#denouae

the radio silence from uriel’s end is expected, though it hurts nonetheless. he has lost count of the number of times he rises in the interlude of the night, checking his phone and wishing the buzz indicates a message from uriel. he wonders if anyone in the office notices, that the amiable duo has suddenly grown so quiet around each other, so awkward as though they are newly introduced acquaintances. but if anyone has noticed, none of them has said anything and he avoids being in the office as often in order not to slip. it is unusual for him to be so clueless on what to say when he is often praised for his sugarcoated tongue, but the thing is he doesn’t want to lie anymore. he wants to be honest because it is what uriel deserves and he knows this. he has always known this. the tunes hummed by the songstress at the other end of the bar is loud enough to meddle with his thoughts, but not enough to drown out the sounds of his heartbeats as he plans his opening line. what if he messes up the apology? what if he is too late? what if there is nothing left to salvage? half of the evening has been wasted away like this, him anxiously tied to his seat yet on his lips still his usual impeccable smile as he joins his employees in another round of poker, stealing glances at the man that he knows to be purposefully avoiding him.

seeing uriel has excused himself from a taxing conversation from an overzealous colleague, seojung wonders if it is at last his time to interject but is surprised by uriel’s drunken stupor as they pass each other in the corridor. “hey.” seojung begins, his worried gaze lands and studies uriel once again like he did earlier tonight, like he did for the preceding two weeks when they spoke nothing to each other. although, he wonders, if uriel can even recognise him in such an inebriated state. his hand touches uriel’s forearm lightly before he slips away, hesitant. “don’t you think you’ve had enough?” although the question seems out-of-place coming from an estranged lover ( an ex-fling, at best ), his voice is gentler than his words and the concern is genuine. it is peculiar to be so speechless in front of someone he should only consider as an employee, in a gathering that he is hosting nonetheless, but the truth is uriel means far more than that, even though his means of showing it have been lacking. “it’s probably best for you to go home.” it seems uncharacteristic of uriel to have reached this level of intoxication, but perhaps they do not know each other so well. not before seojung ruined all chances of that happening. another pang of regret sharp enough for him to grimace, but he tries to keep his features nonchalant. right now, he is just a superior concerned about the safety of his staff, there is nothing peculiar about this. “i can drive you... or call an uber for you, if you want.”

minjae wishes days could be different from the usual. in recent times, his father has asked him to step in more as the son of death rather than just some apprentice. he has said the time is coming closer and ever since it’s like the sun and the night have an expiration date. it’s like knowing the end is inevitable and he is tracing the crumbles of stolen time with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart. 

❝ don’t space out, we are in the middle of a job, ❞ joanna, his mentor, chastises him with a flick to his forehead.

he bites the inside of his lip and nods. this has been the strategy for months: listen and accept what they say, keep them happy and take as much time for yourself as you can while they are distracted. even then he knew he was playing a children’s game that ought to be over any moment, he still got involved with a human whose clock continues ticking towards a final point. 

around them, people chatter and go about their day as if nothing is wrong. this blissful ignorance is what fascinates him the most about mortals, this state of awareness death is real and can happen and none of it getting in the way of their day-to-day. minjae is not envious of many things, but this? this is the kind of gift he wishes he could taste forever. 

❝ get ready, ❞ joanna glances at him, her lips pursing.

Home.    Home.    Home.    Where  is  it  if  not  by  his  side?    Where  is  home  if  not  in  his  lover’s  arms,    during  a  quiet  night,   masks  discarded  by  the  door  step?   He  misses  it  so  deeply,   it  leaves  a  tear  in  the  vacuum  of  his  rib  space,    bending  his  shoulders,   breaking  his  irises.     There  was  a  home  in  Uriel’s  space.     Now  even  his  own  apartment  feels  too  empty,   too  strange.    You  haven’t  stopped  moving,   have  you?    Exhaustion  tears  at  your  eyes.    When  was  the  last  time  you  ate?

