it. Himchan nodded, waiting for Yongguk’s answer to sink in.
"Then you have to forget about me, Yongguk..." He said, looking up only to meet the sadness and wild refusal in the said man's eyes. "Please... For me..."
Yongguk leaned in, just like he did- just like he did the day he fell in love. Yongguk liked himchan's lips the best. Philtrum ending in a cupid's bow; pinkish skin; so so soft. And Yongguk felt himself drown, his chest too heavy, his hands found their way to his face- warm; soft; too familiar. The kiss was chaste, essentially just lips moulding and unmoulding, finding all the possible perfect fits. They parted to breathe, Himchan's chest rising and falling, cheeks dusted with slight colour, confused look on his face until Yongguk nodded in response to his hanging question. He didn't know why, but he couldn't say no. Himchan smiled fondly, taking in the dark eyes, thick lips, built stature one last time before he forgets.
"Goodbye Himchan..."
Yongguk stood to leave, watching as himchan's lips parted and closed as if uncertain of the words hanging on the tip of his tongue.
"Thank you... Thank you Yongguk..."
Himchan was smiling now, the stress from before has lifted from his brows. He was smiling, eyes glistening slightly. His pretty pink lips curved in the most exquisite of ways and Yongguk just wanted to kiss him again and again until they were both running out of breath. But he was Stranger Number 7 once more in Himchan's eyes. The charming one with the military cut and deep voice. Yongguk turned to leave. He wondered if things would be the same if he turned to leave the other day. Leave the frames of door number 6 alone to hold its owner. But now yongguk had to try to forget that Himchan was nothing but a stranger who once held his entire world in the palm of his hand.
Himchan watched as the handsome stranger turned the corner and out from his life. He took the butterflies along with him. They were no longer telling him to live. Himchan was at ease. He was free. He inhaled; breathed easy; holed out. Himchan whispered to the lingering breeze seeping from the cracks in the windowsill, hoping that the stranger form room number 7 would hear him.
“Maybe I’ll love you better in death…”
❊
Yongguk received the call almost a week later. And he didn't have to listen to know what happened.
Himchan was free.
He walked passed one too many nurses with pitied expressions on their faces, and finally a doctor who was only slightly disturbed.
"We still don't know how he did it... We found this... By the window grills..."
The doctor held up a piece of paper, folded skilfully into a butterfly. So intricate that Yongguk felt bad opening it. He read it, listening as the doctor's footsteps grew increasingly distant.
"Live."
Yongguk folded the piece of paper along the lines that Himchan had left, a butterfly taking form again as he slipped it in his breast-pocket, feeling its strong, scattered heartbeat against his own. He told the nurse that Himchan would like to be cremated. And that he would be the one to scatter his ashes across the sea.
❊
It was strange being in Himchan’s apartment without the said man. It smelt like Himchan, a smell that Yongguk imagined would fill his home, cling onto his clothes. Yongguk filled his lungs because he had to translate that scent into memory. He didn’t think he could live, but the paper butterfly told him he had to. That was what Himchan would have wanted. The painting that he had been working on stood quaint in the middle of the small room, black form vivid and almost lively amidst the abstract of grey shadows by its sides. The splotches of yellow was unmistakable. So much so that Yongguk almost felt the warmth of Himchan’s hand in his, heard his raspy laughter by his ears. There was a small calligraphic writing at the base of the wing-
Your butterfly, forever.
❊
6 years, 3 months, 10 days since.
2 minutes, 25 seconds to.
Yongguk was in his recording studio (slash apartment). He lived comfortably now. Pencil scraping paper, soft taps of his feet. Painting of a butterfly on the wall to watch over him. There were sounds of nonsense babble and crayons strewn everywhere by his ears. Little Jonguppie was 2 now. But still too young to understand why yongguk had to fill in forms to get him. Too young to understand the stories his appa tells him at night. About a beautiful man and a butterfly. Jongup was colouring, just like appa taught him. Yongguk tried his best, but he wasn’t all that good with crayons. Yongguk heard bouts of giggling as he made his way to the balcony.
