Because you live. But very few, love
Title: Because you live. But very few, love
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG-13
Length: One-shot, 5,001
A/N: Beta-ed by the amazing kiccy and my birthday present for aurelynn
Because you live. But very few, love
“And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.”©
Sungyeol is a dreamer and every day his head is full with ever-changing shapes and people and impressions. He laughs with his eyes closed and soul open, and sings with his hands out-stretched and emotions flying. Sungyeol wants everything and anything, but above all he longs for forgotten stories and yellowing pages and those million or so legends engraved into school tables and hidden beneath heavy covers.
He visits coffee shops and orders long espressos, and stares out of polished windows towards the lost souls of Seoul. He sees marks and details (everything’s in the details) and wonders about their life and laughs when he sees those other trailing eyes- the ones filled with adoration and hidden desires and blossoming feelings Sungyeol has always wanted to possess. People live and walk and never look around- they never notice Sungyeol with his cold coffee and warm hands and voice that hums the softest of melodies- the one that tells about love and happiness and just how fleeting those emotions really are.
He’s in an Art college and he’s supposed to be writing or maybe acting and there was a course of drawing too. That’s what the three waiters get from the exchange of information about that stranger- the one with the cream on his lips and honey over his cheeks and sugar-coated words instead of speech. He’s maybe just a little bit young for the bitter taste of coffee that always hangs in his mouth and the strong feelings of nausea he gets every time he sees his own reflection in the glass. He’s a mystery- a mystery with eyes of cinnamon flavored chocolate and hair of crow black feathers.
Myungsoo seems to think so too.
Myungsoo’s a nobody with a camera in hand and a canvas instead of a soul. He paints and paints and paints and he’s never satisfied- there’s a blur there and a frown here, and Myungsoo wants happiness and harmony and perfection. Myungsoo’s a pessimist who strives towards smiles and slightly withering pink roses decorated with old-fashioned ribbons and accompanied by cheesy love-letters.
Both Myungsoo and Sungyeol look at this ever-busy city and they see millions of unspoken stories. Stories that get reflected in their eyes and get lost between their second cube of brown sugar and third cup of raw black coffee.
‡‡‡
The sun’s threading its way into Myungsoo’s eyes and he frowns at all the oranges and pale pinks and passionate reds- there’s just a tad bit too much yellow and Myungsoo has never believed that nature can create perfection. Because after all its nature’s faults he’s once again sitting on this chair that’s just a centimeter too low and half a decade too old.
But then his eyes land on that one lonely figure- the one that likes their espresso with 3 cubes of brown sugar and one teaspoon of milk. Myungsoo thinks that can reveal a lot.
Through his lens brown sugar is sweet insecurity and obscene shyness that gets lots in between curls of silky-like voices and cliché melodies
.
And then there’s milk- milk’s something slightly unpredictable and it varies with the person- Myungsoo’s been at this long enough so he has to know. And when he looks at the pale figure with the chubby cheeks and written-over pages instead of eyes he knows- milk speaks of quiet observation and a certain need of satisfaction.
Myungsoo himself drinks his coffee black- there’s no sugar or milk or honey- only the bitter taste of ancient legends and techniques passed down generation after generation. Myungsoo tastes history on his tongue and drinks in knowledge with his lids closed- that’s more than enough. But there are always these days- the ones when the first night star’s early and the moon’s peaking behind never-ending skyscrapers that he wants to try something different and sweet and vibrant- his choice’s never the same but it makes him feel like somebody else even for a second. It’s on nights like these that he looks through his lens and finds the sky staring back in amusement.
Sungyeol has always thought that it was funny. To observe the world through that one big glass eye- because Sungyeol is a (self-proclaimed) artist and there are jewels hiding between the cracks of his existence and butterflies flapping their wings inside his soul (the one that’s ugly and torn apart and flutters every time the gentle creatures touch its bleeding core).
Both of them seek stories and look for the answers of those forever unspoken questions. It’s a poetic, romantic way of living and nobody really realizes that the ones who seek other’s tales don’t have ones to tell themselves. Because behind the ugly tattooed lies every one of us wears there’s always the truth- the invisible truth that gets stuck on your skin beneath all those layers of dirt and makeup and deception and suffocates you with its heavy weight.
Both of them like to think that they’re different and divine and genius. And in a world that doesn’t even understand itself they are the ones that look through multi-colored kaleidoscopes and escape from this reality by creating their very own.
They are the unknowns. They smile and nod and every word of ours is their food while every wind-tousled strand of hair is their water. We are a vast picture of feelings and colors that get smudged apart by salty tears and ocean waves and they like to figure us out- in every way imaginable. Because a true picture always seems to hide its creator’s secrets.
Myungsoo and Sungyeol infinitively believe that they have got the key. The one that opens all and nothing and leaves only the wintered petals of late autumns tumbling along the long dusty road that we call life. But the real question here is can they even reach the lock?
‡‡‡They never really officially meet. The subtle glances and mirrored smirks though speak of their unusual connection.
“Alike yet so different.”
Sungyeol thinks over a cup of ice latte. Only it’s the middle of winter and frozen flowers grace windows while the streets are full of woolen scarves and warm coats. Behind the counter he can hear Howon incredulously whispering to Sungjong. Sungyeol doesn’t know what’s more amusing- the fact that Howon can’t get over his choice of a drink or the way he doesn’t notice the pink gracing Sungjong’s cheeks as the former’s lips brush just a little bit too close to his ear.
Sungyeol considers interfering because it takes just one little accident- one little, despicable accident and then he can picture himself writing innocent love stories that end up being not so innocent in the end (because Sungyeol’s cruel beyond perfection and infinity and he knows and longs for the endings the most- nothing can compare to the bitter taste of espresso especially when there’s a cube of heartbreak to accompany it). But he’s always accurate to the last dot and the smallest snowflake because he’s no writer- not in the real sense of the word anyway. He just likes what he sees but a human’s memory can only remember this much. Sometimes he wonders if maybe (maybe after a hundred years and thousand pages and just one last push) he can be something else- because there’s a cute fairy peeking at him from behind delicate porcelain cups and maybe she even knows the start of Howon and Sungjong’s story. But Sungyeol on the other hand doesn’t. The latte in his hands has already long frozen his fingers numb.
