(des)pedaço

the feeling in his chest makes him think of the qiuietness before a storm. that feeling that looms when he looks at the gray dark sky, knowing full well what is about to come. and still, nam taeil finishes dressing himself up, the face of sofistication, suit sharp in all the right angles, his jaw so stiff it makes his head ache.

in all honesty, taeil was never a man of ruses. he liked things black and white and straight forward. he liked honesty to a point where people have called him over honest. an asshole even. it never really bothered him. he’d rather be a fucking dick than to pretend niceties. much for his family dismay. and yet here he is, dressing himself up for a party that is only happening because of a lie. a farce. so much trouble to get out of more trouble. it tires him only thinking of it.

it better be worth it.

when he’s done, he goes aup the stairs to the terrace. the party is already happening, people around he doesn’t even know. taeil isn’t surprised. this party was nothing but an excuse for them to show the world their lie, his parents falling for it like the needy miserable people they are. the song playing is not for him, the food not to his taste. like everything in his family, all of this is only for show. he doesn’t force a smile.

“finally, here you are,” his mother says, “i thought i’d have to drag you here myself.”

“yourself, mother?” he asks, smiles, “that’d be a first.”

“don’t test my patience. i know how much it amuses you, but don’t. where is your girlfriend? i thought you were going to drive her here.”

“she has a driver already, no need for me,” he replies, looses his tie a bit. minutes here and it already feels like a leash.

his mother scoffs. “you still should’ve-”

“excuse me, mother,” he says as he makes his way to a waiter, picks a glass of champagne. it goes down all at once, seoul’s skyline in front of him tempting. such a nice summer night, and here he is. trapped. stuck. taeil turns his back towards it before jumping down becomes too much of a good idea. he’s about to make his way to another waiter when someone catches his attention by the door, a girl looking around the terrace. taeil had jested that she should look her best but fuck. he didn’t know she’d rise to the occasion so well.

“i don’t really get it. why we’re here.”

it’s bitter, the words have had time to marinate in the black coffee rioh’s been sipping away at for the better part of five minutes. 

“why you’re here.”

hyunwoo is a man of addiction.

he knows that. has known that for years. he has never functioned in a a moderate way. when he liked a toy he’d use it until it broke. when he liked a movie he’d watch it so much his mother would hide it from him. girllfriends, boyfriends it was always like that. he burned and burned with such intensity that it’d turn everything around him into ashes. and then he’d be done with it. the movie would be forgotten. the toy would collect dust. the boyfriend would call him over and over. he’d just leave without a word.

but now that he has rioh here, so close, and yet so far out of reach, hyunwoo can’t help but fall into his old pattern. he conceals his true intentions under the desiguise of friendship. of wanting to catch up, reconnect.the lies leave his lips with the easiness of always, the smile comes with the same simplicity of someone who has made a job out of faking it until he made it. though he doesn’t know exactly what he’s faking here with rioh. or what he even wants to accomplish.

all he knows is that ever since he saw him that day something inside of him has been aching  for him all the way down to his bones. and even if a small, quiet, feeble part of himself asks over and over what he wants here, now, after all he’s done, and that it’d just be kinder to leave rioh alone, hyunwoo simply can’t. he was never one to kindness. and he’d always much rather have something, even if only to lose it.

“for coffee, what else?” he asks back, a smile that barely reaches his eye. the coffee shop was rioh’s choice, and hyunwoo looks out of place in it. but at this point hyunwoo already noticed sarcasm and his cham have barely any effect on rioh. so he turns to another tactic.

desire. 

she tilts her head, on an instinct, nuzzling her nose against the curve of his palm. the smell of him is wrong, inhuman. tiny details that don’t seem to add up to a human man. the reflection of that is the twist of her stomach. “you’re a terrible husband.” is what she determines after a moment of thought, nips at the pad of his thumb before she curls her fingers around his wrist, pulls his hand away from her skin, for fear of burning. “i feel sick. when will that stop?” she demands the answer of him without pretense. “you could have mentioned that, by the way, somewhere along the line.”  sometime before you kissed me, stole a piece of me from between my lips. it feels that way, too, like he has taken something from inside her, left a hole that will ache for him forever, a chasm. frightening and sudden, leaving her lurching and uncertain in this strange new world. 

