imaginary, part 1.
» Imaginary - 1/4. Angst/drama. R. Kyuhyun/Zhou Mi.
Kyuhyun has a hard time determining reality from his imagination.
A/N: This has been simmering in my brain for a few months now. Before Xenophobia and Through Sickness and Health were even joked about, this has been an idea that's been tossed around, and a few people have pressured me to go with it. I have a lot of faith in this one; hopefully it'll come through like I hope. ;__;
Plot-sensitive warnings (highlight to read): There are a lot of dark elements in this. Mental illness, specifically Schizophrenia. Multiple detailed, traumatic events. The deterioration of a person's mind. Substance abuse. Probably more that I just can't think of.
im•ag•i•nar•y [ih-maj-uh-ner-ee]
-adjective
1. Existing only in the imagination; not real; fancied.
i.e. Kyuhyun is incapable in deciding what is real and what is imaginary.
___
Kyuhyun is six years old, and he is normal - by societal standards, at least. The weather is confused; the raw bite of winter is still present but now, the snow is melting into puddles, the grass peeks through, and the slickness on the sidewalks that threatened the safety of citizens has dwindled to almost nothing. He grips his mother’s hand like a life preserve, feeling her pulse in his tightened grip and it doesn’t occur to him that his own heart rate is probably triple hers, but that doesn’t matter because his jack-rabbit pulse means nothing to him at this point - what matters is that it’s March 3rd, which means it’s officially a new school year, which means he is now officially Cho Kyuhyun, The First Grader. These were the days where nervousness, although present in his daily life, was a word that had no meaning - no quiver in his stomach, no bouts of uncontrollable nausea, no cold sweats or clammy palms, and what the hell is hypertension? (It’s that thing that his father takes medication for, nothing more.)
___
Kyuhyun loves the ice cream machine at school -- the one hidden in the teacher's lounge, that only The Fourth Graders and faculty are permitted to use. He sees it during his third week of school, his sister's slim figure eying her choices; chocolate raspberry, she decides, pressing the button. He watches in fascination as a large vacuum-like tube wobbles around inside the contraption, then slinks down and suctions an ice cream bar to itself.
He tries to move away, to avoid her -- pointless. His sister is known for being part hawk. She smiles at him as she unwraps her ice cream, almost seductively; she takes a tiny bite of the ice cream and mushes it around in her mouth. He feels himself start to drool.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want a piece?"
He doesn't dare touch the hunk of quickly-melting chocolate-raspberry goodness. There is a glint in his sister's eye that frightens him, shakes him to his core --
And for good reason; she takes the chunk of ice cream and ever-so-eloquently shoves it into his face before shoving him to the ground, pain shooting through his body as his tailbone meets tile. A few students, straggling outside the bathroom, point and laugh and high-five Ah-ra as she stalks by them, victorious.
Kyuhyun wishes it were possible to choke on ice cream.
___
Kyuhyun is eleven years old and it is February 4th, the day after his birthday - the only day of the year he liked more than his birthday, because this was the day he could do sit around and play with his toys, testing each and every one to their breaking point, to determine if they were worth keeping or were trash bin-material. His parents are gone, out to dinner with his father’s co-workers, and Ah-ra is babysitting - which, in actuality, was code for 'Kyuhyun will be spending the evening in his room,' avoiding his sister like she was diseased while he bides his time on his brand-new Gameboy Color.
He can hear her voice float down the hall, presumably from the kitchen where she chats obnoxiously on the house phone, something she knows she’s not allowed to do but clearly doesn’t care. He turns down his game - Pokémon Red - and presses himself against his bedroom door as he analyzes her conversation, picking up words that he had never heard anybody use except for in movies - oh my god, are you fucking kiddi-she KISSED him?! That motherfucking slut!
Normally Kyuhyun would go and chastise his sister; play the parent card, that’s not how young ladies should speak, chiding and criticizing and reprimanding but this night was not the kind of night in which he would do that. He would rather not have her chase him with a phone book, corner him in the bathroom and then scream obscenities at him - or maybe tonight would be different; maybe she would just wait until school the next day, where, upon seeing him in Gym class, would run up behind him and yank his pants down like she had done the week before - maybe even get someone to take his clothes and hide them while he used the showers after class? Or maybe it’s none of these - you never knew with Ah-ra, because there was always another plan formulating in her brain.
But then his stomach growls and he needs food, the only thing that would ever make him leave the comforts of his room. Not just any food, but more like the two pounds of candy that lay under the loose floorboard in the kitchen; the remainder from Halloween.
He sidesteps out of his room and down the hall to the kitchen. She's at the stove, back turned to it, talking four miles a minute into the cordless phone, and whatever is cooking smells distinctly like a mix of fried dough and rice. He walks into the kitchen with his head down, avoiding her gaze as he shuffles across the floor, stopping at a particularly loud creak. He crouches, lifting the offending board from it's snug spot in the floor, revealing a plastic shopping bag that's filled to the brim with treats.
"Yah," Ah-ra snaps, holding the phone against her chest. "What has mom said about eating that candy?"
Kyuhyun plucks a few sweets; some Reese's cups, an Air Head. "And what has mom told you about using the stove?"