He looks at his limbs and he sees deathly pale skin creased with ink and tears and locked feelings. He smells the air around him and there’s a whiff of coffee that’s barely hanging in between the heavy stench of rotting pages and leather binding. He’s just a passing, fleeting moment in this universe that’s vast and unknown but he longs for remembrance. He wants to be great and he wants to be immortal and a hundred other things but more than all he wants to be remembered. To be remembered by hundreds of souls that possess stories and feelings and are just normal. Because Sungyeol isn’t and he knows that normal people- they get remembered too but by only a few people (and there’s the word love stinging in his eyes and pushing ink over perfectly clean pages). Sungyeol was never meant to be one of the many. And that’s all there is to his story).
Two tables behind him Myungsoo stands and today he’s settled in for just a cup of plain water accompanied by the sugary smile of Woohyun. Woohyun’s waiter number three and as the others say: “He flirts with everything that moves.”
But Myungsoo has a certain type of talent and as he looks through the few pictures he has snapped of the man he sees his whole story written over- that’s not exactly supposed to happen but Myungsoo has always been special even amongst the special. In every shot he sees the grief in those almond shaped eyes and then he finds that they’re in fact focused on something that’s behind him and when he looks over there’s a mirror. Smudged and broken at the edges- that’s the newest vintage fashion and this café, no matter how small, always keeps up with the newest trends- all for the customers after all (all for those precious green and silver-like things called money and the sound they make when they hit the bottom of the workers’ empty pockets). He focuses his gaze and promptly ignores Woohyun who’s speaking. But Myungsoo begs to differ because the only thing Woohyun’s really doing is sewing together the pieces of his heart- though Myungsoo thinks he’ll need something more than his used and re-used needle and thinning string. It’s a hard job after all when there’s nothing to put together anymore.
On every picture Myungsoo snaps there’s a fleeting feeling at the corners. Maybe just a smudge, a small mistake but Myungsoo never takes anything less than perfection. Even if he has to build it himself.
Their rules and principles crash and burn and eliminate each-other. It has always been the opposites that attract.
‡‡‡Sungyeol thinks he looks just a little bit like a Prince- that guy two tables behind him with a camera in hand instead of a crown on his head.
He knows who he is- not in the real sense of the word but in a sense that makes him shiver with anticipation and there’s just a single coffee drop resting over his small white plate. That’s the first time he’s met with somebody of his own kind and Sungyeol finds it intriguing- he has already long figured out that the small device with a black hole instead of a lens is Myungsoo’s weapon. That’s not really the appropriate word but everything in this world is a fight either way so Sungyeol figures that he can be excused just this time. He takes out his notebook and observes as the ink vanishes before his fingers and blood seeps through the cracks of the broken pen. It’s an accustomed rule that the unknowns can’t really observe each-other.
So he wonders how Myungsoo’s camera can still be whole and shiny as new as he snaps picture after picture of Sungyeol (he thinks that every click takes way another ounce, another word from his sanity). Howon approaches his table and there’s a certain air of irritation about him that’s hidden (revealed by) the blown wide smile (that’s usually just a small grin), the small and loud chit-chat that resonates through Sungyeol’s glass of water, and if he closes his eyes he can see small waves and hear the sound of shattering glass (it’s so, so different than the barely one sentence spoken with care and devotion that always seems to warm his cold coffee and soul after a day of torn apart pages and summer storms). Sungjong on the other hand was the opposite and is now the opposite of who he was.
“It’s like they’ve switched roles.”
The thought isn’t his but it bores into his ears and crashes over his senses and he can only find the strength to look over at Myungsoo’s table.
The black hole’s sucking Sungyeol in.
Myungsoo smirks. The boy with the cinnamon flavored eyes is finally looking at him. He knows his lips taste like burning wood and sandy ashes and there’s nothing in his eyes but despair and history that goes back to when there were no noiseless murders and city lights and the world was nothing but a simple tale- told and retold and easy to understand and comprehend and live through. It’s a time long forgotten by everybody but them.
“Us.”
The word resonates through the thin walls of the café and suddenly there’s another crack appearing on the mirror dusty with forgotten love stories and leaved behind memories.
Myungsoo has always longed for the forbidden because there’s no sweeter fruit than hidden passion and no greater legend than that of the star-crossed lovers. Myungsoo’s a romantic or rather after all those years of loneliness and nothing but cold steel under his fingers he has become one. He knows his limits and he knows everybody’s limits but somehow as he aims his camera towards yet another cup of cold espresso he can see fingers intertwined over it and steam rising from the fragile porcelain.
The unknowns have no future, or past, or present. That’s what they’ve always been taught because after all there is one rule greater and bigger than everything else- one that even humans know. For everything given you have something else taken away.
Myungsoo has never been the type of person to call others liars. Not when he himself probably lives and dies and gets reborn in one pretty deception but this time he may just be willing to throw accusations and crumpled speeches that got burned down centuries ago towards the one who told him this for the first time. Because whenever he sees Sungyeol there’s a road ahead of him and a lifeless field behind him and right now when he’s walking around the border with his hands outstretched and eyes as cool as ice he needs to hear that one guiding voice- the one that sings of mystical emotions and is laced with sugar that’s in truth nothing but bitter sea salt. He needs to feel just one lingering touch and it will be the end.
In truth that has always been the code name of a new beginning. And it’s going to be hard and bumpy but as long as Myungsoo continues with his hands in his pockets and his lips over sickly white collarbones he can live it through. For himself and for him as well.
It’s just a matter of time and unspoken words and roses that withered last summer when the cicadas were singing too loud to convince him. Myungsoo always gets what he wants and there will never be an exception. He’s patient enough and beautiful enough and conceited enough.
Step number one towards the end. Strawberry shortcake. Because after there’s sweetness the bitterness is even more over-whelming.
