24 Hours
Title: 24 Hours
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Author: thundersquall
Rating: R
Summary: When Yesung meets a young kid working as a prostitute to support himself, it changes his entire day - and his life - in ways he can never foresee.
This was meant to be a relatively short fic for Yesung’s birthday. Sometime during the writing, it veered off from the original plot I meant for it to have, and became a complete monster. And it wasn’t even the first thing I started writing for his birthday; it was the third, after I gave up on the first two. And it ate my soul, and my life, and deprived me of sleep for two days.
Nevertheless, happy early birthday to Yesung, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect Yesung! And marry Ryeowook now, please, I implore you.
Many many thanks to darleenk and
shiryu_yugure for all the support they gave me during the days this monster devoured my soul, I love you girls. Also,
shiryu_yugure is completely and utterly to blame for me adding in that last part. DDD:
__
Yesung eyes the boy in front of him, noting how small he is, how delicate the bones in his face and arms are. Now that his pullover is off, Yesung can see that he's wearing a white shirt under it that’s already halfway unbuttoned, a school crest sewn on the left chest pocket, and he lets his arms drop from the boy's sides and takes an involuntary step back.
"Holy crap," he says disbelievingly. "Holy crap, you're still a student."
The boy flushes, but steps forward boldly - Yesung moves back again - and retorts, "So what if I am?"
"You - you're underaged," Yesung says.
"You obviously never noticed if you wanted to buy me," he says.
Yesung shuts his eyes and drags his palm down his face. Big mistake - the next moment he feels a small warm form against him and he's being pushed backwards, pushed until his back hits the wall, and his eyes fly open. "Hey, kid - " he begins.
The boy scowls. "I'm not a kid, I have a name, and it's Ryeowook."
Yesung pauses. "Okay, Ryeowook." The name comes out unfamiliar, yet there's something about the way it tastes on his tongue that he likes very much. "Okay, you're what, 16? Why are you doing this?"
Ryeowook flushes deeper, even though he's still pressed insistently against Yesung. "For money, obviously, isn't that why everyone else does this? Look, mister, if you don't want this, I can leave, I can find someone else who'll be willing to fuck me and pay me."
"Shit," Yesung swears. Now he feels inexplicably guilty. And to be honest, can he leave a 16-year-old boy to walk back out on the streets?
Ryeowook senses his advantage and pushes himself even closer, audaciously pressing his thigh between Yesung's legs, and Yesung tries to shrink backwards as much as he can, away from Ryeowook's touch, but goddamn, why do brick walls have to be so unyielding? Ryeowook tilts his head up to him and runs a tongue over his lips slowly, leaving them pink and glistening, and Yesung swallows as he follows the path of that tongue and wonders how it feels to have that on him, what it's like to be sucked off by a 16-year-old high school student who's also the most absolutely gorgeous thing he's ever laid eyes on -
"Don't you want me?" Ryeowook breathes as he leans in closer, warm breath ghosting over Yesung's own lips, and Yesung jerks out of his dirty thoughts and curses himself and his disobedient libido because this kid is 16, and still in a school uniform, and could he not have been approached instead by that other man further down the same street, the one that was, at least, obviously not underaged?
But oh, yes - that other man wasn't half as beautiful as this boy, and Yesung probably wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he’d been the one to proposition him, seeing as he’d never ever needed or wanted to have to pay for it anyway; but there had been something about this kid when he’d stopped him while he was walking past, basically offering himself to Yesung on a silver platter.
Yesung mentally slaps himself at being dumb enough to fall for this kid’s wiles even as he dimly sees Ryeowook lean in closer, closer, until their lips brush ever so gently and it's insane, because Yesung swears this boy has the softest, most lush lips he's ever had the pleasure to kiss.
He gathers the last coherent bits of his mental faculties together and pushes Ryeowook away, holding him at arms’ length. “Stop, stop,” he says breathlessly. He can’t do this to a 16-year-old boy, a child, god. And how had he ended up being pressed into the wall of a dirty dark alley when all he’d been doing was walking along the street and minding his own business, at least until this boy had come up to him with innocent eyes and an even more innocent smile?
“Why?” Ryeowook whines, wriggling in his grip. Yesung’s hand slips a little on his arm and catches on the fabric of his long sleeve, dragging it downwards so it falls over his shoulder. Ryeowook’s skin is pale and unblemished and perfect, and Yesung can’t stop staring at the way his collarbone forms a sharp raised ridge underneath that delicious skin.