He quickly shoves the board back into place and scampers down the hall before she has any time to even debate reacting. He shuts his bedroom door and slides the shaky wooden chair from his desk, pressing it against his door knob before throwing himself in bed, falling asleep before he eats his candy.
He wakes up minutes later -- fifteen, perhaps twenty -- to this smell. Like a bonfire that was set next to a gas station. It burns his throat; thick, suffocating, consuming. There's something that sounds like sparklers coming from the kitchen, and Kyuhyun realizes he is horribly, terribly warm. Something in the pit of his stomach tells him to be worried.
They always told him in school to press his hand against the door, not the doorknob, in case of a fire. Of course at this point he's forgotten that; he screams as he wraps his hand around the doorknob, the skin beginning to bubble immediately. He wraps his uninjured hand in his shirt and twists the knob and a flood of smoke enters his room. He curses under his breath -- Kyuhyun was not one for hypocrisy, but looking back, he supposes this was a sufficient situation -- and runs down the hall, forgetting step two of fire safety: always stay low to the ground.
The crackling literally sounds like his brain was full of Pop Rocks and drowns out any other noise that could possibly be heard -- the television, the rice-and-fried-dough concoction (there's a reason mom always said not to use the stove) frying in the pan, Ah-ra's incessant gabbing --
There she is, in the middle of the kitchen floor (was she really in front of his face the entire time?) screaming at the top of her lungs, but he can't hear her; her voice is muffled, like she's taking into Plexiglas. He moves closer to her, close enough to see the way she's gripping her ankle, tears streaming down her face, the loose floorboard next to her --
He reads her lips, what the fuck are you doing? Fucking help me, screaming at him to drag her out, but he's paralyzed to the spot. They always say it's dangerous to move an injured person because that will inevitably result in further damage, but he's unsure if that applies to this situation.
He screams something back at her but he doesn't remember, for the life of him, what -- presumably something along the lines of, I'll go get help. Bunny-rabbit Kyuhyun kicks in and he scampers out, ignoring the blood-curdling cries coming from his sister, and he scrambles into his front yard. Exhaustion suddenly overcomes him, gripping his lungs tight and blocking his airways. The large, conveniently-placed snowbank in the center of the lawn looks rather inviting, so he stumbles over to it clumsily. He curls in a ball, relishing the way the coolness feels against his skin. His conscience is screaming at him to get up, go get help, fucking do something, but his limbs are so numb and his eyelids are so heavy and he just doesn't care.
The last thing he hears before blacking out are the sirens; thank God for neighbors, he thinks.
___
The first thing he feels upon coming to is the throb in his temples, the feeling of blood flowing through his veins a little too hard and way too fast. The next is this sensation that everything around him feels dirty -- the air he's breathing, the bed he's laying on, the clothes he's wearing that don't feel like his own. What follows is the chill that envelopes him, causes a violent shiver to shoot through his limbs and wrack his system completely. There is the quiet hum of voices; two that he recognizes, one he does not. The unfamiliar one addresses him first.
"Hello, son," It's the voice of a man -- mid thirties, official-like. Probably has a big house, two kids, a beautiful wife and a Golden Retriever. "Can you tell me your name?"
Kyuhyun can feel the bright light on the other side of his eyelids beating down on him, worsening his migraine. He squints tightly before slowly opening his eyes. "Cho Kyuhyun."
The man smiles down at him, the wrinkles around his eyes unmoving -- a Practiced Smile. The Smile You Give Your Patients. "Very good, Kyuhyun. Now, can you remember what happened yesterday...?"
Flashes of orange flames dance in Kyuhyun's mind. The stove, smoking, fuming angrily, smoke billowing. Ah-ra on her stomach, clutching at her ankle. Screaming.
"Where's my sister?"
Kyuhyun notices his parents in the back of the room, slightly shrouded by dim lighting (why was he the only one suffering under the fluorescence?), watching. Waiting.
The doctor nods, takes off his glasses, pats Kyuhyun's shoulder. The coolness feels good against his flushed skin. "Your sister is currently in the ICU. She's suffering from some third-degree burns and a broken ankle."
"She's alive, though?" He sits up quick, a bad move -- his lungs contract, causing him to cough uncontrollably.
"She is very alive, although it will take quite some time for her to heal. Skin grafts will be necessary for her full recovery."
Kyuhyun doesn't know what skin grafts are, but pretends he does, because it isn't Cool to not know things like that. When he asks his mother later, he decides skin grafts are really disgusting and he might like to have one.
Ah-ra requests to see Kyuhyun a few days later; once her skin grafts have been placed and her face is looking less like a burnt piece of toast. Everyone leaves, to give them privacy (for what? Kyuhyun wonders,) to let them discuss what they needed to discuss. Kyuhyun isn't sure exactly what that is.
His sister is wrapped from head to toe in bandages, the only uncovered flesh being one eye, her nose and lips. He tries not to stare at the spots of red showing through the fabric, tries not to think about the blood and the charred flesh that lies underneath, and tries to only see his sister.
He can't.
Her breaths are shallow and labored. "Come here," she breathes, looking away from him. He approaches the bed with caution, wringing his hands together like wet cloths.
"How are you feeling?" He asks, trying to be nice. Like a good brother should.
She scoffs, her body shaking. "Great, can't you tell?" Her voice is raspy, like a rusty gear -- overused, worn down. Fragile. Kyuhyun swallows hard.