Bruises  colour  his  shoulder,    sleep  under  needle-pricked  skin,   the  remnants  of  the  chain  that  caught  him  in  the  pit’s  whirlwind.    You’re  getting  old.   Twenty-six  and  worn  out,    Kangmin  has  so  much  and  yet  so  little  ahead  of  him.    They  fought  again.   In  fear  of  what  he  might  say,   of  spitting  words  he  would  regret,    Kangmin  left,    sought  refuge  in  his  creed’s  halls,   deep  underground  where  the  power  runs  strong  and  the  air  buzzes  with  the  intensity  of  so  many  of  them  in  one  place,   he  finds  himself  in  the  place  he  called  home  for  many  years.    It  is  not  that  anymore.

He’s  outside,   blowing  smoke  into  the  night,   when  his  phone  rings.    For  a  moment  he  but  stares  at  the  screen.   Uriel   it  says,   and  of  course  it  would.    There  are  not  many  people  who  even  have  his  number,    after  all.    Days  and  nights  have  blurred  even  though  he  didn’t  drink,    and  he  doesn’t  know  how  much  time  has  passed  since  he  grabbed  his  jacket  and  left,   wordlessly,   angry,   afraid.    He  flicks  the  cigarette  away,    watches  the  ambers  scatter  when  it  hits  the  ground,    and  picks  up  without  a  word.

               ❛  Come  home,   I  miss  you.  ❜

And  just  that  is  enough.     Home,   yes,   he  knows  where  it  is,    no  matter  how  much  he  tries  to  run.    Jaws  clench  for  a  moment  and  he  is  silent,    as  though  pondering,   as  though  he  had  ever  had  a  choice.   ( He  doesn’t.   They’re  tied,   whether  he  likes  it  or  not. )    Just  this  is  enough.    The  silence  lasts  a  little  too  long  while  he  stares  into  the  night  with  tired  eyes,   with  the  heaviness  in  his  worn  out  muscles  pushing  him  down.    ❛  Okay.  ❜    He  finally  replies,   quietly,   accompanied  by  a  nod  that  Uriel  can’t  see,   and  that’s  that.   Kangmin  hangs  up,   but  stays  staring  at  the  wall  for  a  moment,    wondering,   if  this  is  his  destiny  now.     To  clash  and  run  and  return,   over  and  over  again.    How  many  times  have  they  done  this?   Peace  isn’t  meant  for  them,    it  seems.

Uriel: ...sentences.

seojung knows that this must evoke trepidation in his lover, which is why he has been purposefully dodging their interactions, excusing himself to the balcony overlooking the urbanscape or retreating to the study with his guitar or headphones drowning out the noises. he needs time for his creative processes, he says. he does, after all, write the rawest songs when he is by himself. not even a slight footfall in the background can be tolerated at times, when he is so entranced by the songwriting process. but the truth is this is not about that, not about the studio album scheduled to be out in four months, or the story he heard the other day that he wrote hastily down in his notebook. this is about... a myriad of things that he does not even know where to begin or how, all of his thoughts are tangled in his head, impossible to be sorted or written off. 

it is about his mother flooding his phone with voicemails. not to congratulate him on the band’s latest achievements, of course, but to demand another cheque or else she will go to the press and tell them all about him. how the adored idol is an ungrateful, terrible son who left his mother’s side when she’s bed-bound from a terminal illness. the same old web of lies from the wicked. the last time he checked, alcoholism is not a terminal illness, nor is a gambling addiction. while he cannot care less about the money, he does not see the point of fulfilling the wishes of the woman who made over a halve of his life miserable. who never failed to remind him about how he ruined her life simply by existing, who taunted him ceaselessly about his avocations that were destined to go nowhere, the most classic incident being the time when he came home to realise his notebooks, with all the lyrics and inspirations marked, were swallowed by the fireplace from another splendid episode of hers.