But he takes a deep breath and merely lets go of Ryeowook, tugs his shirt back up, and begins buttoning it up again for him, his fingers brushing over the school crest. The feel of the thick waxed threads under his fingers helps to ground him and remind him that Ryeowook is still a child; he finishes buttoning him into his shirt, picks his pullover up from where it was earlier discarded on the filthy floor of the alley, and dusts it off before pulling it over him.
Now that he’s calmer, he can’t believe what possessed him to want to have sex with this child. Dressing him up, he realizes how small and thin the boy really is, and a rush of shame washes over him. Fuck, he’d just wanted to pay him for sex, and the kid was probably starving. Ryeowook, however, is pouting when he finally looks up at him. “What is wrong with you, mister?” he whines again.
Yesung opens his mouth to reprimand the kid, order him to go back home or something, but what comes out is, “Have you eaten?”
Ryeowook looks surprised for a moment, then scowls again. “What’s it to you? If you’re not sleeping with me, you don’t need to know about my eating habits.”
There’s a slight shakiness behind the snark, though, something that Yesung’s sharp enough to catch because he’s 10 years older and he’s seen more, and he sees that under all his bravado, Ryeowook really is just a child, alone against the world in goodness only knows what awful circumstances have pushed him to this, and Yesung feels his heart squeeze in on itself at the thought.
“Come on,” he says firmly, straightening up and taking Ryeowook’s slim wrist, dragging him out of the alley (fuck, he didn’t even have the decency to bring this kid to a hotel; all he’d wanted was to get his rocks off, and now he feels like the biggest asshole in the world). “Let’s go get you some food.”
____________________________________________________________________
They’re in a restaurant, a nice one (Yesung’s determined to bust his credit card, if only as an inadequate apology for wanting to take advantage of a child). Ryeowook was practically howling all the way as Yesung dragged him to his car earlier, and the only way he could get him to shut up was to promise to bring him home after that. Now, as he watches Ryeowook scarf down a plate of fettuccine like it’s his last meal on earth, he wonders how he’s going to get out of that promise.
He derives an odd pleasure, though, from watching Ryeowook eat. He’d ordered salad for him, ever mindful that growing boys need vegetables, and encouraged him to try escargots and calamari (he’d ordered it fried, against his better judgment, because Ryeowook certainly needs the calories and he finds that he really doesn’t care if it means a couple more hours of working out for him), and now Ryeowook’s on his pasta, his face glowing and happy and really, he’s so much of a child Yesung wonders why he didn’t see it the first time round.
That’s because you just wanted to fuck him, a treacherous voice in his mind whispers, and Yesung winces, wishing his conscience would shut up.
“For someone so small, you sure have a bottomless stomach,” he mumbles, more to distract himself from his guilty thoughts than anything.
Ryeowook stops eating and turns slightly pink. “I was hungry,” he says defensively, putting his fork down. Yesung feels bad again, and reaches over, picking up the fork and placing it back in Ryeowook’s hand.
“Carry on then,” he says, more gently than he’s spoken to Ryeowook so far, and Ryeowook hesitates only a moment before he resumes attacking his food.
Yesung twirls strands of linguine idly around his own fork, watching Ryeowook’s evident enjoyment, and then asks, “Dessert after this?”
Ryeowook, his mouth full, can only manage a nod. Yesung grins at him and waves at a waiter, and when one comes over he says decisively, “After our dinner, could you bring us some tiramisu? Oh, and panna cotta.” He pauses, looking over at Ryeowook, who’s still going strong with no signs of stopping, and adds, “Chocolate gelato too, please.”
The waiter bows and moves away, and when Yesung turns his gaze back on Ryeowook, he sees that Ryeowook’s grinning at him too.
_____________________________________________________________________
In the car, on the way back to Yesung’s place, Yesung’s still desperately trying to figure out a way to put Ryeowook somewhere safe and not bring him back home. The boy obviously expects that they’re going to have sex, and Yesung really, really doesn’t want to go there again.
“Where do you stay?” he asks, glancing over at the boy, who’s curled up on the passenger seat and leaning against the car door.
“Why’re you asking?” he replies, but with less snappishness than before; the meal must be making him sleepy, judging by his half-closed eyes.
“Just asking, nothing more,” Yesung replies smoothly.
Ryeowook hesitates, then names a street which Yesung knows is in the middle of a pathetic little shanty town.
