(no subject)
Title: Obscuration (or, The Fine Art Of Seeing) 1/3
Pairings: Myungsoo/Sungjong, onesided!Hoya/Sungjong & Myungsoo/Sungyeol, Hoya/Dongwoo
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: implied drug abuse, OOC
W/c: 25k
Summary: Sungjong sees too much yet knows too little, and Myungsoo’s a living, breathing manga character. It’s a mess of unwanted feelings, decisions and illegal substances but at least they get a happy ending.
---
Have you ever wondered what to do if you encountered a clone of yourself in the narrow darkness of a one-way street, on your way home from a failed house party, stumbling on a carton of spoilt chinese take-out?
Would you lift your hand in greeting, or flee with terror boiling in your veins?
What if you saw yourself jumping in front of a speeding red Volkswagen after your first heartbreak at the age of fourteen when your mother left you behind? What if you witnessed the nauseating twist and snap of your very own body?
Lee Sungjong had never considered such a strange phenomenon. There was no need for him to, as it was more of an everyday occurrence than an impossible idea to him.
When Sungjong turned five, he saw himself running after the man he once called his father. His ‘other self’ was in the exact same outfit he wore at the time and his father, suddenly just as transparent as Sungjong’s so-called clone, allowed him to get into the car. A see-through version of his mother barged out of the house, her face contorted into an expression of hopeless despair, but it was too late. The man had backed out of the driveway and reached the street, driving off to god-knew-where. Sungjong’s mother had crumbled to her knees on the front porch.
Then Sungjong blinked and let the delicate lace curtains fall back into place. He was still in the living room and his very solid mother was working on dinner in their cosy little kitchen, furiously chopping up a couple of carrots.
Sungjong’s father had left long ago and the real Sungjong was baffled rather than miserable.
“Did you hear that? Did you?” Sungjong’s mother asked hotly without looking up, referring to the man’s last words to them, “He wanted you. You could’ve gone with him to his new woman, new life. The old one isn’t good enough anymore, eh? His old woman isn’t good enough, the bitch.”
She added shallow lines to the wooden cutting board, barely missing her fingertips and a few pieces of carrot dropped to the floor. Sungjong’s two-year-old baby brother wailed in his crib.
“And why did you stay with this neurotic bitch of a woman, huh? Answer me. Sungjong, answer me. You heard your father. I know you heard him. You’re just like him, aren’t you?”
Sungjong was quite sure he was standing in one place, yet he saw another him, airy and delicate, walk towards his mother. The TV shone light right through the child’s midsection and Sungjong followed his movements curiously.
“You’re going to end up leaving me just the same. Aren’t you? A bitch, huh?”
His clone reached a comforting hand out for the woman, its light eyes sincerely worried, but its efforts weren’t appreciated. Sungjong winced as an arm, too pale to belong to his mother and yet unmistakably hers, slapped the boy hard enough to send him falling back.
For a moment, it looked like his mother had two heads - one of them was still focused on the food, brows furrowed and angry, the other was glaring down at the floor with tears clinging to her lashes.
Sungjong blinked and the vision vanished.
The woman by the table gave up on the food, ignoring her the presence of her children in favour of burying her face in her hands, shoulders trembling with each sob. Sungjong stared, slowly lowering himself to the ground and then simply sitting there in awe.
Moments later, his father burst through the kitchen door with silent apologies on his lips, but he faded into a spot on the parquet before even reaching Sungjong’s mother.
That marked the day when Sungjong began to see shadows.
-
A lone teenager loitered by the entrance of the public library on a lovely summer day, his face hidden from view by the hood of his lemon-coloured jacket. Sungjong was cheerfully humming the tune of “It’s Raining Men,” having recently seen a guy jumping off a seven-floor block of flats and then hovering just above the sidewalk as his real self hesitated.
The weather was perfect for hanging out at the beach or sipping on milkshakes in the park, and most kids Sungjong’s age did exactly that. Even his own shadow had slipped on some swimming trunks that very morning, but Sungjong refused to give in to temptation. The salty water wouldn’t be worth the headache-inducing blur of colours Sungjong had learned to associate with crowded places.
Plus there was only half a week left until school started again and Sungjong intended to spend as much of that time in the comfort of good fiction.
“You called, princess?”
And there he was, the only person in this world that managed to be later to a meeting than Sungjong - Lee Howon, more commonly known as Hoya, a well-built street dancer stock full of snark- and if you asked nicely, information.
“Hoya,” Sungjong acknowledged with a nod, sleepy eyes betraying his irritation. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
The man, Sungjong’s hyung by a few years, shrugged as they made their way into the building, each giving small sighs of satisfaction when the air-conditioned coolness caressed their faces.
“Hah. Had it been anyone else calling, I wouldn’t have even considered wasting precious practice time. Be grateful I showed up, princess,“ he taunted, grabbing Sungjong by the elbow, ”you know the season hasn’t ended yet. And fuck if I’d lose to that little shit - you’ve heard of him, right? A new kid on the block, goofy-ass dude but dances like a god, even I have to admit.”
Sungjong couldn’t care less, manoeuvring between the high shelves of books towards the tables on one side of the library. As they went, the younger pulled out two hardbacks in preparation for a long evening spent alone. He proceeded to examine them as they walked, completely uninterested in making small-talk.
“Though I’m still the better dancer, naturally. Aren’t I, princess?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Says the one that has never seen me dance.”
“Uh-uh.”
Seeking to seize the younger’s attention, Hoya took a few long strides before turning on his heel and walking backwards. The only thing he achieved was Sungjong clumsily stepping on the toe of his left sneaker.
“You should really come see me - I’m on a streak right now, haven’t lost a battle for over two weeks, I think. There are people actually betting on me,” he bragged, blocking Sungjong’s way with a proud smile. “They think I might win the whole thing.”
“Yeah.”
Betting on Sungjong being distracted by the titles of the novels that had caught his fancy, Hoya pushed his luck, letting the teen pass before speaking. “... And you should come because you find me smoking hot, don’t you?”
“As if.”
“Aw.”
After he had studied the covers to his heart’s content, Sungjong’s gaze landed on a young girl that sat with her giggling group of friends, seemingly relaxed but her jaw tense. Suddenly, a shadow of hers jumped off the chair and stormed out of the room dramatically.
Sungjong shook the image off, passing the bunch. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
“You’re so mean, princess.”
Once he turned back to his companion, Hoya was mock-pouting at him and Sungjong faked a smile in response, taking a seat at the last table in the far corner of the library. It was a dark spot without a window that people rarely used, and that was exactly why Sungjong liked it.
“Admit it, you want me bad,” Hoya teased, sitting down across from him and resting his strong arms on the polished wood.
Blinking slowly and impassively, Sungjong played along. “Sure.”
“I knew it.”
In all honesty, Sungjong wasn’t too fond of the dancer. Hoya was useful, Sungjong could not deny that. But at one of the rare parties Sungjong had been to, the man’s shadow had been as drunk as Hoya himself. It had backed him into a living room wall, heatedly yet soundlessly demanding “why don’t you love me?” over and over again until Sungjong left.
It had been a relationship-altering event indeed, reassuring Sungjong that human beings weren’t meant to be understood and that he could never trust anyone not to change.
The Hoya before him turned serious - perhaps he was remembering the same incident, that opportunity of confessing he never used. Or maybe he was merely tired of the silence he knew Sungjong wouldn’t bother to break.
Whatever it was, Hoya cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Yes. Well, now that we have that clarified- so. To what do I owe this pleasure, princess?”
Even after the months that had passed since Sungjong became just a few degrees colder towards him, the brand of kindness Hoya had reserved only for the younger was laced with longing. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but to give Sungjong everything he had, agreeing with their eccentric “business deals” only as an excuse to hold on and stay close.
“Ah, I just wanted to see you,” Sungjong stated, his flat tone and straight face betraying the lie. Hoya didn’t believe it for a second, staring at teen before him dubiously.
Despite having personally taught Sungjong to play flirting games in hopes of some sort of development in their relationship, Hoya was done trying to break through the impenetrable icy barrier between them for the time being. Today wasn’t the day.
Hoya’s lips quirked into a wry smirk, “As much as I’d like to believe that - what do you want?”
Sungjong pursed his lips in thought. “Actually. I need some information.”
“I’m listening.”
Absentmindedly tracing the engraved letters on a book cover, Sungjong began slowly. “Well, there’s this guy. He goes to my school and he’s always wearing lots of black. I think he’s graduating this year. He plays guitar, I think. Do you know his name?”
There was a pregnant pause during which Hoya waited for him to elaborate. Sungjong didn’t, mostly because of the very reason he turned to Hoya - he knew next to nothing of the mysterious stranger. The older snorted disbelievingly, his arms flexing as he crossed them over his muscled chest.
“What? Are you serious? Is that all you have for me? You expect me to work with that little?”
“Well, can you?” Sungjong shot back defensively. “Wait, and he, uh, always goes to the Starbucks by the park gates after school. You should’ve seen him around.”
“Have you been following him around or something?”
Sungjong raised his brows, not deeming the question worthy of an answer.
“Why?” Hoya pressed, unable to stay calm at the unfairness of what Sungjong wanted from him. He could deal with the younger needing a fake ID, a ride to the next city at 4 am in the morning, blackmail on a hateful teacher. But this case was different. This was Lee Sungjong showing raw interest in someone, in a guy that wasn’t Hoya, after all the time he had spent running circles around the younger.
“Why him, Sungjong? Why that wannabe emo kid?”
“Ah, so you do know him - what’s his name?” Sungjong perked up, oblivious to Hoya’s torment.
“…You could just ask him yourself, you know?”
The jealous note in Hoya’s voice was easily detectable, but Sungjong’s curiosity allowed him to dismiss it without much thought. “The guy hardly speaks to anyone, let alone the resident freak, duh. So do you know him or not?”
“I might.”
Finally sensing his friend’s unwillingness to answer, Sungjong used his trump card. “Are you sure? Perhaps I should go offer my services to Kim Kibum instead? I’m sure he’d have no difficulty telling me something as simple as-”
Just like that, Hoya broke. He didn’t need Sungjong’s “services,” it was more that Hoya simply didn’t want Sungjong to get into worse trouble than he already was in.
“Stop. Fuck, can you not bring that up? What if someone-...?” Hoya looked around warily, but no one paid them any mind. Hoya closed his eyes and exhaled audibly to calm himself. “Ah, okay. Let’s see. His name is Kim Myungsoo, if I’m not mistaken. A senior this year. Likes his coffee black, just like everything else. Kind of obsessed with the color, I think. Prefers to be called “L”, a nickname way too short for someone with his name, if you ask me.”
Sungjong hummed impatiently, flicking stray locks of overgrown hair out of his eyes. “Go on.”
After a few seconds of stubborn silence, the dancer continued, albeit reluctantly.
“I... He plays in a band. Guitar. I hear they’re not half bad if you’re into that alternative bullshit. They’re at the Sphyre on Fridays. That’s all I know.”
Sungjong had a small victorious smile on his lips. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll pay you later. The usual?”
Checking the time on his scratched-up iphone and realizing that he had to make this short, Hoya offered Sungjong a bit of friendly advice. “I wouldn’t hang around out there, though, if I were you. It’d be better to catch him at school if you’re into him or something.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Sungjong shot back without even processing the warning. He was quite pleased with what he had heard, and finding it unnecessary to make an effort to be social for any longer, Sungjong opened the first book he had picked out - The Human Stain by Philip Roth.
Hoya heaved a sigh, watching the teen scan the page of contents and accepting the fact that he was about to be shut out completely.
“Just keep that in mind. And I’ll see you at Sooyoung’s this Friday, yeah? Bring it then, if you can. And the party will be crazy, trust me, everyone’s gonna be there- you better show up and you better stay.”
“Uh-uh, sure.”