5 seconds to-
"Appa! Buttofwy!"
Jongup said as he pointed at the flutter of wings that found itself perched on the little mop of hair, trying his best not to shake top hard. Jongup had a little lisp. "Don't move Jonguppie!" Yongguk laughed as he sat in front of his son.
It was a swallowtail- daintily patterned. Black veins running through the course of its white wings. It left feathery kisses against yongguk's cheek before settling itself on the back of his hand, wings brushing against his knuckles almost deliberately. The smell of a familiar mild cologne washed over his senses. Yongguk could almost feel its strong, scattered heartbeat against his own. Flighty yet determined. The faint streak of yellow carelessly set in its wings. A smile made its way, tugging at the corner of his lips. He had come home.
"How have you been...
Himchan-ah"
Author: Jongbuttbutt
Characters: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: character death
Wordcount: 5144
Summary: Himchan wants to die. So Yongguk kept the butterflies safely in his gut and held Himchan's hand a little tighter.Because Himchan was a butterfly. And butterflies flew away.
A/N: [Written for Rasspberrymilk for thebrowniebunch] Big apology to the mods for being troublesome and to Rasspberrymilk for possibly not writing the way you intended this prompt to be. Wrote elections!au halfway and switched to this (that went back and forth a few times before I stuck to this)! I hope you like it anyway!
>>>
Blame it on the butterflies. Why else would he still be alive- well physically intact at least. It had to be the butterflies. Little panicked flurry of wings in his gut as he stood at the edge of the building, toeing the edge like an expert tightrope walker. Fingers so ready to let go of that tag- laminated paper, ripped from his wrist. But the butterflies held him back, his body was paralysed. They whispered softly to him; firmly-
Live.
❊
1 hour, 51 minutes, 12 seconds to.
Yongguk was a passenger on the train, arriving in Seoul with little more than a suitcase full of inexpensive belongings, temporarily suspended from the monotone of life until he reaches his destination, kept alive only by the routinely spinning of his pen between slender fingers. He could only hope Seoul was exactly like what he had imagined, what he'd been writing all these while in his lyrics- the life and virility of Hongdae; the almost sinful lure of Itaewon.
Reality was beautiful in fast forward.
The telephone lines ran on to infinity, the greens of spring blended soulfully with the blue-greyness of the skies. The coffee perched on the side table fogged up the base of the glass, casting coy chiffon where the tracks could have been seen.
He got off at when the announcement pronounced Seoul station in an accent he heard often on news channels, and Yongguk was a little too nervous to realize that the city smelt different from what he had imagined. Mid-day traffic, solid smells and drafting familiarity. Everything was magic. Even the winding streets that led to his ratty apartment. There wasn't much to explore in the bare expense of his apartment. Dry wall so thin you could hear the neighbour's secret affairs, window grills rusted beyond salvation. But it was the shelter he needed for now. The number 7 on his door shed gold paint, a mock-attempt at some grandeur.
The door to number 6 was open and Yongguk couldn't help his wandering gaze. The room was dimly lit, its yellow light seeping past the small gap between the worn wood and the doorframe. There was a man, his side facing yongguk, eyes scanning a blank canvass, fingers tracing it gently. So gently that Yongguk had to look away. There was something strangely intimate about the scene playing out before him. He was beautiful, features sharp, slightly intimidating, frown giving him an aura of purpose. Yongguk liked his lips the best though. Philtrum ending in a cupid's bow; pinkish skin; so so soft. It was that slight pout that made him seem a little more approachable; reachable. The stranger had a mark on his arm, fine detail etched on skin. A mark or scar of some sort. Yongguk may have been stretching it, but to him, it looked like wings. A pair.
A butterfly.
The man turned to face yongguk and the latter was left struggling to breathe, quick ‘sorry’s spilling past his lips.