"Mom says we're moving to a new house, on the other side of Seoul. It'll be bigger and fancier than--!"
"Kyuhyun," Ah-ra exhales slowly, pronouncing every syllable with precision. He freezes as she turns her gaze on him. "I don't give a fuck what happens. I don't care where we go."
He swallows again.
"All I want," She says, a little louder now. "is you to not come with us."
"Wh...what?"
"Did I stutter?" She asks harshly; she coughs for a few moments. "How can you even look at me right now? This mess is all your fault."
Kyuhyun gapes. "I don't...what did I do?"
"God," She laughs to herself. "You are so stupid." He stays silent as she turns thought after thought over in her mind. "One day, I hope something horrible happens to you. Something that almost kills you. And I hope nobody is around to help."
"What did your sister have to say?" His mother asks later that night in the hotel room -- their temporary home. Kyuhyun takes a gulp of milk; it goes down painfully slow.
"She says she's great, Mom," he says, looking out the window. Even with the lights from the city, everything seems a little too dark. "Never been better."
___
There is something about the female species, although he's unable to point to exactly what said thing is, that makes Kyuhyun's body tremble whenever they're in his presence -- an immediate reflex, starting the moment the specimen enters his line of view and dying off smoothly if (when, he tells himself) she doesn't make eye contact, the sounds of her shoes clicking behind him letting him rest easy. They were a different Species from his own, something he couldn't wrap his head around, couldn't figure out or decipher; even all the formulas that could solve his trigonometry homework problems were useless on them.
He's in seventh grade the first time he's ever asked out -- by the bike rack --
Her hands, cold and sweaty, hold his in a death grip; trapping him --
"I really like you, oppa," She breathes into his ear, the scent of her thousand-won raspberry lip gloss lingering by his nose; he can practically hear her braces knocking against his ear. "Please, be my boyfriend?"
He inhales sharply. "Erm."
There is no warning sign, no whisper of a threat; his face gains a corpse-like pallor, milky-white and creamy, cold sweat dripping down his cheeks --
He bends over and upchucks, splattering her shoes with partly-digested fried rice.
She cries out, slapping him across the face, my new shoes! You ruined my new shoes you fucking asshole! Another slap, the sound of said shoes clunking against the pavement, sobs barely audible by the time they reach his ears.
Kyuhyun makes out with Changmin, the boy who has been his neighbor for the last four years, after Choir practice one day in the middle of his ninth grade year -- just for shits and giggles, Changmin says, nothing serious at all. I mean, you're not gay, right?
Are you fucking joking? Of course not, he laughs, slapping Changmin on the shoulder before grabbing him and smashing their lips together, teeth knocking and tongues colliding.
Kyuhyun stares at his ceiling that night, smiling to himself and apologizes to Changmin in his head; he didn't realize at the time that he was lying.
___
"Okay, so. Sign here. Here. Here. Initial here. Signature here. Here. Initial. Signature."
Kyuhyun scribbles what he's told in the assigned spots, not knowing (or really, caring) about Fine Print or Certain Conditions or any of that official mumbo jumbo.
"You're going to go places, Kyuhyun," Lee Soo Man says, holding a hand threateningly in Kyuhyun's face; he shakes it gingerly. "I don't know if I've ever seen talent like yours in all my life--"
You say this shit to everyone, don't you, Kyuhyun thinks to himself, nodding and smiling, Like He's Supposed To.
"And I am very pleased that you'll be joining the company. You will train for a maximum of three months, since honestly, you don't need it."
Kyuhyun laughs, his Friendly Laugh. Lee Soo Man likes this.
The secretary comes in with her camera; Kyuhyun stands next to his new boss, holding the paper in front of him, smiling his Friendly Smile. He hands his contract over, shakes Lee Soo Man's hand, is ushered out because there are other hopefuls like you waiting.
Kyuhyun realizes he should be excited. But he's not.
Three and a half months later, twenty-four eyes are staring at him. Analyzing.
He is Cho Kyuhyun, The Newcomer. Number Thirteen.
"Welcome," the leader, Leeteuk, says. Kyuhyun shakes the hand thrust in his face. "We're all very excited that you'll be joining us."
"Thank you," He says, smiling at Leeteuk. At all of them. They stare him down. "I'm really excited to be a part of this group."
They all introduce themselves one by one; Kyuhyun tries to pick out distinct features to tell them apart -- Ryeowook is tiny, Shindong is...well, Sungmin looks like a mouse. Heechul might possibly have a vagina.
Later that night, when he's moving his stuff into the dorms, he realizes he doesn't have a bed.
"It will be here in a few weeks," Leeteuk says as he puts down the monitor for Kyuhyun's desktop computer. "For now, we have some mats placed down on the ground for you and some blankets. I hope that's alright."
Kyuhyun nods, thanking him. It's not really alright.
___
Summer is not Kyuhyun's season. It's a combination of everything he hates about weather -- scalding heat, humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife, dry spells and the occasional hurricane.
He should have known that day would be different, what with the sudden thunderstorm that seemed to hover ominously over the city of Seoul. He briefly glances at the calendar while pouring some cereal into a bowl -- today is August 8th. They had no plans. No plans meant not having to leave the house if he didn't want. This was going to be a very productive day.