“you could at least provide a tour.” 

“i’m not your husband. yet,” he points out as she tears his hand away from him, and anger flares in a way taehyun the deathless has never felt before. and he has been fighting his own brother for centuries. he has locked up yena after yena who run away from him, who kill him, who have torn him apart time and time again. and yet, this girl, his girl, the girl he has chose amidst a million of them shoves him away like she doesn’t. 

the man, who is not a man, breathes in. jaw tight, eyes dark against hers. 

“this is the price of magic, maya,” he tells her. takes a step forward.

you won’t deny me. 

“you have watched it. you craved for it, didn’t you? and yet, now that it has come for you you say you want to leave. i thought i knew you but i never took you for being foolish,” he is closer to her again. life seems to falter him and taehyun grabs it by the neck, forces it back to himself. to the flush on his cheek, his hair. “maybe i was wrong. was i? wouldn’t be the first time. or the last, even.”

a hand reaches for the dark of her hair, grabs at it. you won’t deny me, his eyes say, famished. maybe he shouldn’t be that soft back in the huts. maybe he should’ve have taken care of her. maybe he should’ve drawn more blood from her mouth. maybe he should’ve done all of those things so this wolf of a girl wouldn’t take him for one of her toys. 

and still. taehyun can feel himself shivering. he can feel his eyes drawn to her lips, his heart - the lack of it - faltering, skipping a beat. deathless, they call him, and yet he holds his own in his arms with adoration. fear. desire. rage. 

and as the demon he is, the lustful, sinful, wicked thing he is, taehyun leans in and kisses her full in the mouth, takes her here and then. his hand strong in her hair, his other hand lacing her middle, pulling her close. mine, mine, mine, it says. and you won’t deny me. you can’t. you can’t. he kisses her the way only a man who has been starved for anything warm, for anything good, for anything life. he kisses her like she’s the only one. he kisses her like she’s his first. 

when he lets go of her, it’s like a dagger being pulled out from his heart. 

what it all could be

“so catch me up, what’s paramount in the great kim hyunwoo’s life nowadays?” rioh says it like he doesn’t care, assumes the role of a liar.

it’s interesting, the way atmosphere changes. but hyunwoo is not surprised. what surprises him is how little distance and the years have made him know less of who rioh is. the way he goes from nonchalant to provocative, the way he can see that what he had just said annoyed him, grinded some of his gears. 

outside, hyunwoo listens without a word. inside, he rejoices. 

he has always been a selfish man. he was born a cruel kid, grew into a needy, merciless teenager and now here he is, this hollow shell of a person, made to serve himself and himself alone. and in front of him there’s this ghost, the ghost of the one person he has ever loved, staring at him with such a mix of emotions that it hits hyunwoo in his gut like a punch. 

“you were always terrible at guessing,” hyunwoo says, shoves his hand on his pockets. “seems you still are.”

getting into rioh’s petty games never took them anywhere, but still, it’s better than nothing. still, it makes his heart ache with excitement. such a vile person he has turned out to be. the joy he feels as he notices how easily they’re falling into old ways. with ragged edges, yes. with thorns, and a sharpness that didn’t exist back then. 

his phone buzzes in his pocket and hyunwoo looks at it, stares at the name of his fiancé before shoving it back in. rioh opens the door to his office and there is this second of hesitattion in hyunwoo. this reminder that he shouldn’t go back. just like drinking, just like the pills he used to take, the old vices of his old life should be kept buried away. 

and yet-

he waks in. 

“is a necklace supposed to charm me that easily?” she retorts, with a confidence she doesn’t feel. some stubbornness, some fight or flight response turned verbal. like a cornered animal she lashes out. “should i be flattered?” her lips purse, “that you dragged me into this world half dead? who would go with you, for such a journey.” the words sting her lips, split and bruising. the rest of her body, too, like an overripe peach, seems fit to bruise and burst. 

absentmindedly, she toys with the jewel on the end of the chain, closing her eyes again. “the light is all wrong here. it hurts my eyes. and you’re too hot and too cold all at once.” she complains. petulant, like a child. she feels like one, in the moment - some lost thing stolen away from home. “what is it that i’m meant to do here? what is it that you do here?”

she flashes out like a wild thing. not that taehyun was expecting anything different. when he said he has watched her he meant it quite literally. he knows this girl the same way he knows the lines of the palm of his hand. he knows this girl the same way he knows she will fall for him. soon. she will give in. 

and then she will hate him. and then she will break him. 

he knows all of that, and still. 

still he smiles. 