He spared Sungjong one last meaningful look, as if he couldn’t foresee Sungjong ditching everything in favour of finding the guy that for some reason fascinated him. Sungjong mouthed the title to himself, Hoya’s presence irrelevant to him now that he’d gotten what he wanted.
“Well then. I think I’m going to go now,” Hoya left the statement hanging like a question.
The younger didn’t notice.
With a roll of his eyes, Hoya left, defeated. He was used to the treatment, yet occasionally he still wished Sungjong was more normal. And by normal he meant less introverted, less eccentric, less hollow, more approachable and more open. However, that was also what made Hoya hypocritical, as he liked his number being one of the few contacts saved in Sungjong’s cell phone.
Hardly aware that the man was no longer there and instead a transparent version was keeping him company as proof that Hoya didn’t want to leave, Sungjong flipped a few pages to reach the first chapter.
Much more than people, Sungjong liked quiet spaces and books, things that could never change their minds.
-
“I’m here to see Minjung.”
It was barely past two am. The city was mostly asleep, except for a few bums loitering around, teenagers out looking for trouble. Sungjong could be considered neither of those, standing in the lobby of a second-rate love hotel with fluorescent lights coaxing him to try out a room. He waited by the hot pink counter, worn sneakers leaving dusty tracks on the faded reddish carpet and busied himself with reading the same old posters with curled edges that promised an unforgettable night.
Even love hotels were usually tranquil at this time of night, save for a quick clean-up job here or there; the cheap extravagance of the place somehow allowed Sungjong to relax.
Minjung arrived just as Sungjong was squinting his eyes to read the list of provided luxuries- condoms, lube, nylon underwear, even plastic dildos if you had spare change.
“Already here for more, doll?” she asked mischievously, standing in the by the door her office and holding it open for Sungjong. For a woman her size, she had the unexpected ability to move totally noiselessly and her Arabic heritage was evident in the throaty way she pronounced her h’s and r’s, and how her brows always threatened to meet.
Sungjong nodded, accepting the invitation. “Needed a favour.”
“As usual.”
Done closing and locking the door after them, Minjung took a seat behind a giant desk taking up most of the space in the room. She gave her head a slight shake, torn between amusement and disapproval. Black curls cascaded over her strong shoulders with the movement.
“Oh, doll, you know, if it was for you, I’d have no trouble giving you with what you need but if you keep using it as-”
“You should be happy, I come to see you out of my own free will and I’m not a junkie,” Sungjong cut her off.
“I don’t think needing to buy drugs to bribe others classifies as your own free will.”
Sungjong shrugged as if to say that it was close enough. The topic no longer interested him as it was exhausted from their earlier discussions. He had something better he wanted to tell the woman. “I found someone interesting.”
Shaking her head once more for good measure, Minjung gave the screen perched on top of a stack of papers a couple of light slaps and it showed the empty lobby they had just left. Then she pressed a button and suddenly they could see one of the hallways, where a drunk man was sleeping on the floor, right next to an elevator.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
It was something she asked every time Sungjong was over, even though the answer was always no. From the time Sungjong first met her a number of years earlier, she was already smoking that brand of vanilla slims. Sungjong could only hope they tasted better than they stank.
“So,” she lit up the end of her cancer stick, taking a quick drag and tossing her lighter onto the mess of documents and notes before her, “a someone, huh?”
“Yeah. That’s what I need the stuff for this time - I got some information about him. And. Well.”
Minjung blew white puffs in the direction of the air vent above Sungjong’s head, fixing him with a curious gaze. “You bought the information? And just what makes this someone so interesting that you need to pay to get to know him? Are you going to get introduced or what.”
Sungjong flushed a lovely pink, a reaction people rarely brought out in him.
“No, he’s just… Different. Really. He’s a senior and he plays in a band. But. Like, once I saw him help an old lady across the street. And I mean the real him. And. He wanted to stand up for Minki. I can’t blame him for not doing that, though.”
Taking another drag, Minjung gestured for him to carry on.
“It’s strange, because I don’t think he’s selfless for the good of the world or anything but he tries to be all tough, wearing all black and talking rarely, using this low voice. But I see him wanting to speak. This one time he got upset and his shadow started screaming - it was very theatrical, kind of like in an anime, you know? It’s like he’s a living anime character. I just wish I could’ve heard what he wanted to say.”
“Sounds kind of two-dimensional,” Minjung commented dryly.
“Perhaps. But. I don’t even know, like, he seems so different from the others. Like he has a one-track mind. He doesn’t produce a lot of clones, you know? It’s like. He doesn’t need anything. He doesn’t need to pick.”
“Is there really such a person?”
“He’s interesting.”
Minjung made a face that expressed her disapproval, but there was no use in telling Sungjong to slow down. She had learned that long ago, that if Sungjong believed in something, it was borderline impossible to change his mind.
All she said was “Be careful, think it through, yeah?” though she knew even that was unnecessary. “If you keep coming to me for such dumb reasons, I will stop selling you drugs.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Try me, doll. This is the third time in a row you came because needed a fucking favour. Honestly. You need to-”
“Noona.”
“What do these kids even do with the amount you sell them?”
But she wasn’t serious because money was money and money was something Sungjong had and Minjung needed. Sungjong gave her the look - the one where he tilted his head to the side just slightly enough to seem demeaning - and she gave in with a sigh.
“… So tell me about your decisions this week, doll.”
It was an unspoken agreement of theirs, that if Sungjong needed to talk, he would find an excuse to come see Minjung. The woman had her share of skeletons hidden in the depths of her wardrobe, but had a kind heart. She had been Sungjong’s go-to person ever since he had been let out of the mental institution after being admitted because of hallucinations and possible schizophrenia.
It was a strange coincidence - Minjung had been on her way to pick up one of the kids that had worked for her, an unfortunate fucker that had developed a serious heroin addiction. She wasn’t sure what the guy was supposed to look like so when a teenager climbed into her car without a word, she assumed that was him.
The car ride that followed was one of the most bizarre happenings in Minjung’s life, and that was saying something, because, she had seen a lot.
Sungjong had developed a habit of lying; it had been his exit card from the hospital. The psychologists and therapists and psychiatrists and doctors - there were too many faces and names and titles to remember, all followed the same scheme: since physical exams, lab tests and magnetoencephalography showed no abnormalities in his brain activity and, according to the psychological evaluation and various methods, he reacted like a healthy person, Sungjong was sane.
He was too young for them to diagnose a psychotic syndrome or even visual schizophrenia so at one point, Sungjong couldn’t count the number of times people sat him down and talked to him as if he was a child, suggesting that he had some sort of unsatisfied need for attention.
That wasn’t the case.
In Minjung, who had no medical education or prejudices, Sungjong found a listener and possibly the first person who accepted his story without doubt. Perhaps it was because she had known more ludicrous things in her life.
“Well, I haven’t been doing much lately. But I did see a suicide scare a few days ago. The guy was seriously thinking about it, I reckon. His body was just hovering in air. It was quite funny. You know, those people, they never think about how they’d look if they hit the ground so their shadows just float around for a while.”
What Sungjong claimed to see were the shadows of decisions people left behind once they chose a course of action. If they had more than one possible ways of dealing with something, their “shadows” or “clones” acted out the other options, the ones the person did not pick in reality but often considered later - along the lines of “what would have happened if they had acted differently”.
That was exactly what Sungjong saw. For as long as a person wondered about it, their shadows existed and went around doing exactly what their solid, real parts had decided against.
“Did you… Tell anyone?”
“No, of course not. But it was funny, really.”
Tapping what was left of her cigarette on the edge of the ash tray, Minjung shook her head, a habit she had when pondering about a topic that troubled her. This was a conversation they’d already had, about the good Sungjong could do with his unique gift.
But the mental institution had left its mark, Sungjong refused to tell anyone else about what he witnessed.
“You could save a life, you know,” Minjung said nonchalantly, but her eyes were sharp.
“Or make it worse. You never know.”
Now looking at Sungjong with shameless pity, Minjung compared the teen’s pathetic appearance, his protruding bones and convenience store-bought clothes to his unwavering attitude. She saw Sungjong as a little brother, forever a lost child full of contrasts and morbid curiosity. “Not even seventeen, yet already so jaded.”
But it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help; it was more about how he had no actual proof that he had seen an angry looking woman on the street committing homicide. Nor did he know if the horrible things the shadows sometimes carried out were just momentary thoughts or actual plans people put off until later.
He saw the leftovers of the decisions, not the decisions themselves. And certainly not the future of the decisions themselves.
They had a quiet stare-off, Sungjong looking at his reflection in Minjung’s eyes and the woman trying to convey a message of hope through her eyes.
“How’s the business going, though?” Sungjong asked later, politely breaking the loaded silence.
Minjung leaned back, itching to press the issue some more but retreating for the night. So often she felt like she was walking on an edge with Sungjong but she never took the leap. He needed someone.
If he didn’t return to her shabby hotel, she could easily find another teenager to do her bidding. She had many pawns; humans were disposable and greedy by nature.
But Sungjong couldn’t afford losing a sanctuary.
She took a long drag. “You are the most troublesome kid I know, I swear. And that’s saying something.”
Sungjong smiled.
-
The following Friday night found Sungjong at Sooyoung’s lovely three-story house, just as he promised. The exchange took place with a practiced ease. Hoya had the right sum of money prepared - he got a discount as usual - and Sungjong had the weed. It was as simple as that.
And though Sungjong wasn’t really working for Minjung, it was convenient for the both of them - Sungjong got to worm into certain people’s lives, and Minjung’s market broadened.
Then Hoya wanted him to dance. The man tried steering him by the shoulders towards the drunken crowd he wanted to introduce Sungjong to but the younger had no intention of staying. With a fake identification card in his wallet, proving that he was a few years older, Sungjong had better places to be.
So he struggled out of Hoya’s hold, ignoring the calls after him, and pressed through the horde of sweaty bodies. He recognized some of them as his schoolmates but to his relief, they didn’t seem to notice that the “antisocial weirdo” from school was there.
It took Sungjong half an hour to catch a bus and be dropped off at a stop three blocks away from a small underground club called the Sphyre. He had never set foot inside the place, as it mainly attracted a different kind of crowd but tonight was going to be an exception and Sungjong braced himself for he mess of colours and smells.
He got through the doors easily, pulling his hood over his eyes and hunching his shoulders for a classical depressed teenager effect. After getting carded, Sungjong stuck close to some scene kids that looked uncharacteristically excited about a glossy poster with the list of acts stuck to one of the room’s rough stone walls.
Sungjong gave the names listed a one over as well, and then frowned. He had forgotten to ask Hoya for the name of the band he was there for.
Feeling stupid, he kept to the back of the club, making himself as small as possible to avoid the bunch of elbowing and toe-stepping teenagers crowding the entrance. With his simple ensemble of a plain grey jacket and jeans, he stood out like a moth among butterflies, the impossibly dyed hair styles and indescribably strange fashion choices making Lady Gaga’s stage outfits seem like regular office wear.
The lights went off just as he was counting the piercings on a lost-looking skinhead and they came back with the clumsy sound of musicians stumbling over the various wires connecting their instruments to amplifiers. Sungjong stood on his tiptoes to see over the puffed up mohawk of the girl standing in front of him but was disappointed not to find Kim Myungsoo among the first performers.
Filthy Flesh was the name of the group and in Sungjong’s honest opinion, they sucked. The rest of the audience didn’t agree, bopping their heads with ecstasy, hands up towards the sky. With every howling and quivering note of the electric guitar, the mass rocked back and forth like an oncoming-retreating wave in the low-ceiled room smelling of cheap beer, bodily fluids and dirt.
Sungjong tolerated the mix of screamo and metal for exactly seven minutes and then he gave up, heading back out of the cramped space for a breath of fresh air. He was planning to wait until the band had finished and then give the Sphyre another chance but luckily, there was no need for that.