‡‡‡Sungyeol’s confused. There’s sun shining down on his eyes and there are messages fading over the billionth post-card he has found stored away on top of a trash-can but suddenly all that’s taking up his vision is a piece of chocolate sprinkled with Irish whipped cream and-
“I hate cakes.”
His voice is carried across by the crisp afternoon air and the chilly atmosphere in the half empty café. He manages to turn a few heads with his statement but there’s a mop of chick styled black hair two tables down that seems unaffected and is on top of all (Sungyeol feels the butterflies even more contrastingly now but the feeling isn’t quite so painful) still sporting a victorious smirk.
Sungyeol scoffs and Howon and Sungjong wonder. Because he’s been coming here for days, months, years even but that’s the closest thing he has expressed to some kind of emotion at all. And when he orders his usual bitter espresso and there’s a cup of tea graced with a generous amount of honey and a small note that says “ you’re in denial” in beautiful ancient hand-writing in a language that Sungyeol hasn’t encountered in over a decade he knows that he has already fallen too deep in this game to stop. So he lets himself get washed over by the waves of anger and irritation and there are years’ worth of worries coming from under his skin and pilling over his chapped lips when he stands up. Hungry seagulls screech along with his chair when it drapes over the floor covered by undeletable stains and tilts and drops made by the hundreds of heels, (high, low) steps (big, small) and fingertips (searching, hurrying, yearning). It’s only a short two second stride until he’s reached the other. For a minute Sungyeol thinks about taking the camera and his imagination runs wild with images of broken glass and bended plastic but there’s also a numb pain at the back of his skull.
Rule №19: If you destroy another unknown’s tool yours shall get destroyed too.
The monotonous whisper flashes through his ears for only a moment of a millennium but that’s more than enough. Sungyeol never goes against the rules. He has a feeling Myungsoo knows that too but Myungsoo’s just a little bit too different even for Sungyeol to comprehend.
For the first time day and night crash in a blinding show of light and darkness. Nobody can really tell who’s who but by the time everything’s over Myungsoo has ugly purple bruises marring his face and Sungyeol’s willing to give all to take away his hand from those sinful lips. It’s a tie but round two is just around the corner anyway.
‡‡‡People think they’re crazy. But they think people are crazy too so that’s all right.
In all honesty Sungyeol’s afraid because he’s been fighting (adoring) Myungsoo long enough to know his secrets and all of those half-bloodied handprints and torn apart photos that are so dark he thinks that there was no sun in that time- whichever it is because Sungyeol doesn’t remember. Though he’s not blind (not blinded by love and lust and those neon-pink roses he receives every two or so days).
Myungsoo knows and possesses a lot more than Sungyeol and it’s beyond him why he was the one chosen (why the boy with the bleeding soul gets to touch the invisible crown of the prince whose feelings and uniqueness got lost along with yellowing calendar pages).
But Myungsoo’s patient enough to teach him. Or to unteach him- it depends on the way you look at things.
Sungyeol has always had these certain principles. Principles that got drilled into his mind and he still remembers the bright red marks on his hands and the way his voice sounded when he was weak, pathetic, emotional. He can see the eyes and those million or so abandoned souls like himself- he felt their misery and if he was (brave, outstanding, compassionate) foolish enough then he would have reached out with his bluish bruises and half-eaten away fingernails and maybe- maybe they could have made a difference. Or maybe not.
They have always been taught that regretting is a waste of precious time.
Myungsoo though shows him the world and those same words- the ones he’s been dreading and fearing and wanting to taste and trace the outlines of for all his life (a life that last for an eternity and 1/3rd of forever ) and they are no longer mysteries and tales told under woolen covers, accompanied by moonlight symphonies- they’re smiles and paper heart that get crumpled and burned down and restored again.
Against his will Sungyeol smiles.
(Smiles for the first time since he’s been playing at abandoned playgrounds and eating melted-down chocolate bars before dinner.)
Myungsoo in the end is not so different because even he obeys that rule. The tax for every lesson is one stolen kiss and three shy brushes of fingers. Sungyeol pretends he doesn’t want to (though that one time when he interlocks their fingers once and doesn’t let go until Myungsoo’s lips are just a little bit too slick with saliva and his breath is just a kiss too much taken away, kind of gives him out).
“You can always write your own stories.”
Myungsoo’s voice is quiet and rusty with ancient accents and dead syllables. Sungyeol looks at his eyes- the eyes that are always ten degrees over the boiling point of chocolate- nods and their fingers are once again meeting- though by now almost all lessons have been learned and in the air a promise of sweet nothings and glued together limbs hangs, waiting to be snatched and used and thrown away once again.
Myungsoo’s not dumb and neither is Sungyeol and both them know that “love” (that funny, despicable play of sounds and sights and emotions) is not meant to last forever. “Love” is made for the past and the present but never the future- because it’s unstable and fragile and just like a bad balanced cup- it takes only a millimeter for everything to spill. And when it does there’s not really a way to turn back. So both live with the consciousness of tomorrow- that one tomorrow that may take away the toned-down whispers and grasping fingers that always leave marks on marble skins and wrenched souls. It’s not really hard and it’s not really an attachment- just a play, made to be enjoyed and consumed and spit out right after. Nobody mentions the heavy bitter after-taste that may just leave them with that open pit on the edge of their stomachs and those heavy bruises on the tilt of their lips.
Love’s a game and once it’s finished it’s not spoken of again.
“You have this world in the palm of your hand. Make use of that.”
Myungsoo tells him that over and over again but Sungyeol’s still hesitant. He’s hesitant over breaking a heart and creating a smile that only lasts for a second of a millennium. But Myungsoo’s insistent enough (beautiful enough) so Sungyeol decides that giving in may not be that bad.
It starts out innocent and naïve and just a little bit unpredictable.
Howon wonders since when did Sungjong’s hair become so soft and his lips so full and his eyes so starry.
Myungsoo knows his job. There’s a half-burned down photograph sticking from his back-pocket even as Sungyeol writes these very lines them-selves.
