when love lives in heaven
Title: (comes from here)
Rating: r, mostly for mentions of drug use.
Pairing/Focus: WooGyu
Woohyun likes watching people. Particularly - their behaviour in different situations, how typical and predictable they are. He has already learnt, in his short life, why they act the way they act. He needed no studies to be able to figure out why the Myungsoo guy from his year is showing off so much when Sungyeol is near; or why everyone is walking with their noses in the textbooks. It is so easy to guess, the emotions are practically visible - fear - because it’s like that - of the grade, embarrassment - why? It’s just so… - I’ll look bad in front of the others, guilt - it wasn’t me! - I could have studied earlier; but also, awkwardness and nervousness - him, too? - I need to be the best, I have to be picked - euphoria - yes… more. - I passed!
You just have to look at them; most of them were that grey mass that melted, mixed, emanated normality. You, you could move to a totally different place, and the emotions would still be the same - perhaps caused by something else, but it didn't matter. What matters is,
a fact.
A fact is the existence of Woohyun, Myungsoo, Sungyeol. A fact is the sun, and the wind, and what you see and touch. But, could you call ‘a fact’, the act of feeling? A feeling? Thoughts and observations? Can be particular behaviours called facts? Anger, politeness, hostility, kindness, courtesy, arrogance. They could be just words. Sometimes empty, sometimes synonyms. Used to simplify understanding those difficult emotions which happen to be emotions. Woohyun doesn’t really know what the whole, that much talked about on television, courtesy means. For some it’s letting the girl from work walk first through the door, for others it’s just a kind behaviour - what is kindness, then? - letting someone sit on your seat in the bus even if all of the other ones are empty. But for Woohyun, courtesy is help, not dry and emotionless - feelings? - words which make one of the definitions of courtesy he has found on the Internet:
courtesy - sophisticated, slightly old-fashioned politeness, especially in formal situations: the elaborate courtesy paid to older man. He bowed courteously, and began: - Mr President!
fr. courtoisie from: Cour 'mansion'.
Sophisticated? Old-fashioned? What about being a gentleman, what about propriety about which everybody seems to be talking?
For Woohyun, courtesy is a description of such behaviour, that is commonly called kindness, helpful to another human, protectiveness. He doesn’t care his definition is different that the generally accepted one.
He doesn’t want to be normal - what is normality? He doesn’t like that.
Woohyun sees himself in different colours. Sometimes he wants to be red; exciting, passionate in whatever he’s doing, a gallant man. Sometimes he wishes to be in shades of yellow and orange - warm, kind, comfortable; green - because he has woken up with the desire to be hope. He’s a young man, so different to people his age, to his lecturers, to passer-bys. Instead of studying or drinking till he’s wasted, he prefers to walk around homeless shelters, fetch some clothes from time to time, run with unknown, little children on the playground. Walk around his district at night, nervously looking over his shoulder to check if anyone is following him - it could be stupid, he’s young, it’s a matter of habit. - violence. - turning into new - old - alleys. He lives in Seoul, so he’d choose one of the many bridges, bring an old pillow - because it’s cold - and sit on it, throwing his legs over the bars of the railing. Staring at the streetlights, thinking about everyone who is and who was.
About everyone who will be? - no, not really.
He’d often visit one of the shelters for Young people. He’d see young prostitutes, thieves, drug-addicts. The latter were all the previous ones at the same time, and they were the ones Woohyun liked to watch the most. The way they can survive through the next days, months, despite their self-destructive choices, it’d always fascinate - terrify - Woohyun. He’s seen a girl, her body covered in so many tattoos that he was forced to think about the definition of pain - because I need this - of hurt, so clumsily covered in paint, trying to hide the new cracks that’d show up (not at all) by themselves. He’s seen a twelve-year-old, rocking back and forth, biting his nails, murmuring (“He’s craving, you know what I mean? You’ve got to be fucking clean here. You know?”) with despair ‘mo-mmy, mommy, mom-my’. Woohyun’s got so scared back then that he started running; tripping over his own legs, he’s bumped into someone, a guy - not much older than him - with remains of red hair, almost wholly overwhelmed by black roots. The guy hasn’t looked like an addict, and he certainly hasn’t been acting like one (“A madman, maybe?”); his strong hands has caught Woohyun, preventing him from falling. He’s felt a hot breath on his face, when the guy asked quietly:
“Are you afraid?”
A madman, maybe.
Woohyun hasn’t answered but escaped, and with his heart drumming in his chest, burst into his house an hour later. He’ been sitting for two hours without moving, and when his mother came back - he’s hugged her, tightly, the vision of the little boy and the angry, challenging look from the older guy burnt painfully under his eyelids.