Just as he stepped out onto the pavement, dodging the clouds of smoke blown by a group of self-declared society’s rejects, a car came to a halt a few houses down the road. At first, Sungjong thought nothing of it, shoving his freezing fingers into the candy wrapper laden pockets of his jeans and shutting out both the people near him and their shadows, which were occasionally shimmering about. Then, a back door was kicked open and the guitar case gently placed on the roadside was followed by a guy with jet black hair and a leather jacket.
Kim Myungsoo had arrived at the scene and the car sped off as he picked up his guitar, kohl-rimmed eyes wide at the sight of the people gathered under the neon sign.
A shadow emerged, shivery under the glare of streetlights and Sungjong observed with amusement as it stomped off in the other direction resolutely but vanished as Myungsoo crossed the street. The tank boots and fingerless gloves suited him a lot better than their simple ash-coloured school uniform, Sungjong noted while Myungsoo headed straight towards the security guard, keeping his head down. The two exchanged whispered sentences before the bulky man stepped aside and allowed Myungsoo to enter.
Before disappearing in the coaxing mouth of the club, Myungsoo allowed himself a cautious glance at the colourful crowd, some of them waiting in line, others standing in circles and sharing joints. His eyes slipped over Sungjong, but came back to rest on his face just as quickly with a flash of recognition. Sungjong raised his head, holding Myungsoo’s gaze.
The moment seemed to stretch but then the guard nudged Myungsoo as he was blocking the doorway. Sungjong ducked out of view, standing behind a large man with various death-themed tattoos adorning his upper arms and then Myungsoo was gone, a transparent version of him walking his way before melting into the night.
Sungjong contemplated about going back inside but decided against it. He turned away, stalking up towards the bus stop with a good night’s sleep in his mind, not needing to look back to know that his shadow was pushing back through the people.
This was enough, for now.
-
On Tuesday evening Sungjong was at the library, in his regular spot, busying himself with Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis”. He had skipped the meeting with his therapist for no reason at all other than that he didn’t feel like talking and thus, he had nothing better to do but to read about a man who had turned into a dung beetle.
It was nice, even the slow scuffling of library visitors some meters away didn’t bother Sungjong, nor did the stormy clouds sending pearly raindrops tap-tap-tapping on the windows by the other tables.
There weren’t many people around so he tried to savour the warm glow of the reading lamp, the smell of dust and the lack of see-through figures. A librarian smiled in his direction, knowing he wouldn’t like to be disturbed, and Sungjong nodded in response. They were all used to him sitting there, in the corner, blissfully by himself, since it was his only escape from the blinding world outside, from his cold empty apartment.
His phone was placed next to his book on the table, as if he was waiting for a call. And perhaps Sungjong was - he hadn’t heard from his mother for six days.
Then the rare peace was disrupted by the thud of a door being closed with too much force. After that came the slightly nasal titters of a teenage girl, a guy’s voice loudly telling the punchline of a joke. They were immediately shushed and Sungjong dove back into his book. He didn’t look up until he heard footsteps nearing the row of tables, and when he did, he was met by a surprise.
The group of high-schoolers he had already nicknamed “noisy fuckers” in his head consisted of two guys and a girl, all at least a year older than him. This wasn’t what caught him off guard, though - it was Kim Myungsoo, the Kim Myungsoo, courteously pulling out a chair for his female friend only two tables away.
Myungsoo looked around searchingly and Sungjong tried to focus on the story. The paragraphs blurred, though, as he strained his ears to hear the conversation unfurling itself between the seniors.
“I can’t believe you brought us to a library, out of all places,” the girl whined half-heartedly.
“Well, I can’t believe I got stood up,” a voice Sungjong soon learned to associate with Myungsoo answered with a sigh. The other two laughed.
“I can’t believe my best friend is tagging along on my date-”
“You should be honoured that I’m not letting you fuck this up, shitface.”
“Hey, hey. Not in front of my girl!”
“Guys-”
“As if she doesn’t already know what a loser you are, Yeol.”
“Wait a sec, remind me who just got ditched here. Oh, right - it was you. Who’s the loser here?”
“Ooh, burn, Myungie,” the girl laughed.
At that point, Sungjong was mildly disappointed. It occurred to him now, that he had never heard Myungsoo speak, had never seen him with his friends. And maybe he was wrong to assume that Myungsoo only thought and talked about Great Things, ideas with capital letters.
Still, Kafka couldn’t capture his full attention and after hearing a whole lot of friendly banter peppered with random curse words, Sungjong sneaked a peek at the object of his fascination.
Like the other two, Myungsoo was still wearing his school uniform and his hair was plastered to his face. He was sitting with shoulders hunched but arms stretched out in front of him and he seemed to be fighting with or for something. There was something tense in his posture, the way he chuckled spoke of fearful dread that made Sungjong feel sorry for him.
He had no clue why, though, until all of a sudden, three shadows exploded out of him all at once. Myungsoo was still grinning while the first of his shadows leaned over, grabbed his male friend by the lapels of his blazer and - oh - kissed him hard. The second one headed towards the manga section of the bookshelves grimly, the third one making a beeline for the exit.
Sungjong closed his book with a snap and blinked twice to get rid of the images. His fingers drew abstract shapes on the cover while he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. For some reason, he felt awfully ashamed for witnessing that.
Myungsoo hadn’t moved from his seat, but was sitting back, his hands clasped together as if he had to physically anchor himself in place. Sungjong couldn’t stop staring.
The couple Myungsoo had arrived with seemed miles away or in a different dimension altogether as they sat with their heads bent, naturally gravitating towards each other. The guy Myungsoo so desperately wanted in a rather romantic way had his back to Sungjong, he could only see that he had short hair and seemed to be taller than any of them. Narrowing his eyes, Sungjong could see that his ears were littered with metallic dots - piercings, and just as he made that discovery, a pair of sharp eyes drew him in and away from the tall senior.
To Sungjong’s relief, there wasn’t a single accusatory line on Myungsoo’s face, he could only find puzzlement and shock, some anguish. Then Myungsoo glanced back to his friends and a helpless look crossed his features, soon morphing into hope.
He could see the rushed words on Myungsoo’s lips - “Hey, I think I saw someone I know. I’m just gonna go say hi.”
The two gave him distracted nods and “yeah’s” and Myungsoo’s chair scraped against the stone floor. He headed straight for Sungjong’s table and even though the walk felt like it lasted for centuries, in reality it took Myungsoo about six seconds.
“Hi.”
Never had he guessed Myungsoo would be the first to talk to him.
“Hi,” Sungjong answered, putting all his bewilderment into the single syllable.
“Would you mind if I sat with you for a while? My friends look like they could use some privacy since they’re on a date and all.”
Sungjong shook his head quickly and Myungsoo took a seat across from him. The younger was pleased to notice that Myungsoo looked somehow less strung up now, his smile barely there but more sincere.
“I got stood up today,” Myungsoo said after a moment of awkward silence. It was probably meant as a conversation starter and would have worked with anyone except for Sungjong, who dumbly replied with a “huh.”
“Ah. Sorry, am I bothering you?” Myungsoo asked then, shooting an unsure look at the book Sungjong was cradling in his hands.
“… No.”
Myungsoo’s lifted his brows ever so slightly, folding his arms on the table. He gave it one more try. “He dies in the end, did you know?”
Not really comprehending who Myungsoo was talking about, Sungjong had half a mind to deadpan that everyone dies in the end. He didn’t, though, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat and Myungsoo pointed to the book.
“The main character. He dies.”
That somewhat helped Sungjong regain his ability to speak.
“He dies?” the younger asked to confirm, frowning down on the hardcover of Kafka’s famous tale. “He won’t turn back?”
Myungsoo grinned at him, his handsome face rapidly infiltrating Sungjong’s personal space as he scooted closer, “Kafka doesn’t work like that, sadly - he kills off his main character, and leaves no explanation why the guy turned into a bug-”
“A dung beetle.”
“- yeah, that, and he just makes you figure it all out by yourself. If you can. That’s Kafka for you.”
“I think I’ll just google it.”
“Well, yeah, or you could do that,” Myungsoo laughed, with dimples and everything, turning his whole body so he could indiscreetly keep an eye on his friends. “My name is Myungsoo, by the way, I think we go to the same school?”
“Yeah, we do. I’m Lee Sungjong.”
The guy, Myungsoo’s friend, looked over his shoulder in alarm before grimacing and turning back to his girlfriend. Myungsoo’s eyes widened by a fraction, a hint of some indefinable emotion lighting up his features. He was unnervingly handsome up close and just to keep his hands and eyes busy, Sungjong re-opened the book at the page where he’d left it off.
“Sungjong, huh? It’s a nice name.”
Having nothing to say to that, Sungjong stayed silent. It was uncomfortable, this silence, but at least on Sungjong’s side, it was uncomfortable in an exciting way.
“I’ve heard about you,” Myungsoo said then, with a clever smirk, eyes on a cart full of books right by the closest bookshelf. “Lee Sungjong. There are loads of rumours going around, did you know?”
While this wasn’t a subject Sungjong would particularly want to discuss with Myungsoo, he found himself smiling tentatively. “... I. I can’t say that I really care about such things.”
“You should.” Myungsoo was grinning again, leaning forward as if sharing a secret.
“Why is that?”
“Because. People think the most ridiculous things of you, to be honest. Uh, Kim Kibum, for example, says that you spent a few years in juvie and became a drug baron there.”
That earned a disbelieving snort from Sungjong. Kibum, as fabulous and all-knowing as he thought he was, had never said a single word to Sungjong. As for him being a middleman in some small-scale drug affairs, that was something only selected few knew of.
“Well, actually…” Sungjong drifted off, gazing into the distance thoughtfully.
“Really?”
“No.”
Sungjong snorted lightly at Myungsoo’s mock-disappointed expression, The Metamorphosis lying on the table, forgotten.
“So.” Myungsoo rested his chin on a closed fist, peering at Sungjong as if trying to see through him, “how did the infamous Lee Sungjong - are you sure you’re not in the mafia or something? No, don’t answer that - wind up at the Sphyre last Friday night? That didn’t really seem like your scene.”
“It didn’t seem like yours either.”
Myungsoo barked a laugh. It was a sound Sungjong wouldn’t mind getting used to. “You’d be surprised.”
“I already was. Didn’t expect to find any familiar faces there,” Sungjong lied through his teeth. He was a horrible liar and he knew it so he altered the topic before Myungsoo could catch on.
“Uh - you play in a band, though?”
“Guitar. Yeah. You didn’t see us there?” Myungsoo looked caught between eagerness and indignation, then settling on contentment. “That’s probably a good thing, though, in my opinion we kind of suck.”
Sungjong gave his best shot at cheering him up, “Probably not as bad as Fleshy Filth.”
“Filthy Flesh,” Myungsoo corrected him with a smirk. “And you just betrayed yourself - they’re actually really popular right now. I can only dream about being as big as them one day.”
“Good luck with that.”
“No, really. But if you weren’t there for Filthy Flesh, what were you doing, hanging out with that crowd? Just out of curiosity.”
Stubbornness spiked up in Sungjong, feeding on the memories of being told what to do with gentle disapproval and forced smiles. “Because... Why not,” was all he said, feeling like his right to hang out wherever he wanted was challenged.
“No, seriously, I don’t think you’re the type to-”
“You’d be surprised,” Sungjong snapped, throwing Myungsoo’s own words back against him.
Myungsoo didn’t let up that easily, finding the situation and Sungjong’s thorniness amusing. “Well. I’ve never seen you around there before, though, and we’re there almost every Friday.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked well enough.”
There was a lull in their conversation and a pout on Sungjong’s lips. Then, Myungsoo’s friend called out to him, saying that the rain had stopped and they should better get a move on if they want to make it in time. Myungsoo looked like he wasn’t quite finished with Sungjong, but followed the couple out of the library nonetheless after a quick wave and an unexplained “thanks, Sungjong”.
