Round 12: Distance Over Time
Title: Distance Over Time
Team: Future
Rating: PG
Fandom: Infinite
Pairing: Hoya/Sungjong
Summary: “Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by the impact of my choices that I can’t choose anything at all because I’m afraid today will be the day that I make the choice that changes everything.”
Author's Note: Many thanks to olymfics tlist, especially M and beta M.
Prompt Used: Urban Zakapa - All The Same
There’s not much reprieve for Howon even back in Busan.
He’s been so busy, even though he is on holiday. He’s staying in his parents’ home, but there is a constant stream of people going in and out of their house, wanting to speak to him and meet him, so that Howon feels completely exhausted at the end of each day. Plans to go sightseeing are interrupted by his cousins dropping by to see him. Howon appreciates it, likes the attention, even. But the years of no contact have left most of his conversations awkward and stiff. He’ll enquire about a niece’s baby and she’ll say the child is already attending grade school. He’ll make conversation, asking about a cousin’s girlfriend, only to realize that cousin married another woman. It’s things like that which makes Howon think about how, even though he’s the one who moved away to Seoul, he returns to people who are continuously moving further away from him.
New years are the worst, simply because it gives a reason for his entire family tree to congregate at his grandparents’ home. Howon is twenty-four, and since he’s single and a celebrity, it apparently gives people around him the right to pressure him to get a girlfriend and get married. One particularly enthusiastic aunt even pulls up articles on how a father’s age would affect a child’s intelligence.
It’s so tiring, Howon thinks, to listen to the same polite inquiries and well-meaning advice over and over again.
-
Howon returns to the dorm the day after, only to see Sungjong sprawled on his bed, one leg dangling from the sides and a book propped against stomach.
“What’re you reading,” Howon says in lieu of a greeting.
“A Distant and Beautiful Place.” Sungjong’s eyes don’t even leave the page, but he scoots over on the bed. “Do you wanna read together?”
“Nope.” Howon ends with a childish pop of his mouth.
“Read a little, hyung. I’ve heard it’s good for your brain.”
“You’ll just tell me the ending, anyway. I don’t see the point in reading a book you’re going to spoil for me.”
“This hyung.” Sungjong shoves Howon distractedly. “Yah, I’m reading on a rare day off. Go play with Dongwoo or something.”
Howon wants to shove Sungjong back, but Sungjong has been on the same page since about an hour ago. He probably has a lot of things on his mind after meeting his family. Probably discussed when it’s best to get married and have children too, Howon thinks amusedly as he returns to his room.
Sungjong will come to him on his own.
-
Howon will admit that he’s had a thing for Sungjong for a long time. They are no longer roommates, but he likes to sprawl on Sungjong’s clean-smelling single bed on their days off. Sungjong lets him squeeze next to him on the bed and they talk so late into the night Sungjong usually falls asleep halfway. Then Howon drifts off as well, too lazy to move back to his own bed.
-
Howon wakes up to the smell of shampoo in his nose.
Trying to scoot back with a disoriented grunt, he cracks open one eye to see a mop of shiny, perfectly conditioned hair that could only belong to Sungjong. He also realises that he can't move because Sungjong's legs are intertwined with his. The jerk of his leg causes Sungjong to stir, and he croaks at Howon to ask for the time. It's supposed to be unattractive, but Sungjong's sleep-mussed hair next to Howon's cheek makes him lean just a little away, so he doesn't do something foolish like push his nose to rest at the top of Sungjong's ear or, god forbid, kiss him.
Howon rolls to the side to check his iPad and rolls back to tell Sungjong that they still have an hour more, and Sungjong responds by flinging an arm around Howon's torso and going straight back to sleep. It's like sharing a bed with your bandmate when you're twenty-two happens everyday.
Okay, it happens quite often, Howon concedes. But Sungjong is here, body warm next to his and probably unaware that Howon is extremely uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons.
Sungjong presses his nose against his shoulder, the skin between his eyebrows furrowed in his sleep. Howon reaches to smooth the creases of his skin. Sungjong presses closer, resting his temple in the cradle of his hand, and for a few moments Howon forgets how to breathe.
-
Howon likes the curve of Sungjong’s mouth in his sleep, the hunch of his still thin shoulders as he curls up under the comforter. Mornings were never the time to thread his fingers through Sungjong’s hair or thumb his soft skin, but Howon likes to close his eyes in the van and imagine, or simply stare at the pale skin of Sungjong’s neck as his head lolls on Myungsoo’s shoulder. He’ll ruffle Sungjong’s hair after dance practice and press into his skin in the dark, but the feeling is still off.
There is something different about mornings.
-
Sungjong is delighted when he spots Howon digging out the book from its plastic wrapping.
“You bought it.”
“Yeah.” Howon settles down on his own bunk. He turns towards the doorway to see Sungjong leaning against the frame, with a small, pleased smile that quickly widens to a grin.
“Want to go read in my room? I haven’t finished this book, we can read together if you like.” The end of his sentence is a question, and without thinking, Howon is nodding and following Sungjong to his room.
-
“Which page are you on?” Sungjong asks from his bed.
“Thirty-two,” Howon says from the floor.
Sungjong tsks. “How slow, hyung.”
“I just started, don’t be too hard on me. And the floor’s uncomfortable.”
“Come here then.” Without looking up from his book, Sungjong wriggles his body towards the wall, and Howon’s eyes immediately zero in on the sway of Sungjong’s rump. It doesn’t help that Sungjong’s wearing thin shorts today, the outline of his briefs a visible line against his skin. Howon tears his gaze away with much effort to see Sungjong staring at him expectantly. He panics internally for about half a second when Sungjong’s mouth pulls into a frown.
“Aren’t you coming up?”
Howon stands up slowly and joins him hesitantly on the bed. The sheets beneath him are warm with Sungjong’s body heat.
Then Sungjong shifts, almost violently, so his back is pressed against the wall and his legs are resting against Howon’s stomach.
“Thanks, Howon-hyung.”
“Yah.” Howon mock-glares at him.
Sungjong flips a page in response.
An hour passes, and Howon’s frustration has reached its limit. He’s been flipping the pages of the book without even bothering to understand the text. Sungjong’s legs are kind of distracting.
Howon’s sitting up by now, his head against the headboard and Sungjong’s legs on his lap. Which can’t seem to stop moving. They sometimes slide against each other in a soundless movement when Sungjong is really immersed in some parts of the book, and sometimes his toes curl into the fabric of Howon’s pants in a playful attempt to wrinkle them.
When Sungjong lifts his foot close to Howon’s head, Howon flinches and grabs the ankle instinctively.
Sungjong wriggles his toes in front of Howon’s face tauntingly.
“Stop that,” Howon grumbles and tries to grab Sungjong’s other leg to push them off his lap. Only he miscalculates and ends up wrapping his fingers around the soft flesh of Sungjong’s inner thigh.
Howon is frozen by his mistake, and they stay like this for perhaps a moment that seems like five to him. Finally he comes back to his senses a little, and he withdraws his hand quickly.
Sungjong takes his legs off from Howon’s lap, obedient for once, but Howon can’t help but notice that the movement is a slow, sensuous slide.
He clears his throat and goes back to his book.
-
It’s difficult to justify even to himself, what he’s doing to Sungjong. He wants, so much, to go to him, but he hesitates too much and too often.