"That's ok... It was getting stuffy so I left the door open. You're number 7 aren't you? I'm Kim Himchan. What's your name?"
'Himchan' stood from his high stool, making his way towards Yongguk and Yongguk wonders which question he should answer first.
"Uhm... Yes... Uhm... B-Bang Yongguk..."
Yongguk stuttered eloquently, reaching out to shake Himchan's hand, surprised to find them warm.
"Well... Would you like to come in?"
Yongguk didn't know why, but he couldn't say no.
❊
2 weeks since.
Himchan invited him in for a drink.
The drinks grew, and Yongguk found himself staring at those lips once more.
Yongguk felt a strange something around himchan. "You don't really know why you love someone. You just know you do". And now yongguk knew it was
so damned true. But everything was happening too quickly for someone like Yongguk. Someone who put great deliberation in his actions. But then again love wasn't really logical, it was all feeling, really. Illogical, stupid, brash and bold as yongguk leant in to kiss himchan. His lips were soft, Yongguk never felt so alive. His hands reached up to cup himchan face and was surprised himchan leaned in to the touch, more so into the kiss. There was no hesitation.
Time had frozen.
The world was coloured for once- not monochrome- Himchan saw it in Yongguk’s eyes. Felt it against his skin as they kissed, back against rough sheets. They weren’t thinking, the alcohol did that for them. Yongguk felt butterflies in his gut, and he wonders if Himchan had them too. There was no guilt, nothing- not when the fabrics peel back from their skin and their limbs tangle in a lovely mess.
Himchan woke up to the steady rhythm of yongguk's heart and it's the most constant thing he's heard in ages. And the most rooted he's felt in a while. Like he was here. Fully here. And it scared him; excited him. His stomach erupted into a violent frenzy of butterflies.
"Morning..." Yongguk murmured against himchan's hair, voice roughened by sleep. Himchan smiled at the tingling that ran up his spine.
"It seems like we're doing everything backwards..."
Himchan laughed, blinking the remnants of sleep away, "No not entirely, I did know your name first..."
❊
Himchan sold his paintings on lucky days. Not many appreciated an artist who only painted in monochrome. No one understood his paintings. They all refused to believe what was hidden beneath each deliberate stroke. Himchan’s paintings spoke of death- his past, his scars, and the voice in his head that told him he needed to be free.
Himchan caught Yongguk staring at the crumpled blue-ish tag pinned on the corkboard above his desk. The tag with his full name, the names of several of the drugs that had to be in his system, some numbers Himchan never figured out.
“I’m crazy, Yongguk…”
Himchan said. As if it was the most normal thing in the world- confessing to your neighbour that you’re crazy. Himchan looks at Yongguk- you are making the biggest mistake of your life, I will be the biggest mistake of your life. But Yongguk held his hand and dipped the brush into yellow paint, making a careless stroke within the black form taking shape on the canvass, after which he allowed a giggle to slip past his lips. And Himchan let him because there was something strangely beautiful about colour, especially since Yongguk provided the warmth that exudes from that unplanned brushstroke. He smiled, and soon they were painting obnoxious coloured stripes on each other’s faces, some of it getting into their hair. Yongguk had never felt quite the same before- so unguarded, so exposed. They were kissing and laughing like they were young and had nothing to lose. Yongguk’s smile faded beneath tongue and moist lips, his eyes fixated on the name of the anti-depressions on the tag. The one he recognised- the one he had heard of on television.