He's a little taken aback when Donghae shoves by him, whips out the container of orange juice and begins chugging it like his body depends on it. After downing half the container in only a few gulps, he throws the jug back into its spot in the fridge and collapses in a chair at the table.
Kyuhyun takes a bite of cereal, still standing at the counter. "Did you just try to drown yourself with orange juice?"
Donghae stares at him for a few moments, face unreadable, eyes reading emotion that Kyuhyun can't tap into. He waits.
Eunhyuk dashes into the room, attaching himself to Donghae and petting his hair as he sobs into his shirt. You'll be okay, Eunhyuk whispers, almost like a parent would. Or a lover. Everything will be fine. Shhh, Hae, don't cry. I'm here.
"What happened?" Kyuhyun shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth; Eunhyuk sighs.
"His father passed away this morning," He mouths between coos, still petting Donghae's hair like an overprotective mother. "They were really close."
Normally, Kyuhyun is decent with words. He knows all the right things to say in situations such as these, but today he seems to be probing his brain for the words, like searching through a bookstore for something out of stock. Nothing.
He pats Donghae's shoulder gingerly before going into his room, flicking on the old desktop and looking up the word empathy.
___
Weeks pass. Heechul was in a car accident on the way home from Donghae's father's funeral and was stuck in hospital for a few agonizing weeks. Donghae, slowly but surely, regained his pep and no longer wandered the dorms like a lost soul. Eunhyuk continued to dote on him, playing Mother Hen to her injured chick.
Kyuhyun is at the SM Building, dropping off something at the front desk (don't worry about what it is, he had said) for Lee Soo Man. The secretary smiles at him, her Customer smile, as he fills out some sort of form that accompanies all parcels. The fuck, he breathes. "Does this item contain any chocolate, peanut butter or dairy." How the fuck would I know? He scribbles down a few bullshit answers, then hands it to the secretary before turning around --
And is met with a shirt full of scalding soup.
"Oh, my god," A lanky set of legs cries, immediately pulling napkins out of his pocket and wiping up his shirt. "I am so sorry, oh my god you're wearing white."
Kyuhyun waves a hand, shooing the limbs away. "It's fine, don't worry about it."
"No, it's not alright," The giraffe tilts his head, sighing. He's wearing glasses and has a slightly androgynous haircut. "Hot and sour soup stains horribly."
"You didn't have to buy me a new shirt."
"Oh please," The giraffe says as he pulls out his wallet. "It's the least I could do after possibly inflicting first-degree burns on you." He pulls out some money and shoves it at the clerk, tossing the shirt to Kyuhyun. Kyuhyun takes note that he's got a Louis Vuitton wallet.
He pulls the new shirt over his head, tactfully pulling the stained off from underneath. "What's your name?"
"Zhou Mi," The giraffe, clearly from foreign grounds, says as he thanks the cashier. "You?"
"Kyuhyun."
"Oh...oh!" Zhou Mi points a freshly-manicured finger in his face. "You're the newest member of--!"
"Yeah," Kyuhyun doesn't smile or nod. Recognition is not something he's all too comfortable with.
"I'm a trainee at SM," Zhou Mi grabs Kyuhyun's hand and shakes it. "It's so nice to meet you! I love Super Junior, they're so --!"
Kyuhyun cuts him off. "You talk a lot."
Zhou Mi silences immediately. Struck a nerve.
"Erm," Kyuhyun fumbles. "It's...cute, though. Really." He doesn't notice the pink tint on Zhou Mi's face. "I'll see you around sometime?"
"Uh," Zhou Mi nods, tilting his head as Kyuhyun turns and walks away.
Something in the back of Kyuhyun's mind wishes he had stayed around to talk. He chooses to ignore it.
___
It's sunset; probably around five o'clock, maybe six. The tall trees around him shroud most of the forest floor in dark, save for the occasional stream of setting sun that peaks through the breaks in the trees.
Kyuhyun has no recollection of ever walking here.
He walks along the path, worn down from years of use and countless trips through these woods. The sound of cicadas echoes, bouncing off the tree trunks and resonating through the forest.
He stops, suddenly, hearing a new sound. Laughter.
It's quiet at first, as if he were hearing it, muffled, through walls; but slowly it grows, one decibel at a time, over what seems like hours.
Soon the forest is overflowing with the noise -- calm, controlled laughter -- and there's something about it that is so familiar.
His heart slams in his chest, throwing him off guard as he begins to shake and his palms begin to clam up. He feels as if there's someone there, watching, waiting for him to make a move. There is the slight ruffle of leaves on his left, and the only thing he can think is holy fuck, I'm going to die.
"Kyuhyun!"
He's suddenly shaken awake, sitting up with a start. A sudden migraine clouds his thoughts, brain pulsating and temples throbbing. His eyes take a minute to adjust, before he sees Sungmin kneeling next to him, panic painted on his features.
"Are you alright?!" Sungmin cries, attempting to lay Kyuhyun back down but failing. "Jesus, I thought you were being murdered."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Sungmin breathes. "You were screaming, something about dying. I could hear you on the other side of the dorms."
Kyuhyun blinks hard a few times before pressing down on his eyelids. Kyuhyun's mind tells himself to go back to sleep, because it was only a nightmare. But even he knew that no amount of medication would put him to sleep again.