He fixes Sungjong’s bowtie before they have to go on Running Man, and unconsciously stands so close he feels the heat emanating from Sungjong’s body. At that moment, he wants to lean in and press his mouth against the juncture of Sungjong’s neck, but he stops himself and steps back. He smooths the front of Sungjong’s suit, his hand lingering at the waist, and does not meet his eyes. He brushes the back of Sungjong’s hand and when Sungjong’s hand moves to press closer, Howon draws away.
So naturally, one day when they’re sitting on the single bed and reading, when Sungjong grasps his shoulder and kisses him, Howon does not kiss him back.
The kiss catches Howon by surprise, the sweet press of Sungjong’s mouth made soft by his hesitance. He lets Sungjong kiss him for a moment, and then gently pushes him away.
Sungjong reluctantly draws away, his eyes uncomprehending, his teeth caught on his bottom lip in worry. Howon feels terrible for doing this, but he can’t.
“I’m going to bed, Sungjong-ah. Goodnight.”
Howon closes the door as gently as he can to the image of Sungjong’s face, embarrassed and angry; to the image of Sungjong sinking down on his bed, defeated.
-
Sungjong never brings the kiss up in conversation, so Howon just pretends it never happened.
-
It hurts like hell.
All of them had been anticipating disbandment. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and Howon rather preferred it to be now than some time when people actually left the group voluntarily.
But it makes Howon feel so helpless, regardless. The atmosphere is different, tense, when seven people cooped up in a single apartment are not working for a better future. Instead they struggle with memories and meander around with the endless possibilities. Woohyun hasn’t returned to the dorm for a week.
On the day they’re supposed to move out of the dorm, Howon chooses to leave first, packing the last of his things quietly. Almost all of his things are already in his new apartment in the next district.
Howon leaves with a beautiful boy still sleeping in his bed. With his last suitcase behind him, he closes the door to the curtains billowing in the autumn wind, and Sungjong’s body pillowed in the first rays of sunshine.
-
After he leaves the dorm for good, he still keeps in contact with Sungjong. They talk about the other members: Woohyun’s judging on various singing competitions, Sungyeol’s new drama, Myungsoo’s cameo in Sungyeol’s drama. But Howon doesn’t like it when they talk about themselves. He isn’t used to Sungjong’s cryptic messages that he understands but chooses not to reply to. It makes Howon at a loss for words. Sungjong texts, Hyung, what’s going on between you and that co-star of yours? Kekeke, if you aren’t interested, introduce me!, and Howon is confused as to whether he feels jealous that Sungjong has moved on quicker than expected or annoyed at Sungjong’s persistence for them to meet up.
Right now, Howon needs to focus on the future.
-
“How have you been these days?”
Howon is still the awkward person who starts conversations with a stilted, overused sentence.
He also starts the conversation too soon. Sungjong pauses in the middle of shrugging off his scarf at the doorway to smile quizzically at him. Howon bows his head, embarrassed, and waits for Sungjong to settle into an armchair and his reply.
“Travelling,” comes the reply, vague, short and business-like; and it takes Howon slightly by surprise. He also bypasses the expected reply of ‘good’, but Howon can’t bring himself to expect more from a person he hasn’t seen face-to-face for five years. Their infrequent texts hardly seem to count now, when Howon can feel rather than see how his dongsaeng has grown.
Sungjong is much more well-built, his frame wiry instead of lanky, but maybe that’s because of the way he carries himself with an air of lazy confidence that Howon isn’t used to. The curve of his back as he rests comfortably against Howon’s couch is obvious enough. Howon is used to a stiff, almost rigid posture that exposed Sungjong’s determination to become a man people could take seriously.
“Like where?” Howon wants to keep this conversation going. He isn’t sure if he genuinely wants to know more about Sungjong’s travelling experiences, or just because it’s instinctive for him to continue talking, even if the interaction takes an awkward turn. Keeping a conversation going is something he’s used to doing at after parties. It was how he got to know his fiancée, after all.
Sungjong clears his throat, his forefinger tracing the side of his coffee mug.
“North America, for something new I guess.”
There’s the silence between them again. It’s perhaps the distance between them magnified, exemplified, and personified. Sungjong’s foot taps restlessly against the tiled floor.
“Hyung,” Sungjong leans forward, his elbows pressed against the tabletop, “I’ve been really busy these days, so if you called me here just for this, we can always do it over the ph- ”
“I’m getting married.” And Howon can’t help the swell of happiness in that statement.
Sungjong’s mouth closes with an audible click.
“Congratulations.” Sungjong says, eyes downcast. “When’s the wedding?”
“September 29, the invites have been sent out already. You’ll go, right?”
Sungjong nods his head mutely.
Howon can feel his smile fade away.
“You don’t look very happy for me.”
Sungjong’s head shoots up at this, and finally their eyes meet. He opens his mouth, but pauses, as though considering his words carefully.
“Believe me, hyung,” he says, his eyes blinking rapidly, “I am very happy for you.”
-
They get married the year Howon turns thirty, and Heeyoung agrees to a small wedding, with only their respective families and some of their closer friends. He spots Sungjong in the second row, his gaze obscured by the hat Howon’s mother wears.
It seems like a day full of missed opportunities. He misses Heeyoung’s mouth by a little when he kisses her because he’s so nervous, he forgets to introduce Heeyoung’s pretty friend to Sungyeol even though he promised, and he doesn’t see Sungjong at all, even though he circles the guest tables three times. It’s like Sungjong vanished right after he said his vows, and Howon’s gut sinks a little before Heeyoung grabs his hand to introduce him to her nieces.
He’s so busy that day, but apparently not busy enough, because his eyes slide right off the person he’s talking to to look behind them, and this goes on for the entire night.
-
Heeyoung’s mother has a generous body, her arms thick and fingernails bare. These are the things Howon can’t help but notice as she gestures for them to sit down on the family couch.
The leather creaks under his weight as he shifts uncomfortably. Heeyoung’s father is at work, her mother says; he won’t be back till dinner. Busy day in the office. Heeyoung’s mother smiles at him, her mouth wobbling slightly.
Throughout dinner and after that, she asks Howon various things that he tries his best to answer, with little input from Heeyoung. She asks him how he’s been coping since disbandment, if he’s been eating well, as if she could hide the fact that dinner time is well over and Heeyoung’s father has yet to reach home with well-timed questions about his health. Howon excuses himself to the bathroom after the questions get slightly overwhelming.
He idles around, alternating between staring at his phone and the bathroom’s interior. After trying to stall for as long as he possibly can, Howon creeps out quietly. He closes the door behind him with a clang, and then he realises the soft murmuring from the living room that had stopped.
He steps back to the living room to see Heeyoung’s face flushed red. Whether it’s from embarrassment or anger, Howon can’t tell. For a brief moment, Howon contemplates the possibility of Heeyoung’s mother rejecting him, but it passes quickly when she smiles softly at him.
“You two must be tired. Heeyoung, don’t you have work tomorrow? I’m so sorry to hold you up so late.” Howon clenches his teeth at the pointed statement. He’d expected this jibe at his less-than-regular working schedule.
Howon thanks her, and Heeyoung’s mother takes his hands between hers when Heeyoung is slipping on her heels.
“No, thank you.” Her hands are rough and leathery, but her gaze is so intense Howon can hardly look away.
“Please take care of my Heeyoung.” Once again her mouth doesn’t stretch properly on her face when she smiles, and Howon tries to answer with a smile of his own. He’s been told that his forced smiles are terribly fake.
-
Heeyoung’s mother passes away a month after their wedding. Car accident, the police officer said. I’m sorry for your loss.