Then I must be crazy too…
❊
That feeling where you’re falling so fast and hard that you get scared, but there’s absolutely nothing you can do. Because the ground seems so far away and on the way down the wind rushing against you feels like freedom, and the adrenaline gives you strange comfort. That feeling where you’ve left your mind behind when you willed the jump. That feeling of a million thoughts running through your head at an unorthodox hour in the morning, all of them relating to that one person. Yongguk thought up a list of things he liked about Himchan. He stopped at a hundred because there was simply too many-
Himchan’s a little over the top laugh, his inappropriate behaviour in public, his rude jokes, the way his voice always seemed to complement his own persistent silence. The way he’d knock on his door at 2am in the morning and slide under the sheets with him when the days got colder…
He then thought of an empty apartment. Comfortably sized with sufficient room for two- or three, perhaps even four. There was nothing in the apartment, but he saw Himchan in it, curiously peeking into all the rooms, big smile tugging at his lips as he walks through the door. And Yongguk knew that he was home.
❊
Their first date lasted till after midnight, till they were both lightheaded from the wild exposure to atmosphere that had been lacking in the apartment. They were standing at the top of a building, Yongguk holding onto Himchan’s hand as he stood dangerously close to the edge. But his expression changed when Himchan put both his hands up around his mouth in a makeshift loudhailer.
“I’m on a date with Bang Yongguk!”
Himchan shouted at the top of his lungs, the wind softened to a breeze and Yongguk pulled Himchan back as he caught curious glances from the ant-like people at the base of the building. Himchan was laughing. He rolled his eyes at Yongguk because he was being a prude. Yongguk scoffed and grinned like a Cheshire, standing at the edge, head tilted up to the heavens, voice loud to anyone willing to hear his modest confession-
“Kim Himchan you’re mine!”
❊
Himchan was a butterfly. He was flighty, kept his feet safely off the ground. The world didn’t allow him to slow down, or he would fade into the earth, little glass eyes and wings crumbling to dust. He was so tired. But when the winds got too harsh for flight, he found refuge in the arms of strangers willing to take him in.
They were curled up on the couch, television providing a calming static. Yongguk’s fingers were threading through Himchan’s hair and Yongguk could feel his scattered; strong heartbeat against his lap. Himchan breaks the intricate connection by turning to see the expression on his face when he tells him of all the ugliness in his life.
Himchan was 16 when he ran away from home. He never wanted his father to hit him again. He fell into the arms of another boy, at times he was kind, so kind that Himchan wouldn’t ask for anything more. The other times he was the devil. At that time Himchan discovered he had wings, a mark left on his arm by his lover. A scar that stroke an uncanny resemblance to a pair of wings. Himchan rekindled with his obsession with heights. And he made a promise to himself that one day he would be free. He fleeted from a pair of arms to another, strange sheets followed by rough backseats. He woke up in a hospital the next day, wrists bound to a bedframe and all thoughts muted in his head. He was told he had tried to kill himself by the strange doctor who entered with more pills. They secured that tag around his wrist.
Himchan was crying. Not because he pitied himself, he was past that. He was crying because Yongguk didn’t understand, his hands were wiping the tears on Himchan’s face, voice low, soft, telling him it’s okay. But nothing was okay. Yongguk was supposed to leave like the others had, or at least make Himchan want to leave. But then again the others hadn’t loved him. Yongguk was different- gentle with him, made him smile, held him tight when he was having a rough day, made a place for him in his future. Yongguk didn’t understand that Himchan was a butterfly, and this moment could have merely been a temporary sanctuary from the drafts that swept him off course.
Himchan still wanted to die. But Yongguk’s finger tracing his lips, telling him that he would never hurt again was a feeling he never wanted to let go of.
❊
“What are you doing?”
Himchan came over to Number 7 when Number 6 got stifling, he put his chin on the table and felt the scratches of pen on paper. Yongguk pulled Himchan to his lap and kissed him gently against his collarbone. Because he dreamed of Seoul, of living his dreams, his lyrics were going to get him somewhere, he hoped. With Himchan, his dreams softened around the edges, the apartment washed over with gentle paletttes.
