LILIES
Title: Lilies
Author: qrn
Pairing: DooSeob
Rating: M (Mature), for sexual & violent themes
Summary: He fell in love with an angel in disguise.
Author's Notes: The last part of the OT3-centered Petals series! I think this is quiet long compared to the previous two; I've always loved DooSeob since their debut, so this has got to be the saddest story in the trilogy (yes, it's another angst XD). Just a note in case you don't get the ending, you might want to refer to this site =) A flash of good news: Prisoners Chapter 14 is 70% done! =D Feedbacks & comments are welcome, as always ^^ Enjoy!
"How is it going?"
I stopped in my tracks, and turned around.
The boy appeared to be a minor; he was short, dressed rowdily, and had quite a youthful face. He was blowing pink bubblegum, hands tucked into his worn denim jacket, and he was standing still, leaning against the cold wall of the dark alley.
I observed him for a while. He seemed to be a one of those delinquent teenagers you'd see on movies--the ones who skipped school and hung out on the streets, smoking and taking drugs. The dim light revealed a part of his face, and I could see his big eyes staring at me intently.
"Not bad, thank you," I said politely, making my way past the garbage bins and crates. There was an awful stench of cigarettes.
"I've seen you around before," he said again with a pop. "You often walk past."
I cleared my throat. "I work late." I didn't know why I even attempted to respond to his words--it just showed that I was interested to talk to him, didn't it?
"This place is dangerous at night. You shouldn't take this route."
And yet I answered back, "My house is closer this way, and it's already 11:30PM." He had to be joking; he was an underage himself and yet he warned me about walking around in dangerous places. Talk about a hypocrite.
Another pop. "Are you rich?"
That was it. That was the sign that he was only interested in your money, and the short conversation was merely a bait. I walked away without another word, ignoring the endless questions he continued to throw at me.
He was there again.
"Hey."
I sighed, gripping my bag tightly in one hand. This was the main reason why I hated taking shortcuts home; homeless people would try to catch your attention by starting a conversation and the next thing you knew, you lost your valuables. That happened to my colleague once, and he'd also warned me about passing this alley late at night. But I couldn't help having night work shifts, especially when you were a programmer working in a big gaming company. Furthermore, this kid seemed dangerous.
I looked at him in disgust. His dirty blonde hair was ruffled, and he had a cigarette in his hand.
Kids these days.
"What's your name?"
I wished I was working in a different place, so I wouldn't have to meet this troublemaker kid everytime I had a late shift. I kept my head down and squeezed past. There were empty cartons of cigarettes and smashed bottles scattered on the ground. It smelled awful.
"You didn't answer my question." He sure was talkative, wasn't he?
I tried to ignore him, and continued walking.
Stay quiet.
After last week, I figured I shouldn't say anything whenever he tried talking me into a conversation.
"I'm Yoseob!" His voice echoed in the dark alley.
I didn't look back.
---
This was the fourth time I had encountered him in that place, and each time I met him he'd be alone, blowing gum or smoking. I'd never seen him take drugs, though, but I assumed he was a user anyway. And each time he'd attempt a weak conversation by bringing up odd, random topics such as my favorite eating place, whether I liked my job, where I shopped for clothes, and others.
But this time was different.
I was standing at the entrance of the dark alley once again--it was close to 12AM, and the night was unusually chilly. My face stiffened as I witnessed what was happening before my eyes.
His small body was pressed against the wall, bare legs wrapped around a man's waist. Their hips swivelled and swayed in a rapid motion, and occasional moans escaped the blonde's lips as the other thrusted in deeper.
I swallowed, hard.
What the fuck?
Although they seemed to notice my presence, they didn't stop. The man continued to grind him against, and I could hear him panting louder with each passing minute. I caught a glimpse of a few crumpled bank notes and coins on the ground, laid near the denim jacket.
So that's how it is.
It was both a sickening and embarrassing sight, but I had no choice. Gathering up my courage, I entered the narrow alley.
Don't look.
As I walked past the two individuals, I could feel those eyes following my every step.
Don't look.
I didn't know why, but my head turned--and our eyes met. His blonde hair was unkempt and drenched in sweat, his cheeks rosy pink and mouth slightly opened. I couldn't read the mixed expression on his face.