Her wake is held on a cold, windy day, but the shoulder of Howon’s shirt sticks to his skin from the moisture where Heeyoung rests her head. His wife looks exhausted, her dark circles prominent without makeup and her frame small and frail.
After all the guests leave, she kneels at her mother’s urn, unmoving for a long time.
-
They fight too much for it to be healthy, that much Howon knows. They’ve been married for two years and the fights have increased since the time they were dating. They don’t go a day without at least flinging an insult at the other’s face.
Like most ideals, Howon realizes, their love deteriorates slowly. It’s only been two years and Howon dreads going home to talk to Heeyoung, lest they have another one of their arguments. Heeyoung is intelligent and taciturn, neither of these which describe him the slightest, especially when she renders him speechless after almost every argument they’ve had.
He goes over them after they’ve made up, thinks about all the possible things he could have said instead. Then time passes and old problems snowball into a huge, yawning gap between them. Howon is left fumbling as Heeyoung cuts him down viciously once again.
Sometimes they get so loud that Saerom starts to cry from the bedroom, and both of them start, as if rousing from a trance, and go to tend to their daughter’s needs. Heeyoung makes hot milk for her, while Howon kneels next to her bed, patting her back softly and slowly to lull her back to sleep. As his daughter’s eyes flutter closed, he can’t help but stroke her cheek, thinking, You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and, Thank you.
-
Saerom keeps them busy, for a while. She’s taken to throwing her food onto the ceiling now, and although it’s hard to clean soggy peas off of white plaster, Howon likes it when he does it with Heeyoung. They stay in blissful silence as they mop up the mess, hands occasionally brushing against each other. Somehow, after they’ve put the dishclothes away, Heeyoung isn’t so snippy anymore. They lie curled into each other in the bed, and Howon will wake up content.
Temporary happiness is, unfortunately, not enough to save a marriage.
-
Heeyoung is perfectly calm, her eyes locked onto Howon’s, as though daring him to say a word of protest. Her jaw is set in rigid determination, and her hand pushes the divorce papers forward without so much as a tremor.
Her complexion tells him otherwise: her skin is sallow and the shadows under her eyes prominent.
“Where’s Saerom,” he asks, and then bites his tongue to stop the deluge of questions that threaten to follow after.
“Aeyoung is babysitting her.” Heeyoung waves a dismissive hand. “But that hardly matters now. Please sit down; we haven’t talked in a long while, honey.”
Howon grits his teeth at that, but takes the seat opposite her.
“I think you’ve known for a long time now that this was going to happen,” she begins, and Howon thinks, over and over again, No, I really didn’t.
-
Howon picks up the phone and greets the caller curtly. He’s in no mood to entertain anyone.
“Hey, hyung,” Sungjong greets quietly.
Howon doesn’t want to answer, lest he choke on the lump in his throat.
The line crackles a little and stays silent for a few beats.
“Are you doing okay?” For once, Sungjong sounds uncertain.
Howon doesn’t want to talk about the divorce, and so he doesn’t. “I listened to all your voicemails, Sungjong-ah. All those you sent to me at three in the morning, after my wedding day.”
When Sungjong doesn’t make a sound, Howon continues.
“I listened to them at three in the morning and I --”
“Hyung, listen to me.” Sungjong sounds panicked now. Howon doesn’t understand why he would be. Their relationship has been clear to both of them from the start. “I didn’t mean what I said, I was drunk and, and I-I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.”
“I miss you a lot, you know. I didn’t get to meet you at the wedding and we haven’t been talking.”
Sungjong chuckles bitterly, “If you really missed me, I don’t see why you can’t make the effort to see me, not even for fifteen minutes at a coffee shop.”
He’s right. Howon rubs a palm over his face at the memories of constantly turning down Sungjong’s requests to drink together.
“I’m sorry, hyung, it really isn’t the right time for this conversation.”
-
One afternoon when Saerom finally falls asleep after a morning of hyperactivity, Howon picks up A Distant and Beautiful Place again.
He skips everything and reads the end, but it makes completely no sense; he doesn’t remember what he’s read so many years ago. His attention span isn’t great either; he’s just waiting for Saerom to wake up and toddle over to him, wanting to be fed and coddled and loved.
He glances at the clock. Twenty more minutes till Saerom wakes up. Howon starts on another story, and at the end, he traces the words 행복 and 행보 on the paper, flat and lifeless and printed, and the memories come back to him in a tidal wave.
Happiness without an ‘i’, happiness reduced to existence with a single stroke of misfortune.
-
Misfortune can come in many forms, like a single forgotten pill on a bedside table.
In truth, Heeyoung tells him after the papers are finalised, the reason she’d agreed to marry him was because of one single variable.
-
Howon gets a call at the studio in the summer the year they get married, when the heat makes the air in the practice room almost sizzle. The ringtone is the one that he’s set for Heeyoung, so he calls for a break before stepping outside.
“Hello?”
Heeyoung stutters over the line, and Howon has to prompt her before she breathes shakily into the receiver, “I’m three weeks late, oppa.”
-
“Why not abort it?”
They’re sitting side-by-side on the floor of their living room at ten o’clock in the morning. They’re both late for work by at least thirty minutes, but this is the least of their concerns right now.
“What if I can’t get pregnant again after the abortion? You know how my mother is like. It’s like you’re not her daughter if you don’t have children. It’s ridiculous. Look at where children got her to, unemployed and begging for her husband’s attention.”
Heeyoung looks down at her lap, her eyes bright with tears.
“Since I was twelve, I swore never to become like her.”
Howon knows what she’s implying. They’ve been dating for a few years, they’ve met each other’s parents, they’ve been living together for the past six months. A child would just be another incentive.
-
A month after the marriage ceremony, the car accident happens.
Howon remembers Heeyoung crying at her mother’s urn, and thinks, It must’ve been hard, for Heeyoung to love someone so unconditionally after all the terrible things they’d done.
-
Saerom is hard to handle without her mother. She cries often, and without another person to help him, Howon is up for twenty hours a day, six times a week. Sometimes he’s so tired he just wants to lie in bed all day, and ignore her crying and tantrums.
She wails again from her seat, her feet kicking and banging against her plastic chair, the thumps hollow and grating on Howon’s nerves.
He strides to her quickly and sits down to pull her into a hug. He looks her right in the eye, and she closes her mouth to glare right back.
Howon tries the soft approach.
“Saerom-ah, don’t be like that,” he coos at her as he rocks her in his arms, but she only stills for a moment before flailing again. Howon’s head is pounding and he feels almost dizzy from the lack of sleep. Saerom pushes him away and toddles off, and when Howon tries to hug her again, her hand flies to hit him just above the eye so that she could wriggle free from his grasp.
Howon stares at her back as she walks away, with a growing sense of despair settling in his chest.
-
“Hello, Sungjong-ah?”
There’s a loud exhale. “Hi, hyung.”
“I,” Howon stutters a little, and he winces at how timid he sounds. He tries again. “Sungjong-ah, I’m really sorry to bother you about this, I didn’t know who else to call.” And then Saerom wails from the next room. Howon feels his headache come back full-force. “But could you help me for a little while? You’re really good with children.”
“Hyung...” Sungjong trails off, his reluctance evident in his voice.
“I understand.” Howon feels his face flush in embarrassment at the rejection. “It’s okay if you -- ”
And then Saerom screams and slaps her bowl with her fist, sending it tumbling to the floor with a crash. Howon hurries over before she can cut herself with the pieces.
“I have to go, I’ll call you later.”