“dragged you?” he asks, tilts his head. he’s unused to speak to humans at this point, and part of him almost screams that the smile should be wrong. “as far as i remember i asked you to come. and you did. you were waiting for me, weren’t you? for a bird to come,” his hands slide over her shoulder, down to the necklace, hold her hand, “and take you away. you should’ve know to be careful with what you wish for.”

he lets go of her in the same way a thisty man lets go of water, walks down until he’s facing her. her dark eyes stare up at him like bottomless pits, the edge of the abyss. taehyun takes a steps toward it, willingly. “you can scream and cry and blame me all you want. you can paint me as the villain if that makes you sleep better. i don’t care. but you know it as much as i do that i never forced you to do anything. you, my dear wife, said yes.”

his hand on her chin, lifting her face to look at him. “and death isn’t something you say yes and then change your mind. and i am not a man who lets go of what is mine that easily,” a smile comes, again, but this time it feels sharp. pointed. a chuckle, the humor in it suddenly hitting. “actually, i’m not a man at all.”

“so you like it or not. this is your home now,” he tells her, leaning in closer. “and you do as you wish. you can lash out, and scram, and cry, and try to run away back. see if you can do it. i’ll drag you back time and time again. or you can get over it and rule with me. the choice is yours, maya,” he tells her, his hand still holding her still, a touch so simple and yet enough to jolt him awake. and as much as he is death here. as much as he holds the power, for a second, under the eyes of this girl, the king of death feels fear.

his fingers move in the tangle of her hair, tugging at snarling strands and she winces slightly, the twitch of her features slight. “so how does this work?” she tries to remember the story, but the details are shrouded in ages of retelling. the king of death takes the girl away. at some point the prince comes and steals her away home. cyclical. repetitive. she’d never liked fairy tales much.

he can’t help the smile. 

and it’s cruel, the way he does it. the way one would smile at a child saying something foolish. his hand leaves her chin, drop back to his side.  he stares at her for a while and then steps away, motions for the door. 

“you will get used to it,” he says, circles her until he’s standing behind her. there’s something about maya that is different from all the other. not only her name, but everything. from the way she looked at him from the window to now. this girl. this girl who is brave enough to stare death in the face and tell him she can leave him. tell him she can defy him, delude him.  this eternal circle that he’s in. “you’ll like it, even. you know why i know that, maya?”

he pics something from his pocket, its metal sound echoing around the hall. the necklace weights on his hand and taehyun stares at the stone for a while. red, deep. like blood. like a heart. not his, not yet. not even near close to it. 

“i have watched you,” he continues as he touches her hair, places it on the side. the nape of her neck exposed to him, stark against the black of her hair, her clothes. “i have seen who you are. your wickedness. your cruelty. your fearlessness,” he leans in as he places the necklace around her neck, whispers on his ear, “this is where you belong. what you were built to be. my wife. a queen.”

his lips linger against her ear, but once the necklace is properly placed he lets go of her. there’s a chill that runs down his spine. a sort of cruel want that fills him from the tip of his fingertips to the hollow spot where his heart should be. his heart, hidden. now it seems like it’s right in front of him. 

she’s different, he thinks. maybe. maybe she won’t run away. maybe she’ll-

beyond.

when she exits the room, a hall way unfurls before her and it feels like the metaphorical crossroads at which she had stood, when she had taken his hand. her hands push down into the pockets of her hoodie and it seems somewhat modest and pathetic garb for such an impossible place.  wandering into what she presumes to be a living room, she is annoyed to find it empty, brows pulling together slightly as she scans the area. “it’s not nice to leave someone alone in a strange place you know.” she calls out to nothing, confident he will hear, respond, appear in some puff of smoke or swirl of feathers. as soon as she does it, summons him, it seems as though her heart is frozen in her chest, every breath held, suspended.