Sungjong slumped into his chair as soon as Myungsoo was out of view, a fading version of the senior now occupying his seat.
-
Their second conversation took place in the noisy cafeteria of their school, in front of dozens of people that couldn’t care less about the two misfits. It was unexpected, at least on Sungjong’s side, since while he wasn’t the best at understanding social cues, he knew that Myungsoo had indulged him in a friendly chat only out of convenience.
It began with Myungsoo approaching the table for four shoved up by the tray rack. He figured it was rather predictable of Sungjong to be sitting at a table most people avoided - the loud clattering of trays adding to the strong smells of food and the flies it attracted really did get intolerable after a while.
Skipping the greeting process, Myungsoo dropped a piece of paper on the scratched blue plastic of the table. He watched Sungjong frown at it, then look up, eyes widening comically before he finally tore out the earphones that made him deaf to the world.
“What do you want?” was the first thing clumsily tumbling out of Sungjong’s mouth, betraying his confusion. He realized how rude that must’ve sounded after a heartbeat and added a quick “Hi.”
“Hi, Sungjong,” Myungsoo answered kindly.
Some girl obnoxiously chewing on bubble gum brushed past Myungsoo and for a moment they were silent, Myungsoo looking at Sungjong and Sungjong looking everywhere else.
“So… What do you want?”
There were breadcrumbs, used napkins and candy wrappers on his tray and Sungjong figured that he probably seemed like a very messy person. A pair of transparent hands made a move to hide the trash from Myungsoo’s view while the real him felt dumb for even considering it.
“Well. That was all,” Myungsoo snatched up the piece of paper, smoothing it out and handing it to Sungjong properly. “It’s a ticket. To, uh, a concert. It’s nothing special, but my band is performing and I got an extra ticket, yeah-and I was just wondering that you never even heard us that night.”
Sungjong gave it a moment of thought before nodding slowly, examining his first gift from Myungsoo.
“It’s not at the Sphyre, though, we got a better gig at Brandy’s. Like, as you can see, we even have tickets this time. It’s not a big deal but. You said you liked that kind of music so I was just thinking maybe you would like to-”
“I’ll go,” Sungjong cut in swiftly, not giving Myungsoo the chance to keep on rambling.
“Oh. Oh, good. I… I guess I’ll see you on Friday, then?” The relief in Myungsoo’s voice and expression was obvious; it was almost as if he’d been working up his nerve just to talk to Sungjong.
“Wait, one question, though.”
“Yes?” Myungsoo seemed anxious to leave, now that he’d gotten Sungjong’s agreement.
Sungjong stared at the ticket intently, trying to read between the small printed lines and find a hint that this might all be a joke, a lie. There were none, it was nothing but a pass to the concert and the backstage area.
“What’s the name of your band?”
Myungsoo laughed at the unexpectedness of it, then bending over towards Sungjong to whisper a word so quietly that it could hardly be heard over all the racket.
“Infinite.” He straightened his back with an affectionate smile, “Because we want it to last forever.”
“Ah,” was the best Sungjong could manage to that, lowering his eyes to the linoleum floor. For a brief second, he tried to imagine how it might feel like to have friends to care for, something non-materialistic he wouldn’t want to lose.
It didn’t seem possible.
“... Is that all?” Sungjong asked when Myungsoo seemed content with wordlessly standing in everyone’s way and looking down at him.
Myungsoo smiled and once more, Sungjong was caught off guard how handsome he actually was. “For now, yes.”
Nodding slowly, the younger reached out for a piece of candy, unnerved by the eyes still trained on his face. A transparent hand hovered above his while he crumpled the wrapper but it disappeared without Sungjong reading its’ intentions.
A sturdy footballer all but collided into Myungsoo and the upperclassman staggered on his feet. “See you later,” Myungsoo muttered and by the time Sungjong lifted his head, he had blended into the mass of solid and airy figures.
Now that he thought about it, Myungsoo only had a single shadow during their little exchange. It seemed a little odd to Sungjong, but it was a pleasant change from the people often bursting and vibrating with pale colours.
He was still wondering about that, struggling to untangle the wires of his earbuds that had somehow ended up in a bundle, when a light clone of Hoya stormed up to him, mouth opening to form demands and pleads, eyes uncharacteristically stern. The real Hoya was on the other side of the cafeteria, surrounded by his friends and stabbing his lunch moodily, seemingly not even paying Sungjong any attention.
Blinking, Sungjong didn’t let himself dwell on that for too long, instead chomping down on his last piece of lemon candy.
-
There was a reason why Sungjong was so fond of solitude - he couldn’t help but to see the bad in people. Human beings, as Sungjong knew very well, often liked to allow themselves the pleasure of picturing committing horrible deeds, playing with the ideas of what they’d be able to do if they only wanted to. What they were rarely aware of was that with each of such occurrences, there was a decision, ordinarily a choice between carrying their imagined actions out or not. And in most cases, they chose not to punch the person that annoyed them, not to push their crying child into an ice cream cooler at the supermarket, not to stab that irritatingly dissatisfied customer with a pen at the bank.
But that was exactly what Sungjong saw them do. That was why he was stripped of any faith he once had in humanity.
Even the most virtuous occasionally gave their thoughts the opportunity to run free; meaning, that in Sungjong’s eyes, even the best of us were capable of murder.
If anything, it all made Sungjong bitter. Especially since he could never see the other options, the background or the reasoning, he only witnessed the nasty outcome. Sure, the shadows could be kind, but that made it all worse in Sungjong’s opinion. That left him worrying about why the nice act he saw was a rejected possibility.
Like at that moment, half an hour after arriving at Brandy’s.
A girl with long hair twisted into two auburn buns stumbled on a chair leg. She fell on her hands and knees with a yelp, quickly trying to scramble to her feet but finding it impossible with a thick wall of people surrounding her. Dozens of shadows appeared, lending her a pale hand, but in reality, she had no choice but to use the chair that tripped her as support, an embarrassed blush staining her cheeks.
Sungjong sighed, remembering a time when he was all too bothered by such incidents, a time when he wanted to use his curse (some called it a gift) to make a change.
That was before he understood that no one would ever take him seriously.
He was on the left side of the mosh pit, a metre or two from the leather bar stools and empty whiskey glasses on the bar, his fake ID safely in his back pocket. The first band had just finished, leaving Sungjong completely indifferent and bored. By the time the lights dimmed and curtains closed, Sungjong had planned out everything he was going to say to Minjung later that evening and listed down all the things he needed to buy from the grocery store on the following day, even guessing the total price or his future purchases to keep himself entertained.
Then he closed his eyes and listened to the crowd, thankful that the shadows weren’t able to speak.
A stocky girl named Hyosoon, according to her friend that tried to calm her down, was hyperventilating about seeing the very band Sungjong was there for and he was impressed to gather that they actually had a small following of fans.
Strobe lights shot through the audience, momentarily blinding Sungjong and confirming that the crowd here consisted of a less colourful array of people - there were university students holding large plastic cups of beer, high school girls too young to be there legally, a group that could only be labelled as hipsters and some kids much like Sungjong that didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.
The air wasn’t as stale and murky as it was in the Sphyre and overall, Sungjong was pleased with the place, even though the prices were higher.
And soon enough the reason for Sungjong’s presence there showed itself, starting with a drum roll.
The band consisted of four teenagers, all about Myungsoo’s age and all sporting similar black-denim-and-leather outfits and smudged eyeliner. A white sideways eight was sloppily painted on the drum kit and while their appearance in general was very amateurish, there was a certain punkish charm to it.
Without any introduction, the first song started and Myungsoo exchanged glances with his bandmates before the singer belted out a single long high note. The drummer soon built up a rhythm and was joined by the bass, Myungsoo being the last to start playing.
“I knew I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said loudly as a body slid up to Sungjong with the kind of grace that comes from years of semi-professional dancing.
Sungjong hid his surprise expertly. “Hoya,” he acknowledged without emotion, keeping his eyes fixed on Myungsoo’s hands, now masterfully strumming the guitar strings in time with the beat.
“So you actually talked to him, huh?”
“He talked to me.”
Hoya was standing too close for comfort, a heavy hand casually placed on Sungjong’s lower back, his breath hot and moist on Sungjong’s cheek. “Well, princess, isn’t that just wonderful,” the older said sarcastically and too loudly, a bite in his voice that Sungjong wasn’t used to hearing there. “Sorry to be crashing in on your date, in that case.”
The vocalist bent forward dramatically, singing about heartbreak and pain and stupidity. While it wasn’t the kind of music Sungjong listened to, he appreciated the fact that he could understand the lyrics - Infinite didn’t use that screaming tactic many punk/metal bands had adopted.
“Huh.”
“So... How far have you gotten with him? No, actually I don’t want to know. To be honest, I really didn’t expect you to move so fast.”
“Fast?” Sungjong muttered absently, slowly trying to disentangle himself from Hoya’s half-embrace without having to tear his eyes from the performers.
“Two weeks ago you didn’t even know his name, did you?”
There was an edge to Hoya’s tone, softening at the end with something Sungjong couldn’t really define, even if he bothered to try. Sungjong nodded noncommittally, not caring about the conversation any longer.
“You looked awfully intimate when he-”
“Shh.”
The singer fell to his knees and Myungsoo chose that moment to scan the crowd with a hooded gaze. Sungjong’s lips parted with awe and Hoya’s resolve to stay as close as he was allowed, shattered.
In frustration, he pulled his oblivious friend closer by the waist, briefly pressing his lips to the younger’s ear in a demonstration of blatant possessiveness. “Why him, huh?”
Sungjong flinched, twisting to look at Hoya for the first time since the man’s arrival. “What are you-”
“Do you even know what you’re doing? He’s not a-… He’s a weird kid, really. You shouldn’t- honestly, Sungjong…” Hoya whispered hotly, letting the swaying crowd push him further into Sungjong. Their noses brushed and there was a bead of sweat on the dancer’s temple.
“Sungjong, please. Just think this through.”
“What?”
“I was the one that found you first, wasn’t I?”
Sungjong frowned, realizing their rather intimate position. „Stop it.”
“No, not yet. Wait. Let me. I just- I need to give it one last try. Only one,” Hoya said tensely, begging and demanding at the same time, all while refusing to let Sungjong put distance between them.
“I can’t just let you go like this. Once, please.”
In the darkness, Sungjong couldn’t be sure if it was Hoya’s shadow or the man himself leaning closer, a raw need in his knitted brows, the edges of his mouth. The situation was startlingly familiar, only this time the man was sober.
“No,” Sungjong protested, turning his head away with hands on Hoya’s chest, uselessly trying to shove the guy away.
“No! Stop. Stop it, Hoya. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ghostly hands tried to fix him in place but a few glares from the people around them and Hoya gave in, loosening hold enough for Sungjong to slip out of his arms.
“Hoya?”
“... Fair enough, I get it.” the man said through gritted teeth, drawing back with the fists at his sides clenching and unclenching.
“What.”
“That’s fair enough,” Hoya reassured himself once more after the last notes of the first song rang. “It’s okay, princess. No, really. Yeah.” he told Sungjong.
But it wasn’t, a shadow escaped Hoya’s broad frame and grabbed Sungjong by the shoulders, lips forming inaudible words too quickly for Sungjong to catch any. The real Hoya stared at him miserably and since he seemed to have snapped out of whatever madness had overcome him, Sungjong turned back to the band. As usual, he missed the flash of anger hardening Hoya’s features, then simmering into a look of utter despair.
Hoya sucked in a deep breath, “I guess that’s it.”
When Sungjong glanced back during the chorus of the second song, there was an empty spot next to him and Hoya’s purple patterned snap back was moving through the pit towards the door. He wondered briefly what it was Hoya had been there for, since he didn’t seem interested in any of the bands, but dropped the issue as soon as it entered his mind.