Howon almost presses the end call button before Sungjong says, “Wait, hyung. You haven’t changed your address, have you?”
Howon almost laughs in relief. “No,” he breathes into the receiver.
“I’ll be right over. Give me half an hour.”
-
When Sungjong arrives, Howon answers the door with green muck all over his shirt. Behind Howon, Saerom giggles to herself as she squishes the peas in her hands, her mouth rimmed with green and brown. Sungjong takes one look at Howon’s absolutely miserable expression before bursting into laughter.
Howon just stands there, dumbfounded and slightly indignant.
Sungjong’s shoulders shake as he brushes past him to tend to Saerom, who eyes the newcomer suspiciously. Sungjong extends a hand to greet her and she gleefully slaps a palm full of green mush against the extended hand. Sungjong flinches, but his smile doesn’t waver. He grabs some tissues and wipes Saerom’s face and when he’s finished, Saerom is looking forlornly at her empty hands and bowl.
Sungjong scoops her up without warning, and she tries to wriggle away again. Sungjong holds tight, however, even when an errant foot kicks him in the chest, causing him to grunt in pain. Sungjong puts her down on the floor where she immediately tries to walk away, but Sungjong holds her by her hands and tilts her chin up to look at him.
He whispers something to her, and after a while Saerom toddles off to sit in front of the television.
“Daddy?” She’s looking at Howon now, waiting for him to switch the television on. It isn’t time for her one-hour cartoon yet, but Howon is so glad that she’s stopped screaming that he immediately obliges.
“How did you do that?” Howon whispers to Sungjong, one eye still on Saerom, whose eyes are practically glued to Pororo.
“You have to be firm with her sometimes, you know. She’s being difficult because she can.”
“Huh.”
“You know, it’s weird for me to see you as a dad. Remember Hello Baby? You were even worse than Sunggyu.”
“Be quiet, dongsaeng,” Howon says, trying to be playful, but Sungjong whips around.
Sungjong doesn’t say a word, just looks at him, and Howon feels guilt creep along his skin. He doesn’t have the right to call Sungjong that anymore.
He opens his mouth to apologise, hand already rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, but Sungjong passes him wordlessly to sit next to Saerom on the floor.
-
Saerom is asleep in her bed at eight o’clock, which is nothing short of a miracle. Howon is so, so tired from all the screaming and having to chase around a hyperactive three-year-old all around the house. Saerom still doesn’t want him to hug her, but at least when Sungjong pretends to be a monster and goes after her, she runs behind Howon’s legs for protection.
He thanks Sungjong for what might be the twentieth time this evening before Sungjong tells him to stop, but not unkindly. Before he leaves, he tells Howon, “If you need help again, just call me.”
Howon studies Sungjong’s retreating back until he disappears down the corridor.
Baby steps.
-
Howon still feels embarrassed about asking for help. But on the occasions where he doesn’t, he dials Heeyoung’s number almost automatically. Then he puts down the receiver after he remembers that she lives on the other side of town and is also working.
So he tries to take care of things by himself for as long as his energy can hold out.
Unfortunately, he is a man in his thirties, and his body isn’t what it used to be. He can’t work for ten hours straight and go home to a hyperactive child without falling asleep at work, something that neither his boss nor the band he’s in charge of appreciates. Saerom is still difficult to handle, but she likes being coddled and pampered, things that Howon provides on a regular basis. Things are working out just fine, in Howon’s opinion, until Saerom gets mad at Howon for banning her from more than one hour of TV, and runs off screaming for ‘Jong-samchon’.
Howon dials Sungjong’s number with a sigh.
-
“It’s not so hard to call for help, you know,” Sungjong says as he shampoos Saerom’s hair briskly. Saerom squirms under him, pouting and whining about the soap that gets into her eyes, but at least she doesn’t try to crawl out of the bathtub, yelling about how she doesn’t need a bath today.
Howon rubs the sleep from his eyes -- it’s been a good while since he’s had time to take a nap -- and goes over to wipe off the soapy suds on Saerom’s eyebrows.
“Thanks, I’ll take over from here.” Howon expects some resistance when he squats next to Sungjong, but Sungjong merely sits back and let Howon rinse Saerom’s hair.
Their shoulders press against each other. Sungjong is warm and comfortable against him, even in the humid summer heat, and Howon desperately wants to say something to break the silence, but Sungjong beats him to it.
“You’ve been asleep for like, what, ten minutes?”
“Saerom’s mom is coming to pick her up for the weekend, I have to meet her at the door.”
Sungjong clearly looks uncomfortable with the direction that the conversation has taken, but he’s saved by Saerom’s squeal of “mommy” through the spray of water.
-
Sungjong leaves a few hours later, once Heeyoung has taken Saerom.
“Saerom must love her mother very much,” Sungjong says fondly, his mouth tugging into a small smile.
No, she actually didn’t, Howon thinks. Saerom’s mother held her gently but yelled at her too often. Saerom would come crying to Howon and he and Heeyoung have another thing to fight about. Then they’d gotten divorced and Heeyoung gave up her custodial rights, smiling bitterly as she said to Howon, “You’ll probably take care of her better.”
Heeyoung had held her almost every night when she couldn’t sleep as an infant and still fed her breakfast every morning after getting little to no rest herself. Then she’d clean the house and feed and change Saerom intermittently. Howon would come home to find her in tears when Saerom refused to touch her, although things would smooth over after Howon tucked his wife into bed and cleaned Saerom up.
But these small moments don’t last, and that’s how they’ve wound up here, passing Saerom back and forth on Sunday afternoons and Friday nights.
And Howon tells Sungjong, “yes, she does.”
Sungjong stares at him with a strange expression again, his mouth still in that little upward curl.
“Goodnight, hyung.”
-
Saerom is five and in kindergarten, which works out fine for both her and Howon; she makes new friends in her class, and he gets to tuck her in bed at eight o’clock after she’s tired herself out.
Sungjong doesn’t come over as often now, but he calls and drops by on Monday nights, when his filming schedule allows for it.
Howon hasn’t seen Sungjong’s house after all the months that they’ve spent around each other, so he’s rather surprised when Sungjong offers to meet him at home on a Friday night.
“Like a date,” Sungjong says, and laughs when Howon splutters. “Right, see you tomorrow. Don’t destroy my house while you’re there, hyung.”
-
“So I read that book you told me to.”
Howon studies the expression on Sungjong’s face carefully. It flickers from shock to hurt to playful in the space of a second. The memory of that afternoon is obviously still clear in his mind.
“Only one out of the many?” Sungjong’s smile is strained, but Howon pushes forward.
“There’s this story about a person who manages to turn his life around after making a convincing speech. So I was wondering if I could do the same.”
“I don’t know, hyung, it’s a just a story.” And he looks at Howon with the same scrutinising look Howon’d been mulling over for so long.
Howon ducks his head down, steadying himself for rejection. But he refuses to believe that he’s read Sungjong’s gaze in the wrong way.
Then Sungjong is so close to him, warmth emanating from his body as he shifts next to Howon.
“Then again, it doesn’t hurt to try.”
His tone is slightly hopeful. Howon thinks of the ten years that’s passed, and for all his appearance is different, Sungjong has not changed in the slightest. He is still trying to reach for Howon. Since debut, since that afternoon in Sungjong's bed, since Howon left with his back turned away from him, Sungjong has yet to actually get to him, because Howon didn’t want him to. He’d been so hesitant, but ten years can change things.
This time, Howon wants to meet him in the middle.