realising he has been silent for far too long, seojung lets out a sigh, rubbing his eyes and stretching his neck in an attempt to wake himself enough to respond like a proper human. “oh, i just thought you’re busy.” his voice, while evidently heavy from his inebriated state, is free from accusations or passive aggression, merely stating a fact he knows to be true. after all, uriel is a beloved television star now with the latest drama release. something that brings seojung as much pride as worries. no, worries is not the right word. it is a peculiar feeling, to say the least, when the entire world thinks his boyfriend is hopelessly in love with his co-star. truthfully, they do look like an exquisite pair, which is probably why they were casted in the first place. it is not like something similar hasn’t happened before, but it still leaves a bitter taste on seojung’s tongue. just him and his risible jealousy, as usual. 

what else... ah, that thoughtless article online that places him among the most overrated idols of his generation, despite genesis’ fantastic record in both commercial sales and award shows. what makes it even greater is the fact that the feature is positioned right next to another piece that crowns him as one of the hottest visuals in the industry. the public should truly make up their goddamned mind — wait, maybe they already have. the consensus is that he is naught but another pretty face to be lusted after, all his brilliance and hard work overlooked and erased. that will explain all the vacuous queries he receives in interviews, about his favourite brands to wear, the loveliest date he can imagine and of course, his taste in women. it is a detrimental habit he should steer away from, seojung has been warned about this from the very beginning, but sometimes he just gets sucked back into the rabbit hole, particularly in times like this where he is stuck in a sunless daze.

so, has he been turning away from uriel? seojung does not know the answer. does it count as avoidance when he can barely distinguish one bother on his mind from another, when he can hardly voice all these out in the quietude of an emptied room? his throat is parched and his head is so, so heavy. perhaps another drink can do the trick, to escape for just a little longer. or maybe, just maybe, he should not follow the footsteps of the woman who gave birth to him. another exhalation to brace himself and he finally detaches his hands from his face, his eyes fluttering open to meet uriel’s, finding the light of the room disorientating, as is his lover’s concerned gaze. “i just don’t feel very real these days.” he admits quietly, incapable of finding a better way to express how he feels. the words hang in the air like a virulent haze, suffocating him. “like i’m living a life that’s not mine. like i’m living in lies... like i am one.” he pauses then, not knowing whether he is making any sense right now. perhaps he has ceased making sense a long time ago. “have you ever felt like that before?”

without a sound, seojung casts another glance at his best friend, who seems to still be immersed in his own scattered thoughts. they have been elated this past month for obvious reasons, but the delirium is not untainted by disquietude. it is only human nature to worry, even when they should feel like they’re on the top of the world. everything is about to change and that is enough to lose sleep over. seojung wonders if uriel has any clue at all, about all the ballads already written and stashed within the dark crevices of his mind, the cheesy lyrics he has scribbled about the boy with the brightest smiles, the warmest laughter, touches as tender as rain. seojung shakes his head and turns to face the sky again. it is a beautiful night, the ether lucid from the precursive storms. awash with shades of sapphire and lavender, the stars aglow and indifferent. but the sight is not enough to distract him from his reverberating thoughts, their momentum growing despite the tangible silence.

what if seojung tells him now? 

what’s the worst that can happen? 

what can be worse than not telling?

“hey.” he parts his lips at last, trying not to tremble as he stills his breath. courage is a fleeting, slippery thing. “ — you still awake?” 

it takes uriel a few seconds to detach from his contemplation. 

“yeah.”

another deep breath that doesn’t keep his heart from racing faster.

“just want to tell you that i love you.”

the following silence is expected, accepted. 

it doesn’t matter what uriel says or doesn’t, it doesn’t change how he feels.

doesn’t change how he has felt every day for the past twelve months.

“we’re both leaving soon so i just thought i’d let you know. better now than never, i reckon.” the words almost taste bittersweet on his tongue. what’s the point of the revelation if this is destined for doom prior to the genesis? what is the point in baring his heart when they have to bid their goodbyes a week from now? seojung doesn’t know. all he knows is he doesn’t want to be the only one who knows the truth anymore. about the gradual unfolding of his heart, about how much he wishes to linger every time he has to part. just a little longer, like forever. ludicrous, isn’t it? absolutely risible. even more maddening is how long he has kept his back turned and pretends it doesn’t exist. love doesn’t work that way, it seems. it’s never worked that way. he doesn’t want to crumple the sheets and toss them in the blaze anymore. doesn’t want to wait and witness everything vanish in ashes and fumes. “you’re kind of — the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he breathes and his lips curl into a smile, nostalgia pinning him down. “so, thanks for that... thanks for everything.”