he has watched the girl in the window for more years than he dares to count. it’s a pointless task, anyway. years pass by him the same way minutes pass by her, the blink of an eye, one single beat of his heart.

this is the first gift maya gives him, though:

she shows him what time means. 

because for the first time it weighs on him. as he waits and waits. he understands what they mean when they say the closer it gets, the more it hurts, but still, he waits. waits as time plays his tricks, makes him think time has come only to realize it hasn’t. not yet, it whispers to him. not yet. 

until it comes.

and this is the second gift maya gives him. his name. a name he chooses for her, alone. a name he picks for her to say, to understand. the god of death seems a little too dramatic, he knows. so when her mother opens the door and the girl -- his girl, his, he remembers -- stares at him with wide eyes, that’s the name he says:

taehyun. 

and his girl repeats it and he takes her away. and the god of death, taehyun, now, can’t sit still. 

this, oh, this is another gift maya gives him. one of the many she will still do, he’s sure of it. but this one, he doesn’t like. this restlessness in his mind. this terrible needs that makes him crave, break, make his way to her room while she still sleeps. they have told him that the way here wouldn’t be easy on her, so he waits. patient. time making its presence known again. taehyun frowns at it. waits for her to wake. 

he can’t help the smile that when she finally does the first person she calls for it’s him. and as though her words are a command he is brought to her, dark hair on his eyes as he walks down the hall on her direction. here she is now. his girl. his woman. his wife.  his death.

she looks directly at him as though it’s nothing and taehyun can feel her pulling at him. 

what it all could be

“you look good.” he means it, though it does provide a complimentary precursor to his follow up of – “and i understand, if you want to cancel the appointment. you didn’t know it was my shop, so. i don’t want to put something on your body permanently if you’ll regret it, knowing i’m the artist.” 

do you regret me?

he wonders, in this moment. 

it just gets worse.

with every word, every sentence, it just gets worse and worse. his chest burns and hyunwoo is sure that at any given moment it’ll just explode, torn apart by the weight of far too many memories. hyunwoo stares at the book, at every piece, but he doesn’t see them, not truly. he’s far too aware of rioh’s voice, of his hand when he touches the page, of his presence that seems to suffocate him. hyunwoo breathes in. 

“thanks,” he replies, the same tone as his. a question. a smile that comes without him wanting and it feels wrong on his face, pushing at the edges, as though his skin has turned to plastic all wrapped and missplaced. hyunwoo looks up, takes him in now that he’s closer. the piercing on his lip, the way his eyes shift from him back to the book, faint blue hair falling on his eyes. 

something inside of him jolts, changes. no, not changes. it has never changed, has it? rioh has never changed inside of him, hyunwoo had just buried him in some dark place, kept him hidden from everyone, from himself. he kept him somewhere he could visit just sometimes, treasure it, miss him until every bone of his body ached. but now, here he is, setting himself free, taking over him.

hyunwoo shakes his head.

“why would i regret it?” he answers but what is he even talking about? he doesn’t know. so he clears his throat, tries again. “but i hear you. i. this is awkward, isn’t it? it--,” he pauses again, breathes in. tries to find the right words to say, but there is nothing. the easiest way out would be turning on his heels and leaving, taking the chance rioh is offering him and running away. a few shots would make it better. he could go on with his life and avoid this street. but he can’t. physically. his body simply won’t step away from him. “do you have a more private place? somewhere we can talk. catch up.”