“Earning money for a home…”
Yongguk said simply, knowing smile on his face as if he had just made a secret pact with himself. Himchan raised a brow and changed a few words on Yongguk’s manuscript, taking pride in his edits. Himchan often laughed at Yongguk because the latter had capacity for emotional expression that was “similar to that of cement”. Yongguk read the line Himchan added after the younger repeated “why butterflies” over and over again to which he refused to answer- not yet. The older male mouthed the words, they tasted sweet against his tongue. He hoped that that was Himchan’s promise to him-
Even if forever was fragile like a butterfly’s wings, I would still live a thousand flights for you.
❊
Himchan told Yongguk the story of the butterfly lovers. They were sitting at the edge of the parking complex, watching their feet kick back and forth towards the rough direction of hongdae. It was a tragic story really. With a bittersweet ending that Yongguk could neither yearn for nor detest. "Maybe we could be like them..." Himchan said, eyes crinkling and sparkling as the sunset hit them. The lines at the corner of his eyes like feathery wing tips. Yongguk hated how the words sounded. He didn't want them to be butterfly lovers. Temporary; fleeting; only joined in death. He wanted them to be happy in this life, in a world that he had just found new beauty in. He didn't want them to be butterflies. So he keeps the butterflies safely in his gut and holds Himchan's hand a little tighter.
Because Himchan was a butterfly. And butterflies flew away.
❊
Himchan was at one of Yongguk’s gigs at a bar downtown. He was a rapper, essentially, and Himchan was sure that a guitar couldn’t produce the required beat. Yongguk smiled, announced his new song and looked Himchan straight in the eyes. That was the first time Himchan heard that song. His song. The one he had unknowingly helped write.
Even if forever was fragile like a butterfly’s wings, I would still live a thousand flights for you.
Himchan looked at himself in the mirror that day. Really looked. And wondered what Yongguk saw in him that wasn’t faded, that was special. For the first time in a while he smiled as his own reflection. He would refuse to admit it to Yongguk the next day, slapping his shoulder and cringing inwardly at the term “butterfly”. But that was the best Yongguk could come up with and even though he would refuse to admit it, Himchan was happy.
❊
Yongguk got his first pay check and they were out celebrating with gogi and a helping of soju. Himchan watched the chicken pieces like a hawk, never allowing them to burn too much at the edges, wrapping them almost too delicately in the lettuce. Yongguk opened his mouth upon stern request and relents, face brightening into an uncontrolled smile.
“I think you found your calling…”
“What? Flipping chicken pieces at 11 pm?”
“No…” Yongguk rolled his eyes, “No no… Cooking and feeding me…”
Yongguk wasn’t usually so cheesy. They were making more noise than necessary, shouting across the table as if they weren’t close enough. Surely the whole eatery knew they were dating by now. But neither of them cared. The alcohol took care of that. They looked like an ordinary couple, one that had stuck together for much too long. Yongguk revelled in that image. Yongguk declared that Himchan would be his little apron-wearing husband. The apartment that had settled itself in Yongguk’s head was now filled with warm smells of cooking, and Himchan’s voice greeting him when he walks through the door to hang up his coat.
❊
They lay there, looking up at an indefinite sky. Hands warmly wrapped in one another’s. Dates often ended like this, simply for the lack of money to spend. But what more could they ask for. They had the world at the dangle of their feet, the universe on their eyelids. The day that both of them learnt how love was self-deluding.
“I’m going to make it one day, Chan-ah… We’ll move out of the apartment… We can buy a house somewhere, one with a balcony…”
Himchan nodded and gave Yongguk a warm smile. But his eyes were so far away.
“That’s still a long way to go, guk…”
“Not when I’m with you…” Yongguk refused to believe it. Refused to believe that he might be the only one clinging onto hopes of forever. Himchan was never certain. Even Yongguk was a grey area, one that was painted more boldly than the other cold shades in his life. Yongguk liked talking about the future, he always seemed to see it more vividly than others. A certain pragmatism that Himchan had lost as a child.
“That’s too far away…”
Himchan stared at the farthest star and wondered if letting Yongguk love him, would bring him that much closer to the heavens.