-end-
Poll Round 12: Distance Over Time
Team: Future
Rating: PG
Fandom: Infinite
Pairing: Hoya/Sungjong
Summary: “Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by the impact of my choices that I can’t choose anything at all because I’m afraid today will be the day that I make the choice that changes everything.”
Author's Note: Many thanks to olymfics tlist, especially M and beta M.
Prompt Used: Urban Zakapa - All The Same
There’s not much reprieve for Howon even back in Busan.
He’s been so busy, even though he is on holiday. He’s staying in his parents’ home, but there is a constant stream of people going in and out of their house, wanting to speak to him and meet him, so that Howon feels completely exhausted at the end of each day. Plans to go sightseeing are interrupted by his cousins dropping by to see him. Howon appreciates it, likes the attention, even. But the years of no contact have left most of his conversations awkward and stiff. He’ll enquire about a niece’s baby and she’ll say the child is already attending grade school. He’ll make conversation, asking about a cousin’s girlfriend, only to realize that cousin married another woman. It’s things like that which makes Howon think about how, even though he’s the one who moved away to Seoul, he returns to people who are continuously moving further away from him.
New years are the worst, simply because it gives a reason for his entire family tree to congregate at his grandparents’ home. Howon is twenty-four, and since he’s single and a celebrity, it apparently gives people around him the right to pressure him to get a girlfriend and get married. One particularly enthusiastic aunt even pulls up articles on how a father’s age would affect a child’s intelligence.
It’s so tiring, Howon thinks, to listen to the same polite inquiries and well-meaning advice over and over again.
-
Howon returns to the dorm the day after, only to see Sungjong sprawled on his bed, one leg dangling from the sides and a book propped against stomach.
“What’re you reading,” Howon says in lieu of a greeting.
“A Distant and Beautiful Place.” Sungjong’s eyes don’t even leave the page, but he scoots over on the bed. “Do you wanna read together?”
“Nope.” Howon ends with a childish pop of his mouth.
“Read a little, hyung. I’ve heard it’s good for your brain.”
“You’ll just tell me the ending, anyway. I don’t see the point in reading a book you’re going to spoil for me.”
“This hyung.” Sungjong shoves Howon distractedly. “Yah, I’m reading on a rare day off. Go play with Dongwoo or something.”
Howon wants to shove Sungjong back, but Sungjong has been on the same page since about an hour ago. He probably has a lot of things on his mind after meeting his family. Probably discussed when it’s best to get married and have children too, Howon thinks amusedly as he returns to his room.
Sungjong will come to him on his own.
-
Howon will admit that he’s had a thing for Sungjong for a long time. They are no longer roommates, but he likes to sprawl on Sungjong’s clean-smelling single bed on their days off. Sungjong lets him squeeze next to him on the bed and they talk so late into the night Sungjong usually falls asleep halfway. Then Howon drifts off as well, too lazy to move back to his own bed.
-
Howon wakes up to the smell of shampoo in his nose.
Trying to scoot back with a disoriented grunt, he cracks open one eye to see a mop of shiny, perfectly conditioned hair that could only belong to Sungjong. He also realises that he can't move because Sungjong's legs are intertwined with his. The jerk of his leg causes Sungjong to stir, and he croaks at Howon to ask for the time. It's supposed to be unattractive, but Sungjong's sleep-mussed hair next to Howon's cheek makes him lean just a little away, so he doesn't do something foolish like push his nose to rest at the top of Sungjong's ear or, god forbid, kiss him.
Howon rolls to the side to check his iPad and rolls back to tell Sungjong that they still have an hour more, and Sungjong responds by flinging an arm around Howon's torso and going straight back to sleep. It's like sharing a bed with your bandmate when you're twenty-two happens everyday.
Okay, it happens quite often, Howon concedes. But Sungjong is here, body warm next to his and probably unaware that Howon is extremely uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons.
Sungjong presses his nose against his shoulder, the skin between his eyebrows furrowed in his sleep. Howon reaches to smooth the creases of his skin. Sungjong presses closer, resting his temple in the cradle of his hand, and for a few moments Howon forgets how to breathe.
-
Howon likes the curve of Sungjong’s mouth in his sleep, the hunch of his still thin shoulders as he curls up under the comforter. Mornings were never the time to thread his fingers through Sungjong’s hair or thumb his soft skin, but Howon likes to close his eyes in the van and imagine, or simply stare at the pale skin of Sungjong’s neck as his head lolls on Myungsoo’s shoulder. He’ll ruffle Sungjong’s hair after dance practice and press into his skin in the dark, but the feeling is still off.
There is something different about mornings.
-
Sungjong is delighted when he spots Howon digging out the book from its plastic wrapping.
“You bought it.”
“Yeah.” Howon settles down on his own bunk. He turns towards the doorway to see Sungjong leaning against the frame, with a small, pleased smile that quickly widens to a grin.
“Want to go read in my room? I haven’t finished this book, we can read together if you like.” The end of his sentence is a question, and without thinking, Howon is nodding and following Sungjong to his room.
-
“Which page are you on?” Sungjong asks from his bed.
“Thirty-two,” Howon says from the floor.
Sungjong tsks. “How slow, hyung.”
“I just started, don’t be too hard on me. And the floor’s uncomfortable.”
“Come here then.” Without looking up from his book, Sungjong wriggles his body towards the wall, and Howon’s eyes immediately zero in on the sway of Sungjong’s rump. It doesn’t help that Sungjong’s wearing thin shorts today, the outline of his briefs a visible line against his skin. Howon tears his gaze away with much effort to see Sungjong staring at him expectantly. He panics internally for about half a second when Sungjong’s mouth pulls into a frown.
“Aren’t you coming up?”
Howon stands up slowly and joins him hesitantly on the bed. The sheets beneath him are warm with Sungjong’s body heat.
Then Sungjong shifts, almost violently, so his back is pressed against the wall and his legs are resting against Howon’s stomach.
“Thanks, Howon-hyung.”
“Yah.” Howon mock-glares at him.
Sungjong flips a page in response.
An hour passes, and Howon’s frustration has reached its limit. He’s been flipping the pages of the book without even bothering to understand the text. Sungjong’s legs are kind of distracting.
Howon’s sitting up by now, his head against the headboard and Sungjong’s legs on his lap. Which can’t seem to stop moving. They sometimes slide against each other in a soundless movement when Sungjong is really immersed in some parts of the book, and sometimes his toes curl into the fabric of Howon’s pants in a playful attempt to wrinkle them.
When Sungjong lifts his foot close to Howon’s head, Howon flinches and grabs the ankle instinctively.
Sungjong wriggles his toes in front of Howon’s face tauntingly.
“Stop that,” Howon grumbles and tries to grab Sungjong’s other leg to push them off his lap. Only he miscalculates and ends up wrapping his fingers around the soft flesh of Sungjong’s inner thigh.
Howon is frozen by his mistake, and they stay like this for perhaps a moment that seems like five to him. Finally he comes back to his senses a little, and he withdraws his hand quickly.
Sungjong takes his legs off from Howon’s lap, obedient for once, but Howon can’t help but notice that the movement is a slow, sensuous slide.
He clears his throat and goes back to his book.
-
It’s difficult to justify even to himself, what he’s doing to Sungjong. He wants, so much, to go to him, but he hesitates too much and too often.