“you wouldn’t mind? really? because i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, hannie.” hanjae has many nicknames, given by the other members, by the fans, but junho never uses them, no. hannie is exclusive of his use, junho has always made that known. he stares at hanjae, pays attention to his reaction. “i… i would like that… if you’re sure it’s not going to make you uncomfortable. don’t offer just because you know i’m too socially awkward to go ask someone else.” junho chuckles nervously.

he is spacing out, like a moron. 

well. it’s been a while since hanjae went there and fucked something up, so he guesses that’s expected. he waits, though. even though his heart is shattering. even though it feels like his chest is about to explode, and he’s about to scream, laugh, pretend he’s dead and then run away to a far away country. but where? new zealand. yeah. new zealand sounds like a great place. 

but then junho speaks. 

at first unsure. and since his mouth seems unable to pronounce words he simply nods and shrugs at the same time. a shrod. he’s going insane. he’s going fucking insane. 

because then junho is asking if he minds. asking if he is uncomfortable. hanjae tries to speak but he can’t. it feels like is if he opens his mouth he’s going to throw up. and it’s not even the words he say that hits him the worst but the way he’s looking at him. as though junho is the one who’s scared. as though hanjae is actually offering a helping hand. 

the guilt that creeps inside of him is just not worse than the want that crawls under his skin, jolts him awake. 

“we’re best friends,” he hears him saying. like an out of body experience. and hanjae smiles. because he means it. he is a selfish asshole but he means it with all his heart. even if the word friend breaks him again and again, he means it. “you could never make me uncomfortable.”

we grew together. we trained together. we lived together. hanjae breathes in. 

“close your eyes,” he whispers and shits closer. his hands raise and he hopes junho can’t see the way they tremble. he touches his face with the tip of his fingers, so careful. as though he’s touching something precious. and he is. he really is. hanjae leans in, closes his own eyes. 

“i guess you’re my appointment. long time no see.” the anger’s not there yet, still washed over by hyunwoo’s presence. but the implication is, that rioh missed him. that they hadn’t necessarily parted on perfect terms. 

“were you looking for something quick from my book, or do you want to plan out a piece?” he falls back into work with a lack of what else to talk about. a million questions fizzing up, but he doesn’t know to breach the subject. so he keeps them inside with the knowledge that he’ll undoubtedly make himself queasy with it all later.

long time no see, he says, as though it’s been just some months. as though they’re good friends, or no, no, not friends. the lack of emotion in his voice doesn’t make it seem like they were friends. colleagues. coworkers. old classmates finding each other in the middle of a busy city. that’s what rioh shows with is tone of voice, with the way he looks as him, goes straight to the tattoo subject without any other question. 

hyunwoo is a hypocrite, he knows. he has no right to be upset at him. it wasn’t rioh who just vanished one day without a single word. it wasn’t rioh who looked at them and then at a new life and decided they were worth sacrificing forhis own good. so hyunwoo being upset that he’s not getting any reaction from rioh is not just hypocritical and self serving, but cruel. 

he takes of his sunglasses. what can he do? that’s the sort of person the world shaped him to be. and rioh’s hands shaped him more than anyone else’s. 

“i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, both an explanation and a way out.the rest of his sentence stays unsaid, but the meaning is there. if i knew... he sees a girl by the corner of the shop, too busy with her phone to care for whatever they are saying. “that’s a good place. i’m. glad.”

( hanjae doesn’t need to know that the video had the caption how junjae kiss because what can make things more awkward than telling your best friend you got all hot an bothered after watching your doppelgangers kiss? )

“so like…” junho braves through his embarrassment. he’s already here, he already spoke, might as well finish it. “i started to look at dudes around me and i guess i was fine with the idea of kissing them?” junho sighs again. this has to be the worst conversation he ever had, worst than when his mother, trying to be ‘progressive like the westerns, baby’ gave him the sex talk. “so. that’s it. that’s how i think i’m bisexual.” somehow it feels like a weight being lift off of his shoulder. junho looks at hanjae, wonders what he is thinking, what he will say. something stupid, junho bets, but it’s okay, as always with hanjae it will be exactly what junho needs to hear.

hanjae remembers all the books he read that mentioned the protagonist, at some point, forgetting how to breathe and how stupid he always thought that was. but here, now, for a moment, he does forget how to breathe. he feels the awful tug in his chest, pulling and pulling as junho mentions looking at dudes. plural. he’s saying plural, and coming to hanjae for advise which means that very probably hanjae wasn’t one of the dudes. 

for fuck’s sake, this is the worst.

at least he could pretend everything was okay when junho was straight. he could say well, i am not the problem, it’s not my fault he likes girls. but now? now what can he even use to make himself feel better?