“That’s where you live?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“With your family?”
Ryeowook’s mildly contented expression grows sulky. “I have no family.”
“You live alone? In that sort of place?”
“It’s the only place I could get,” Ryeowook says, defensive again. “I can’t really afford to live anywhere else, I still need to go to school and it’s expensive everywhere else.”
“Oh, shit,” Yesung mumbles under his breath, because the thought of this delicate tiny boy, away from his family for whatever reason, living in that shanty town with its drug peddlars and prostitutes and other undesirable denizens, selling himself to be able to go to school, is making his heart ache.
And you wanted to fuck him, the little voice in his brain starts up again. You wanted to fuck him in a dirty alley for a miserable eighty bucks, Yesung. What kind of person are you?
He groans aloud, ignoring Ryeowook’s startled look at him, and guns down on the accelerator, speeding towards his home as fast as he can.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook can’t stop staring at the view when they get up to Yesung’s apartment, 12 floors up in a nice complex in the heart of Seoul. He stands at the glass doors of the balcony, eyes open in awe as he gazes at the twinkling lights of the cityscape spread out breathtaking before him, as Yesung goes into his bedroom and rummages around.
When he emerges, spare clothes and a towel in his hands, he sees Ryeowook standing before the doors to the balcony, hands clasped to his chest and his face shining. The light from the outside falls on his face, highlighting those high cheekbones and making his skin glow almost sliver, and Yesung almost has to tear his eyes away as he shoves the bundle of clothing into Ryeowook’s arms. “Here,” he says brusquely.
“What are these for?”
“Go take a bath and go to bed, you must be tired, and you have school tomorrow, don’t you?”
Ryeowook frowns in puzzlement. “And you?”
“I’m going to bed,” Yesung announces, turning and walking towards his bedroom. “You can use the spare bedroom, I have a sleeping bag in there. Just don’t mess up my work stuff, I’ll kill you.” He stalks off without waiting for Ryeowook’s reply.
___________________________________________________________________
Yesung’s almost asleep when he hears the door to his bedroom open and soft feet pad in, stopping right next to his bed. He grunts unhappily, turns to bury his face in the pillow. “Go ‘way, Ryeowook,” he mumbles.
“Yesung?” Ryeowook’s voice sounds, soft and a little fearful.
“Go ‘way,” Yesung mumbles again, but this time he feels small hands on his shoulders, pushing at him, until he’s rolled onto his back. He hasn’t even forced his eyes open when he feels the bed dip next to him, indicating that Ryeowook’s sat down on it.
“Dammit, I’m trying to sleep, Ryeowook, you - “ and then he stops as he feels Ryeowook’s hand, warm and incredibly heavy, somehow, for its size, on his chest.
“Yesung… hyung,” Ryeowook whispers, and it’s the sound of the honorific more than anything else, that makes Yesung pry his eyes open, only to watch flabbergasted as Ryeowook climbs right over him and sits on his stomach, peeling his oversized (Yesung’s) t-shirt off in one smooth movement.
“What the fuck, Ryeowook!” he explodes, as he sits up violently, dislodging Ryeowook from his abdomen. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ryeowook blinks at him, his features indistinct and hazy in the darkness of the room. “I - didn’t you want this?”
“No!”
Ryeowook stares at him disbelievingly. “But you bought me food… and you brought me home… and you’re nice to me, why would you do all that and be so nice if you didn’t want me to sleep with you?”
Yesung exhales shakily, running a hand distractedly through his hair. Ryeowook’s sprawled in between his legs, pale smooth skin and delicate bones exposed to full view even in the dim moonlight, face pouting and pretty. Very pretty.
Very tempting.
Yesung clears his throat, wondering why his conscience only starts speaking at the most inopportune moments and doesn’t wake up at times like these, but nevertheless he fumbles beside Ryeowook for his t-shirt and pulls it back down over Ryeowook’s head, taking his arms and pushing them through the sleeves as if he’s a baby, ignoring the boy’s plaintive whine of, “Why?” Once Ryeowook’s dressed, he scoops him up and swings him over the side of his bed, setting him back down on his feet.
“Why?” Ryeowook asks again, only now his voice is trembling and Yesung’s afraid to look up at him, afraid he might see something in Ryeowook’s eyes that he doesn’t want to see.
“Look, Ryeowook,” he begins carefully, “I’m not doing all this because I want to sleep with you, okay?”