it has been three days since that atypical evening and seojung still hasn’t been able to scratch that strange itch off his peeling skin or pacify the clamour in his cranium. twenty-three hours wasted, mind ablaze half-awake with his gaze fixated on the ceiling, wondering if his first love is already doomed before it hits its five months mark. the texts are slower, too slow and it is clear that uriel is withholding something. seojung isn’t fond of this feeling, the suspense in the air, the disclosures that dangle on the edge of their tongues but never with enough courage to leap. haven’t they agreed to being honest, even when it hurts? but tonight he brings himself to that same doorstep still. because they agreed on spending the weekend together five days ago and neither of them uttered a thing about changing plans. and here he is, laving the dishes in the sink and trying not to think about how half-hearted the conversation feels over the dining table, how hollow are the smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. “do you... have feelings for him still?” he asks quietly, taking a sharp breath as he tries to slow the tears, but his vision is already clouded. is there a point in asking something that he already knows the answer to? it is obvious enough, isn’t it? people don’t get swollen eyes from the remembrances of people supposedly erased from their hearts. this is atrophy, this is him spilling toilsome truths that should remain veiled instead. but for how much longer? “it’s okay if you still love him.” the faucet keeps running and he is still trying to rub that unyielding stain off the bloody dish, even after it’s already gone. “just... talk to me.”

the drive home to uriel reminds him why he dreads the return in the past couple of days. sometimes, life inside the dance studio seems easier when what’s happening outside are pure, uncontrollable chaos. at least within those four walls, the honing of his skills are within his control. despite his attempt to stay away from platforms and forums as agreed upon, there are too many of them and they are all so loud. the fact that this is the third time it happened helps, but only in a feeble, pathetic kind of way. the fight lasted shorter and they made up almost instantly, but the rest of the aftermath is almost identical. to mention this to his lover, however, is not a viable option when seojung knows he is not the one suffering more among the two. not the one harassed by a horde of ravenous cameras, or bashed by fans from both sides who thought those at the centre of spotlight less human and flesh than the rest. it does not mean his distress is any less valid, but it would serve them well, the both of them, if he remains tight-lipped about this or attempts to.

fumbling for the keys turns out to be no easy task when he can barely keep his eyes open and the effect of the americano he gulped three hours ago has worn off, still he manages to drag himself to the shower and out eight minutes later. he dries his hair in languorous movements before tossing the towel aside and slipping onto his side the bed with the quietness of someone who has come to steal rather than stay. it has become routine for him to come back this late from practice the past few days but the fight has nothing to do with it, for it has already been settled and seojung has accepted his fate once again. the conclusion that it is always better to be by his lover’s side than not, even when the world outside is roaring, threatening to swallow them both. this has nothing to do with avoidance, but the fact that the comeback is nearing and genesis is once again under the pressure to dazzle, to offer something that surpasses their previous project. even the slowed replies are only a product of his hectic schedule rather than the unease that still exists, prickling from within — it has to be it.

even with the distance between himself and his lover, he finds comfort in this. to know that he is not alone in this peculiar trajectory that often spirals into madness, that someone understands the sacrifices it takes to feign perfection on stage. to know that behind the curtains, there is someone who loves him after the costumes are taken off with glamour erased. time is all he needs. everything will fall back to normal once the fiasco is over and people find something else to be entertained by. he casts one last glance at his lover, already asleep, before he turns off the bedpost lamp. he closes his eyes but that alone does not drown out the thoughts in his head. this is when he notices that he is not the only one awake anymore as quiet, muffled whimpers pierce the night. he turns his body and in the faint glow of moonlight, watches the silhouette as uriel’s shoulders rise and fall with each attempt to silence the sobs. “hey,” his arm outstretches and his hand finds uriel’s shoulder, lips reparting after seconds of hesitance as he is almost certain that he already knows the answer. “what’s wrong?”