“Too far away…”
❊
“What’s wrong?”
Yongguk asked as Himchan broke away from their kiss, turning his head too abruptly to the side.
“I think we should stop seeing each other… Just… We should stop…”
And Yongguk felt his world spiral into a bad teenage chick flick, with a twist of bad fate and possibly the worst ending he can imagine.
"Why?"
Yongguk put simply, tone almost imploring. Himchan stood, putting more distance between himself and the man whose touch he wanted on his skin. But the butterflies were stilling now, it was time. Yongguk had only been a distraction from the world. The world was just one big bell jar over their heads and Himchan couldn’t live like this, he couldn’t breathe as he heard himself raise his voice over the whispering in his head.
"The world?" Himchan hated the look of utter dejection on Yongguk’s face, "Us... That was my world, Himchan."
Himchan had wanted to die. Wanted to, for so long, to fulfil his promise, set his soul free. But before he could the butterflies stopped him, told him to stay for a little while longer. To meet the man that would paint his world with hues of the sun. It was Yongguk, it had always been him all along. And now the butterflies are gone when he stands at the edge, his last purpose had been fulfilled. Yongguk found him, made his life beautiful and Himchan had to leave it at that. But Himchan felt his heart shatter into a million cutting shards as he heard Yongguk push those words past his lips-
“You were my world, Himchan…”
❊
When Yongguk woke up the next morning Himchan was gone. And Yongguk cursed himself for not holding him closer. There was no note, no traces, no Himchan. He was so scared. He searched all the tallest buildings in Seoul, where they used to sneak silent glances at each other. He made queries at the quaint coffee shop Himchan sometimes worked at. Himchan wasn’t there. Himchan was nowhere and Yongguk was broken.
❊
Yongguk received a call one day from the Chungryangri Mental Institution. It was weird to see Himchan again. After months of sleepless nights, months of searching. For that one person and there he was, sitting on a chair side-facing the window, like a doll behind a display case, waiting for someone to claim him. Yongguk stood at the door frame and watched as Himchan raised his hand in front of him, tracing the pink evening. He contemplated leaving, he was angry after all- angry- well, a little. There was a dull ache in his heart, and he didn’t know why.
“You came…”
From Himchan’s tone, it sounded more like a question than a statement.
I’d been looking for you; hours, days, months-
Yongguk walked closer, gingerly.
I died, I died not knowing where you were; I saw you die over and over again in my dreams. I saw your body mangled on the sidewalks.
Yongguk hated Himchan. Hated his little games, hated that he was part of it all. Hated that he was here. He knelt in front of Himchan. He was so so tired, all he could do was pray Himchan wouldn’t slip away this time, even if he knew it was impossible. Himchan took Yongguk’s face in his hands, they were cold now, he smiled gently, wiping at the tears that threatened to fall. Yongguk didn’t have to suffer. It wasn’t Yongguk’s fault that he loved. That he loved an impossibility, too much for his own good.
“You came…”
❊
They were sitting out in the garden, sun reflecting off their faces. Watching idly as the butterflies wandered around their feet.
“You still love me?”
Himchan said, turning fully to face Yongguk, a sudden curiousity filling his face. And Yongguk nodded, pressing a soft kiss on his nose.
“Even if I’m crazy?”
Yongguk nodded, frowning in mock-distress, “I must be crazy too huh…”
Himchan chuckled, stretching out the soreness in his bones before pecking Yongguk square on the lips, watching as Yongguk’s ears reddened.
“No… You’re just my type…”
❊
Himchan was crying, the bell jar over him grew tighter, more constricting with each passing day. He didn’t know how long more he could resist the medication that flowed endlessly through his bloodstream.
“Yongguk I don’t want to do this!”
His body was thrown against Yongguk’s chest, his hands stilling against the elder’s firm body. He was shaking.