“You did earlier,” the boy says accusingly, and Yesung groans.
“I know, I did, and I’m sorry,” he says placatingly. “But that was a mistake, and - well, just take it as this is my way of apologizing, okay?”
There’s a pause, then Ryeowook says, “I don’t understand why you even have to apologise. I’m a prostitute, this is what I do.”
Yesung passes a hand over his eyes, feeling something in him break at the way Ryeowook tosses the words out so casually. “Just - just go to sleep, Ryeowook,” he replies before lying down and closing his eyes.
He hears Ryeowook’s footsteps pad disconsolately away, and then the sound of the door opening, but before Ryeowook steps out he says, “Hey.”
“Yeah,” he hears Ryeowook say, the inflection tilting up at the end inquiringly.
He keeps his eyes closed. “I’ll send you to school tomorrow morning. Wake me up when it’s time for you to leave.”
Ryeowook doesn’t reply, and the next moment Yesung begins to regret what he said - maybe Ryeowook’s thinking of leaving in the middle of the night? - when he hears, “Why?”
Yesung turns, so he’s not facing the direction of the door. “Because everyone deserves a second chance. And I don’t think many second chances have come your way.”
___________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook directs him to an all boys’ school which is, surprisingly, pretty near to Yesung’s office. He pulls up outside the school gate and watches as Ryeowook gathers his things into his rucksack. The boy’s uniform is rumpled, in stark contrast to the smooth, sharply creased shirts and pants of his schoolmates who are strolling through the gates, and Yesung again feels a pang of compassion for him.
“Do you have any money?” he asks, just as Ryeowook reaches for the door handle.
“Nope,” Ryeowook replies, quite casually. “All thanks to you, I didn’t get any work done last night.”
Work. Yesung doesn’t know why it hurts so much hearing Ryeowook speak like this. But he bites back the admonishing words that are threatening to spill out of his mouth anyway as he searches for his wallet. Hell, he’s no angel himself, after all he had wanted to sleep with the kid. He digs the leather wallet out from his back pocket and pulls out a stack of notes - a thick stack, but then he has a sneaking suspicion Ryeowook will need every dollar in there anyway.
“What’s this for?” Ryeowook asks suspiciously as Yesung hands him the money.
“Uh… don’t you need money to get you through the day?” Yesung asks foolishly, the notes flapping gently in the air blasting out of the air conditioning vents.
“You didn’t even let me sleep with you and you’re paying me?”
“This isn’t payment.”
“Then what’s this supposed to be? Charity?”
“No,” Yesung swallows; he hasn’t quite expected Ryeowook to be this proud. “No, it’s just, uh - “
Ryeowook looks coldly at him. “Keep your money. You’ve done enough for me already, and besides, I’m fine earning my own keep. I don’t need your pity, or charity.”
He opens the car door and slides out gracefully, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for everything, Yesung-hyung.”
“Ryeo - !” Yesung begins, but Ryeowook’s already shut the door with a loud thud and walked off, his head low as he disappears from view among the throng of students.
“Shit,” Yesung swears, slamming his palms down on the steering wheel; the notes slip out of his hand and flutter all over him and the car seats, but he doesn’t bother. “Shit, Ryeowook, don’t go back there.”
____________________________________________________________________
Yesung can’t concentrate while he’s at work at all; he stares blankly at his screen until the numbers on it blur into unintelligible blobs of black. He looks at his clock - it’s 1 p.m., and his stomach growls as if on cue.
But he’s not thinking about his stomach, or his lunch for once - he’s thinking about that boy he found last night, the boy with the flawless skin and tiny frame and cheekbones so high they’re almost arrogant, the street kid who’s eking out a miserable existence all by himself to go to school and eat and survive and - god, he can’t carry on thinking of him or he’ll go insane.
“There’re loads of kids like him, all over the world, there’s nothing special about him,” Yesung mumbles under his breath, and in the cubicle opposite him his colleague, Kibum, stands up and looks over the partition at him.
“Were you talking to me, Yesung?” he asks.
Yesung jumps a little and looks up; he hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud. “No, no I wasn’t, just thinking of something.”
Kibum eyes him shrewdly. “You seem distracted.”
“No,” Yesung says, sitting up straighter and trying to pull himself together (and pull his thoughts away from Ryeowook). “I’m okay.”
