𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈

bang yujin was thirteen when he committed his first act of self-harm.

it was a fairly easy decision for him to make. after all, he had so many possible tools at his disposal—knives and chisels and cutters, all with sharpened edges, all accessible to grabby, wandering hands. he felt little to no resistance as he made that first slice on his left forearm, cold metal tracing an incision parallel to the blue-green veins that ran deep in flesh. yujin had watched the blood d r i p in idle fascination, had relished in the sting of pain he felt and the joy that came with feeling anything at all, before he did it again.

and again, and again, until his whole upper body was a constellation of scars, a litany of self-inflicted pain that—despite what the jagged white lines represented—brought more destruction to his already-fragile mind than his marred pale skin.

yujin stopped when he turned eighteen. not because he sought to release his sorrows in a more beneficial way, but because it had become a great nuisance to his everyday life. wearing long-sleeved clothing in the summer was a pain; his boss at the record store, nosy as ever, often asked him about the still-healing wounds that lined his wrists out of purported concern. his younger sister, hyejin, accidentally walked into his room as he changed; she had cried for the remainder of the night as yujin begged her to keep quiet about what she saw, as she filled the hollowness within him with her tears.

most of all, it was hard to make art with fresh cuts on his ribcage. simple acts such as twisting his torso or stretching his arms to reach items on high shelves caused unnecessary stinging sensations, which then led to minor accidents. this, of course, ultimately contributed to yujin’s decision to simply cease self-harming altogether.

still, wanting to kill himself, to feel something other than aching hollowness had become a consistent part of his daily life. upon moving to his grandfather’s estate after his family’s death, yujin had to deal with a whole new host of perceived problems. bang yujin sr. had urged him to receive some form of counselling for years, and had practically dragged yujin to a dermatologist for laser scar removal on his arms as they proved too unsightly for his new socioeconomic standing. and now, he had the bright idea of barging into yujin’s penthouse, and dragging him to some… clinic, for seemingly no reason.

“can’t i just go home?” yujin grunted, running his fingers through his still-damp hair. he had to take a quick shower before being kidnapped escorted by his grandfather’s butler, and he was given no time to dry his raven locks. “i have a project to finish. i haven’t even eaten anything yet—“

a firm grip on his shoulder caused him to go silent. he shot his grandfather a glare, but it was only tinted with mere annoyance. after all, yujin was just hungry, and unable to properly function because of it.

“just humor me, son. we’ll get some barbecue afterwards.”

he felt a slight twinge of shame to admit that the promise of barbecue seemed well worth the trouble of sitting through a whole therapy session with a shrink. and so, with a forlorn sigh and a slight grimace, yujin hissed out a begrudging “fine”, and slumped in his seat as he waited for his name to be called by the lady at the front desk. he found very little energy within him to actually care about exchanging sterile pleasantries with some stuffy old doctor.

and what was left for yujin? the scraps, both of his parents’ love and the resources invested into him; the cold food on the table, the clothes that jinhyuk outgrew, the colored pencils hyejin no longer wanted. he was barely given any care, any attention, any form of allowance throughout his teenage years. yujin was allowed to roam free yet expected to always be home during harvest season; he was the child never once wanted, yet explicitly needed.

to this day, he felt it in his bones. he felt the difference between wanting and needing; wanting seungwoo all to himself, wanting him to be yujin’s and yujin’s only. and at the same time, needing seungwoo to be by his side regardless of his numerous flaws, and needing seungwoo to care for him despite what little yujin could offer in return.

and perhaps most of all, needing seungwoo to be happy. it was this coalition of needs that caused his eyebrows to knit together upon hearing seungwoo’s apology, the most expressive he’s ever been since his near-death. he couldn’t bear to listen to the younger man’s self-depreciation—not when he was the best damn thing to ever happen to yujin.

“that’s not true.” his words were low, solemn. careful hands roamed and settled on the other’s form as he moved in closer, his pulse beginning to let itself become known.

and the words began to pour from where they were kept in the deepest recesses of him, in the chambers where his heart used to reside.