He fixes Sungjong’s bowtie before they have to go on Running Man, and unconsciously stands so close he feels the heat emanating from Sungjong’s body. At that moment, he wants to lean in and press his mouth against the juncture of Sungjong’s neck, but he stops himself and steps back. He smooths the front of Sungjong’s suit, his hand lingering at the waist, and does not meet his eyes. He brushes the back of Sungjong’s hand and when Sungjong’s hand moves to press closer, Howon draws away.
So naturally, one day when they’re sitting on the single bed and reading, when Sungjong grasps his shoulder and kisses him, Howon does not kiss him back.
The kiss catches Howon by surprise, the sweet press of Sungjong’s mouth made soft by his hesitance. He lets Sungjong kiss him for a moment, and then gently pushes him away.
Sungjong reluctantly draws away, his eyes uncomprehending, his teeth caught on his bottom lip in worry. Howon feels terrible for doing this, but he can’t.
“I’m going to bed, Sungjong-ah. Goodnight.”
Howon closes the door as gently as he can to the image of Sungjong’s face, embarrassed and angry; to the image of Sungjong sinking down on his bed, defeated.
-
Sungjong never brings the kiss up in conversation, so Howon just pretends it never happened.
-
It hurts like hell.
All of them had been anticipating disbandment. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and Howon rather preferred it to be now than some time when people actually left the group voluntarily.
But it makes Howon feel so helpless, regardless. The atmosphere is different, tense, when seven people cooped up in a single apartment are not working for a better future. Instead they struggle with memories and meander around with the endless possibilities. Woohyun hasn’t returned to the dorm for a week.
On the day they’re supposed to move out of the dorm, Howon chooses to leave first, packing the last of his things quietly. Almost all of his things are already in his new apartment in the next district.
Howon leaves with a beautiful boy still sleeping in his bed. With his last suitcase behind him, he closes the door to the curtains billowing in the autumn wind, and Sungjong’s body pillowed in the first rays of sunshine.
-
After he leaves the dorm for good, he still keeps in contact with Sungjong. They talk about the other members: Woohyun’s judging on various singing competitions, Sungyeol’s new drama, Myungsoo’s cameo in Sungyeol’s drama. But Howon doesn’t like it when they talk about themselves. He isn’t used to Sungjong’s cryptic messages that he understands but chooses not to reply to. It makes Howon at a loss for words. Sungjong texts, Hyung, what’s going on between you and that co-star of yours? Kekeke, if you aren’t interested, introduce me!, and Howon is confused as to whether he feels jealous that Sungjong has moved on quicker than expected or annoyed at Sungjong’s persistence for them to meet up.
Right now, Howon needs to focus on the future.
-
“How have you been these days?”
Howon is still the awkward person who starts conversations with a stilted, overused sentence.
He also starts the conversation too soon. Sungjong pauses in the middle of shrugging off his scarf at the doorway to smile quizzically at him. Howon bows his head, embarrassed, and waits for Sungjong to settle into an armchair and his reply.
“Travelling,” comes the reply, vague, short and business-like; and it takes Howon slightly by surprise. He also bypasses the expected reply of ‘good’, but Howon can’t bring himself to expect more from a person he hasn’t seen face-to-face for five years. Their infrequent texts hardly seem to count now, when Howon can feel rather than see how his dongsaeng has grown.
Sungjong is much more well-built, his frame wiry instead of lanky, but maybe that’s because of the way he carries himself with an air of lazy confidence that Howon isn’t used to. The curve of his back as he rests comfortably against Howon’s couch is obvious enough. Howon is used to a stiff, almost rigid posture that exposed Sungjong’s determination to become a man people could take seriously.
“Like where?” Howon wants to keep this conversation going. He isn’t sure if he genuinely wants to know more about Sungjong’s travelling experiences, or just because it’s instinctive for him to continue talking, even if the interaction takes an awkward turn. Keeping a conversation going is something he’s used to doing at after parties. It was how he got to know his fiancée, after all.
Sungjong clears his throat, his forefinger tracing the side of his coffee mug.
“North America, for something new I guess.”
There’s the silence between them again. It’s perhaps the distance between them magnified, exemplified, and personified. Sungjong’s foot taps restlessly against the tiled floor.
“Hyung,” Sungjong leans forward, his elbows pressed against the tabletop, “I’ve been really busy these days, so if you called me here just for this, we can always do it over the ph- ”
“I’m getting married.” And Howon can’t help the swell of happiness in that statement.
Sungjong’s mouth closes with an audible click.
“Congratulations.” Sungjong says, eyes downcast. “When’s the wedding?”
“September 29, the invites have been sent out already. You’ll go, right?”
Sungjong nods his head mutely.
Howon can feel his smile fade away.
“You don’t look very happy for me.”
Sungjong’s head shoots up at this, and finally their eyes meet. He opens his mouth, but pauses, as though considering his words carefully.
“Believe me, hyung,” he says, his eyes blinking rapidly, “I am very happy for you.”
-
They get married the year Howon turns thirty, and Heeyoung agrees to a small wedding, with only their respective families and some of their closer friends. He spots Sungjong in the second row, his gaze obscured by the hat Howon’s mother wears.
It seems like a day full of missed opportunities. He misses Heeyoung’s mouth by a little when he kisses her because he’s so nervous, he forgets to introduce Heeyoung’s pretty friend to Sungyeol even though he promised, and he doesn’t see Sungjong at all, even though he circles the guest tables three times. It’s like Sungjong vanished right after he said his vows, and Howon’s gut sinks a little before Heeyoung grabs his hand to introduce him to her nieces.
He’s so busy that day, but apparently not busy enough, because his eyes slide right off the person he’s talking to to look behind them, and this goes on for the entire night.
-
Heeyoung’s mother has a generous body, her arms thick and fingernails bare. These are the things Howon can’t help but notice as she gestures for them to sit down on the family couch.
The leather creaks under his weight as he shifts uncomfortably. Heeyoung’s father is at work, her mother says; he won’t be back till dinner. Busy day in the office. Heeyoung’s mother smiles at him, her mouth wobbling slightly.
Throughout dinner and after that, she asks Howon various things that he tries his best to answer, with little input from Heeyoung. She asks him how he’s been coping since disbandment, if he’s been eating well, as if she could hide the fact that dinner time is well over and Heeyoung’s father has yet to reach home with well-timed questions about his health. Howon excuses himself to the bathroom after the questions get slightly overwhelming.
He idles around, alternating between staring at his phone and the bathroom’s interior. After trying to stall for as long as he possibly can, Howon creeps out quietly. He closes the door behind him with a clang, and then he realises the soft murmuring from the living room that had stopped.
He steps back to the living room to see Heeyoung’s face flushed red. Whether it’s from embarrassment or anger, Howon can’t tell. For a brief moment, Howon contemplates the possibility of Heeyoung’s mother rejecting him, but it passes quickly when she smiles softly at him.
“You two must be tired. Heeyoung, don’t you have work tomorrow? I’m so sorry to hold you up so late.” Howon clenches his teeth at the pointed statement. He’d expected this jibe at his less-than-regular working schedule.
Howon thanks her, and Heeyoung’s mother takes his hands between hers when Heeyoung is slipping on her heels.
“No, thank you.” Her hands are rough and leathery, but her gaze is so intense Howon can hardly look away.
“Please take care of my Heeyoung.” Once again her mouth doesn’t stretch properly on her face when she smiles, and Howon tries to answer with a smile of his own. He’s been told that his forced smiles are terribly fake.
-
Heeyoung’s mother passes away a month after their wedding. Car accident, the police officer said. I’m sorry for your loss.