“Good, because we’re in deep shit, Yesung, River Tech’s share price just dropped again, and we’re already out almost US$200,000. Yesung, if this goes on, we won’t be able to recoup, I say we sell right now - “
Yesung’s stomach growls again, and suddenly his mind blanks out and he can’t hear anything Kibum’s saying anymore, all he can see is the image of Ryeowook at the restaurant they were at last night, eating and eating while his face shone with joy, and abruptly he stands up, pushing his chair back and walking away from his desk.
“Yesung! Fuck, Yesung, where are you going, we don’t have time for this! River Tech - “
“Sell, just sell the shares, whatever,” Yesung calls back, breaking into a run. “Do whatever you want, I’m not coming back to the office today.”
___________________________________________________________________
He’s been waiting in his car outside the gate of Ryeowook’s school for almost an hour when the final bell rings and he tenses up. Sure enough, kids begin coming out after a few minutes, slowly at first, but then it becomes a veritable deluge as they swarm out, and Yesung curses because he’s never going to be able to find Ryeowook in this crowd.
He’s about to get out of his car and go right into the stream of students when the crowd parts just for a moment and he spots Ryeowook - his heart actually gives a little leap - leaning against the gate with an expectant look on his face. He’s looking around, as if he’s waiting for someone, and Yesung wonders for a split second if Ryeowook’s actually waiting for him, as inexplicable as it seems.
Even so, he can’t help the smile that spreads over his face, and he gets out of his car and begins walking briskly, preparing to call Ryeowook’s name when he sees another boy, wearing the same uniform, walk up to Ryeowook. He doesn’t speak to him, but it’s obvious he’s the one Ryeowook’s been waiting for, because he unfolds himself from the gate and begins walking off with the other boy, both of them heading back into the school and disappearing behind the side of the building.
Yesung stops for a moment, confused. Why is Ryeowook going back in?
Then the realization strikes him with all the force of a hurricane, and he begins running, running in the direction Ryeowook went, pushing past the students who give him startled looks, but he can’t help himself; it’s as if his legs are moving automatically, dragging him towards Ryeowook.
But when he goes around the corner of the building, they’re gone.
_____________________________________________________________________
It’s almost an hour later when Yesung finally sees Ryeowook trudging towards the school gates where he’s been pacing up and down angrily. Ryeowook’s head is down and he can’t really see the expression on his face, but he does notice that Ryeowook’s shirt is untucked and completely wrinkled and the buttons are halfway undone, though the other boy he left with is nowhere in sight.
There’s a sudden surge of fury that wells up in him, so abruptly and unexpectedly that he actually chokes, and at the sound Ryeowook looks up and sees him. He stops short at the sight of Yesung, and his face darkens.
They both speak at the same time.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where the hell did you go?”
They pause, staring at each other, intense black eyes boring into brown that’s no less hard. Ryeowook breaks the silence first.
“You have some nerve. What do you think you’re doing, coming to my school to wait for me?”
“I - “ and here Yesung falters, the anger ebbing out of him just as suddenly as it had appeared. Why had he come here? Frankly, he’s not too sure himself. He stares at Ryeowook’s face, slightly pink from anger, and tries to find words that can adequately explain why he’s been waiting outside a high school for a 16-year-old prostitute he met the day before.
But before he can form a coherent sentence, his eyes land on a mark on Ryeowook’s neck, exposed by his shirt that's half falling off him. It’s small and oval and deep purple, right at the crease where his neck meets his shoulder, and Yesung’s sure as hell that it wasn’t there yesterday.
The fury swells up in him again, unstoppable and burning, and he closes the few steps between him and Ryeowook and grabs the boy’s wrist, tightly, before turning and walking, pulling Ryeowook behind him as he goes.
“What the - fuck you, let me go!” Ryeowook shouts, twisting in his grip, but he’s relentless and much, much stronger than the smaller boy; he literally drags him to his car, never once letting up on his grip, until they reach the vehicle and he opens the front passenger side door and tosses Ryeowook into the seat before slamming the door on him.
He gets into the driver’s seat, shutting his own door and activating the lock. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns Ryeowook. “Thanks to you, I just lost my company US$200,000. Don’t you step out of my car.”
He starts the car up and floors the accelerator. His heart’s beating like a trapped bird in a cage, fluttering against his ribcage so fast he thinks it’s going to jump right out of his throat, and he forces himself to slow his breathing down.
“I don’t care about your stupid company and what your own incompetence did to it. Where the fuck do you think you’re taking me?” Ryeowook snarls from beside him, hands pulling at the door handle despite the high speed they’re going at. “Fuck, Yesung, let me out of here!”