Shame?
His pupils were widened.
Or fear?
I kept on walking, fixing my gaze straight to the front.
---
I found myself coming back to the same place, despite having witnessed him do a different man--or client--each time.
If only my apartment was somewhere further, I wouldn't have to go through this damned alley and see the embarrassing scene.
Only this time, it was unexpected.
I held my breath.
Amidst the dim light, I saw the small figure lying on the ground, not moving. Sounds of footsteps was fading away in the darkness. Without a second thought, I rushed over to the body. His blonde hair was a mess, and there was blood on his swollen lips.
"A-Are you okay?" I stammered. Why was I worried?
There was steady breathing, and his hands laid still on the cold concrete. I shook him by the shoulders.
"Wake up, dammit!" I found myself shouting for no reason.
He opened his eyes slowly--and smiled.
I froze.
"You're... here."
I held on to the frail body, speechless.
"I thought you hate me," he continued weakly.
I felt a lump stuck in the back of my throat.
"I thought I disgust you," he added before coughing blood.
What's this painful feeling?
I shook my head. "We need to take you to my place." I saw the purple bruises on his neck and arms.
He coughed again.
"You need to be treated," I said, swiftly carrying him into my arms.
He's very light.
He didn't say anything as he clung his hands to my neck. I swung my bag over one shoulder and we walked in silence.
"It's a nice place you've got."
He was drinking hot tea out of my coffee mug. I just finished sticking on the plasters and bandages, and was sitting casually on the chair across him.
"It's alright," I shrugged, taking off my tie.
"Thanks for letting me use the shower, anyways," he said. "And lending me this." He motioned to the towel twisted around his wet hair. "And the shirt, too," he added quickly.
I laughed at the white oversized shirt he was wearing. "It looks like a dress on you."
"I'm not small," he said, frowning.
"Never said you are."
He gave me an angry pout before taking another sip. He looked like a little child--a lost puppy.
"You want dinner?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You're so skinny," I said. "You need to eat."
"I already ate."
"What did you have?"
"Cheeseburger," he said with a laugh. "Because I'm cheap."
For some reason I felt relieved to see him more alive compared to when I found him half an hour ago. Seeing those innocent eyes, I forgot for a moment that he wasn't as naive as he appeared to be. I got up and stored the first aid kit in the kitchen cupboard. I glanced at him; he was sitting on the sofa, snuggling and pulling his knees inside the baggy shirt. It flaunted a different image than his usual rough, delinquent outfit. There was something about this kid that drew my attention, but I didn't know what.
Then I said it.
"You can sleep over for the night."
His head jerked in surprise, those eyes widening. "Really?" he asked, visibly excited.
I nodded. "Yeah. It's already late, anyways." With those injuries, I couldn't let him walk home alone.
He jumped out of the sofa and hugged me tightly. "Thank you!"
I was taken aback; this kid was sure spontaneous and clingy. I cleared my throat. "Go call your folks so they don't get worried."
I felt him flinching slightly. He let go of his arms and looked up, his head just below my chin. "I don't have any parents."
What?
"I was sent to an orphanage when I was little," he said, those eyes reflecting deep pain. "I've lived in different houses for the past 20 years."
He's 20? I was surprised; he sure didn't look his age.
"So I don't really have a home to return to." He was twirling his finger around a strand of my black hair.
"I-I'm sorry," I said softly. "But who do you live with right now?"
I caught a glimpse of sorrow on his face. "My boyfriend."
"You have a boyfriend?" I cried incredulously, dropping my jaw in shock.
No way.
"Yeah." He looked down before quickly adding, "Well, you can say he's my boyfriend."
I took a deep breath. "Does he know what you do?"
He nodded solemnly. "Actually, he's the one who introduced me to this job."
No fucking way.
Everything I had thought about this kid at the first meeting had changed. He wasn't just some teenage tramp. No, it wasn't because of his own will--but because he had an asshole jerk of a boyfriend who forced him to sleep with other bastards for money.
How could he?
"That was his people beating me up earlier, because I don't have the money to pay him the rent for this month."
Suddenly I felt a wave of guilt and sympathy wash over me, and I pulled him into a tight embrace.