Her wake is held on a cold, windy day, but the shoulder of Howon’s shirt sticks to his skin from the moisture where Heeyoung rests her head. His wife looks exhausted, her dark circles prominent without makeup and her frame small and frail.
After all the guests leave, she kneels at her mother’s urn, unmoving for a long time.
-
They fight too much for it to be healthy, that much Howon knows. They’ve been married for two years and the fights have increased since the time they were dating. They don’t go a day without at least flinging an insult at the other’s face.
Like most ideals, Howon realizes, their love deteriorates slowly. It’s only been two years and Howon dreads going home to talk to Heeyoung, lest they have another one of their arguments. Heeyoung is intelligent and taciturn, neither of these which describe him the slightest, especially when she renders him speechless after almost every argument they’ve had.
He goes over them after they’ve made up, thinks about all the possible things he could have said instead. Then time passes and old problems snowball into a huge, yawning gap between them. Howon is left fumbling as Heeyoung cuts him down viciously once again.
Sometimes they get so loud that Saerom starts to cry from the bedroom, and both of them start, as if rousing from a trance, and go to tend to their daughter’s needs. Heeyoung makes hot milk for her, while Howon kneels next to her bed, patting her back softly and slowly to lull her back to sleep. As his daughter’s eyes flutter closed, he can’t help but stroke her cheek, thinking, You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and, Thank you.
-
Saerom keeps them busy, for a while. She’s taken to throwing her food onto the ceiling now, and although it’s hard to clean soggy peas off of white plaster, Howon likes it when he does it with Heeyoung. They stay in blissful silence as they mop up the mess, hands occasionally brushing against each other. Somehow, after they’ve put the dishclothes away, Heeyoung isn’t so snippy anymore. They lie curled into each other in the bed, and Howon will wake up content.
Temporary happiness is, unfortunately, not enough to save a marriage.
-
Heeyoung is perfectly calm, her eyes locked onto Howon’s, as though daring him to say a word of protest. Her jaw is set in rigid determination, and her hand pushes the divorce papers forward without so much as a tremor.
Her complexion tells him otherwise: her skin is sallow and the shadows under her eyes prominent.
“Where’s Saerom,” he asks, and then bites his tongue to stop the deluge of questions that threaten to follow after.
“Aeyoung is babysitting her.” Heeyoung waves a dismissive hand. “But that hardly matters now. Please sit down; we haven’t talked in a long while, honey.”
Howon grits his teeth at that, but takes the seat opposite her.
“I think you’ve known for a long time now that this was going to happen,” she begins, and Howon thinks, over and over again, No, I really didn’t.
-
Howon picks up the phone and greets the caller curtly. He’s in no mood to entertain anyone.
“Hey, hyung,” Sungjong greets quietly.
Howon doesn’t want to answer, lest he choke on the lump in his throat.
The line crackles a little and stays silent for a few beats.
“Are you doing okay?” For once, Sungjong sounds uncertain.
Howon doesn’t want to talk about the divorce, and so he doesn’t. “I listened to all your voicemails, Sungjong-ah. All those you sent to me at three in the morning, after my wedding day.”
When Sungjong doesn’t make a sound, Howon continues.
“I listened to them at three in the morning and I --”
“Hyung, listen to me.” Sungjong sounds panicked now. Howon doesn’t understand why he would be. Their relationship has been clear to both of them from the start. “I didn’t mean what I said, I was drunk and, and I-I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.”
“I miss you a lot, you know. I didn’t get to meet you at the wedding and we haven’t been talking.”
Sungjong chuckles bitterly, “If you really missed me, I don’t see why you can’t make the effort to see me, not even for fifteen minutes at a coffee shop.”
He’s right. Howon rubs a palm over his face at the memories of constantly turning down Sungjong’s requests to drink together.
“I’m sorry, hyung, it really isn’t the right time for this conversation.”
-
One afternoon when Saerom finally falls asleep after a morning of hyperactivity, Howon picks up A Distant and Beautiful Place again.
He skips everything and reads the end, but it makes completely no sense; he doesn’t remember what he’s read so many years ago. His attention span isn’t great either; he’s just waiting for Saerom to wake up and toddle over to him, wanting to be fed and coddled and loved.
He glances at the clock. Twenty more minutes till Saerom wakes up. Howon starts on another story, and at the end, he traces the words 행복 and 행보 on the paper, flat and lifeless and printed, and the memories come back to him in a tidal wave.
Happiness without an ‘i’, happiness reduced to existence with a single stroke of misfortune.
-
Misfortune can come in many forms, like a single forgotten pill on a bedside table.
In truth, Heeyoung tells him after the papers are finalised, the reason she’d agreed to marry him was because of one single variable.
-
Howon gets a call at the studio in the summer the year they get married, when the heat makes the air in the practice room almost sizzle. The ringtone is the one that he’s set for Heeyoung, so he calls for a break before stepping outside.
“Hello?”
Heeyoung stutters over the line, and Howon has to prompt her before she breathes shakily into the receiver, “I’m three weeks late, oppa.”
-
“Why not abort it?”
They’re sitting side-by-side on the floor of their living room at ten o’clock in the morning. They’re both late for work by at least thirty minutes, but this is the least of their concerns right now.
“What if I can’t get pregnant again after the abortion? You know how my mother is like. It’s like you’re not her daughter if you don’t have children. It’s ridiculous. Look at where children got her to, unemployed and begging for her husband’s attention.”
Heeyoung looks down at her lap, her eyes bright with tears.
“Since I was twelve, I swore never to become like her.”
Howon knows what she’s implying. They’ve been dating for a few years, they’ve met each other’s parents, they’ve been living together for the past six months. A child would just be another incentive.
-
A month after the marriage ceremony, the car accident happens.
Howon remembers Heeyoung crying at her mother’s urn, and thinks, It must’ve been hard, for Heeyoung to love someone so unconditionally after all the terrible things they’d done.
-
Saerom is hard to handle without her mother. She cries often, and without another person to help him, Howon is up for twenty hours a day, six times a week. Sometimes he’s so tired he just wants to lie in bed all day, and ignore her crying and tantrums.
She wails again from her seat, her feet kicking and banging against her plastic chair, the thumps hollow and grating on Howon’s nerves.
He strides to her quickly and sits down to pull her into a hug. He looks her right in the eye, and she closes her mouth to glare right back.
Howon tries the soft approach.
“Saerom-ah, don’t be like that,” he coos at her as he rocks her in his arms, but she only stills for a moment before flailing again. Howon’s head is pounding and he feels almost dizzy from the lack of sleep. Saerom pushes him away and toddles off, and when Howon tries to hug her again, her hand flies to hit him just above the eye so that she could wriggle free from his grasp.
Howon stares at her back as she walks away, with a growing sense of despair settling in his chest.
-
“Hello, Sungjong-ah?”
There’s a loud exhale. “Hi, hyung.”
“I,” Howon stutters a little, and he winces at how timid he sounds. He tries again. “Sungjong-ah, I’m really sorry to bother you about this, I didn’t know who else to call.” And then Saerom wails from the next room. Howon feels his headache come back full-force. “But could you help me for a little while? You’re really good with children.”
“Hyung...” Sungjong trails off, his reluctance evident in his voice.
“I understand.” Howon feels his face flush in embarrassment at the rejection. “It’s okay if you -- ”
And then Saerom screams and slaps her bowl with her fist, sending it tumbling to the floor with a crash. Howon hurries over before she can cut herself with the pieces.
“I have to go, I’ll call you later.”