Yesung ignores him and keeps driving. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, to be honest. He just wants to go away and bring Ryeowook with him, take him somewhere safe, where he doesn’t ever have to do this, where he can be away from his sordid life, where Yesung will be the only one leaving marks on him, not anyone else -
And here his train of thoughts pauses, because he did not just think that.
Oh, but you did, a teasing voice says again in his mind. Oh Yesung, you want this boy so badly, don’t you?
“Shut up, shut up,” Yesung says aloud through gritted teeth, foot pressing down on the accelerator for all he’s worth, and beside him Ryeowook stops yelling and looks over at him, apparently under the impression that Yesung was talking to him.
“You jerk, you come to my school and practically kidnap me and you’re telling me to shut up? I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but stop it, stop your damned car and let me out!”
“No,” Yesung grunts, though he isn’t sure what he’s replying to; his mind’s still fogged from anger, and too focused on his dirty thoughts. He tries to divert them by fixating on the anger, but his thoughts keep flashing back to that one mark on Ryeowook’s pale skin, that maddening little bruise, and between the mess of emotions and thoughts roiling in him he doesn’t notice when Ryeowook suddenly climbs over the gear stick and onto his lap, wedging himself between his body and the steering wheel, his bony knees digging into Yesung’s thighs.
“Ryeowook!” Yesung shouts, startled; the car swerves as he jerks the steering wheel to one side in his shock. “What the hell are you doing, get away, I can’t see!”
“Stop the car!” Ryeowook’s screaming; his hands are on Yesung’s shoulders, shaking hard, and his knees slide off until he’s kneeling on the seat itself, his full weight on Yesung’s thighs and preventing his legs from moving. “Stop the fucking car and let me get off!”
“Fuck you, Ryeowook, move, move, I can’t fucking see!” Yesung yells, and the car is now a cauldron, both of them hot and screaming and pulling at each other, all the sounds and movements meshing into a blur. Yesung’s trying to crane his neck over Ryeowook’s shoulder and trying to dislodge Ryeowook from his lap so he can slam on the brakes when Ryeowook’s shirt, in his struggling, slides off, and that dark purple bruise on his shoulder looms right before Yesung, stark against Ryeowook’s skin, and something in Yesung just snaps.
Just before his car plows into the kerb, his hand finds the handbrake and pulls at it, and the car screeches to a stop as Yesung reaches his other hand out and grabs Ryeowook by the collar and pulls him down, crashing their lips together so hard that Ryeowook’s teeth cut into his lips and he tastes the metallic tang of blood.
But he doesn’t care, because Ryeowook’s stopped screaming and shouting, stopped struggling, and are those his arms that are coming up to wind around his neck? He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, as this 16-year-old child sits in his lap, in his car, in the middle of some road, and cards fingers in his hair to pull roughly at it, as their lips and tongues and teeth clash against each other and it’s sloppy and violent but so, so addictive. Yesung pulls him closer and kisses him harder, biting at his lips none too gently, and Ryeowook responds just as passionately, scraping his teeth against Yesung’s bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, his every touch burning into Yesung.
Yesung crushes his lips harder against Ryeowook, tasting the blood in his mouth again, only he doesn’t know now if it’s his or Ryeowook’s because everything is mingled and confusing and the heat of them in this small space is addling all his senses. He’s blanking out already, losing himself in the feel of Ryeowook grinding down on him and his tongue in his mouth when Ryeowook whimpers, just a small helpless little sound.
That’s enough to snap Yesung back to his senses. He wrenches himself away from Ryeowook with herculean effort (underaged! Underaged, you bastard! his conscience shrieks at him), and stares at him but regrets it almost immediately, because the smaller boy is flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust, and his lips kiss-swollen and gleaming with Yesung’s saliva.
“Oh, fuck,” Yesung says, breathless. “Fuck, what am I doing, oh my god.” Shakily, he lifts Ryeowook off him and almost flings him back into the passenger seat.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, are you insane?” Ryeowook shouts, as Yesung disengages the handbrake and drives off again, trying to still his pounding heart.
Yes, insane for a child whom you barely even know, his mind whispers. Fucking traitor, Yesung thinks angrily.
_____________________________________________________________________
They’ve been driving around for hours, aimlessly, driving in circles because Yesung doesn’t know where he’s going or what he wants to do. Kibum’s been calling from the office, making his phone vibrate insistently in his pants, but he doesn’t bother. He’ll go in tomorrow and deal with the aftermath.