‡‡‡Sungyeol wonders since when was he like that. Since when did he want to possess a soul up his sleeve (and maybe even two) and since when was he this conceited, this selfish, this irresponsible (this human).
They’re toying with each-other and as if that’s not enough they decide to stop by and grab another pair of hearts and make them love and hurt and then do it all over again- just because. Just because this reality they’re living in is cruel and unforgivable and they’re not supposed to be the only ones, Myungsoo reasons.
Sungyeol shuts his mouth and lets black roses bloom over it until his eyes see darkness and nothing more. Myungsoo’s cruel and conceited but before and after all he’s himself- the person Sungyeol has fallen in love with- the person Sungyeol’s gonna break up with tomorrow if the moon’s smiling wide enough and there’s summer rain gracing the streets.
(Only the seasons have rolled once again and the death clutches of hungry winter freeze his existence and make the ink on his hand seem like cold-bites and withering bruises).
Sungjong’s baffled and maybe just a little bit unbelieving. He glances at their direction and Sungyeol remembers that once, a long time ago he saw that same boy with eyes aimed at inexistent faeries and lips smiling at frog princes hidden behind melted-down ice cubes- Sungjong’s just a little bit different.
“A little bit more innocent and childish and belonging to a place that was never his to have.”
Sungyeol lets their thoughts mingle and as Myungsoo’s breath overtakes him he reaches and grasps the aches that were left behind by the unforgiving wind. He stuffs them in his pocket and there’s a frown on Myungsoo’s lips. He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. Sungyeol in the end turns out to be even more special than Myungsoo himself. Because his soul needs only a reminder to start functioning like it used to do before- before impossible revelations and symbols engraved into the back covers of dusty leather notebooks. Sungyeol’s living again and he doesn’t want to admit that his heart is hanging on that thin thread tangled between Myungsoo’s fingers- because it’s too fragile and too out-stretched and he knows that the snapping sound that keeps on vibrating and resurfacing from somewhere deep inside his throat isn’t too far away.
Love’s just a game for creatures like them. But Sungyeol’s too afraid to admit that maybe, just maybe he’s turned human again.
(And he remembers those ridiculous rumors spreading through the academy- about the boy with eyes that didn’t reflect the moon and with lips that were rumored to achieve the impossible- erase their very existence. His nickname was L. He looks back and forth between the girl and Myungsoo because: “You are going to be perfect for this kind of cosplay.”)
They rewrite and erase and add in a swirl between every five minute crush and yearlong relationship. Sungyeol feels wrong and powerful and there may just be a crystal tear sculpted in his eye every time he looks at Sungjong with his rainbow smiles and bright red kites that fly away under pristine oceans. Sungyeol doesn’t believe in forever and he shall never will but Myungsoo keeps on pushing (keeps on bringing him over the edge with every calculated touch and press of lips and Sungyeol’s mind screams boring, boring) and so he doesn’t stop glancing at fading photographs with shiny cores and torn apart edges that tell the tales of what could have been and should have not happened.
The inked words slide across the pages like veins- clear and visible and so, so temping under that transparent veil. It takes just a press- too hard and fast and filled with desperation- and everything’s going to slide over his fingers and color his nails with the deepest shades of that one sunset- the one that’s unforgettable but still gets erased by unneeded exams and every day troubles.
Howon looks at Sungjong and there’s adoration in his eyes.
Sungjong’s supposed to be happy- but he’s not.
Sungyeol has already learned to see behind his sugary smiles. Smiles that melt and freeze and don’t change until something manages to break them apart (Sungyeol looks at Sungjong’s soul and there are pieces of happiness scattered around everywhere. Though you have to be observant enough to notice their sharp edges and the way they cut into thin flesh.)
“This is true. This could have been real- and now it is.”
Myungsoo’s magic speaks in hushed tones and repeats itself like an old and broken gramophone record. Sungyeol lets himself get hypnotized and lulled because really- he’s always been a lover of the past. Though he has to remind himself that Sungjong and Howon and Myungsoo- they’re the present, they’re now and he doesn’t have the right to…
“You’re thinking too much.”
And in the end it takes just a simple kiss.
(Or not so simple really- Sungyeol loves innovations too- especially French kissing because God it was just made for Myungsoo and his tongue that always finds its way a little bit too deep in Sungyeol’s throat.)
‡‡‡They break up one summer day when there’s sunlight sliding across the boulevard and the taste of ice-tea lingers in their mouths like a painful reminder that things don’t stay the same for long.
Sungyeol somehow had always expected more- more time and more drama and a little bit more heartbreak but he finds himself almost immobile as Sungjong’s glassy eyes slide over to their cups and Howon’s half-way out of the door with coffee stains on his white shirt and betrayal stinging his eyes.
Myungsoo just smiles and wraps his arms over a pair of fragile shoulders.
That day Sungyeol leaves and doesn’t come back. There’s a book under his shoulder and a smile on his face. Only the rolled up paycheck and his numbed feelings remain on that small table.
Soon everything’s forgotten. Life moves on, love stays behind.
‡‡‡He finds him again, later.
Myungsoo’s grave is beautiful and non-existent because he has broken a rule too many and Sungyeol tries feeling hurt- he really does but it’s been 1/3rd of forever since he left The Prince on his throne.
They’re mortal- Sungyeol knows that well enough even as he himself feels the blood flowing through his body (and every day there’s just an intake of oxygen too less and the pumping of his heart is slowing down thump-thump and slowly breaking him apart from the inside).
Myungsoo was younger but on the other hand Myungsoo was hated (and loved) much more- and Sungyeol stares at the reflections behind the yellowing glass of that antique shop and- oh yes of course.
“You will forever keep on being reborn in this world- at the beginning as a mortal but don’t forget that you’ll have to take this path again.”
Sungyeol can’t wait to meet him again. And maybe this time instead of pocket-knives and broken goodbyes his beginning will be made from high-school loves and gazes that tell- “you’re the most beautiful in the world.”