After eventually calming down, Woohyun’d come back there, twice or thrice a week, to see the kid trying to get rid of the addiction. He’s observed him from afar, afraid to come closer, afraid to break him. Sometime’s he’d bring something sweet, or lave a plushie (he sees the boy cuddling to it later, and feels a bit better).
“He’s not really an orphan, you know,” Woohyun hears in his ear one day. He jumps, hitting his shoulder painfully against the pillar he’s leaning on. There’s this guy standing beside him, with a blank expression on his face. Woohyun looks at him for a moment, not really sure how to react.
“He’s not?” he manages to squeeze out, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. The guy shakes his head, looks at Woohyun and something flickers in his eyes - Woohyun isn’t sure what.
“No. His mother’s dead, his father killed her. He fucking forced her to fuck around and bring him money, and then killed her. He killed her, but he’s still alive.”
“He’s… he’s not in jail?”
“No.”
“Why…?”
“You know nothing, do you?” the guy snorts, his sneer evident, and Woohyun crumples a little. He feels stupid. He likes watching people, he’s always thought he knew them. Turns out he didn’t really. “Why would anyone care? Why would anyone fucking care when their have their own, fucking peaceful live? Everyone has left him, all alone.”
The guy’s eyes wander back to the little boy, his face returning back to the emptiness. Woohyun doesn’t know if he meant the boy, his father (or himself - Woohyun is too afraid to think about that).
“O… Oh.”
The guy chuckles a little, his voice devoid of any merry.
“Do you…” Woohyun starts hesitantly. He wants to ask so badly, so, so badly. The little boy in the far corner of the room coughs and can’t stop for a moment, what has Woohyun heart stopping in fear. “Do you also…”
“Yes, I do.”
Yes, I do live on a street, Woohyun thinks bitterly, horrified that the guy knew right away what he meant to ask.
His name is Sunggyu and he was the one who brought the little boy to the shelter, Woohyun learns few weeks later. They don’t talk much, usually just standing next to each other when Woohyun visits, watching the boy. Woohyun has questions - a fucking lot of questions - but after Sunggyu has almost punched him when he asked what was the boy’s name, he keeps quiet most of the time (“It’s not your world, Nam. You don’t have to know.”). It’s hard, but he manages to get some information about Sunggyu himself, though. His parents has kicked him out after he tried to persuade them to take the boy. He’s been taking care of himself since then, a few months now, but that’s all Woohyun knows. Sunggyu doesn’t want help from him.
Woohyun has followed him once, without Sunggyu knowing. He’s watched him, coursing around the railway station, talking to people and trying to get some money for the boy. Woohyun’s felt discouragement, almost disgust, but he knew nothing else could be done, not really. He woke up once in the middle of the night, his face wet with tears, the remains of his dream with Sunggyu, his sharp gaze and unbelievably clean and well-kept attire, still swirling in his head.
They don’t talk much and if they do, it’s only about the boy’s condition, never about a life on the street. Woohyun doesn’t know if he doesn’t want to know, or if he doesn’t want to press the matter. What Woohyun doesn’t know is also if Sunggyu regrets. Does he? Why?
Why? - it’s the thing Woohyun keeps repeating, not understanding what’s happening in - with - him.
He doesn’t understand, until the one day he comes to the shelter and sees Sunggyu waiting for him in front of the building. It’s already dark, but the light from the lamp post allows him to see Sunggyu clearly. A strained, exhausted smile and a small package in his hands.
A quiet ‘thank you’ leaves his mouth when he hands the package over to him and, no, no, this can’t be happening, this- Woohyun backs away, the package falling to the ground - he doesn’t want to know what’s inside (he will never know), he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to know what the little boy has given him, what he wanted to give him, before he died. Died.
There’s an angry cry forming in Woohyun, but Sunggyu - how? - stops it, stepping over, seizing Woohyun into his arms almost forcefully, kissing him gently. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I- I might, you know. You. Thank you.”
Woohyun doesn’t cry, miraculously, and looks up at the other, swallowing his nonexistent tears.
“I may be,” loving you, somehow, Sunggyu. “Too.”
Woohyun is afraid, and Woohyun is different colours, and he's courtesy, but he doesn't know anything, and Sunggyu isn't normality and he's just so much more than Woohyun is.
i know it's most certainly not an easy lecture, but thank you, if you managed to read it through, guise!
there are just some things you're forced to start thinking about when you move to a big city, you know? haha
i might be considering writing a sequel which won't necessarily consist of angst XD