“you’re more than enough.” yujin professed, as if it were the sole truth of the world he existed in. seungwoo was everything—he far exceeded the significance of all the aches and pains yujin ever felt. and that, in itself, made seungwoo more important to yujin than any form of material wealth. “you’re my moon in this eternal night. i’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

and for the first time in his twenty-five years on earth, yujin allowed himself to succumb to what he wanted. he allowed the desire to envelope him in its embrace, wondering if perhaps great need had necessitated it. as he looked into seungwoo’s eyes, as he felt his heart begin to roar back into life, yujin made his move.

after all, he had nothing left to lose.

good night greetings fell onto deaf ears, as chapped lips inched forward to meet softer ones. and when they kissed, yujin felt lightning pulse through him, felt the beating organ in his chest grow far too big to be contained—as if it was not yujin’s anymore. as if it belonged to seungwoo all this time.

it prompted him to move closer, and have his fingers tangle themselves in seungwoo’s hair, as the affection he continually convinced himself was not there finally rose to the surface.

and now, it was harder to stop it. so yujin allowed himself this one moment, this one snapshot to add to his memory; he knew, that if it ever ended—this kiss, or even this relationship—he would at least have this to look back to. he would at least have all the nights they spent together stored into the deepest parts of him, forever cherished and eternally immortalized.

when he pulled away, he felt the silent pause in the cold air. whatever remained of his heart had healed itself again, and he felt whole and full and content, that joyous tears threatened to fall from his throbbing eyes.

but no such thing happened, and so yujin—with his feeble words, with his aching chest filled to the brim with undulating emotion—attempted to summarize everything he’s ever felt for seungwoo.

“you mean so much to me, seungwoo-ya.” how else was he going to say it? yujin brought their foreheads together, his chest vibrating with unstable, shaky breaths. “i’ve learned to not want anything. i’ve learned to only strive for what i need. but it’s difficult when...“

he paused, briefly, to close his eyes. what else does he say now?

what else, but the truth?

“i want you, and all of your smiles and your sadness and your sarcasm. all of it.” his lips trembling with every word that slipped through it. “but at the same time, i need you, more than mere words could ever articulate. and if i sought for one over the other, you’ll realize it soon—i have nothing to give you in return.”

he clasped seungwoo’s hand, the one still tucked around his waist, and placed it over his chest where erratic pulsing could be felt.

“i have nothing. just you.”

if his words caused confusion, if they were unwarranted in this moment they shared together, yujin could no longer fathom; he had moved in to meet seungwoo’s lips, yet again. he wanted—no, needed—to show his appreciation, to show seungwoo how much he was cherished, and—

loved.

love.

yujin loved seungwoo.

yujin loves seungwoo.

and the words grappled at his insides, tearing down all the resolve he had ever built within him.

yet even as he felt himself grow cold, as if ice had begun to form and creep into his bloodstream—even as his brain yelled and screamed at him to run away—yujin steeled himself.

of course, being a single male in his mid-twenties meant he had a bachelor pad of his own; a luxury penthouse with all the material things he could possibly want or need, with imported furniture and décor totalling up to billions of won. but even with the palatial grandeur of his apartment, it was soulless and empty—a mirror image of its lone owner; yujin would rather spend his cold evenings in the confines of seungwoo’s flat, where the aforementioned male was always only a few feet away, where yujin could sink into the younger man’s bed and be surrounded with his scent and his voice and his smile at all times (but of course, yujin would never admit that to anyone, not even to himself—it was embarrassing to be so attached to someone, and so so so horribly terrifying).

yujin answered seungwoo’s inquiry with a short “nope”, popping the p with a slight snicker as he dropped onto the other end of the couch. he trained his eyes on seungwoo’s face, wondering if the divine being that took away his family was the same one to give him seungwoo. because if that was the case, the trade-off should have been absolute; it should have killed off his hyung as well.

“i was supposed to eat dinner with the old man tonight, since we always meet up on friday nights, right?” he paused, briefly, unaware that his articulated words were beginning to slur together. he allowed his gaze to flicker to the pizza boxes situated on the table, wondering if the state of his stomach was somehow more important than the story he was about to tell.

of course, the latter won over the former.

“my hyung’s in town. he was there, and i barely ate.”

his words were followed by a short bark of laughter, bitter and sarcastic, the utter embodiment of yujin’s opinion on his hyung’s hatred towards him; he didn’t give a flying fuck if jinhyuk wanted him dead—not when he wanted to die just as badly.

he leaned in, closer, dropping his voice as if they were conspiring against the world. as if it was just yujin and seungwoo versus the billions of humans on the planet, which is how it always felt.

to him, at least.