“that’s, well,” he pauses, not really knowing what to say. he looks back to his friend sitting right in front of him, so close both of their knees are touching. hanjae swallows in dry, triesto smile, to reassure him in some way. but his chest squeezes and squeezes, and he can feel something stupid coming out of his mouth. he can actually feel the words making their way out of his heart and into the world, uninvited and unwanted. “i was in doubt a little first too. but after my first kiss it just. i mean the different was obvious,” he chuckles, looks up, “want to kiss me to find out?”

you could be my favourite faded fantasy i've hung my happiness upon what it all could be

@dreemscape

sometimes kim hyunwoo believes he was made for his life.

he wasn’t born into it, sure. his father worked in a factory, mother died too early for him to remember what he did but accordinly to his father she was a good for nothing. hyunwoo had been born amidst dirt and chaos, among something that he can’t quite describe but that feels a lot like the word missing. lacking. but it doesn’t matter now. he has rose above it, and that’s what matters. 

it took him years, but now here he is. well dressed. he fits it well, this new life. his new clothes. tight turtle necks and well fit pants. a good hair cut, and hair products more expensive than his whole salary years ago. he gets used to his new apartment, to his car, to being looked up to instead of down. he likes it. he has fought for it. it has took him his life. it took him scams. 

it took him ripping his heart out of his chest and leaving him behind. and even if hyunwoo believes he will forever be haunted by those eyes, by those lips, by him, all of him, he marches on. 

it has been hurt more before. now it’s just this dull ache. a ghost of a feeling. he can deal with it. he can swallow it down and pretend he doesn’t care. he’s good at that. he’s been pretending he loves this woman for what, a year now? he will pretend all the way to the altar.

whatever, really. 

still, some days, a hint of the old hyunwoo appears and he has to give in. small things. the will for adventure. the thirst to fuck something up, just for the sake of it. the hunger for a cigarrette that he can’t have or minhee will be too pissed. today? the sudden will to have a tattoo done. so there he goes. 

now, he’s able to afford a good studio. years ago he got some tattoos done, in some shit studio back home, tattoos that minhee frown upon. probably one of the reason she is so adamant he always used long sleeved shirts. but this one he doesn’t plan to tell her. he simply leaves his office, finds the nearest studio, calls them to know if they can fit him in for some extra cash and now here he is, finishing his coffee just as he arrives at the studio. he throws his cup on the trash as he enters, takes off his sunglasses as he takes a look around, looks for someone he can talk to. 

but then, his heart drops. 

because there he is. those very same eyes hyunwoo had seen in his dreams night and night again. he’s standing there as if it’s nothing, looks up until their eyes meet and hyunwoo stays frozen in place, a hand still on the door. what can he say? he stays like that, nd the world seems suspended. the sounds from the buzy street outside completely stopped, the music inside muffled, as though coming from another universe. what can he say? is there even anything one can say to a ghost?

he breathes in. 

she can imagine, also, why there would be those so vehemently eager to reject his rule. there’s a softness to the set of his lips, something honeyed in his eyes. and behind that, there is a paranoia, there is an untamed fire, the flickering of a fuse set to burst. destructive, weak against containment, something that cannot be easily channeled. 

“well i’d been trying to sleep, yes.” she replies simply, because her instructions, here, at quite clear. she mustn’t alienate him. once more, she is more useful for her beauty and her breeding than anything else. she must bait the trap. “will you come to bed, then?” 

his princess stares at him and hyuk feels as he always does whenever he is with her. tested. lonely. broken. torn. vulnerable. he stares back at the depth of her eyes, dark as the forest just outside the palace. he remembers him and his brother years and years past, challenging each other to go inside. they’d laugh and call each other names but hyuk was the one who always took the first step, hands firm around his brother’s as they took the step of courage. 

but when it came to the true step of courage, he-

ah. 

hyuk takes off his crown, places it on the side table. he looks back at kana and leans in until his head is on her shoulder, breathes in so deep he can feel her smell. he plays with the strands of her dark hair on his fingers. 

there’s this terrible thought that always creeps inside of his mind whenever he’s with her: was she like this with him too? this distant? this cold? this calculated? or was she differnt?

he remembers her. from the parties. from the dinners. and the girl he remembers was wild as fire, warm and alive, dancing around them and threatening to engulf him into flames. but this? this kana, his kana, feels more like lightening. precise. quick and fatal. he opens his eyes. 

