#cheolsuk

He’s in control of his emotions, he has to be, has to be cold and calculating. Until he bursts, sometimes, and takes it out on someone by punching them repeatedly, maybe until they pass out, or worse.

Father Lee’s death made him unable to punch anyone or anything. Instead he sits in Hoon Suk’s empty studio apartment and stares at the wall. He can’t cry anymore. He just sits on a chair and stares at the empty white wall while Hoon Suk makes ramyeon for him in the “kitchen”, a single camping stove in the middle of the room, occasionally shooting him worried glances, but not saying anything.

Hoon Suk only talks when it’s necessary.

When he brings the ramyeon over, Cheol Bum is still staring at the wall, as if he's watching paint dry, except there is no paint to watch dry, or much of anything. Cheol Bum likes ramyeon, but he can’t eat right now.

“You eat it.” He says and Hoon Suk complies wordlessly as he always does.

Cheol Bum is watching him eat now. Watching the noodles slide into Hoon Suk’s mouth.

He’s glad to not be alone right now. He easily could be, he could’ve stayed in his villa where Father Lee died, could’ve sat there and cried endlessly. All alone. Most days he’s at Hoon Suk’s place anyway. Now that number will increase, maybe to every day. Maybe he will never leave. He won’t even mind the single large mattress on the floor Hoon Suk calls his bed anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to where it happened, at least for now. Unless he has to. And he will have to. But not now. And Hoon Suk seems to know this, without even being told.

"Aren't you sick of it?" Cheol Bum asks then, out of nowhere, his voice sounding strained from all the crying.

Hoon Suk halts in the middle of slurping up a noodle. "Sick of what, Mr. Hwang."

"Sick of cleaning up my shit. Sick of me staying at your fucking apartment almost every night as if i have nowhere to go. Sick of making ramyeon for me…"

"No." The reply comes quick, and a bit more forceful than what Cheol Bum is used to. "I want to take care of you."

Cheol Bum clicks his tongue but doesn't say anything.

The self-deprecation doesn't suit his image, so he stows it inside.

"Have you ever considered decorating at least a little bit." He says, abruptly changing the topic. "Or maybe getting any goddamn furniture at all? I used to think you left it this fucking empty because you'd rarely be home anyway but I'm starting to think you're just fucked up." Cheol Bum musters the sparse apartment. Aside from the two camping chairs they are sitting on, a mattress and dishes on the floor and of course the camping stove, the studio apartment is empty. Bare white walls, bare wooden floor. There's a fully functioning bathroom, but that's really the bare minimum and it's not like Hoon Suk got any say in its existence.

"I don't really need anything else." Hoon Suk replies and sets aside the empty bowl to be washed in the bathroom sink later. On the floor.

Cheol Bum scrunches up his nose. "Listen, I will buy you a table, and maybe a couch, these camping chairs will fuck up my back eventually." He lets out an exasperated groan. "You can't keep living like this." And yet he comes back every time. It feels like the only place he can relax, in spite of everything.

Hoon Suk says nothing, just smiles ever so slightly while watching the all-too common outbreak Cheol Bum is having, glad that it's distracting him. Cheol Bum says these things every few days, and then forgets about them the next morning. He has suggested practically every piece of furniture known to man, except for a second bed.

"We're getting you a fucking table tomorrow."

Cheol Bum wants to sleep so badly, but he can't. It's not the mattress, or the sound of Hoon Suk's calm breathing next to him, or the rain hammering against the windows. It's the fact that when he closes his eyes, he sees Father Lee crashing onto the glass table. So he lies awake, staring at the white ceiling where a single exposed light bulb hangs, his eyes burning.

"Mr. Hwang."

Hoon Suk's voice snaps him out of his trance. He turns to the side to look at Hoon Suk, tears slowly rolling down his face and pooling on the pillow. He can barely make out the other in the darkness, with not even the moonlight to help. But he can sense Hoon Suk's concern nonetheless. Then he feels the other's hands on his face, gently wiping at his eyes. Cheol Bum lets it happen. He's not used to this sort of intimacy, the kind that's gentle and comforting. It reminds him of another time, back when he was still young, crying over something meaningless in Father Lee's arms. He lets himself be that little boy again, as his eyes slowly make out Hoon Suk's expressionless, yet concerned, face in the dark.

He feels pathetic, but he knows Hoon Suk won't talk about it to anyone, not even him. He won't ask probing questions, won't demean or insult him behind his back. That's what makes him Cheol Bum's number two.

The next morning, Hwang Cheol Bum hadn't forgotten about his promise. So they'd gone to IKEA to finally get Hoon Suk a table. Cheol Bum had originally pictured something less… Streamlined, like, something more expensive and… Prettier to look at. But Hoon Suk had insisted on this at least, if not buying him anything at all was out of the question.