End of part one.
Kyuhyun has a hard time determining reality from his imagination.
A/N: This has been simmering in my brain for a few months now. Before Xenophobia and Through Sickness and Health were even joked about, this has been an idea that's been tossed around, and a few people have pressured me to go with it. I have a lot of faith in this one; hopefully it'll come through like I hope. ;__;
Plot-sensitive warnings (highlight to read): There are a lot of dark elements in this. Mental illness, specifically Schizophrenia. Multiple detailed, traumatic events. The deterioration of a person's mind. Substance abuse. Probably more that I just can't think of.
im•ag•i•nar•y [ih-maj-uh-ner-ee]
-adjective
1. Existing only in the imagination; not real; fancied.
i.e. Kyuhyun is incapable in deciding what is real and what is imaginary.
___
Kyuhyun is six years old, and he is normal - by societal standards, at least. The weather is confused; the raw bite of winter is still present but now, the snow is melting into puddles, the grass peeks through, and the slickness on the sidewalks that threatened the safety of citizens has dwindled to almost nothing. He grips his mother’s hand like a life preserve, feeling her pulse in his tightened grip and it doesn’t occur to him that his own heart rate is probably triple hers, but that doesn’t matter because his jack-rabbit pulse means nothing to him at this point - what matters is that it’s March 3rd, which means it’s officially a new school year, which means he is now officially Cho Kyuhyun, The First Grader. These were the days where nervousness, although present in his daily life, was a word that had no meaning - no quiver in his stomach, no bouts of uncontrollable nausea, no cold sweats or clammy palms, and what the hell is hypertension? (It’s that thing that his father takes medication for, nothing more.)
___
Kyuhyun loves the ice cream machine at school -- the one hidden in the teacher's lounge, that only The Fourth Graders and faculty are permitted to use. He sees it during his third week of school, his sister's slim figure eying her choices; chocolate raspberry, she decides, pressing the button. He watches in fascination as a large vacuum-like tube wobbles around inside the contraption, then slinks down and suctions an ice cream bar to itself.
He tries to move away, to avoid her -- pointless. His sister is known for being part hawk. She smiles at him as she unwraps her ice cream, almost seductively; she takes a tiny bite of the ice cream and mushes it around in her mouth. He feels himself start to drool.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want a piece?"
He doesn't dare touch the hunk of quickly-melting chocolate-raspberry goodness. There is a glint in his sister's eye that frightens him, shakes him to his core --
And for good reason; she takes the chunk of ice cream and ever-so-eloquently shoves it into his face before shoving him to the ground, pain shooting through his body as his tailbone meets tile. A few students, straggling outside the bathroom, point and laugh and high-five Ah-ra as she stalks by them, victorious.
Kyuhyun wishes it were possible to choke on ice cream.
___
Kyuhyun is eleven years old and it is February 4th, the day after his birthday - the only day of the year he liked more than his birthday, because this was the day he could do sit around and play with his toys, testing each and every one to their breaking point, to determine if they were worth keeping or were trash bin-material. His parents are gone, out to dinner with his father’s co-workers, and Ah-ra is babysitting - which, in actuality, was code for 'Kyuhyun will be spending the evening in his room,' avoiding his sister like she was diseased while he bides his time on his brand-new Gameboy Color.
He can hear her voice float down the hall, presumably from the kitchen where she chats obnoxiously on the house phone, something she knows she’s not allowed to do but clearly doesn’t care. He turns down his game - Pokémon Red - and presses himself against his bedroom door as he analyzes her conversation, picking up words that he had never heard anybody use except for in movies - oh my god, are you fucking kiddi-she KISSED him?! That motherfucking slut!
Normally Kyuhyun would go and chastise his sister; play the parent card, that’s not how young ladies should speak, chiding and criticizing and reprimanding but this night was not the kind of night in which he would do that. He would rather not have her chase him with a phone book, corner him in the bathroom and then scream obscenities at him - or maybe tonight would be different; maybe she would just wait until school the next day, where, upon seeing him in Gym class, would run up behind him and yank his pants down like she had done the week before - maybe even get someone to take his clothes and hide them while he used the showers after class? Or maybe it’s none of these - you never knew with Ah-ra, because there was always another plan formulating in her brain.
But then his stomach growls and he needs food, the only thing that would ever make him leave the comforts of his room. Not just any food, but more like the two pounds of candy that lay under the loose floorboard in the kitchen; the remainder from Halloween.
He sidesteps out of his room and down the hall to the kitchen. She's at the stove, back turned to it, talking four miles a minute into the cordless phone, and whatever is cooking smells distinctly like a mix of fried dough and rice. He walks into the kitchen with his head down, avoiding her gaze as he shuffles across the floor, stopping at a particularly loud creak. He crouches, lifting the offending board from it's snug spot in the floor, revealing a plastic shopping bag that's filled to the brim with treats.
"Yah," Ah-ra snaps, holding the phone against her chest. "What has mom said about eating that candy?"
Kyuhyun plucks a few sweets; some Reese's cups, an Air Head. "And what has mom told you about using the stove?"
He quickly shoves the board back into place and scampers down the hall before she has any time to even debate reacting. He shuts his bedroom door and slides the shaky wooden chair from his desk, pressing it against his door knob before throwing himself in bed, falling asleep before he eats his candy.