It's so unfair for him.
"Doojoonie?" That was the first time he addressed me informally since I told him my name earlier, when I brought him home.
Before I knew it, tears trickled down my cheek.
"You okay?"
I nodded silently.
Then he stood on his toes and brushed his lips against mine.
I could feel his warm breath.
I kissed him back.
I have fallen in love with an angel in disguise.
---
He'd come over again, everyday, after that incident.
I opened my eyes lazily. The bright sunlight seeped through the window, right above my head.
"Good morning."
I turned. He was next to me, lying on his bare stomach and leaning his chin against one hand. It was the sixth time he'd slept over in the past two weeks. "What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"About 7AM," he answered.
I stretched my arms. "That's not too bad," I said with a yawn. "It's Sunday anyway." I noticed him staring at me in fascination. "What?"
"Nothing," he said with that same, bright smile that'd always make my heart flutter.
"Do I have something on my face?"
"No." He shook his head. "I like you a lot, that's all."
I raised my eyebrows in a mocking manner. "Oh, really?"
He grinned, stroking my cheek lightly. "You're actually a very kind and gentle person, you know. But you were so cold when we first met."
I rolled over, pulling the pillow closer to my arm. "I was, wasn't I?"
"Yeah!" he nodded. "You scared me."
"Because you were so persistent," I said, engrossed with those bright, sparkling eyes.
"Well, I'm glad I was." He ran a hand through the blonde locks. "Otherwise we wouldn't be together like we are right now."
I smirked and pounced on him playfully. He laughed, and pulled me into a passionate kiss.
Our bodies touched amidst soft murmurs and moans of pleasure under the blanket.
---
I opened the door.
"Yoseob!"
He was standing outside, his hair all tangled and dirty. On the corners of his lips was blood, and his left eye was bruised. There were visible beating marks on the rest of his face and his body. His jacket was rumpled, and he looked terrible.
"What happened?"
He fell into my arms. Then he started to sob as he leaned against my chest. It was the first time I had seen him cry.
"It was him, wasn't it?" This has gone too far. "I'm going to beat the living shit out of that motherfucker!" I was about to rush out of the door, but he held on to me tightly.
"No!" he said, his eyes widening in fear.
"But look what he did to you!"
That guy is not your boyfriend!
"No," he clung to my sleeves, dropping down on the floor. He started to sob again. "Don't make him angry."
I kneeled down in front of him, sighing in exasperation. "Why?"
"He'll kill you," he said, looking down. "So don't."
He's got relations with the underworld.
"But why did he beat you up, again?"
He stayed quiet for a while before answering, "He said I'm dirty."
What?
"He was angry because I've haven't been coming home lately," he sobbed. "He didn't like it, and called me a dirty slut."
Say no more.
I wrapped my arms around the delicate figure, shaking my head. "You're not dirty."
You're pure.
"But I am." He seemed so weak and hopeless right now.
"No," I shook my head, tightening the hug. "To me, you're not."
He's just an innocent, fragile soul.
I bit my lips, trying to hold back the tears. It was painful to see him in this condition, and I missed his cheerful laughter and bright self.
Why does he have it so hard?
I pulled back, lifting his chin so we looked face-to-face. "Listen to me."
He stopped crying.
"You're precious to me," I said, " and I love you so much."
You're perfect just the way you are.
"Forget about him." I caressed his warm, bruised cheek lovingly. "Leave him and stay with me."
He cried harder, burying his head in my chest.
I whispered tenderly, "I'll never let you go."
---
But I did.
I walked towards the grey tombstone in the middle of the burial ground. His name was carved in small letters above a flower symbol. I kneeled down, feeling the carving with my fingers, and a droplet of tear fell on my lap.
I have sinned.
I still remembered it like it was yesterday: the pale, thin frame lying lifelessly on the bathroom floor, blood pouring from the deep slits on his wrist.
He was cold--very cold.
I screamed his name and shook his body repeatedly, but there was no answer. There was only a smile on his bluish lips.
And a small note left at the tip of his fingers: 'Thank you'.
Forgive me.
I weeped quietly as I laid down stems of white lilies in front of the tombstone.
To me, you'll always be a pure and innocent angel.