The drive had been long, they had to leave Gudam for this, because of course their little town couldn't accommodate one of these giant metal boxes. Hoon Suk had told Cheol Bum that this IKEA is one of the largest ones in the whole world, seeming strangely excited about it. And he wasn't lying. Not that Cheol Bum had been to any IKEA before. The large container stretching across the horizon before him makes him frown. He prefers small local businesses with an eye for detail.

Inside they are greeted by the hustle and bustle of hundreds, if not thousands, of customers, only contributing to Cheol Bum's dismay. He clicks his tongue, hands in his pockets. "What the fuck is this, a festival?"

"No, Mr. Hwang." Hoon Suk replies courtly, just for Cheol Bum to shoot him a look for not understanding that it was a rhetorical question.

"Might as well be." Cheol Bum eyes the crowd, unable to spot any displayed furniture yet, just commonplace things one might find at every department store. He clicks his tongue again. "So, where are the tables?"

Hoon Suk perks up a little bit and points over to a stair lift leading to the second floor.

Walking through the departments proved to be exceptionally grueling to Cheol Bum. The many people everywhere, the tasteless furniture on display… He's getting too old for this. Hoon Suk seems unfazed, too focused on the many display pieces around them to care about the mass of humans they have to wade through. They haven't even reached the dining tables yet, which is what they came here for in the first place, instead they're standing in a fake bedroom which feels about as lived in as Cheol Bum's villa.

"Ahh, seriously- That's why this place is so huge? For shit like this?" Cheol Bum gestures towards the other model bedrooms, his brows furrowed.

A nod from Hoon Suk.

"Do you want your apartment to look like this, hm?" Asks Cheol Bum then, looking over at Hoon Suk.

"No, Mr. Hwang."

Cheol Bum clicks his tongue. "Let's go then."

Another nod.

It takes them at least twenty minutes to reach the dining furniture.

Tables upon tables, chairs upon chairs, all arranged neatly like for a TV-show dining room - a bit too perfect, all in all. It's when they look more closely at one table that Cheol Bum notices the price tag and shakes his head - as if a good table could be so cheap. But he doesn't mention it to Hoon Suk and just mindlessly knocks on the wood of the table instead. It sounds hollow, somehow. Coated particleboard, he figures, which explains the cost of less than 50000 won. Cheol Bum would not be found dead buying something so cheap for himself, but ultimately he decides to leave it up to Hoon Suk. It's not his apartment after all.

It makes sense that Hoon Suk would end up going for the cheapest, most minimalist option. The simple black color will accent his apartment nicely, nothingness to nothingness.

"While we're at it, we should get some chairs as well." Cheol Bum says then and raises his hand to silence Hoon Suk, who had already opened his mouth to object. "Those camping chairs are ruining my damn back."

Hoon Suk can only nod.

They have to write down the product numbers on a sheet of paper, as if walking through this giant box isn't already taxing enough. Unfortunately their journey doesn't end here, instead Cheol Bum has to suffer through another thirty minutes of pointless walking, fighting through mountains of products just to end up in a huge warehouse. Countless rows of metal shelves that reach to the tall ceiling tower before them, every single one filled with large cardboard boxes from head to toe. The hall only seems to grow in size as Cheol Bum scales the area. At first he thinks they're not supposed to be here, it seems like an employee area. But he notices other customers amidst the shelves and Hoon Suk seems unbothered as well.

Cheol Bum frowns. "Hoon Suk." He says, still eyeing the vast hall. "Where is the staff." It's a question he already knows the answer to, deep down.

Hoon Suk looks at him apologetically and then away again quickly as he always does. "There is no staff."

There is no staff who will do everything for them so they have to get the right boxes themselves and carry them to the checkout counter and ultimately to Cheol Bum's car. Hoon Suk had tried to insist that he should carry everything himself but Cheol Bum rejected the idea immediately. The thought of using a cart didn't occur to them.

What truly fascinates Hoon Suk about IKEA becomes clear as soon as the boxes are unpacked and he is sat on the floor, studying the assembly instructions for his new table. Though his face is basically the same as always, there's a little bounce in his movements as he fits leg to tabletop. He had of course insisted on doing this by himself, not that Cheol Bum would've wanted it any other way. The day has been exhausting enough for him already, but Hoon Suk's joy has made it all worth it. Although Cheol Bum would never say so out loud.

Memories of Father Lee's head crashing onto the glass table come flooding back when the light is off and Hoon Suk's breathing has slowed down beside him. Cheol Bum can't breathe properly then, his whole body straining as agony washes over him. He hyperventilates, then holds his breath, then hyperventilates again, tears uncontrollably streaming down his face as the moment plays in his head over and over and over and - A noise. Suddenly Hoon Suk's panicked hands pull Cheol Bum into a sitting position and give him a small bag to breathe into.

Pathetic, is what Cheol Bum is to himself right now. A pathetic little boy in need of babying from a man 10 years younger than him.

He's calmed down now, the now lit ceiling light and Hoon Suk's hand on his back giving him quiet comfort.

Pathetic.

He needs to internalize these feelings, needs to stop. Thinking. About. That. Night.