“if you could be somewhere else where would you want to be right now?” he asks all of the sudden. “tell me the truth,” he lowers his hand, touches her arm. traces one birth mark to the other, like small stars forming constellations. “i’ll take wherever you want.” as long as it’s away from here. from the fire nation.

“i need to talk to you.” junho taps his shoulders and sits on the edge of hanjae’s bed. he feels nervous now, waiting. it all seemed so simple in his mind, but now, as he looks at hanjae, junho feels lost. it’s not rejection he fears, it’s something he doesn’t understand. “so… like… you’re gay, right?”

what a dumb question, they both know he is. hanjae told him when they were still trainees, eyes wide as he waited for junho’s reaction.

“but how did you…” junho begins again. “how did you know for sure that you liked guys?” he looks down at his own hands. “because i think i do too.”

hanjae has been in love with junho for as long as he remembers. 

it was one of those stupid things. one day they were friends, and then on the other hanjae couldn’t bear to look at him without getting all messed up, all torn apart. it’s the one thing in his life that he is sure of, and the one thing he is the most scared about. funny. when he has looked for certainty with so much hunger. 

but hanjae hides it, the same way he hides so many other things. not to junho, though. to junho he gives his all, except for this one thing. except for his heart that is his, anyway, all his. but he keeps it, still. 

so when his door is open all of the sudden hanjae doesn’t even flinch, because he knows it’s him. when he taps on his shoulder and sits on his bed. hanjae could ask him to wait, but then they’d have to go through their whole usual arument of “just pause the game, hanjae”, “it’s an online game, i can’t pause it, dumbass”, and he doesn’t have the time for that. so he just drops from the game, takes off his earphones and turn around, faces his best friend with an annoyed face.

hanjae laughs after his question. where did that even come from? “yeah, i guess. i mean. last time i checked, yeah.”

he chuckles, because he doesn’t know what to say. and it doesn’t get better as junho continues, his words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. hanjae blinks, confused. “wait, what?” his first reaction is to think this is a joke. but the way his best friend looks down to his hands, averts his gaze as soon as he says te words. hanjae knows those eyes far too well, and not only because he knows junho. but because he had seen those very same eyes in the mirror years ago, haunted, scared. he sighs and sits down by his side. 

i want your warm but it’ll only make me colder when it’s over so i can’t tonight, baby

@dcathlcss

the day goes by like a blur, a serie of choirs and meetings and visits. hyuk goes through all of them with a smile even though the crown on his head weighs more and more as he goes, so heavy by the end of the day he feels like his entire soul is about to break under the weight of it. still, he smiles. 

even as he feels the stares behind his neck. the whispers. even as he knows that at every bad new they expect him to break the act, to surrender. hyuk’s smile grows even wider whenever he can feel them, their daggers pointed at him, ready. one misstep. one mistake. just one and they’ll gather around him like famished beasts. but hyuk knows better than to fall. he has grown tired of being prey. he has been prey his whole life.

at the end of it, he is taken back to the palace by his servants, a headache that seems to just grow worse wich every single one of their steps. but hyuk stays quiet, waits, walks inside the palace with quick steps towards his rooms. life seems to be drawn from him, a complete lack of energy that grows wearier and wearier. a hand that reaches for his throat and tightens. more. and more. and more. 

he looks back. his little brother smiles at him and hyuk opens the door to his room, closes it with a bang, breathless. he looks down to his feet, feels the crown slipping down and he looks back up. breathe, he reminds himself. breathe. 

that’s when he looks back. 

and life, or death, or something seems to breathe inside of him again. he watches her lying on their bed, her figure shaped by the a light sheet, her eyes sharp against his. hyuk breathes in, tries a smile here. tries something. “did i wake you?” he asks his wife, his wife. that doesn’t seem right, still. it didn’t feel right when he wed her. it doesn’t feel right when they sleep in the same bed. something. something about her is always off, out of reach.