Part 2/3
Pairings: Myungsoo/Sungjong, onesided!Hoya/Sungjong & Myungsoo/Sungyeol, Hoya/Dongwoo
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: implied drug abuse, OOC
W/c: 25k
Summary: Sungjong sees too much yet knows too little, and Myungsoo’s a living, breathing manga character. It’s a mess of unwanted feelings, decisions and illegal substances but at least they get a happy ending.
---
Have you ever wondered what to do if you encountered a clone of yourself in the narrow darkness of a one-way street, on your way home from a failed house party, stumbling on a carton of spoilt chinese take-out?
Would you lift your hand in greeting, or flee with terror boiling in your veins?
What if you saw yourself jumping in front of a speeding red Volkswagen after your first heartbreak at the age of fourteen when your mother left you behind? What if you witnessed the nauseating twist and snap of your very own body?
Lee Sungjong had never considered such a strange phenomenon. There was no need for him to, as it was more of an everyday occurrence than an impossible idea to him.
When Sungjong turned five, he saw himself running after the man he once called his father. His ‘other self’ was in the exact same outfit he wore at the time and his father, suddenly just as transparent as Sungjong’s so-called clone, allowed him to get into the car. A see-through version of his mother barged out of the house, her face contorted into an expression of hopeless despair, but it was too late. The man had backed out of the driveway and reached the street, driving off to god-knew-where. Sungjong’s mother had crumbled to her knees on the front porch.
Then Sungjong blinked and let the delicate lace curtains fall back into place. He was still in the living room and his very solid mother was working on dinner in their cosy little kitchen, furiously chopping up a couple of carrots.
Sungjong’s father had left long ago and the real Sungjong was baffled rather than miserable.
“Did you hear that? Did you?” Sungjong’s mother asked hotly without looking up, referring to the man’s last words to them, “He wanted you. You could’ve gone with him to his new woman, new life. The old one isn’t good enough anymore, eh? His old woman isn’t good enough, the bitch.”
She added shallow lines to the wooden cutting board, barely missing her fingertips and a few pieces of carrot dropped to the floor. Sungjong’s two-year-old baby brother wailed in his crib.
“And why did you stay with this neurotic bitch of a woman, huh? Answer me. Sungjong, answer me. You heard your father. I know you heard him. You’re just like him, aren’t you?”
Sungjong was quite sure he was standing in one place, yet he saw another him, airy and delicate, walk towards his mother. The TV shone light right through the child’s midsection and Sungjong followed his movements curiously.
“You’re going to end up leaving me just the same. Aren’t you? A bitch, huh?”
His clone reached a comforting hand out for the woman, its light eyes sincerely worried, but its efforts weren’t appreciated. Sungjong winced as an arm, too pale to belong to his mother and yet unmistakably hers, slapped the boy hard enough to send him falling back.
For a moment, it looked like his mother had two heads - one of them was still focused on the food, brows furrowed and angry, the other was glaring down at the floor with tears clinging to her lashes.
Sungjong blinked and the vision vanished.
The woman by the table gave up on the food, ignoring her the presence of her children in favour of burying her face in her hands, shoulders trembling with each sob. Sungjong stared, slowly lowering himself to the ground and then simply sitting there in awe.
Moments later, his father burst through the kitchen door with silent apologies on his lips, but he faded into a spot on the parquet before even reaching Sungjong’s mother.
That marked the day when Sungjong began to see shadows.
-
A lone teenager loitered by the entrance of the public library on a lovely summer day, his face hidden from view by the hood of his lemon-coloured jacket. Sungjong was cheerfully humming the tune of “It’s Raining Men,” having recently seen a guy jumping off a seven-floor block of flats and then hovering just above the sidewalk as his real self hesitated.
The weather was perfect for hanging out at the beach or sipping on milkshakes in the park, and most kids Sungjong’s age did exactly that. Even his own shadow had slipped on some swimming trunks that very morning, but Sungjong refused to give in to temptation. The salty water wouldn’t be worth the headache-inducing blur of colours Sungjong had learned to associate with crowded places.
Plus there was only half a week left until school started again and Sungjong intended to spend as much of that time in the comfort of good fiction.
“You called, princess?”
And there he was, the only person in this world that managed to be later to a meeting than Sungjong - Lee Howon, more commonly known as Hoya, a well-built street dancer stock full of snark- and if you asked nicely, information.
“Hoya,” Sungjong acknowledged with a nod, sleepy eyes betraying his irritation. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
The man, Sungjong’s hyung by a few years, shrugged as they made their way into the building, each giving small sighs of satisfaction when the air-conditioned coolness caressed their faces.
“Hah. Had it been anyone else calling, I wouldn’t have even considered wasting precious practice time. Be grateful I showed up, princess,“ he taunted, grabbing Sungjong by the elbow, ”you know the season hasn’t ended yet. And fuck if I’d lose to that little shit - you’ve heard of him, right? A new kid on the block, goofy-ass dude but dances like a god, even I have to admit.”
Sungjong couldn’t care less, manoeuvring between the high shelves of books towards the tables on one side of the library. As they went, the younger pulled out two hardbacks in preparation for a long evening spent alone. He proceeded to examine them as they walked, completely uninterested in making small-talk.
“Though I’m still the better dancer, naturally. Aren’t I, princess?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Says the one that has never seen me dance.”
“Uh-uh.”
Seeking to seize the younger’s attention, Hoya took a few long strides before turning on his heel and walking backwards. The only thing he achieved was Sungjong clumsily stepping on the toe of his left sneaker.
“You should really come see me - I’m on a streak right now, haven’t lost a battle for over two weeks, I think. There are people actually betting on me,” he bragged, blocking Sungjong’s way with a proud smile. “They think I might win the whole thing.”
“Yeah.”
Betting on Sungjong being distracted by the titles of the novels that had caught his fancy, Hoya pushed his luck, letting the teen pass before speaking. “... And you should come because you find me smoking hot, don’t you?”
“As if.”
“Aw.”
After he had studied the covers to his heart’s content, Sungjong’s gaze landed on a young girl that sat with her giggling group of friends, seemingly relaxed but her jaw tense. Suddenly, a shadow of hers jumped off the chair and stormed out of the room dramatically.
Sungjong shook the image off, passing the bunch. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
“You’re so mean, princess.”
Once he turned back to his companion, Hoya was mock-pouting at him and Sungjong faked a smile in response, taking a seat at the last table in the far corner of the library. It was a dark spot without a window that people rarely used, and that was exactly why Sungjong liked it.
“Admit it, you want me bad,” Hoya teased, sitting down across from him and resting his strong arms on the polished wood.
Blinking slowly and impassively, Sungjong played along. “Sure.”
“I knew it.”
In all honesty, Sungjong wasn’t too fond of the dancer. Hoya was useful, Sungjong could not deny that. But at one of the rare parties Sungjong had been to, the man’s shadow had been as drunk as Hoya himself. It had backed him into a living room wall, heatedly yet soundlessly demanding “why don’t you love me?” over and over again until Sungjong left.
It had been a relationship-altering event indeed, reassuring Sungjong that human beings weren’t meant to be understood and that he could never trust anyone not to change.
The Hoya before him turned serious - perhaps he was remembering the same incident, that opportunity of confessing he never used. Or maybe he was merely tired of the silence he knew Sungjong wouldn’t bother to break.
Whatever it was, Hoya cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Yes. Well, now that we have that clarified- so. To what do I owe this pleasure, princess?”
Even after the months that had passed since Sungjong became just a few degrees colder towards him, the brand of kindness Hoya had reserved only for the younger was laced with longing. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but to give Sungjong everything he had, agreeing with their eccentric “business deals” only as an excuse to hold on and stay close.
“Ah, I just wanted to see you,” Sungjong stated, his flat tone and straight face betraying the lie. Hoya didn’t believe it for a second, staring at teen before him dubiously.
Despite having personally taught Sungjong to play flirting games in hopes of some sort of development in their relationship, Hoya was done trying to break through the impenetrable icy barrier between them for the time being. Today wasn’t the day.
Hoya’s lips quirked into a wry smirk, “As much as I’d like to believe that - what do you want?”
Sungjong pursed his lips in thought. “Actually. I need some information.”
“I’m listening.”
Absentmindedly tracing the engraved letters on a book cover, Sungjong began slowly. “Well, there’s this guy. He goes to my school and he’s always wearing lots of black. I think he’s graduating this year. He plays guitar, I think. Do you know his name?”
There was a pregnant pause during which Hoya waited for him to elaborate. Sungjong didn’t, mostly because of the very reason he turned to Hoya - he knew next to nothing of the mysterious stranger. The older snorted disbelievingly, his arms flexing as he crossed them over his muscled chest.
“What? Are you serious? Is that all you have for me? You expect me to work with that little?”
“Well, can you?” Sungjong shot back defensively. “Wait, and he, uh, always goes to the Starbucks by the park gates after school. You should’ve seen him around.”
“Have you been following him around or something?”
Sungjong raised his brows, not deeming the question worthy of an answer.
“Why?” Hoya pressed, unable to stay calm at the unfairness of what Sungjong wanted from him. He could deal with the younger needing a fake ID, a ride to the next city at 4 am in the morning, blackmail on a hateful teacher. But this case was different. This was Lee Sungjong showing raw interest in someone, in a guy that wasn’t Hoya, after all the time he had spent running circles around the younger.
“Why him, Sungjong? Why that wannabe emo kid?”
“Ah, so you do know him - what’s his name?” Sungjong perked up, oblivious to Hoya’s torment.
“…You could just ask him yourself, you know?”
The jealous note in Hoya’s voice was easily detectable, but Sungjong’s curiosity allowed him to dismiss it without much thought. “The guy hardly speaks to anyone, let alone the resident freak, duh. So do you know him or not?”
“I might.”
Finally sensing his friend’s unwillingness to answer, Sungjong used his trump card. “Are you sure? Perhaps I should go offer my services to Kim Kibum instead? I’m sure he’d have no difficulty telling me something as simple as-”
Just like that, Hoya broke. He didn’t need Sungjong’s “services,” it was more that Hoya simply didn’t want Sungjong to get into worse trouble than he already was in.
“Stop. Fuck, can you not bring that up? What if someone-...?” Hoya looked around warily, but no one paid them any mind. Hoya closed his eyes and exhaled audibly to calm himself. “Ah, okay. Let’s see. His name is Kim Myungsoo, if I’m not mistaken. A senior this year. Likes his coffee black, just like everything else. Kind of obsessed with the color, I think. Prefers to be called “L”, a nickname way too short for someone with his name, if you ask me.”
Sungjong hummed impatiently, flicking stray locks of overgrown hair out of his eyes. “Go on.”
After a few seconds of stubborn silence, the dancer continued, albeit reluctantly.
“I... He plays in a band. Guitar. I hear they’re not half bad if you’re into that alternative bullshit. They’re at the Sphyre on Fridays. That’s all I know.”
Sungjong had a small victorious smile on his lips. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll pay you later. The usual?”
Checking the time on his scratched-up iphone and realizing that he had to make this short, Hoya offered Sungjong a bit of friendly advice. “I wouldn’t hang around out there, though, if I were you. It’d be better to catch him at school if you’re into him or something.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Sungjong shot back without even processing the warning. He was quite pleased with what he had heard, and finding it unnecessary to make an effort to be social for any longer, Sungjong opened the first book he had picked out - The Human Stain by Philip Roth.
Hoya heaved a sigh, watching the teen scan the page of contents and accepting the fact that he was about to be shut out completely.
“Just keep that in mind. And I’ll see you at Sooyoung’s this Friday, yeah? Bring it then, if you can. And the party will be crazy, trust me, everyone’s gonna be there- you better show up and you better stay.”
“Uh-uh, sure.”