He wakes up minutes later -- fifteen, perhaps twenty -- to this smell. Like a bonfire that was set next to a gas station. It burns his throat; thick, suffocating, consuming. There's something that sounds like sparklers coming from the kitchen, and Kyuhyun realizes he is horribly, terribly warm. Something in the pit of his stomach tells him to be worried.
They always told him in school to press his hand against the door, not the doorknob, in case of a fire. Of course at this point he's forgotten that; he screams as he wraps his hand around the doorknob, the skin beginning to bubble immediately. He wraps his uninjured hand in his shirt and twists the knob and a flood of smoke enters his room. He curses under his breath -- Kyuhyun was not one for hypocrisy, but looking back, he supposes this was a sufficient situation -- and runs down the hall, forgetting step two of fire safety: always stay low to the ground.
The crackling literally sounds like his brain was full of Pop Rocks and drowns out any other noise that could possibly be heard -- the television, the rice-and-fried-dough concoction (there's a reason mom always said not to use the stove) frying in the pan, Ah-ra's incessant gabbing --
There she is, in the middle of the kitchen floor (was she really in front of his face the entire time?) screaming at the top of her lungs, but he can't hear her; her voice is muffled, like she's taking into Plexiglas. He moves closer to her, close enough to see the way she's gripping her ankle, tears streaming down her face, the loose floorboard next to her --
He reads her lips, what the fuck are you doing? Fucking help me, screaming at him to drag her out, but he's paralyzed to the spot. They always say it's dangerous to move an injured person because that will inevitably result in further damage, but he's unsure if that applies to this situation.
He screams something back at her but he doesn't remember, for the life of him, what -- presumably something along the lines of, I'll go get help. Bunny-rabbit Kyuhyun kicks in and he scampers out, ignoring the blood-curdling cries coming from his sister, and he scrambles into his front yard. Exhaustion suddenly overcomes him, gripping his lungs tight and blocking his airways. The large, conveniently-placed snowbank in the center of the lawn looks rather inviting, so he stumbles over to it clumsily. He curls in a ball, relishing the way the coolness feels against his skin. His conscience is screaming at him to get up, go get help, fucking do something, but his limbs are so numb and his eyelids are so heavy and he just doesn't care.
The last thing he hears before blacking out are the sirens; thank God for neighbors, he thinks.
___
The first thing he feels upon coming to is the throb in his temples, the feeling of blood flowing through his veins a little too hard and way too fast. The next is this sensation that everything around him feels dirty -- the air he's breathing, the bed he's laying on, the clothes he's wearing that don't feel like his own. What follows is the chill that envelopes him, causes a violent shiver to shoot through his limbs and wrack his system completely. There is the quiet hum of voices; two that he recognizes, one he does not. The unfamiliar one addresses him first.
"Hello, son," It's the voice of a man -- mid thirties, official-like. Probably has a big house, two kids, a beautiful wife and a Golden Retriever. "Can you tell me your name?"
Kyuhyun can feel the bright light on the other side of his eyelids beating down on him, worsening his migraine. He squints tightly before slowly opening his eyes. "Cho Kyuhyun."
The man smiles down at him, the wrinkles around his eyes unmoving -- a Practiced Smile. The Smile You Give Your Patients. "Very good, Kyuhyun. Now, can you remember what happened yesterday...?"
Flashes of orange flames dance in Kyuhyun's mind. The stove, smoking, fuming angrily, smoke billowing. Ah-ra on her stomach, clutching at her ankle. Screaming.
"Where's my sister?"
Kyuhyun notices his parents in the back of the room, slightly shrouded by dim lighting (why was he the only one suffering under the fluorescence?), watching. Waiting.
The doctor nods, takes off his glasses, pats Kyuhyun's shoulder. The coolness feels good against his flushed skin. "Your sister is currently in the ICU. She's suffering from some third-degree burns and a broken ankle."
"She's alive, though?" He sits up quick, a bad move -- his lungs contract, causing him to cough uncontrollably.
"She is very alive, although it will take quite some time for her to heal. Skin grafts will be necessary for her full recovery."
Kyuhyun doesn't know what skin grafts are, but pretends he does, because it isn't Cool to not know things like that. When he asks his mother later, he decides skin grafts are really disgusting and he might like to have one.
Ah-ra requests to see Kyuhyun a few days later; once her skin grafts have been placed and her face is looking less like a burnt piece of toast. Everyone leaves, to give them privacy (for what? Kyuhyun wonders,) to let them discuss what they needed to discuss. Kyuhyun isn't sure exactly what that is.
His sister is wrapped from head to toe in bandages, the only uncovered flesh being one eye, her nose and lips. He tries not to stare at the spots of red showing through the fabric, tries not to think about the blood and the charred flesh that lies underneath, and tries to only see his sister.
He can't.
Her breaths are shallow and labored. "Come here," she breathes, looking away from him. He approaches the bed with caution, wringing his hands together like wet cloths.
"How are you feeling?" He asks, trying to be nice. Like a good brother should.
She scoffs, her body shaking. "Great, can't you tell?" Her voice is raspy, like a rusty gear -- overused, worn down. Fragile. Kyuhyun swallows hard.