Author: qrn
Pairing: DooSeob
Rating: M (Mature), for sexual & violent themes
Summary: He fell in love with an angel in disguise.
Author's Notes: The last part of the OT3-centered Petals series! I think this is quiet long compared to the previous two; I've always loved DooSeob since their debut, so this has got to be the saddest story in the trilogy (yes, it's another angst XD). Just a note in case you don't get the ending, you might want to refer to this site =) A flash of good news: Prisoners Chapter 14 is 70% done! =D Feedbacks & comments are welcome, as always ^^ Enjoy!
"How is it going?"
I stopped in my tracks, and turned around.
The boy appeared to be a minor; he was short, dressed rowdily, and had quite a youthful face. He was blowing pink bubblegum, hands tucked into his worn denim jacket, and he was standing still, leaning against the cold wall of the dark alley.
I observed him for a while. He seemed to be a one of those delinquent teenagers you'd see on movies--the ones who skipped school and hung out on the streets, smoking and taking drugs. The dim light revealed a part of his face, and I could see his big eyes staring at me intently.
"Not bad, thank you," I said politely, making my way past the garbage bins and crates. There was an awful stench of cigarettes.
"I've seen you around before," he said again with a pop. "You often walk past."
I cleared my throat. "I work late." I didn't know why I even attempted to respond to his words--it just showed that I was interested to talk to him, didn't it?
"This place is dangerous at night. You shouldn't take this route."
And yet I answered back, "My house is closer this way, and it's already 11:30PM." He had to be joking; he was an underage himself and yet he warned me about walking around in dangerous places. Talk about a hypocrite.
Another pop. "Are you rich?"
That was it. That was the sign that he was only interested in your money, and the short conversation was merely a bait. I walked away without another word, ignoring the endless questions he continued to throw at me.
He was there again.
"Hey."
I sighed, gripping my bag tightly in one hand. This was the main reason why I hated taking shortcuts home; homeless people would try to catch your attention by starting a conversation and the next thing you knew, you lost your valuables. That happened to my colleague once, and he'd also warned me about passing this alley late at night. But I couldn't help having night work shifts, especially when you were a programmer working in a big gaming company. Furthermore, this kid seemed dangerous.
I looked at him in disgust. His dirty blonde hair was ruffled, and he had a cigarette in his hand.
Kids these days.
"What's your name?"
I wished I was working in a different place, so I wouldn't have to meet this troublemaker kid everytime I had a late shift. I kept my head down and squeezed past. There were empty cartons of cigarettes and smashed bottles scattered on the ground. It smelled awful.
"You didn't answer my question." He sure was talkative, wasn't he?
I tried to ignore him, and continued walking.
Stay quiet.
After last week, I figured I shouldn't say anything whenever he tried talking me into a conversation.
"I'm Yoseob!" His voice echoed in the dark alley.
I didn't look back.
---
This was the fourth time I had encountered him in that place, and each time I met him he'd be alone, blowing gum or smoking. I'd never seen him take drugs, though, but I assumed he was a user anyway. And each time he'd attempt a weak conversation by bringing up odd, random topics such as my favorite eating place, whether I liked my job, where I shopped for clothes, and others.
But this time was different.
I was standing at the entrance of the dark alley once again--it was close to 12AM, and the night was unusually chilly. My face stiffened as I witnessed what was happening before my eyes.
His small body was pressed against the wall, bare legs wrapped around a man's waist. Their hips swivelled and swayed in a rapid motion, and occasional moans escaped the blonde's lips as the other thrusted in deeper.
I swallowed, hard.
What the fuck?
Although they seemed to notice my presence, they didn't stop. The man continued to grind him against, and I could hear him panting louder with each passing minute. I caught a glimpse of a few crumpled bank notes and coins on the ground, laid near the denim jacket.
So that's how it is.
It was both a sickening and embarrassing sight, but I had no choice. Gathering up my courage, I entered the narrow alley.
Don't look.
As I walked past the two individuals, I could feel those eyes following my every step.
Don't look.
I didn't know why, but my head turned--and our eyes met. His blonde hair was unkempt and drenched in sweat, his cheeks rosy pink and mouth slightly opened. I couldn't read the mixed expression on his face.