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: PG-13
Length: One-shot, 5,001
A/N: Beta-ed by the amazing kiccy and my birthday present for aurelynn
Because you live. But very few, love
“And they walk past you everyday, one million stories, each waiting to be told. Waiting for you to ask.”©
Sungyeol is a dreamer and every day his head is full with ever-changing shapes and people and impressions. He laughs with his eyes closed and soul open, and sings with his hands out-stretched and emotions flying. Sungyeol wants everything and anything, but above all he longs for forgotten stories and yellowing pages and those million or so legends engraved into school tables and hidden beneath heavy covers.
He visits coffee shops and orders long espressos, and stares out of polished windows towards the lost souls of Seoul. He sees marks and details (everything’s in the details) and wonders about their life and laughs when he sees those other trailing eyes- the ones filled with adoration and hidden desires and blossoming feelings Sungyeol has always wanted to possess. People live and walk and never look around- they never notice Sungyeol with his cold coffee and warm hands and voice that hums the softest of melodies- the one that tells about love and happiness and just how fleeting those emotions really are.
He’s in an Art college and he’s supposed to be writing or maybe acting and there was a course of drawing too. That’s what the three waiters get from the exchange of information about that stranger- the one with the cream on his lips and honey over his cheeks and sugar-coated words instead of speech. He’s maybe just a little bit young for the bitter taste of coffee that always hangs in his mouth and the strong feelings of nausea he gets every time he sees his own reflection in the glass. He’s a mystery- a mystery with eyes of cinnamon flavored chocolate and hair of crow black feathers.
Myungsoo seems to think so too.
Myungsoo’s a nobody with a camera in hand and a canvas instead of a soul. He paints and paints and paints and he’s never satisfied- there’s a blur there and a frown here, and Myungsoo wants happiness and harmony and perfection. Myungsoo’s a pessimist who strives towards smiles and slightly withering pink roses decorated with old-fashioned ribbons and accompanied by cheesy love-letters.
Both Myungsoo and Sungyeol look at this ever-busy city and they see millions of unspoken stories. Stories that get reflected in their eyes and get lost between their second cube of brown sugar and third cup of raw black coffee.
‡‡‡
The sun’s threading its way into Myungsoo’s eyes and he frowns at all the oranges and pale pinks and passionate reds- there’s just a tad bit too much yellow and Myungsoo has never believed that nature can create perfection. Because after all its nature’s faults he’s once again sitting on this chair that’s just a centimeter too low and half a decade too old.
But then his eyes land on that one lonely figure- the one that likes their espresso with 3 cubes of brown sugar and one teaspoon of milk. Myungsoo thinks that can reveal a lot.
Through his lens brown sugar is sweet insecurity and obscene shyness that gets lots in between curls of silky-like voices and cliché melodies
.
And then there’s milk- milk’s something slightly unpredictable and it varies with the person- Myungsoo’s been at this long enough so he has to know. And when he looks at the pale figure with the chubby cheeks and written-over pages instead of eyes he knows- milk speaks of quiet observation and a certain need of satisfaction.
Myungsoo himself drinks his coffee black- there’s no sugar or milk or honey- only the bitter taste of ancient legends and techniques passed down generation after generation. Myungsoo tastes history on his tongue and drinks in knowledge with his lids closed- that’s more than enough. But there are always these days- the ones when the first night star’s early and the moon’s peaking behind never-ending skyscrapers that he wants to try something different and sweet and vibrant- his choice’s never the same but it makes him feel like somebody else even for a second. It’s on nights like these that he looks through his lens and finds the sky staring back in amusement.
Sungyeol has always thought that it was funny. To observe the world through that one big glass eye- because Sungyeol is a (self-proclaimed) artist and there are jewels hiding between the cracks of his existence and butterflies flapping their wings inside his soul (the one that’s ugly and torn apart and flutters every time the gentle creatures touch its bleeding core).
Both of them seek stories and look for the answers of those forever unspoken questions. It’s a poetic, romantic way of living and nobody really realizes that the ones who seek other’s tales don’t have ones to tell themselves. Because behind the ugly tattooed lies every one of us wears there’s always the truth- the invisible truth that gets stuck on your skin beneath all those layers of dirt and makeup and deception and suffocates you with its heavy weight.
Both of them like to think that they’re different and divine and genius. And in a world that doesn’t even understand itself they are the ones that look through multi-colored kaleidoscopes and escape from this reality by creating their very own.
They are the unknowns. They smile and nod and every word of ours is their food while every wind-tousled strand of hair is their water. We are a vast picture of feelings and colors that get smudged apart by salty tears and ocean waves and they like to figure us out- in every way imaginable. Because a true picture always seems to hide its creator’s secrets.
Myungsoo and Sungyeol infinitively believe that they have got the key. The one that opens all and nothing and leaves only the wintered petals of late autumns tumbling along the long dusty road that we call life. But the real question here is can they even reach the lock?
‡‡‡They never really officially meet. The subtle glances and mirrored smirks though speak of their unusual connection.
“Alike yet so different.”
Sungyeol thinks over a cup of ice latte. Only it’s the middle of winter and frozen flowers grace windows while the streets are full of woolen scarves and warm coats. Behind the counter he can hear Howon incredulously whispering to Sungjong. Sungyeol doesn’t know what’s more amusing- the fact that Howon can’t get over his choice of a drink or the way he doesn’t notice the pink gracing Sungjong’s cheeks as the former’s lips brush just a little bit too close to his ear.
Sungyeol considers interfering because it takes just one little accident- one little, despicable accident and then he can picture himself writing innocent love stories that end up being not so innocent in the end (because Sungyeol’s cruel beyond perfection and infinity and he knows and longs for the endings the most- nothing can compare to the bitter taste of espresso especially when there’s a cube of heartbreak to accompany it). But he’s always accurate to the last dot and the smallest snowflake because he’s no writer- not in the real sense of the word anyway. He just likes what he sees but a human’s memory can only remember this much. Sometimes he wonders if maybe (maybe after a hundred years and thousand pages and just one last push) he can be something else- because there’s a cute fairy peeking at him from behind delicate porcelain cups and maybe she even knows the start of Howon and Sungjong’s story. But Sungyeol on the other hand doesn’t. The latte in his hands has already long frozen his fingers numb.