"Mom says we're moving to a new house, on the other side of Seoul. It'll be bigger and fancier than--!"
"Kyuhyun," Ah-ra exhales slowly, pronouncing every syllable with precision. He freezes as she turns her gaze on him. "I don't give a fuck what happens. I don't care where we go."
He swallows again.
"All I want," She says, a little louder now. "is you to not come with us."
"Wh...what?"
"Did I stutter?" She asks harshly; she coughs for a few moments. "How can you even look at me right now? This mess is all your fault."
Kyuhyun gapes. "I don't...what did I do?"
"God," She laughs to herself. "You are so stupid." He stays silent as she turns thought after thought over in her mind. "One day, I hope something horrible happens to you. Something that almost kills you. And I hope nobody is around to help."
"What did your sister have to say?" His mother asks later that night in the hotel room -- their temporary home. Kyuhyun takes a gulp of milk; it goes down painfully slow.
"She says she's great, Mom," he says, looking out the window. Even with the lights from the city, everything seems a little too dark. "Never been better."
___
There is something about the female species, although he's unable to point to exactly what said thing is, that makes Kyuhyun's body tremble whenever they're in his presence -- an immediate reflex, starting the moment the specimen enters his line of view and dying off smoothly if (when, he tells himself) she doesn't make eye contact, the sounds of her shoes clicking behind him letting him rest easy. They were a different Species from his own, something he couldn't wrap his head around, couldn't figure out or decipher; even all the formulas that could solve his trigonometry homework problems were useless on them.
He's in seventh grade the first time he's ever asked out -- by the bike rack --
Her hands, cold and sweaty, hold his in a death grip; trapping him --
"I really like you, oppa," She breathes into his ear, the scent of her thousand-won raspberry lip gloss lingering by his nose; he can practically hear her braces knocking against his ear. "Please, be my boyfriend?"
He inhales sharply. "Erm."
There is no warning sign, no whisper of a threat; his face gains a corpse-like pallor, milky-white and creamy, cold sweat dripping down his cheeks --
He bends over and upchucks, splattering her shoes with partly-digested fried rice.
She cries out, slapping him across the face, my new shoes! You ruined my new shoes you fucking asshole! Another slap, the sound of said shoes clunking against the pavement, sobs barely audible by the time they reach his ears.
Kyuhyun makes out with Changmin, the boy who has been his neighbor for the last four years, after Choir practice one day in the middle of his ninth grade year -- just for shits and giggles, Changmin says, nothing serious at all. I mean, you're not gay, right?
Are you fucking joking? Of course not, he laughs, slapping Changmin on the shoulder before grabbing him and smashing their lips together, teeth knocking and tongues colliding.
Kyuhyun stares at his ceiling that night, smiling to himself and apologizes to Changmin in his head; he didn't realize at the time that he was lying.
___
"Okay, so. Sign here. Here. Here. Initial here. Signature here. Here. Initial. Signature."
Kyuhyun scribbles what he's told in the assigned spots, not knowing (or really, caring) about Fine Print or Certain Conditions or any of that official mumbo jumbo.
"You're going to go places, Kyuhyun," Lee Soo Man says, holding a hand threateningly in Kyuhyun's face; he shakes it gingerly. "I don't know if I've ever seen talent like yours in all my life--"
You say this shit to everyone, don't you, Kyuhyun thinks to himself, nodding and smiling, Like He's Supposed To.
"And I am very pleased that you'll be joining the company. You will train for a maximum of three months, since honestly, you don't need it."
Kyuhyun laughs, his Friendly Laugh. Lee Soo Man likes this.
The secretary comes in with her camera; Kyuhyun stands next to his new boss, holding the paper in front of him, smiling his Friendly Smile. He hands his contract over, shakes Lee Soo Man's hand, is ushered out because there are other hopefuls like you waiting.
Kyuhyun realizes he should be excited. But he's not.
Three and a half months later, twenty-four eyes are staring at him. Analyzing.
He is Cho Kyuhyun, The Newcomer. Number Thirteen.
"Welcome," the leader, Leeteuk, says. Kyuhyun shakes the hand thrust in his face. "We're all very excited that you'll be joining us."
"Thank you," He says, smiling at Leeteuk. At all of them. They stare him down. "I'm really excited to be a part of this group."
They all introduce themselves one by one; Kyuhyun tries to pick out distinct features to tell them apart -- Ryeowook is tiny, Shindong is...well, Sungmin looks like a mouse. Heechul might possibly have a vagina.
Later that night, when he's moving his stuff into the dorms, he realizes he doesn't have a bed.
"It will be here in a few weeks," Leeteuk says as he puts down the monitor for Kyuhyun's desktop computer. "For now, we have some mats placed down on the ground for you and some blankets. I hope that's alright."
Kyuhyun nods, thanking him. It's not really alright.
___
Summer is not Kyuhyun's season. It's a combination of everything he hates about weather -- scalding heat, humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife, dry spells and the occasional hurricane.
He should have known that day would be different, what with the sudden thunderstorm that seemed to hover ominously over the city of Seoul. He briefly glances at the calendar while pouring some cereal into a bowl -- today is August 8th. They had no plans. No plans meant not having to leave the house if he didn't want. This was going to be a very productive day.