Shame?
His pupils were widened.
Or fear?
I kept on walking, fixing my gaze straight to the front.
---
I found myself coming back to the same place, despite having witnessed him do a different man--or client--each time.
If only my apartment was somewhere further, I wouldn't have to go through this damned alley and see the embarrassing scene.
Only this time, it was unexpected.
I held my breath.
Amidst the dim light, I saw the small figure lying on the ground, not moving. Sounds of footsteps was fading away in the darkness. Without a second thought, I rushed over to the body. His blonde hair was a mess, and there was blood on his swollen lips.
"A-Are you okay?" I stammered. Why was I worried?
There was steady breathing, and his hands laid still on the cold concrete. I shook him by the shoulders.
"Wake up, dammit!" I found myself shouting for no reason.
He opened his eyes slowly--and smiled.
I froze.
"You're... here."
I held on to the frail body, speechless.
"I thought you hate me," he continued weakly.
I felt a lump stuck in the back of my throat.
"I thought I disgust you," he added before coughing blood.
What's this painful feeling?
I shook my head. "We need to take you to my place." I saw the purple bruises on his neck and arms.
He coughed again.
"You need to be treated," I said, swiftly carrying him into my arms.
He's very light.
He didn't say anything as he clung his hands to my neck. I swung my bag over one shoulder and we walked in silence.
"It's a nice place you've got."
He was drinking hot tea out of my coffee mug. I just finished sticking on the plasters and bandages, and was sitting casually on the chair across him.
"It's alright," I shrugged, taking off my tie.
"Thanks for letting me use the shower, anyways," he said. "And lending me this." He motioned to the towel twisted around his wet hair. "And the shirt, too," he added quickly.
I laughed at the white oversized shirt he was wearing. "It looks like a dress on you."
"I'm not small," he said, frowning.
"Never said you are."
He gave me an angry pout before taking another sip. He looked like a little child--a lost puppy.
"You want dinner?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You're so skinny," I said. "You need to eat."
"I already ate."
"What did you have?"
"Cheeseburger," he said with a laugh. "Because I'm cheap."
For some reason I felt relieved to see him more alive compared to when I found him half an hour ago. Seeing those innocent eyes, I forgot for a moment that he wasn't as naive as he appeared to be. I got up and stored the first aid kit in the kitchen cupboard. I glanced at him; he was sitting on the sofa, snuggling and pulling his knees inside the baggy shirt. It flaunted a different image than his usual rough, delinquent outfit. There was something about this kid that drew my attention, but I didn't know what.
Then I said it.
"You can sleep over for the night."
His head jerked in surprise, those eyes widening. "Really?" he asked, visibly excited.
I nodded. "Yeah. It's already late, anyways." With those injuries, I couldn't let him walk home alone.
He jumped out of the sofa and hugged me tightly. "Thank you!"
I was taken aback; this kid was sure spontaneous and clingy. I cleared my throat. "Go call your folks so they don't get worried."
I felt him flinching slightly. He let go of his arms and looked up, his head just below my chin. "I don't have any parents."
What?
"I was sent to an orphanage when I was little," he said, those eyes reflecting deep pain. "I've lived in different houses for the past 20 years."
He's 20? I was surprised; he sure didn't look his age.
"So I don't really have a home to return to." He was twirling his finger around a strand of my black hair.
"I-I'm sorry," I said softly. "But who do you live with right now?"
I caught a glimpse of sorrow on his face. "My boyfriend."
"You have a boyfriend?" I cried incredulously, dropping my jaw in shock.
No way.
"Yeah." He looked down before quickly adding, "Well, you can say he's my boyfriend."
I took a deep breath. "Does he know what you do?"
He nodded solemnly. "Actually, he's the one who introduced me to this job."
No fucking way.
Everything I had thought about this kid at the first meeting had changed. He wasn't just some teenage tramp. No, it wasn't because of his own will--but because he had an asshole jerk of a boyfriend who forced him to sleep with other bastards for money.
How could he?
"That was his people beating me up earlier, because I don't have the money to pay him the rent for this month."
Suddenly I felt a wave of guilt and sympathy wash over me, and I pulled him into a tight embrace.