“oh, it was fantastic.” yujin giggled, reaching up to ruffle his already unkempt hair in demonstration. “jinhyuk asked me why my hair was so long, and grandpa was all, i’ll cut it for you. like how appa did when we were little. but then fucking jinhyuk laughed in my face and pulled my head back and said, oh, but you can’t bring appa back, can you? you monster.”

his smile faltered at the mention of his deceased father. despite their rocky relationship, yujin’s love for him was strong; he would never have wished for such a sudden and painful death to befall him, even with all their fights and disagreements.

“you should’a seen the look on his face, seungwoo-ya.” yujin had quieted now, his tone a representation of how tiny and powerless he felt at that moment. “he wanted to kill me. he wanted to strangle me with his bare hands. and the old man just watched and guffawed like it was some kind of fucking reality show. picture-perfect shit. funnier than anything on tv, even. it’s hilarious, because it’s real.”

it was with great need for comfort—and, possibly, copious amounts of affection—when yujin scooped seungwoo into a hug, wrapping strong arms around his thin waist as he pulled the younger male onto his lap.

“mm, i missed you.” his voice was soft, nigh above a whisper; it didn’t matter that they saw each other just three days ago, when yujin got the bright idea of dragging seungwoo to maindong with him to look for hard drives and thunderbolt-3 hubs. what mattered was that they were together again, and yujin could continue to refuel his capacity for emotion and bask in the warm glow brought by seungwoo’s presence.

the desire was harder to deny now, when they were so close that the air between them oscillated through yujin’s skin like static.

“mm.” he hummed, eyes unabashedly raking over the other man’s form. he was so close now, only mere inches away from his calloused fingertips; yujin was tempted to lessen the distance even more, until he could feel the other’s heartbeat through his own flesh, but he was afraid of being more forward than he already was.

and how could he not be, when he felt such anomalous sensations surging through his veins?

“bang yujin, nice to meet you.” he echoed, smile widening until his canines showed. dark, hungry irises scour yisoo’s exposed neck, well-defined and glistening with sweat; whatever yujin yearned for, he felt it with such intensity that it compelled him to inch forward, ever closer, and wrap a coy arm around yisoo’s waist. he leaned in, until they were almost cheek-to-cheek.

“dance floor’s over there.” as yujin spoke, his voice was every bit as tantalizing as the atmosphere that blanketed the whole establishment; he gestured to the far corner, where he was certain they would have little to no obstructions. “wouldn’t want my private lesson to be disturbed, hm?”

as he slowly pulled away, he allowed deft fingers to trace the man’s neck, past his adam’s apple and down to his collarbone; and yet, before more indelicate thoughts could form in his mind, yujin hastily withdrew it. still, he kept a hand snug on the small of yisoo’s back, gently guiding his companion towards his preferred area.

“stay over tonight.” was said. a request, a command. yujin could barely nod in agreement; his head was stuck in place. metal-braced to his spine like a ragdoll, like a taxidermied head, like a teaching skeleton in anatomy class.

yujin was there. only barely. functioning, yes. breathing, yes. living?

he wished he didn’t. not anymore.

“go sit down.”

yujin obeyed. plopped down on the couch, folded quivering hands in his lap.

he wondered if maybe silence was his best friend, and not seungwoo. silence filled the apartment in droves, flooding the space like swarms of angry wasps. seungwoo filled the gaps with pots and slicing and boiling, his presence providing the slightest tinge of comfort.

time passes. yujin barely notices. he’s in a land far away, where the sun had died off and left the world bitter and cold. he exists as an omnipotent being—the only being to ever exist, and will ever exist. he wondered if that’s what death felt like, but now he’ll never know for sure.

a hand on his shoulder. yujin glances upward, to seungwoo, into worried eyes with such depth that it felt painful to stare into them.

“let’s eat.”

command. he follows, like a lost soul to a shinigami, like a moth to a bright flame. the food was an explosion, but yujin was too tired to enjoy it. his hunger had long passed, replaced with what was long deep-seated but had risen to the surface, permeating through his whole being: sadnesssadnesssadness he had no other label for it.