He spared Sungjong one last meaningful look, as if he couldn’t foresee Sungjong ditching everything in favour of finding the guy that for some reason fascinated him. Sungjong mouthed the title to himself, Hoya’s presence irrelevant to him now that he’d gotten what he wanted.
“Well then. I think I’m going to go now,” Hoya left the statement hanging like a question.
The younger didn’t notice.
With a roll of his eyes, Hoya left, defeated. He was used to the treatment, yet occasionally he still wished Sungjong was more normal. And by normal he meant less introverted, less eccentric, less hollow, more approachable and more open. However, that was also what made Hoya hypocritical, as he liked his number being one of the few contacts saved in Sungjong’s cell phone.
Hardly aware that the man was no longer there and instead a transparent version was keeping him company as proof that Hoya didn’t want to leave, Sungjong flipped a few pages to reach the first chapter.
Much more than people, Sungjong liked quiet spaces and books, things that could never change their minds.
-
“I’m here to see Minjung.”
It was barely past two am. The city was mostly asleep, except for a few bums loitering around, teenagers out looking for trouble. Sungjong could be considered neither of those, standing in the lobby of a second-rate love hotel with fluorescent lights coaxing him to try out a room. He waited by the hot pink counter, worn sneakers leaving dusty tracks on the faded reddish carpet and busied himself with reading the same old posters with curled edges that promised an unforgettable night.
Even love hotels were usually tranquil at this time of night, save for a quick clean-up job here or there; the cheap extravagance of the place somehow allowed Sungjong to relax.
Minjung arrived just as Sungjong was squinting his eyes to read the list of provided luxuries- condoms, lube, nylon underwear, even plastic dildos if you had spare change.
“Already here for more, doll?” she asked mischievously, standing in the by the door her office and holding it open for Sungjong. For a woman her size, she had the unexpected ability to move totally noiselessly and her Arabic heritage was evident in the throaty way she pronounced her h’s and r’s, and how her brows always threatened to meet.
Sungjong nodded, accepting the invitation. “Needed a favour.”
“As usual.”
Done closing and locking the door after them, Minjung took a seat behind a giant desk taking up most of the space in the room. She gave her head a slight shake, torn between amusement and disapproval. Black curls cascaded over her strong shoulders with the movement.
“Oh, doll, you know, if it was for you, I’d have no trouble giving you with what you need but if you keep using it as-”
“You should be happy, I come to see you out of my own free will and I’m not a junkie,” Sungjong cut her off.
“I don’t think needing to buy drugs to bribe others classifies as your own free will.”
Sungjong shrugged as if to say that it was close enough. The topic no longer interested him as it was exhausted from their earlier discussions. He had something better he wanted to tell the woman. “I found someone interesting.”
Shaking her head once more for good measure, Minjung gave the screen perched on top of a stack of papers a couple of light slaps and it showed the empty lobby they had just left. Then she pressed a button and suddenly they could see one of the hallways, where a drunk man was sleeping on the floor, right next to an elevator.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
It was something she asked every time Sungjong was over, even though the answer was always no. From the time Sungjong first met her a number of years earlier, she was already smoking that brand of vanilla slims. Sungjong could only hope they tasted better than they stank.
“So,” she lit up the end of her cancer stick, taking a quick drag and tossing her lighter onto the mess of documents and notes before her, “a someone, huh?”
“Yeah. That’s what I need the stuff for this time - I got some information about him. And. Well.”
Minjung blew white puffs in the direction of the air vent above Sungjong’s head, fixing him with a curious gaze. “You bought the information? And just what makes this someone so interesting that you need to pay to get to know him? Are you going to get introduced or what.”
Sungjong flushed a lovely pink, a reaction people rarely brought out in him.
“No, he’s just… Different. Really. He’s a senior and he plays in a band. But. Like, once I saw him help an old lady across the street. And I mean the real him. And. He wanted to stand up for Minki. I can’t blame him for not doing that, though.”
Taking another drag, Minjung gestured for him to carry on.
“It’s strange, because I don’t think he’s selfless for the good of the world or anything but he tries to be all tough, wearing all black and talking rarely, using this low voice. But I see him wanting to speak. This one time he got upset and his shadow started screaming - it was very theatrical, kind of like in an anime, you know? It’s like he’s a living anime character. I just wish I could’ve heard what he wanted to say.”
“Sounds kind of two-dimensional,” Minjung commented dryly.
“Perhaps. But. I don’t even know, like, he seems so different from the others. Like he has a one-track mind. He doesn’t produce a lot of clones, you know? It’s like. He doesn’t need anything. He doesn’t need to pick.”
“Is there really such a person?”
“He’s interesting.”
Minjung made a face that expressed her disapproval, but there was no use in telling Sungjong to slow down. She had learned that long ago, that if Sungjong believed in something, it was borderline impossible to change his mind.
All she said was “Be careful, think it through, yeah?” though she knew even that was unnecessary. “If you keep coming to me for such dumb reasons, I will stop selling you drugs.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Try me, doll. This is the third time in a row you came because needed a fucking favour. Honestly. You need to-”
“Noona.”
“What do these kids even do with the amount you sell them?”
But she wasn’t serious because money was money and money was something Sungjong had and Minjung needed. Sungjong gave her the look - the one where he tilted his head to the side just slightly enough to seem demeaning - and she gave in with a sigh.
“… So tell me about your decisions this week, doll.”
It was an unspoken agreement of theirs, that if Sungjong needed to talk, he would find an excuse to come see Minjung. The woman had her share of skeletons hidden in the depths of her wardrobe, but had a kind heart. She had been Sungjong’s go-to person ever since he had been let out of the mental institution after being admitted because of hallucinations and possible schizophrenia.
It was a strange coincidence - Minjung had been on her way to pick up one of the kids that had worked for her, an unfortunate fucker that had developed a serious heroin addiction. She wasn’t sure what the guy was supposed to look like so when a teenager climbed into her car without a word, she assumed that was him.
The car ride that followed was one of the most bizarre happenings in Minjung’s life, and that was saying something, because, she had seen a lot.
Sungjong had developed a habit of lying; it had been his exit card from the hospital. The psychologists and therapists and psychiatrists and doctors - there were too many faces and names and titles to remember, all followed the same scheme: since physical exams, lab tests and magnetoencephalography showed no abnormalities in his brain activity and, according to the psychological evaluation and various methods, he reacted like a healthy person, Sungjong was sane.
He was too young for them to diagnose a psychotic syndrome or even visual schizophrenia so at one point, Sungjong couldn’t count the number of times people sat him down and talked to him as if he was a child, suggesting that he had some sort of unsatisfied need for attention.
That wasn’t the case.
In Minjung, who had no medical education or prejudices, Sungjong found a listener and possibly the first person who accepted his story without doubt. Perhaps it was because she had known more ludicrous things in her life.
“Well, I haven’t been doing much lately. But I did see a suicide scare a few days ago. The guy was seriously thinking about it, I reckon. His body was just hovering in air. It was quite funny. You know, those people, they never think about how they’d look if they hit the ground so their shadows just float around for a while.”
What Sungjong claimed to see were the shadows of decisions people left behind once they chose a course of action. If they had more than one possible ways of dealing with something, their “shadows” or “clones” acted out the other options, the ones the person did not pick in reality but often considered later - along the lines of “what would have happened if they had acted differently”.
That was exactly what Sungjong saw. For as long as a person wondered about it, their shadows existed and went around doing exactly what their solid, real parts had decided against.
“Did you… Tell anyone?”
“No, of course not. But it was funny, really.”
Tapping what was left of her cigarette on the edge of the ash tray, Minjung shook her head, a habit she had when pondering about a topic that troubled her. This was a conversation they’d already had, about the good Sungjong could do with his unique gift.
But the mental institution had left its mark, Sungjong refused to tell anyone else about what he witnessed.
“You could save a life, you know,” Minjung said nonchalantly, but her eyes were sharp.
“Or make it worse. You never know.”
Now looking at Sungjong with shameless pity, Minjung compared the teen’s pathetic appearance, his protruding bones and convenience store-bought clothes to his unwavering attitude. She saw Sungjong as a little brother, forever a lost child full of contrasts and morbid curiosity. “Not even seventeen, yet already so jaded.”
But it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help; it was more about how he had no actual proof that he had seen an angry looking woman on the street committing homicide. Nor did he know if the horrible things the shadows sometimes carried out were just momentary thoughts or actual plans people put off until later.
He saw the leftovers of the decisions, not the decisions themselves. And certainly not the future of the decisions themselves.
They had a quiet stare-off, Sungjong looking at his reflection in Minjung’s eyes and the woman trying to convey a message of hope through her eyes.
“How’s the business going, though?” Sungjong asked later, politely breaking the loaded silence.
Minjung leaned back, itching to press the issue some more but retreating for the night. So often she felt like she was walking on an edge with Sungjong but she never took the leap. He needed someone.
If he didn’t return to her shabby hotel, she could easily find another teenager to do her bidding. She had many pawns; humans were disposable and greedy by nature.
But Sungjong couldn’t afford losing a sanctuary.
She took a long drag. “You are the most troublesome kid I know, I swear. And that’s saying something.”
Sungjong smiled.
-
The following Friday night found Sungjong at Sooyoung’s lovely three-story house, just as he promised. The exchange took place with a practiced ease. Hoya had the right sum of money prepared - he got a discount as usual - and Sungjong had the weed. It was as simple as that.
And though Sungjong wasn’t really working for Minjung, it was convenient for the both of them - Sungjong got to worm into certain people’s lives, and Minjung’s market broadened.
Then Hoya wanted him to dance. The man tried steering him by the shoulders towards the drunken crowd he wanted to introduce Sungjong to but the younger had no intention of staying. With a fake identification card in his wallet, proving that he was a few years older, Sungjong had better places to be.
So he struggled out of Hoya’s hold, ignoring the calls after him, and pressed through the horde of sweaty bodies. He recognized some of them as his schoolmates but to his relief, they didn’t seem to notice that the “antisocial weirdo” from school was there.
It took Sungjong half an hour to catch a bus and be dropped off at a stop three blocks away from a small underground club called the Sphyre. He had never set foot inside the place, as it mainly attracted a different kind of crowd but tonight was going to be an exception and Sungjong braced himself for he mess of colours and smells.
He got through the doors easily, pulling his hood over his eyes and hunching his shoulders for a classical depressed teenager effect. After getting carded, Sungjong stuck close to some scene kids that looked uncharacteristically excited about a glossy poster with the list of acts stuck to one of the room’s rough stone walls.
Sungjong gave the names listed a one over as well, and then frowned. He had forgotten to ask Hoya for the name of the band he was there for.
Feeling stupid, he kept to the back of the club, making himself as small as possible to avoid the bunch of elbowing and toe-stepping teenagers crowding the entrance. With his simple ensemble of a plain grey jacket and jeans, he stood out like a moth among butterflies, the impossibly dyed hair styles and indescribably strange fashion choices making Lady Gaga’s stage outfits seem like regular office wear.
The lights went off just as he was counting the piercings on a lost-looking skinhead and they came back with the clumsy sound of musicians stumbling over the various wires connecting their instruments to amplifiers. Sungjong stood on his tiptoes to see over the puffed up mohawk of the girl standing in front of him but was disappointed not to find Kim Myungsoo among the first performers.
Filthy Flesh was the name of the group and in Sungjong’s honest opinion, they sucked. The rest of the audience didn’t agree, bopping their heads with ecstasy, hands up towards the sky. With every howling and quivering note of the electric guitar, the mass rocked back and forth like an oncoming-retreating wave in the low-ceiled room smelling of cheap beer, bodily fluids and dirt.
Sungjong tolerated the mix of screamo and metal for exactly seven minutes and then he gave up, heading back out of the cramped space for a breath of fresh air. He was planning to wait until the band had finished and then give the Sphyre another chance but luckily, there was no need for that.