It's so unfair for him.
"Doojoonie?" That was the first time he addressed me informally since I told him my name earlier, when I brought him home.
Before I knew it, tears trickled down my cheek.
"You okay?"
I nodded silently.
Then he stood on his toes and brushed his lips against mine.
I could feel his warm breath.
I kissed him back.
I have fallen in love with an angel in disguise.
---
He'd come over again, everyday, after that incident.
I opened my eyes lazily. The bright sunlight seeped through the window, right above my head.
"Good morning."
I turned. He was next to me, lying on his bare stomach and leaning his chin against one hand. It was the sixth time he'd slept over in the past two weeks. "What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"About 7AM," he answered.
I stretched my arms. "That's not too bad," I said with a yawn. "It's Sunday anyway." I noticed him staring at me in fascination. "What?"
"Nothing," he said with that same, bright smile that'd always make my heart flutter.
"Do I have something on my face?"
"No." He shook his head. "I like you a lot, that's all."
I raised my eyebrows in a mocking manner. "Oh, really?"
He grinned, stroking my cheek lightly. "You're actually a very kind and gentle person, you know. But you were so cold when we first met."
I rolled over, pulling the pillow closer to my arm. "I was, wasn't I?"
"Yeah!" he nodded. "You scared me."
"Because you were so persistent," I said, engrossed with those bright, sparkling eyes.
"Well, I'm glad I was." He ran a hand through the blonde locks. "Otherwise we wouldn't be together like we are right now."
I smirked and pounced on him playfully. He laughed, and pulled me into a passionate kiss.
Our bodies touched amidst soft murmurs and moans of pleasure under the blanket.
---
I opened the door.
"Yoseob!"
He was standing outside, his hair all tangled and dirty. On the corners of his lips was blood, and his left eye was bruised. There were visible beating marks on the rest of his face and his body. His jacket was rumpled, and he looked terrible.
"What happened?"
He fell into my arms. Then he started to sob as he leaned against my chest. It was the first time I had seen him cry.
"It was him, wasn't it?" This has gone too far. "I'm going to beat the living shit out of that motherfucker!" I was about to rush out of the door, but he held on to me tightly.
"No!" he said, his eyes widening in fear.
"But look what he did to you!"
That guy is not your boyfriend!
"No," he clung to my sleeves, dropping down on the floor. He started to sob again. "Don't make him angry."
I kneeled down in front of him, sighing in exasperation. "Why?"
"He'll kill you," he said, looking down. "So don't."
He's got relations with the underworld.
"But why did he beat you up, again?"
He stayed quiet for a while before answering, "He said I'm dirty."
What?
"He was angry because I've haven't been coming home lately," he sobbed. "He didn't like it, and called me a dirty slut."
Say no more.
I wrapped my arms around the delicate figure, shaking my head. "You're not dirty."
You're pure.
"But I am." He seemed so weak and hopeless right now.
"No," I shook my head, tightening the hug. "To me, you're not."
He's just an innocent, fragile soul.
I bit my lips, trying to hold back the tears. It was painful to see him in this condition, and I missed his cheerful laughter and bright self.
Why does he have it so hard?
I pulled back, lifting his chin so we looked face-to-face. "Listen to me."
He stopped crying.
"You're precious to me," I said, " and I love you so much."
You're perfect just the way you are.
"Forget about him." I caressed his warm, bruised cheek lovingly. "Leave him and stay with me."
He cried harder, burying his head in my chest.
I whispered tenderly, "I'll never let you go."
---
But I did.
I walked towards the grey tombstone in the middle of the burial ground. His name was carved in small letters above a flower symbol. I kneeled down, feeling the carving with my fingers, and a droplet of tear fell on my lap.
I have sinned.
I still remembered it like it was yesterday: the pale, thin frame lying lifelessly on the bathroom floor, blood pouring from the deep slits on his wrist.
He was cold--very cold.
I screamed his name and shook his body repeatedly, but there was no answer. There was only a smile on his bluish lips.
And a small note left at the tip of his fingers: 'Thank you'.
Forgive me.
I weeped quietly as I laid down stems of white lilies in front of the tombstone.
To me, you'll always be a pure and innocent angel.