Howon almost presses the end call button before Sungjong says, “Wait, hyung. You haven’t changed your address, have you?”
Howon almost laughs in relief. “No,” he breathes into the receiver.
“I’ll be right over. Give me half an hour.”
-
When Sungjong arrives, Howon answers the door with green muck all over his shirt. Behind Howon, Saerom giggles to herself as she squishes the peas in her hands, her mouth rimmed with green and brown. Sungjong takes one look at Howon’s absolutely miserable expression before bursting into laughter.
Howon just stands there, dumbfounded and slightly indignant.
Sungjong’s shoulders shake as he brushes past him to tend to Saerom, who eyes the newcomer suspiciously. Sungjong extends a hand to greet her and she gleefully slaps a palm full of green mush against the extended hand. Sungjong flinches, but his smile doesn’t waver. He grabs some tissues and wipes Saerom’s face and when he’s finished, Saerom is looking forlornly at her empty hands and bowl.
Sungjong scoops her up without warning, and she tries to wriggle away again. Sungjong holds tight, however, even when an errant foot kicks him in the chest, causing him to grunt in pain. Sungjong puts her down on the floor where she immediately tries to walk away, but Sungjong holds her by her hands and tilts her chin up to look at him.
He whispers something to her, and after a while Saerom toddles off to sit in front of the television.
“Daddy?” She’s looking at Howon now, waiting for him to switch the television on. It isn’t time for her one-hour cartoon yet, but Howon is so glad that she’s stopped screaming that he immediately obliges.
“How did you do that?” Howon whispers to Sungjong, one eye still on Saerom, whose eyes are practically glued to Pororo.
“You have to be firm with her sometimes, you know. She’s being difficult because she can.”
“Huh.”
“You know, it’s weird for me to see you as a dad. Remember Hello Baby? You were even worse than Sunggyu.”
“Be quiet, dongsaeng,” Howon says, trying to be playful, but Sungjong whips around.
Sungjong doesn’t say a word, just looks at him, and Howon feels guilt creep along his skin. He doesn’t have the right to call Sungjong that anymore.
He opens his mouth to apologise, hand already rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, but Sungjong passes him wordlessly to sit next to Saerom on the floor.
-
Saerom is asleep in her bed at eight o’clock, which is nothing short of a miracle. Howon is so, so tired from all the screaming and having to chase around a hyperactive three-year-old all around the house. Saerom still doesn’t want him to hug her, but at least when Sungjong pretends to be a monster and goes after her, she runs behind Howon’s legs for protection.
He thanks Sungjong for what might be the twentieth time this evening before Sungjong tells him to stop, but not unkindly. Before he leaves, he tells Howon, “If you need help again, just call me.”
Howon studies Sungjong’s retreating back until he disappears down the corridor.
Baby steps.
-
Howon still feels embarrassed about asking for help. But on the occasions where he doesn’t, he dials Heeyoung’s number almost automatically. Then he puts down the receiver after he remembers that she lives on the other side of town and is also working.
So he tries to take care of things by himself for as long as his energy can hold out.
Unfortunately, he is a man in his thirties, and his body isn’t what it used to be. He can’t work for ten hours straight and go home to a hyperactive child without falling asleep at work, something that neither his boss nor the band he’s in charge of appreciates. Saerom is still difficult to handle, but she likes being coddled and pampered, things that Howon provides on a regular basis. Things are working out just fine, in Howon’s opinion, until Saerom gets mad at Howon for banning her from more than one hour of TV, and runs off screaming for ‘Jong-samchon’.
Howon dials Sungjong’s number with a sigh.
-
“It’s not so hard to call for help, you know,” Sungjong says as he shampoos Saerom’s hair briskly. Saerom squirms under him, pouting and whining about the soap that gets into her eyes, but at least she doesn’t try to crawl out of the bathtub, yelling about how she doesn’t need a bath today.
Howon rubs the sleep from his eyes -- it’s been a good while since he’s had time to take a nap -- and goes over to wipe off the soapy suds on Saerom’s eyebrows.
“Thanks, I’ll take over from here.” Howon expects some resistance when he squats next to Sungjong, but Sungjong merely sits back and let Howon rinse Saerom’s hair.
Their shoulders press against each other. Sungjong is warm and comfortable against him, even in the humid summer heat, and Howon desperately wants to say something to break the silence, but Sungjong beats him to it.
“You’ve been asleep for like, what, ten minutes?”
“Saerom’s mom is coming to pick her up for the weekend, I have to meet her at the door.”
Sungjong clearly looks uncomfortable with the direction that the conversation has taken, but he’s saved by Saerom’s squeal of “mommy” through the spray of water.
-
Sungjong leaves a few hours later, once Heeyoung has taken Saerom.
“Saerom must love her mother very much,” Sungjong says fondly, his mouth tugging into a small smile.
No, she actually didn’t, Howon thinks. Saerom’s mother held her gently but yelled at her too often. Saerom would come crying to Howon and he and Heeyoung have another thing to fight about. Then they’d gotten divorced and Heeyoung gave up her custodial rights, smiling bitterly as she said to Howon, “You’ll probably take care of her better.”
Heeyoung had held her almost every night when she couldn’t sleep as an infant and still fed her breakfast every morning after getting little to no rest herself. Then she’d clean the house and feed and change Saerom intermittently. Howon would come home to find her in tears when Saerom refused to touch her, although things would smooth over after Howon tucked his wife into bed and cleaned Saerom up.
But these small moments don’t last, and that’s how they’ve wound up here, passing Saerom back and forth on Sunday afternoons and Friday nights.
And Howon tells Sungjong, “yes, she does.”
Sungjong stares at him with a strange expression again, his mouth still in that little upward curl.
“Goodnight, hyung.”
-
Saerom is five and in kindergarten, which works out fine for both her and Howon; she makes new friends in her class, and he gets to tuck her in bed at eight o’clock after she’s tired herself out.
Sungjong doesn’t come over as often now, but he calls and drops by on Monday nights, when his filming schedule allows for it.
Howon hasn’t seen Sungjong’s house after all the months that they’ve spent around each other, so he’s rather surprised when Sungjong offers to meet him at home on a Friday night.
“Like a date,” Sungjong says, and laughs when Howon splutters. “Right, see you tomorrow. Don’t destroy my house while you’re there, hyung.”
-
“So I read that book you told me to.”
Howon studies the expression on Sungjong’s face carefully. It flickers from shock to hurt to playful in the space of a second. The memory of that afternoon is obviously still clear in his mind.
“Only one out of the many?” Sungjong’s smile is strained, but Howon pushes forward.
“There’s this story about a person who manages to turn his life around after making a convincing speech. So I was wondering if I could do the same.”
“I don’t know, hyung, it’s a just a story.” And he looks at Howon with the same scrutinising look Howon’d been mulling over for so long.
Howon ducks his head down, steadying himself for rejection. But he refuses to believe that he’s read Sungjong’s gaze in the wrong way.
Then Sungjong is so close to him, warmth emanating from his body as he shifts next to Howon.
“Then again, it doesn’t hurt to try.”
His tone is slightly hopeful. Howon thinks of the ten years that’s passed, and for all his appearance is different, Sungjong has not changed in the slightest. He is still trying to reach for Howon. Since debut, since that afternoon in Sungjong's bed, since Howon left with his back turned away from him, Sungjong has yet to actually get to him, because Howon didn’t want him to. He’d been so hesitant, but ten years can change things.
This time, Howon wants to meet him in the middle.
-end-
Poll Round 12: Distance Over Time