Just as he stepped out onto the pavement, dodging the clouds of smoke blown by a group of self-declared society’s rejects, a car came to a halt a few houses down the road. At first, Sungjong thought nothing of it, shoving his freezing fingers into the candy wrapper laden pockets of his jeans and shutting out both the people near him and their shadows, which were occasionally shimmering about. Then, a back door was kicked open and the guitar case gently placed on the roadside was followed by a guy with jet black hair and a leather jacket.
Kim Myungsoo had arrived at the scene and the car sped off as he picked up his guitar, kohl-rimmed eyes wide at the sight of the people gathered under the neon sign.
A shadow emerged, shivery under the glare of streetlights and Sungjong observed with amusement as it stomped off in the other direction resolutely but vanished as Myungsoo crossed the street. The tank boots and fingerless gloves suited him a lot better than their simple ash-coloured school uniform, Sungjong noted while Myungsoo headed straight towards the security guard, keeping his head down. The two exchanged whispered sentences before the bulky man stepped aside and allowed Myungsoo to enter.
Before disappearing in the coaxing mouth of the club, Myungsoo allowed himself a cautious glance at the colourful crowd, some of them waiting in line, others standing in circles and sharing joints. His eyes slipped over Sungjong, but came back to rest on his face just as quickly with a flash of recognition. Sungjong raised his head, holding Myungsoo’s gaze.
The moment seemed to stretch but then the guard nudged Myungsoo as he was blocking the doorway. Sungjong ducked out of view, standing behind a large man with various death-themed tattoos adorning his upper arms and then Myungsoo was gone, a transparent version of him walking his way before melting into the night.
Sungjong contemplated about going back inside but decided against it. He turned away, stalking up towards the bus stop with a good night’s sleep in his mind, not needing to look back to know that his shadow was pushing back through the people.
This was enough, for now.
-
On Tuesday evening Sungjong was at the library, in his regular spot, busying himself with Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis”. He had skipped the meeting with his therapist for no reason at all other than that he didn’t feel like talking and thus, he had nothing better to do but to read about a man who had turned into a dung beetle.
It was nice, even the slow scuffling of library visitors some meters away didn’t bother Sungjong, nor did the stormy clouds sending pearly raindrops tap-tap-tapping on the windows by the other tables.
There weren’t many people around so he tried to savour the warm glow of the reading lamp, the smell of dust and the lack of see-through figures. A librarian smiled in his direction, knowing he wouldn’t like to be disturbed, and Sungjong nodded in response. They were all used to him sitting there, in the corner, blissfully by himself, since it was his only escape from the blinding world outside, from his cold empty apartment.
His phone was placed next to his book on the table, as if he was waiting for a call. And perhaps Sungjong was - he hadn’t heard from his mother for six days.
Then the rare peace was disrupted by the thud of a door being closed with too much force. After that came the slightly nasal titters of a teenage girl, a guy’s voice loudly telling the punchline of a joke. They were immediately shushed and Sungjong dove back into his book. He didn’t look up until he heard footsteps nearing the row of tables, and when he did, he was met by a surprise.
The group of high-schoolers he had already nicknamed “noisy fuckers” in his head consisted of two guys and a girl, all at least a year older than him. This wasn’t what caught him off guard, though - it was Kim Myungsoo, the Kim Myungsoo, courteously pulling out a chair for his female friend only two tables away.
Myungsoo looked around searchingly and Sungjong tried to focus on the story. The paragraphs blurred, though, as he strained his ears to hear the conversation unfurling itself between the seniors.
“I can’t believe you brought us to a library, out of all places,” the girl whined half-heartedly.
“Well, I can’t believe I got stood up,” a voice Sungjong soon learned to associate with Myungsoo answered with a sigh. The other two laughed.
“I can’t believe my best friend is tagging along on my date-”
“You should be honoured that I’m not letting you fuck this up, shitface.”
“Hey, hey. Not in front of my girl!”
“Guys-”
“As if she doesn’t already know what a loser you are, Yeol.”
“Wait a sec, remind me who just got ditched here. Oh, right - it was you. Who’s the loser here?”
“Ooh, burn, Myungie,” the girl laughed.
At that point, Sungjong was mildly disappointed. It occurred to him now, that he had never heard Myungsoo speak, had never seen him with his friends. And maybe he was wrong to assume that Myungsoo only thought and talked about Great Things, ideas with capital letters.
Still, Kafka couldn’t capture his full attention and after hearing a whole lot of friendly banter peppered with random curse words, Sungjong sneaked a peek at the object of his fascination.
Like the other two, Myungsoo was still wearing his school uniform and his hair was plastered to his face. He was sitting with shoulders hunched but arms stretched out in front of him and he seemed to be fighting with or for something. There was something tense in his posture, the way he chuckled spoke of fearful dread that made Sungjong feel sorry for him.
He had no clue why, though, until all of a sudden, three shadows exploded out of him all at once. Myungsoo was still grinning while the first of his shadows leaned over, grabbed his male friend by the lapels of his blazer and - oh - kissed him hard. The second one headed towards the manga section of the bookshelves grimly, the third one making a beeline for the exit.
Sungjong closed his book with a snap and blinked twice to get rid of the images. His fingers drew abstract shapes on the cover while he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. For some reason, he felt awfully ashamed for witnessing that.
Myungsoo hadn’t moved from his seat, but was sitting back, his hands clasped together as if he had to physically anchor himself in place. Sungjong couldn’t stop staring.
The couple Myungsoo had arrived with seemed miles away or in a different dimension altogether as they sat with their heads bent, naturally gravitating towards each other. The guy Myungsoo so desperately wanted in a rather romantic way had his back to Sungjong, he could only see that he had short hair and seemed to be taller than any of them. Narrowing his eyes, Sungjong could see that his ears were littered with metallic dots - piercings, and just as he made that discovery, a pair of sharp eyes drew him in and away from the tall senior.
To Sungjong’s relief, there wasn’t a single accusatory line on Myungsoo’s face, he could only find puzzlement and shock, some anguish. Then Myungsoo glanced back to his friends and a helpless look crossed his features, soon morphing into hope.
He could see the rushed words on Myungsoo’s lips - “Hey, I think I saw someone I know. I’m just gonna go say hi.”
The two gave him distracted nods and “yeah’s” and Myungsoo’s chair scraped against the stone floor. He headed straight for Sungjong’s table and even though the walk felt like it lasted for centuries, in reality it took Myungsoo about six seconds.
“Hi.”
Never had he guessed Myungsoo would be the first to talk to him.
“Hi,” Sungjong answered, putting all his bewilderment into the single syllable.
“Would you mind if I sat with you for a while? My friends look like they could use some privacy since they’re on a date and all.”
Sungjong shook his head quickly and Myungsoo took a seat across from him. The younger was pleased to notice that Myungsoo looked somehow less strung up now, his smile barely there but more sincere.
“I got stood up today,” Myungsoo said after a moment of awkward silence. It was probably meant as a conversation starter and would have worked with anyone except for Sungjong, who dumbly replied with a “huh.”
“Ah. Sorry, am I bothering you?” Myungsoo asked then, shooting an unsure look at the book Sungjong was cradling in his hands.
“… No.”
Myungsoo’s lifted his brows ever so slightly, folding his arms on the table. He gave it one more try. “He dies in the end, did you know?”
Not really comprehending who Myungsoo was talking about, Sungjong had half a mind to deadpan that everyone dies in the end. He didn’t, though, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat and Myungsoo pointed to the book.
“The main character. He dies.”
That somewhat helped Sungjong regain his ability to speak.
“He dies?” the younger asked to confirm, frowning down on the hardcover of Kafka’s famous tale. “He won’t turn back?”
Myungsoo grinned at him, his handsome face rapidly infiltrating Sungjong’s personal space as he scooted closer, “Kafka doesn’t work like that, sadly - he kills off his main character, and leaves no explanation why the guy turned into a bug-”
“A dung beetle.”
“- yeah, that, and he just makes you figure it all out by yourself. If you can. That’s Kafka for you.”
“I think I’ll just google it.”
“Well, yeah, or you could do that,” Myungsoo laughed, with dimples and everything, turning his whole body so he could indiscreetly keep an eye on his friends. “My name is Myungsoo, by the way, I think we go to the same school?”
“Yeah, we do. I’m Lee Sungjong.”
The guy, Myungsoo’s friend, looked over his shoulder in alarm before grimacing and turning back to his girlfriend. Myungsoo’s eyes widened by a fraction, a hint of some indefinable emotion lighting up his features. He was unnervingly handsome up close and just to keep his hands and eyes busy, Sungjong re-opened the book at the page where he’d left it off.
“Sungjong, huh? It’s a nice name.”
Having nothing to say to that, Sungjong stayed silent. It was uncomfortable, this silence, but at least on Sungjong’s side, it was uncomfortable in an exciting way.
“I’ve heard about you,” Myungsoo said then, with a clever smirk, eyes on a cart full of books right by the closest bookshelf. “Lee Sungjong. There are loads of rumours going around, did you know?”
While this wasn’t a subject Sungjong would particularly want to discuss with Myungsoo, he found himself smiling tentatively. “... I. I can’t say that I really care about such things.”
“You should.” Myungsoo was grinning again, leaning forward as if sharing a secret.
“Why is that?”
“Because. People think the most ridiculous things of you, to be honest. Uh, Kim Kibum, for example, says that you spent a few years in juvie and became a drug baron there.”
That earned a disbelieving snort from Sungjong. Kibum, as fabulous and all-knowing as he thought he was, had never said a single word to Sungjong. As for him being a middleman in some small-scale drug affairs, that was something only selected few knew of.
“Well, actually…” Sungjong drifted off, gazing into the distance thoughtfully.
“Really?”
“No.”
Sungjong snorted lightly at Myungsoo’s mock-disappointed expression, The Metamorphosis lying on the table, forgotten.
“So.” Myungsoo rested his chin on a closed fist, peering at Sungjong as if trying to see through him, “how did the infamous Lee Sungjong - are you sure you’re not in the mafia or something? No, don’t answer that - wind up at the Sphyre last Friday night? That didn’t really seem like your scene.”
“It didn’t seem like yours either.”
Myungsoo barked a laugh. It was a sound Sungjong wouldn’t mind getting used to. “You’d be surprised.”
“I already was. Didn’t expect to find any familiar faces there,” Sungjong lied through his teeth. He was a horrible liar and he knew it so he altered the topic before Myungsoo could catch on.
“Uh - you play in a band, though?”
“Guitar. Yeah. You didn’t see us there?” Myungsoo looked caught between eagerness and indignation, then settling on contentment. “That’s probably a good thing, though, in my opinion we kind of suck.”
Sungjong gave his best shot at cheering him up, “Probably not as bad as Fleshy Filth.”
“Filthy Flesh,” Myungsoo corrected him with a smirk. “And you just betrayed yourself - they’re actually really popular right now. I can only dream about being as big as them one day.”
“Good luck with that.”
“No, really. But if you weren’t there for Filthy Flesh, what were you doing, hanging out with that crowd? Just out of curiosity.”
Stubbornness spiked up in Sungjong, feeding on the memories of being told what to do with gentle disapproval and forced smiles. “Because... Why not,” was all he said, feeling like his right to hang out wherever he wanted was challenged.
“No, seriously, I don’t think you’re the type to-”
“You’d be surprised,” Sungjong snapped, throwing Myungsoo’s own words back against him.
Myungsoo didn’t let up that easily, finding the situation and Sungjong’s thorniness amusing. “Well. I’ve never seen you around there before, though, and we’re there almost every Friday.”
“Maybe you haven’t looked well enough.”
There was a lull in their conversation and a pout on Sungjong’s lips. Then, Myungsoo’s friend called out to him, saying that the rain had stopped and they should better get a move on if they want to make it in time. Myungsoo looked like he wasn’t quite finished with Sungjong, but followed the couple out of the library nonetheless after a quick wave and an unexplained “thanks, Sungjong”.