“You’ll be okay…” Yongguk rubbed soothing circles on Himchan’s back. He didn’t know what to do anymore, because they were dangling from a fine thread and he didn’t want to let Himchan go just yet. The imaginary apartment still found its way into Yongguk’s mind once in a while. Himchan’s mild cologne grew was increasingly faint, but he still heard his laugh, a line of praises and coos spilling from his lips, joined in by another voice. A smaller one. One that alternates between excited shouts of ‘daddy’ and ‘appa’.
“Remember how I told you I’d make it big one day… We can get married… In secret…”
Himchan’s hiccupping quietened.
“And we can adopt… I was thinking a boy… I don’t really know how to raise a girl… We can call him Junhong-”
“Jongup…”
Himchan corrected, “I like Jongup… Little Jonguppie…”
Yongguk chuckled fondly, nodding in agreement, whatever you say. And everything seemed ok. He parted the bangs that were plastered on Himchan’s forehead. They were like any other ordinary couple, and Yongguk clung onto that illusion for a while. And the sounds of family- his family- grew louder in his head.
Little Jonguppie was learning to draw. There was sounds of crayons being strewn everywhere. Daddy was teaching him.
❊
“Will you sing that song for me?”
Himchan asked, head resting on his pillow, drugs swimming in his blood, the touch of Yongguk’s finger pads on the back of his hand lulling him to sleep. Yongguk chuckled and cleared his throat, proceeding to get past the first few feeble notes. His throat had been dried by the cold air. He kept Himchan’s hand snugly between his own, rubbing at them so that they might regain the warmth they once held. He watched as Himchan closed his eyes, smiling that same contented smile he saw when Himchan was in the audience and he was the hopeless dreamer on stage. His voice became more urgent, he closed his eyes too, pushing aside all the thoughts that were surfacing in his mind. He was too scared to lose Himchan, but the tighter the blue tag curled around Himchan’s wrist, the more numb the younger was towards the touch of his hand. His voice cracked up at the bridge. Yongguk was a rapper, and the winds were too cold. But that made Himchan laugh so hard tears formed at the corner of his eyes, so Yongguk proceeds to sing again, this time thrice as bad. And the nurse had to check up on them to make sure they were, well, sane.
They didn’t mention anything about Death afterwards. But Yongguk knew it was hanging at the edge of Himchan’s mind, still, even after the pills they
made him take. This wasn’t his Himchan, but it was the closest Yongguk could get.
❊
The visits grew further apart. Sometimes Himchan would refuse to talk. Sometimes he’d look at Yongguk almost pleadingly and Yongguk would turn away because he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wanted Himchan to be alive, even if it means being here. A shell of what he used to be. He was being selfish- love wasn’t meant to be selfish.
❊
"Yongguk... Will you help me?"
Himchan pleaded with his eyes. Yongguk almost didn't recognize him. Heavily medicated; hands rubbing together for warmth; eyes nearly drained of life; the urgency in his voice clinging desperately to the air. Nearly. Yongguk shook his head. He could never bring himself to do it. Himchan nodded, waiting for Yongguk’s answer to sink in.
"Then you have to forget about me, Yongguk..." He said, looking up only to meet the sadness and wild refusal in the said man's eyes. "Please... For me..."
Yongguk leaned in, just like he did- just like he did the day he fell in love. Yongguk liked himchan's lips the best. Philtrum ending in a cupid's bow; pinkish skin; so so soft. And Yongguk felt himself drown, his chest too heavy, his hands found their way to his face- warm; soft; too familiar. The kiss was chaste, essentially just lips moulding and unmoulding, finding all the possible perfect fits. They parted to breathe, Himchan's chest rising and falling, cheeks dusted with slight colour, confused look on his face until Yongguk nodded in response to his hanging question. He didn't know why, but he couldn't say no. Himchan smiled fondly, taking in the dark eyes, thick lips, built stature one last time before he forgets.
"Goodbye Himchan..."