He looks at his limbs and he sees deathly pale skin creased with ink and tears and locked feelings. He smells the air around him and there’s a whiff of coffee that’s barely hanging in between the heavy stench of rotting pages and leather binding. He’s just a passing, fleeting moment in this universe that’s vast and unknown but he longs for remembrance. He wants to be great and he wants to be immortal and a hundred other things but more than all he wants to be remembered. To be remembered by hundreds of souls that possess stories and feelings and are just normal. Because Sungyeol isn’t and he knows that normal people- they get remembered too but by only a few people (and there’s the word love stinging in his eyes and pushing ink over perfectly clean pages). Sungyeol was never meant to be one of the many. And that’s all there is to his story).
Two tables behind him Myungsoo stands and today he’s settled in for just a cup of plain water accompanied by the sugary smile of Woohyun. Woohyun’s waiter number three and as the others say: “He flirts with everything that moves.”
But Myungsoo has a certain type of talent and as he looks through the few pictures he has snapped of the man he sees his whole story written over- that’s not exactly supposed to happen but Myungsoo has always been special even amongst the special. In every shot he sees the grief in those almond shaped eyes and then he finds that they’re in fact focused on something that’s behind him and when he looks over there’s a mirror. Smudged and broken at the edges- that’s the newest vintage fashion and this café, no matter how small, always keeps up with the newest trends- all for the customers after all (all for those precious green and silver-like things called money and the sound they make when they hit the bottom of the workers’ empty pockets). He focuses his gaze and promptly ignores Woohyun who’s speaking. But Myungsoo begs to differ because the only thing Woohyun’s really doing is sewing together the pieces of his heart- though Myungsoo thinks he’ll need something more than his used and re-used needle and thinning string. It’s a hard job after all when there’s nothing to put together anymore.
On every picture Myungsoo snaps there’s a fleeting feeling at the corners. Maybe just a smudge, a small mistake but Myungsoo never takes anything less than perfection. Even if he has to build it himself.
Their rules and principles crash and burn and eliminate each-other. It has always been the opposites that attract.
‡‡‡Sungyeol thinks he looks just a little bit like a Prince- that guy two tables behind him with a camera in hand instead of a crown on his head.
He knows who he is- not in the real sense of the word but in a sense that makes him shiver with anticipation and there’s just a single coffee drop resting over his small white plate. That’s the first time he’s met with somebody of his own kind and Sungyeol finds it intriguing- he has already long figured out that the small device with a black hole instead of a lens is Myungsoo’s weapon. That’s not really the appropriate word but everything in this world is a fight either way so Sungyeol figures that he can be excused just this time. He takes out his notebook and observes as the ink vanishes before his fingers and blood seeps through the cracks of the broken pen. It’s an accustomed rule that the unknowns can’t really observe each-other.
So he wonders how Myungsoo’s camera can still be whole and shiny as new as he snaps picture after picture of Sungyeol (he thinks that every click takes way another ounce, another word from his sanity). Howon approaches his table and there’s a certain air of irritation about him that’s hidden (revealed by) the blown wide smile (that’s usually just a small grin), the small and loud chit-chat that resonates through Sungyeol’s glass of water, and if he closes his eyes he can see small waves and hear the sound of shattering glass (it’s so, so different than the barely one sentence spoken with care and devotion that always seems to warm his cold coffee and soul after a day of torn apart pages and summer storms). Sungjong on the other hand was the opposite and is now the opposite of who he was.
“It’s like they’ve switched roles.”
The thought isn’t his but it bores into his ears and crashes over his senses and he can only find the strength to look over at Myungsoo’s table.
The black hole’s sucking Sungyeol in.
Myungsoo smirks. The boy with the cinnamon flavored eyes is finally looking at him. He knows his lips taste like burning wood and sandy ashes and there’s nothing in his eyes but despair and history that goes back to when there were no noiseless murders and city lights and the world was nothing but a simple tale- told and retold and easy to understand and comprehend and live through. It’s a time long forgotten by everybody but them.
“Us.”
The word resonates through the thin walls of the café and suddenly there’s another crack appearing on the mirror dusty with forgotten love stories and leaved behind memories.
Myungsoo has always longed for the forbidden because there’s no sweeter fruit than hidden passion and no greater legend than that of the star-crossed lovers. Myungsoo’s a romantic or rather after all those years of loneliness and nothing but cold steel under his fingers he has become one. He knows his limits and he knows everybody’s limits but somehow as he aims his camera towards yet another cup of cold espresso he can see fingers intertwined over it and steam rising from the fragile porcelain.
The unknowns have no future, or past, or present. That’s what they’ve always been taught because after all there is one rule greater and bigger than everything else- one that even humans know. For everything given you have something else taken away.
Myungsoo has never been the type of person to call others liars. Not when he himself probably lives and dies and gets reborn in one pretty deception but this time he may just be willing to throw accusations and crumpled speeches that got burned down centuries ago towards the one who told him this for the first time. Because whenever he sees Sungyeol there’s a road ahead of him and a lifeless field behind him and right now when he’s walking around the border with his hands outstretched and eyes as cool as ice he needs to hear that one guiding voice- the one that sings of mystical emotions and is laced with sugar that’s in truth nothing but bitter sea salt. He needs to feel just one lingering touch and it will be the end.
In truth that has always been the code name of a new beginning. And it’s going to be hard and bumpy but as long as Myungsoo continues with his hands in his pockets and his lips over sickly white collarbones he can live it through. For himself and for him as well.
It’s just a matter of time and unspoken words and roses that withered last summer when the cicadas were singing too loud to convince him. Myungsoo always gets what he wants and there will never be an exception. He’s patient enough and beautiful enough and conceited enough.
Step number one towards the end. Strawberry shortcake. Because after there’s sweetness the bitterness is even more over-whelming.