Sungjong slumped into his chair as soon as Myungsoo was out of view, a fading version of the senior now occupying his seat.
-
Their second conversation took place in the noisy cafeteria of their school, in front of dozens of people that couldn’t care less about the two misfits. It was unexpected, at least on Sungjong’s side, since while he wasn’t the best at understanding social cues, he knew that Myungsoo had indulged him in a friendly chat only out of convenience.
It began with Myungsoo approaching the table for four shoved up by the tray rack. He figured it was rather predictable of Sungjong to be sitting at a table most people avoided - the loud clattering of trays adding to the strong smells of food and the flies it attracted really did get intolerable after a while.
Skipping the greeting process, Myungsoo dropped a piece of paper on the scratched blue plastic of the table. He watched Sungjong frown at it, then look up, eyes widening comically before he finally tore out the earphones that made him deaf to the world.
“What do you want?” was the first thing clumsily tumbling out of Sungjong’s mouth, betraying his confusion. He realized how rude that must’ve sounded after a heartbeat and added a quick “Hi.”
“Hi, Sungjong,” Myungsoo answered kindly.
Some girl obnoxiously chewing on bubble gum brushed past Myungsoo and for a moment they were silent, Myungsoo looking at Sungjong and Sungjong looking everywhere else.
“So… What do you want?”
There were breadcrumbs, used napkins and candy wrappers on his tray and Sungjong figured that he probably seemed like a very messy person. A pair of transparent hands made a move to hide the trash from Myungsoo’s view while the real him felt dumb for even considering it.
“Well. That was all,” Myungsoo snatched up the piece of paper, smoothing it out and handing it to Sungjong properly. “It’s a ticket. To, uh, a concert. It’s nothing special, but my band is performing and I got an extra ticket, yeah-and I was just wondering that you never even heard us that night.”
Sungjong gave it a moment of thought before nodding slowly, examining his first gift from Myungsoo.
“It’s not at the Sphyre, though, we got a better gig at Brandy’s. Like, as you can see, we even have tickets this time. It’s not a big deal but. You said you liked that kind of music so I was just thinking maybe you would like to-”
“I’ll go,” Sungjong cut in swiftly, not giving Myungsoo the chance to keep on rambling.
“Oh. Oh, good. I… I guess I’ll see you on Friday, then?” The relief in Myungsoo’s voice and expression was obvious; it was almost as if he’d been working up his nerve just to talk to Sungjong.
“Wait, one question, though.”
“Yes?” Myungsoo seemed anxious to leave, now that he’d gotten Sungjong’s agreement.
Sungjong stared at the ticket intently, trying to read between the small printed lines and find a hint that this might all be a joke, a lie. There were none, it was nothing but a pass to the concert and the backstage area.
“What’s the name of your band?”
Myungsoo laughed at the unexpectedness of it, then bending over towards Sungjong to whisper a word so quietly that it could hardly be heard over all the racket.
“Infinite.” He straightened his back with an affectionate smile, “Because we want it to last forever.”
“Ah,” was the best Sungjong could manage to that, lowering his eyes to the linoleum floor. For a brief second, he tried to imagine how it might feel like to have friends to care for, something non-materialistic he wouldn’t want to lose.
It didn’t seem possible.
“... Is that all?” Sungjong asked when Myungsoo seemed content with wordlessly standing in everyone’s way and looking down at him.
Myungsoo smiled and once more, Sungjong was caught off guard how handsome he actually was. “For now, yes.”
Nodding slowly, the younger reached out for a piece of candy, unnerved by the eyes still trained on his face. A transparent hand hovered above his while he crumpled the wrapper but it disappeared without Sungjong reading its’ intentions.
A sturdy footballer all but collided into Myungsoo and the upperclassman staggered on his feet. “See you later,” Myungsoo muttered and by the time Sungjong lifted his head, he had blended into the mass of solid and airy figures.
Now that he thought about it, Myungsoo only had a single shadow during their little exchange. It seemed a little odd to Sungjong, but it was a pleasant change from the people often bursting and vibrating with pale colours.
He was still wondering about that, struggling to untangle the wires of his earbuds that had somehow ended up in a bundle, when a light clone of Hoya stormed up to him, mouth opening to form demands and pleads, eyes uncharacteristically stern. The real Hoya was on the other side of the cafeteria, surrounded by his friends and stabbing his lunch moodily, seemingly not even paying Sungjong any attention.
Blinking, Sungjong didn’t let himself dwell on that for too long, instead chomping down on his last piece of lemon candy.
-
There was a reason why Sungjong was so fond of solitude - he couldn’t help but to see the bad in people. Human beings, as Sungjong knew very well, often liked to allow themselves the pleasure of picturing committing horrible deeds, playing with the ideas of what they’d be able to do if they only wanted to. What they were rarely aware of was that with each of such occurrences, there was a decision, ordinarily a choice between carrying their imagined actions out or not. And in most cases, they chose not to punch the person that annoyed them, not to push their crying child into an ice cream cooler at the supermarket, not to stab that irritatingly dissatisfied customer with a pen at the bank.
But that was exactly what Sungjong saw them do. That was why he was stripped of any faith he once had in humanity.
Even the most virtuous occasionally gave their thoughts the opportunity to run free; meaning, that in Sungjong’s eyes, even the best of us were capable of murder.
If anything, it all made Sungjong bitter. Especially since he could never see the other options, the background or the reasoning, he only witnessed the nasty outcome. Sure, the shadows could be kind, but that made it all worse in Sungjong’s opinion. That left him worrying about why the nice act he saw was a rejected possibility.
Like at that moment, half an hour after arriving at Brandy’s.
A girl with long hair twisted into two auburn buns stumbled on a chair leg. She fell on her hands and knees with a yelp, quickly trying to scramble to her feet but finding it impossible with a thick wall of people surrounding her. Dozens of shadows appeared, lending her a pale hand, but in reality, she had no choice but to use the chair that tripped her as support, an embarrassed blush staining her cheeks.
Sungjong sighed, remembering a time when he was all too bothered by such incidents, a time when he wanted to use his curse (some called it a gift) to make a change.
That was before he understood that no one would ever take him seriously.
He was on the left side of the mosh pit, a metre or two from the leather bar stools and empty whiskey glasses on the bar, his fake ID safely in his back pocket. The first band had just finished, leaving Sungjong completely indifferent and bored. By the time the lights dimmed and curtains closed, Sungjong had planned out everything he was going to say to Minjung later that evening and listed down all the things he needed to buy from the grocery store on the following day, even guessing the total price or his future purchases to keep himself entertained.
Then he closed his eyes and listened to the crowd, thankful that the shadows weren’t able to speak.
A stocky girl named Hyosoon, according to her friend that tried to calm her down, was hyperventilating about seeing the very band Sungjong was there for and he was impressed to gather that they actually had a small following of fans.
Strobe lights shot through the audience, momentarily blinding Sungjong and confirming that the crowd here consisted of a less colourful array of people - there were university students holding large plastic cups of beer, high school girls too young to be there legally, a group that could only be labelled as hipsters and some kids much like Sungjong that didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.
The air wasn’t as stale and murky as it was in the Sphyre and overall, Sungjong was pleased with the place, even though the prices were higher.
And soon enough the reason for Sungjong’s presence there showed itself, starting with a drum roll.
The band consisted of four teenagers, all about Myungsoo’s age and all sporting similar black-denim-and-leather outfits and smudged eyeliner. A white sideways eight was sloppily painted on the drum kit and while their appearance in general was very amateurish, there was a certain punkish charm to it.
Without any introduction, the first song started and Myungsoo exchanged glances with his bandmates before the singer belted out a single long high note. The drummer soon built up a rhythm and was joined by the bass, Myungsoo being the last to start playing.
“I knew I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said loudly as a body slid up to Sungjong with the kind of grace that comes from years of semi-professional dancing.
Sungjong hid his surprise expertly. “Hoya,” he acknowledged without emotion, keeping his eyes fixed on Myungsoo’s hands, now masterfully strumming the guitar strings in time with the beat.
“So you actually talked to him, huh?”
“He talked to me.”
Hoya was standing too close for comfort, a heavy hand casually placed on Sungjong’s lower back, his breath hot and moist on Sungjong’s cheek. “Well, princess, isn’t that just wonderful,” the older said sarcastically and too loudly, a bite in his voice that Sungjong wasn’t used to hearing there. “Sorry to be crashing in on your date, in that case.”
The vocalist bent forward dramatically, singing about heartbreak and pain and stupidity. While it wasn’t the kind of music Sungjong listened to, he appreciated the fact that he could understand the lyrics - Infinite didn’t use that screaming tactic many punk/metal bands had adopted.
“Huh.”
“So... How far have you gotten with him? No, actually I don’t want to know. To be honest, I really didn’t expect you to move so fast.”
“Fast?” Sungjong muttered absently, slowly trying to disentangle himself from Hoya’s half-embrace without having to tear his eyes from the performers.
“Two weeks ago you didn’t even know his name, did you?”
There was an edge to Hoya’s tone, softening at the end with something Sungjong couldn’t really define, even if he bothered to try. Sungjong nodded noncommittally, not caring about the conversation any longer.
“You looked awfully intimate when he-”
“Shh.”
The singer fell to his knees and Myungsoo chose that moment to scan the crowd with a hooded gaze. Sungjong’s lips parted with awe and Hoya’s resolve to stay as close as he was allowed, shattered.
In frustration, he pulled his oblivious friend closer by the waist, briefly pressing his lips to the younger’s ear in a demonstration of blatant possessiveness. “Why him, huh?”
Sungjong flinched, twisting to look at Hoya for the first time since the man’s arrival. “What are you-”
“Do you even know what you’re doing? He’s not a-… He’s a weird kid, really. You shouldn’t- honestly, Sungjong…” Hoya whispered hotly, letting the swaying crowd push him further into Sungjong. Their noses brushed and there was a bead of sweat on the dancer’s temple.
“Sungjong, please. Just think this through.”
“What?”
“I was the one that found you first, wasn’t I?”
Sungjong frowned, realizing their rather intimate position. „Stop it.”
“No, not yet. Wait. Let me. I just- I need to give it one last try. Only one,” Hoya said tensely, begging and demanding at the same time, all while refusing to let Sungjong put distance between them.
“I can’t just let you go like this. Once, please.”
In the darkness, Sungjong couldn’t be sure if it was Hoya’s shadow or the man himself leaning closer, a raw need in his knitted brows, the edges of his mouth. The situation was startlingly familiar, only this time the man was sober.
“No,” Sungjong protested, turning his head away with hands on Hoya’s chest, uselessly trying to shove the guy away.
“No! Stop. Stop it, Hoya. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ghostly hands tried to fix him in place but a few glares from the people around them and Hoya gave in, loosening hold enough for Sungjong to slip out of his arms.
“Hoya?”
“... Fair enough, I get it.” the man said through gritted teeth, drawing back with the fists at his sides clenching and unclenching.
“What.”
“That’s fair enough,” Hoya reassured himself once more after the last notes of the first song rang. “It’s okay, princess. No, really. Yeah.” he told Sungjong.
But it wasn’t, a shadow escaped Hoya’s broad frame and grabbed Sungjong by the shoulders, lips forming inaudible words too quickly for Sungjong to catch any. The real Hoya stared at him miserably and since he seemed to have snapped out of whatever madness had overcome him, Sungjong turned back to the band. As usual, he missed the flash of anger hardening Hoya’s features, then simmering into a look of utter despair.
Hoya sucked in a deep breath, “I guess that’s it.”
When Sungjong glanced back during the chorus of the second song, there was an empty spot next to him and Hoya’s purple patterned snap back was moving through the pit towards the door. He wondered briefly what it was Hoya had been there for, since he didn’t seem interested in any of the bands, but dropped the issue as soon as it entered his mind.
Part 2/3