Yongguk stood to leave, watching as himchan's lips parted and closed as if uncertain of the words hanging on the tip of his tongue.
"Thank you... Thank you Yongguk..."
Himchan was smiling now, the stress from before has lifted from his brows. He was smiling, eyes glistening slightly. His pretty pink lips curved in the most exquisite of ways and Yongguk just wanted to kiss him again and again until they were both running out of breath. But he was Stranger Number 7 once more in Himchan's eyes. The charming one with the military cut and deep voice. Yongguk turned to leave. He wondered if things would be the same if he turned to leave the other day. Leave the frames of door number 6 alone to hold its owner. But now yongguk had to try to forget that Himchan was nothing but a stranger who once held his entire world in the palm of his hand.
Himchan watched as the handsome stranger turned the corner and out from his life. He took the butterflies along with him. They were no longer telling him to live. Himchan was at ease. He was free. He inhaled; breathed easy; holed out. Himchan whispered to the lingering breeze seeping from the cracks in the windowsill, hoping that the stranger form room number 7 would hear him.
“Maybe I’ll love you better in death…”
❊
Yongguk received the call almost a week later. And he didn't have to listen to know what happened.
Himchan was free.
He walked passed one too many nurses with pitied expressions on their faces, and finally a doctor who was only slightly disturbed.
"We still don't know how he did it... We found this... By the window grills..."
The doctor held up a piece of paper, folded skilfully into a butterfly. So intricate that Yongguk felt bad opening it. He read it, listening as the doctor's footsteps grew increasingly distant.
"Live."
Yongguk folded the piece of paper along the lines that Himchan had left, a butterfly taking form again as he slipped it in his breast-pocket, feeling its strong, scattered heartbeat against his own. He told the nurse that Himchan would like to be cremated. And that he would be the one to scatter his ashes across the sea.
❊
It was strange being in Himchan’s apartment without the said man. It smelt like Himchan, a smell that Yongguk imagined would fill his home, cling onto his clothes. Yongguk filled his lungs because he had to translate that scent into memory. He didn’t think he could live, but the paper butterfly told him he had to. That was what Himchan would have wanted. The painting that he had been working on stood quaint in the middle of the small room, black form vivid and almost lively amidst the abstract of grey shadows by its sides. The splotches of yellow was unmistakable. So much so that Yongguk almost felt the warmth of Himchan’s hand in his, heard his raspy laughter by his ears. There was a small calligraphic writing at the base of the wing-
Your butterfly, forever.
❊
6 years, 3 months, 10 days since.
2 minutes, 25 seconds to.
Yongguk was in his recording studio (slash apartment). He lived comfortably now. Pencil scraping paper, soft taps of his feet. Painting of a butterfly on the wall to watch over him. There were sounds of nonsense babble and crayons strewn everywhere by his ears. Little Jonguppie was 2 now. But still too young to understand why yongguk had to fill in forms to get him. Too young to understand the stories his appa tells him at night. About a beautiful man and a butterfly. Jongup was colouring, just like appa taught him. Yongguk tried his best, but he wasn’t all that good with crayons. Yongguk heard bouts of giggling as he made his way to the balcony.
5 seconds to-
"Appa! Buttofwy!"
Jongup said as he pointed at the flutter of wings that found itself perched on the little mop of hair, trying his best not to shake top hard. Jongup had a little lisp. "Don't move Jonguppie!" Yongguk laughed as he sat in front of his son.
It was a swallowtail- daintily patterned. Black veins running through the course of its white wings. It left feathery kisses against yongguk's cheek before settling itself on the back of his hand, wings brushing against his knuckles almost deliberately. The smell of a familiar mild cologne washed over his senses. Yongguk could almost feel its strong, scattered heartbeat against his own. Flighty yet determined. The faint streak of yellow carelessly set in its wings. A smile made its way, tugging at the corner of his lips. He had come home.
"How have you been...
Himchan-ah"