‡‡‡Sungyeol’s confused. There’s sun shining down on his eyes and there are messages fading over the billionth post-card he has found stored away on top of a trash-can but suddenly all that’s taking up his vision is a piece of chocolate sprinkled with Irish whipped cream and-
“I hate cakes.”
His voice is carried across by the crisp afternoon air and the chilly atmosphere in the half empty café. He manages to turn a few heads with his statement but there’s a mop of chick styled black hair two tables down that seems unaffected and is on top of all (Sungyeol feels the butterflies even more contrastingly now but the feeling isn’t quite so painful) still sporting a victorious smirk.
Sungyeol scoffs and Howon and Sungjong wonder. Because he’s been coming here for days, months, years even but that’s the closest thing he has expressed to some kind of emotion at all. And when he orders his usual bitter espresso and there’s a cup of tea graced with a generous amount of honey and a small note that says “ you’re in denial” in beautiful ancient hand-writing in a language that Sungyeol hasn’t encountered in over a decade he knows that he has already fallen too deep in this game to stop. So he lets himself get washed over by the waves of anger and irritation and there are years’ worth of worries coming from under his skin and pilling over his chapped lips when he stands up. Hungry seagulls screech along with his chair when it drapes over the floor covered by undeletable stains and tilts and drops made by the hundreds of heels, (high, low) steps (big, small) and fingertips (searching, hurrying, yearning). It’s only a short two second stride until he’s reached the other. For a minute Sungyeol thinks about taking the camera and his imagination runs wild with images of broken glass and bended plastic but there’s also a numb pain at the back of his skull.
Rule №19: If you destroy another unknown’s tool yours shall get destroyed too.
The monotonous whisper flashes through his ears for only a moment of a millennium but that’s more than enough. Sungyeol never goes against the rules. He has a feeling Myungsoo knows that too but Myungsoo’s just a little bit too different even for Sungyeol to comprehend.
For the first time day and night crash in a blinding show of light and darkness. Nobody can really tell who’s who but by the time everything’s over Myungsoo has ugly purple bruises marring his face and Sungyeol’s willing to give all to take away his hand from those sinful lips. It’s a tie but round two is just around the corner anyway.
‡‡‡People think they’re crazy. But they think people are crazy too so that’s all right.
In all honesty Sungyeol’s afraid because he’s been fighting (adoring) Myungsoo long enough to know his secrets and all of those half-bloodied handprints and torn apart photos that are so dark he thinks that there was no sun in that time- whichever it is because Sungyeol doesn’t remember. Though he’s not blind (not blinded by love and lust and those neon-pink roses he receives every two or so days).
Myungsoo knows and possesses a lot more than Sungyeol and it’s beyond him why he was the one chosen (why the boy with the bleeding soul gets to touch the invisible crown of the prince whose feelings and uniqueness got lost along with yellowing calendar pages).
But Myungsoo’s patient enough to teach him. Or to unteach him- it depends on the way you look at things.
Sungyeol has always had these certain principles. Principles that got drilled into his mind and he still remembers the bright red marks on his hands and the way his voice sounded when he was weak, pathetic, emotional. He can see the eyes and those million or so abandoned souls like himself- he felt their misery and if he was (brave, outstanding, compassionate) foolish enough then he would have reached out with his bluish bruises and half-eaten away fingernails and maybe- maybe they could have made a difference. Or maybe not.
They have always been taught that regretting is a waste of precious time.
Myungsoo though shows him the world and those same words- the ones he’s been dreading and fearing and wanting to taste and trace the outlines of for all his life (a life that last for an eternity and 1/3rd of forever ) and they are no longer mysteries and tales told under woolen covers, accompanied by moonlight symphonies- they’re smiles and paper heart that get crumpled and burned down and restored again.
Against his will Sungyeol smiles.
(Smiles for the first time since he’s been playing at abandoned playgrounds and eating melted-down chocolate bars before dinner.)
Myungsoo in the end is not so different because even he obeys that rule. The tax for every lesson is one stolen kiss and three shy brushes of fingers. Sungyeol pretends he doesn’t want to (though that one time when he interlocks their fingers once and doesn’t let go until Myungsoo’s lips are just a little bit too slick with saliva and his breath is just a kiss too much taken away, kind of gives him out).
“You can always write your own stories.”
Myungsoo’s voice is quiet and rusty with ancient accents and dead syllables. Sungyeol looks at his eyes- the eyes that are always ten degrees over the boiling point of chocolate- nods and their fingers are once again meeting- though by now almost all lessons have been learned and in the air a promise of sweet nothings and glued together limbs hangs, waiting to be snatched and used and thrown away once again.
Myungsoo’s not dumb and neither is Sungyeol and both them know that “love” (that funny, despicable play of sounds and sights and emotions) is not meant to last forever. “Love” is made for the past and the present but never the future- because it’s unstable and fragile and just like a bad balanced cup- it takes only a millimeter for everything to spill. And when it does there’s not really a way to turn back. So both live with the consciousness of tomorrow- that one tomorrow that may take away the toned-down whispers and grasping fingers that always leave marks on marble skins and wrenched souls. It’s not really hard and it’s not really an attachment- just a play, made to be enjoyed and consumed and spit out right after. Nobody mentions the heavy bitter after-taste that may just leave them with that open pit on the edge of their stomachs and those heavy bruises on the tilt of their lips.
Love’s a game and once it’s finished it’s not spoken of again.
“You have this world in the palm of your hand. Make use of that.”
Myungsoo tells him that over and over again but Sungyeol’s still hesitant. He’s hesitant over breaking a heart and creating a smile that only lasts for a second of a millennium. But Myungsoo’s insistent enough (beautiful enough) so Sungyeol decides that giving in may not be that bad.
It starts out innocent and naïve and just a little bit unpredictable.
Howon wonders since when did Sungjong’s hair become so soft and his lips so full and his eyes so starry.
Myungsoo knows his job. There’s a half-burned down photograph sticking from his back-pocket even as Sungyeol writes these very lines them-selves.