He's a little taken aback when Donghae shoves by him, whips out the container of orange juice and begins chugging it like his body depends on it. After downing half the container in only a few gulps, he throws the jug back into its spot in the fridge and collapses in a chair at the table.
Kyuhyun takes a bite of cereal, still standing at the counter. "Did you just try to drown yourself with orange juice?"
Donghae stares at him for a few moments, face unreadable, eyes reading emotion that Kyuhyun can't tap into. He waits.
Eunhyuk dashes into the room, attaching himself to Donghae and petting his hair as he sobs into his shirt. You'll be okay, Eunhyuk whispers, almost like a parent would. Or a lover. Everything will be fine. Shhh, Hae, don't cry. I'm here.
"What happened?" Kyuhyun shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth; Eunhyuk sighs.
"His father passed away this morning," He mouths between coos, still petting Donghae's hair like an overprotective mother. "They were really close."
Normally, Kyuhyun is decent with words. He knows all the right things to say in situations such as these, but today he seems to be probing his brain for the words, like searching through a bookstore for something out of stock. Nothing.
He pats Donghae's shoulder gingerly before going into his room, flicking on the old desktop and looking up the word empathy.
___
Weeks pass. Heechul was in a car accident on the way home from Donghae's father's funeral and was stuck in hospital for a few agonizing weeks. Donghae, slowly but surely, regained his pep and no longer wandered the dorms like a lost soul. Eunhyuk continued to dote on him, playing Mother Hen to her injured chick.
Kyuhyun is at the SM Building, dropping off something at the front desk (don't worry about what it is, he had said) for Lee Soo Man. The secretary smiles at him, her Customer smile, as he fills out some sort of form that accompanies all parcels. The fuck, he breathes. "Does this item contain any chocolate, peanut butter or dairy." How the fuck would I know? He scribbles down a few bullshit answers, then hands it to the secretary before turning around --
And is met with a shirt full of scalding soup.
"Oh, my god," A lanky set of legs cries, immediately pulling napkins out of his pocket and wiping up his shirt. "I am so sorry, oh my god you're wearing white."
Kyuhyun waves a hand, shooing the limbs away. "It's fine, don't worry about it."
"No, it's not alright," The giraffe tilts his head, sighing. He's wearing glasses and has a slightly androgynous haircut. "Hot and sour soup stains horribly."
"You didn't have to buy me a new shirt."
"Oh please," The giraffe says as he pulls out his wallet. "It's the least I could do after possibly inflicting first-degree burns on you." He pulls out some money and shoves it at the clerk, tossing the shirt to Kyuhyun. Kyuhyun takes note that he's got a Louis Vuitton wallet.
He pulls the new shirt over his head, tactfully pulling the stained off from underneath. "What's your name?"
"Zhou Mi," The giraffe, clearly from foreign grounds, says as he thanks the cashier. "You?"
"Kyuhyun."
"Oh...oh!" Zhou Mi points a freshly-manicured finger in his face. "You're the newest member of--!"
"Yeah," Kyuhyun doesn't smile or nod. Recognition is not something he's all too comfortable with.
"I'm a trainee at SM," Zhou Mi grabs Kyuhyun's hand and shakes it. "It's so nice to meet you! I love Super Junior, they're so --!"
Kyuhyun cuts him off. "You talk a lot."
Zhou Mi silences immediately. Struck a nerve.
"Erm," Kyuhyun fumbles. "It's...cute, though. Really." He doesn't notice the pink tint on Zhou Mi's face. "I'll see you around sometime?"
"Uh," Zhou Mi nods, tilting his head as Kyuhyun turns and walks away.
Something in the back of Kyuhyun's mind wishes he had stayed around to talk. He chooses to ignore it.
___
It's sunset; probably around five o'clock, maybe six. The tall trees around him shroud most of the forest floor in dark, save for the occasional stream of setting sun that peaks through the breaks in the trees.
Kyuhyun has no recollection of ever walking here.
He walks along the path, worn down from years of use and countless trips through these woods. The sound of cicadas echoes, bouncing off the tree trunks and resonating through the forest.
He stops, suddenly, hearing a new sound. Laughter.
It's quiet at first, as if he were hearing it, muffled, through walls; but slowly it grows, one decibel at a time, over what seems like hours.
Soon the forest is overflowing with the noise -- calm, controlled laughter -- and there's something about it that is so familiar.
His heart slams in his chest, throwing him off guard as he begins to shake and his palms begin to clam up. He feels as if there's someone there, watching, waiting for him to make a move. There is the slight ruffle of leaves on his left, and the only thing he can think is holy fuck, I'm going to die.
"Kyuhyun!"
He's suddenly shaken awake, sitting up with a start. A sudden migraine clouds his thoughts, brain pulsating and temples throbbing. His eyes take a minute to adjust, before he sees Sungmin kneeling next to him, panic painted on his features.
"Are you alright?!" Sungmin cries, attempting to lay Kyuhyun back down but failing. "Jesus, I thought you were being murdered."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Sungmin breathes. "You were screaming, something about dying. I could hear you on the other side of the dorms."
Kyuhyun blinks hard a few times before pressing down on his eyelids. Kyuhyun's mind tells himself to go back to sleep, because it was only a nightmare. But even he knew that no amount of medication would put him to sleep again.
End of part one.