“‘m not hungry.” he speaks, finally, filling his own space with husk and sorrow. he buries his face in his hands, food barely touched, eyes stinging with tears.

why was he like this? he wanted to be normal. he wanted to smile, to laugh, to sing sometimes when he felt like it. instead he wallowed, he cried, he sulked all the time, and it was tiring. exhausting. a coffin would be a better-suited bed for yujin to sleep in.

he rubs his eyes, rugged palms against swollen eyelids. he stands, unsteadily, and heads for the bathroom.

he keeps the door open for seungwoo’s sake, as if it would make him worry less. turns the light on. yujin looks into the mirror.

he hates what he sees.

he bends down, turns on the faucet. cups the flowing water with shaking hands. splashes it onto his face, ice-cold, repeating the action until he feels awake.

“seungwoo-ya,” he calls out, his voice foreign to his own ears. he feels beads of water drip down his neck, and he moves to wipe it away.

yujin didn’t know why he bothered to say his name, when a few quick strides would lead him straight to the other. maybe it made him feel less alone, like he had someone to look forward to in this fucked-up limbo.

he sits down at the table, and picks up his chopsticks. he tries to eat, again, unsure of how to do such a simple act at this point; he pinches food between the slim metal rods, and brings it up to his mouth. it opens, and closes around the small piece of beef, and chews. swallow.

repeat. again. and again. picks up his spoon, this time, and tastes the soup. good, keep going.

soon, he’s done. he felt less automated, as if the galbi-tang had replaced his mechanical parts with living organs. he looked at his companion; no, he changed his mind. it was seungwoo’s doing.

always seungwoo.

“‘m tired.” yujin sighs, to prove his point, unable to remember the last good night of sleep he had that wasn’t induced by extreme physical exhaustion or alcohol. if his clothes weren’t covered in dirt, he would be curled up in seungwoo’s bed by now.

and so he moves to seungwoo’s closet, knowing where to look by now; the small stash of clothes in the back, all left by yujin in the countless nights he’s slept over, and pulls out a blue sweater and grey sweatpants.

after a quick change of clothes (in the bathroom, of course, as he was unwilling to repeat the one time he changed his shirt in front of seungwoo, which led to a very uncomfortable situation), he ambles back to where his friend was, and offers to help with the dishes.

he collapsed into his bed some few hours later, having succumbed to the exhaustion of his debut into the aristocratic world. his first hangover was the type of skull-splitting pain often explored in young adult novels, but never actually experienced for himself until the day after.

it was only a downwards spiral from there. drinking well past midnight and nursing surly headaches in the wee hours of the morning—before the sun itself had even risen—had become an integral part of yujin’s routine. he still wouldn’t go as far as to label himself an alcoholic, but he knew full well that he was going to become one soon enough if he didn’t break his self-made pattern.

on the days when using alcohol to fill the black hole within him was the only option, he found it more difficult to abstain. and then, there were days such as this, when he needed to stuff said hole with something else—something that didn’t amplify his already substantive bitterness, which balvenie and netflix rom coms most definitely did.

on such occurrences, yujin’s inebriation impeded all cognitive function, and the only sensible thing to do was bother someone else or risk exacerbating his loneliness. and of course, his go-to person—his only person, whatever that may mean—was seungwoo.

their imessage conversation had been going on for some time now. yujin had been staring at his phone screen all the while, watching the blue bubble with three jittery dots pop up to signify that the other person was typing. five messages later, and it seemed as though seungwoo didn’t have anything left to say; a dry, raspy laugh escaped yujin’s throat as he read through seungwoo’s messages again, complimenting the small grin already affixed to his lips.

yujin: yeah i really ought to stop bothering you huh

yujin: i’ll get out of your hair soon ❤️ just let me bother you until then

he pressed the backspace button, until all the words of the second message disappeared into nothingness.

yujin tilted his head back, the long strands by his nape brushing against the upholstered couch. he should get a haircut soon; his bangs were already obstructing his vision.

though, if he did, seungwoo would have shorter locks for his fingers to comb through.

the thought made him pause, then frown. maybe yujin should get a haircut next month, instead of next week.

yujin: i’ll be there in a sec

he stretched his arms high above his head as he stood. the world tilted sideways for a brief moment, but he quickly righted himself before he could fall over. or worse, drop his phone again.

yujin: lets order pizza ok

he typed the last message with one hand as he gathered his things with the other—wallet, keys, coat, check—before he booked a taxi.

soon, he was in soryungdong. a drunk man wandering the streets at almost two in the morning was easy prey for the petty criminals that resided here; and, although fairly tipsy, yujin had enough working brain cells left to compel him to speed-walk to seungwoo’s apartment, and place three strong knocks on his door. 5503.