‡‡‡Sungyeol wonders since when was he like that. Since when did he want to possess a soul up his sleeve (and maybe even two) and since when was he this conceited, this selfish, this irresponsible (this human).
They’re toying with each-other and as if that’s not enough they decide to stop by and grab another pair of hearts and make them love and hurt and then do it all over again- just because. Just because this reality they’re living in is cruel and unforgivable and they’re not supposed to be the only ones, Myungsoo reasons.
Sungyeol shuts his mouth and lets black roses bloom over it until his eyes see darkness and nothing more. Myungsoo’s cruel and conceited but before and after all he’s himself- the person Sungyeol has fallen in love with- the person Sungyeol’s gonna break up with tomorrow if the moon’s smiling wide enough and there’s summer rain gracing the streets.
(Only the seasons have rolled once again and the death clutches of hungry winter freeze his existence and make the ink on his hand seem like cold-bites and withering bruises).
Sungjong’s baffled and maybe just a little bit unbelieving. He glances at their direction and Sungyeol remembers that once, a long time ago he saw that same boy with eyes aimed at inexistent faeries and lips smiling at frog princes hidden behind melted-down ice cubes- Sungjong’s just a little bit different.
“A little bit more innocent and childish and belonging to a place that was never his to have.”
Sungyeol lets their thoughts mingle and as Myungsoo’s breath overtakes him he reaches and grasps the aches that were left behind by the unforgiving wind. He stuffs them in his pocket and there’s a frown on Myungsoo’s lips. He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. Sungyeol in the end turns out to be even more special than Myungsoo himself. Because his soul needs only a reminder to start functioning like it used to do before- before impossible revelations and symbols engraved into the back covers of dusty leather notebooks. Sungyeol’s living again and he doesn’t want to admit that his heart is hanging on that thin thread tangled between Myungsoo’s fingers- because it’s too fragile and too out-stretched and he knows that the snapping sound that keeps on vibrating and resurfacing from somewhere deep inside his throat isn’t too far away.
Love’s just a game for creatures like them. But Sungyeol’s too afraid to admit that maybe, just maybe he’s turned human again.
(And he remembers those ridiculous rumors spreading through the academy- about the boy with eyes that didn’t reflect the moon and with lips that were rumored to achieve the impossible- erase their very existence. His nickname was L. He looks back and forth between the girl and Myungsoo because: “You are going to be perfect for this kind of cosplay.”)
They rewrite and erase and add in a swirl between every five minute crush and yearlong relationship. Sungyeol feels wrong and powerful and there may just be a crystal tear sculpted in his eye every time he looks at Sungjong with his rainbow smiles and bright red kites that fly away under pristine oceans. Sungyeol doesn’t believe in forever and he shall never will but Myungsoo keeps on pushing (keeps on bringing him over the edge with every calculated touch and press of lips and Sungyeol’s mind screams boring, boring) and so he doesn’t stop glancing at fading photographs with shiny cores and torn apart edges that tell the tales of what could have been and should have not happened.
The inked words slide across the pages like veins- clear and visible and so, so temping under that transparent veil. It takes just a press- too hard and fast and filled with desperation- and everything’s going to slide over his fingers and color his nails with the deepest shades of that one sunset- the one that’s unforgettable but still gets erased by unneeded exams and every day troubles.
Howon looks at Sungjong and there’s adoration in his eyes.
Sungjong’s supposed to be happy- but he’s not.
Sungyeol has already learned to see behind his sugary smiles. Smiles that melt and freeze and don’t change until something manages to break them apart (Sungyeol looks at Sungjong’s soul and there are pieces of happiness scattered around everywhere. Though you have to be observant enough to notice their sharp edges and the way they cut into thin flesh.)
“This is true. This could have been real- and now it is.”
Myungsoo’s magic speaks in hushed tones and repeats itself like an old and broken gramophone record. Sungyeol lets himself get hypnotized and lulled because really- he’s always been a lover of the past. Though he has to remind himself that Sungjong and Howon and Myungsoo- they’re the present, they’re now and he doesn’t have the right to…
“You’re thinking too much.”
And in the end it takes just a simple kiss.
(Or not so simple really- Sungyeol loves innovations too- especially French kissing because God it was just made for Myungsoo and his tongue that always finds its way a little bit too deep in Sungyeol’s throat.)
‡‡‡They break up one summer day when there’s sunlight sliding across the boulevard and the taste of ice-tea lingers in their mouths like a painful reminder that things don’t stay the same for long.
Sungyeol somehow had always expected more- more time and more drama and a little bit more heartbreak but he finds himself almost immobile as Sungjong’s glassy eyes slide over to their cups and Howon’s half-way out of the door with coffee stains on his white shirt and betrayal stinging his eyes.
Myungsoo just smiles and wraps his arms over a pair of fragile shoulders.
That day Sungyeol leaves and doesn’t come back. There’s a book under his shoulder and a smile on his face. Only the rolled up paycheck and his numbed feelings remain on that small table.
Soon everything’s forgotten. Life moves on, love stays behind.
‡‡‡He finds him again, later.
Myungsoo’s grave is beautiful and non-existent because he has broken a rule too many and Sungyeol tries feeling hurt- he really does but it’s been 1/3rd of forever since he left The Prince on his throne.
They’re mortal- Sungyeol knows that well enough even as he himself feels the blood flowing through his body (and every day there’s just an intake of oxygen too less and the pumping of his heart is slowing down thump-thump and slowly breaking him apart from the inside).
Myungsoo was younger but on the other hand Myungsoo was hated (and loved) much more- and Sungyeol stares at the reflections behind the yellowing glass of that antique shop and- oh yes of course.
“You will forever keep on being reborn in this world- at the beginning as a mortal but don’t forget that you’ll have to take this path again.”
Sungyeol can’t wait to meet him again. And maybe this time instead of pocket-knives and broken goodbyes his beginning will be made from high-school loves and gazes that tell- “you’re the most beautiful in the world.”