All he really cares about now is Ryeowook and what he’s going to do about him.
Ryeowook’s already asleep, tired out from all the shouting he’d been doing. After the screaming, he’d started to cry, and Yesung had felt like a complete prick as the kid completely fell apart in his car, but he didn’t stop, didn’t let him out. He couldn’t. So he’d driven round and round, until the sun began to set, until Ryeowook’s sobs had turned into soft sniffles and then gentle breathing as he nodded off, curled up in the car seat.
The orange light from the dying sun shines right into the car, making Yesung squint. He glances over at Ryeowook, noting that he’s still fast asleep, tear tracks still visible on his face and gleaming in the light. He hesitates, wondering if he should bring him home, or wake him up; he still has no concrete plans for the boy. But then a lingering growl from his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten all day, and neither has Ryeowook, and that decides at least his next course of action. He squints into the light and pulls over at the side of the road, at the first restaurant he sees that looks halfway decent.
“Hey,” he says to Ryeowook gently when he stops the engine. “Hey, kid.”
Ryeowook blinks himself awake, sitting up with a jerk as he runs his hand distractedly through his hair. “Where are we?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse from all the crying earlier. Yesung finds himself drawn to his lips, which are - fuck - still swollen, still slightly bruised, and he tears his eyes away with difficulty.
“Getting food,” he says. “Come on.”
He tenses up when he gets out of the car, because he thinks Ryeowook may try to make a break for it - but he just shuffles after Yesung, head down and hands tucked in his pockets, all the fight and the combativeness drained out of him.
Yesung doesn’t know if he should be relieved at that, or carry on feeling like the scum of the earth for taking advantage of him and making him cry.
______________________________________________________________________
it suddenly occurs to Yesung, when they’re having barbequed meat in the restaurant, that it’s almost 24 hours since he’s met Ryeowook, in what is possibly the most tumultuous day of his life.
He spends some time just watching Ryeowook, who’s eating with as much gusto as he did the night before, and feels another nagging pang of guilt. It’s crazy, really, how much this boy’s welfare has grown to mean to him in such a short period of time. But he’s no nearer to deciding what he should do about him, and so he just chews thoughtfully and regards Ryeowook contemplatively, not really paying attention to the food as plans tumble in his head.
Just don’t touch him, his conscience admonishes him sternly, and he growls a little.
Ryeowook looks up, startled. “What’s wrong?” he says, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He seems more relaxed now that he’s had some food in his belly, and Yesung blinks at him.
“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “Uh, you full yet?”
“Yeah,” Ryeowook says, taking the last bite from his chopsticks and then putting them down on the table. “Yeah, I’m done.”
Yesung calls for the bill and when it comes, Ryeowook fishes his own battered wallet out and pulls some notes out. “I can pay for my share.”
Yesung stares at the notes in his hand, remembering how Ryeowook hadn’t had any money at all that morning. He can feel the rage rising in him again, simmering in his belly; but he suppresses it with difficulty, choosing instead to smile at the boy. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
He can almost feel Ryeowook’s eyes burning into him as he signs the check and stands up. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Back home, of course.”
“Home?” Ryeowook’s eyes are wide and his voice is hesitant.
“Yes,” Yesung says firmly. “We’re going home. Together.”
__________________________________________________________________
Yesung can’t sleep as he tosses and turns in his bed, ever mindful of Ryeowook in the spare bedroom just a wall away, Ryeowook wearing his clothes, Ryeowook curled up in the sleeping bag and soft and vulnerable.
Can you really do this? his mind whispers. Can you really take this child in and trust yourself to not do anything stupid? Because Yesung, you have no self-control to speak of whatsoever.
Yesung scowls, even with his cheek pressed into his pillow. Really, he doesn’t understand why his own brain is so traitorous.
And just then, he hears his bedroom door open, and he scrambles to sit up immediately, before he even hears Ryeowook’s soft “Yesung? Are you awake?”
He squints at the door, where the darkness of the bedroom and the living room outside combine to show only a slender silhouette in the doorway. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.” The shadow moves inside his room and shuts the door with a soft click, and with that he can’t even see anything anymore, can only hear the light shuffling of Ryeowook’s footsteps as he makes his way closer to the bed. Yesung stiffens. God, this can’t be happening again, if the kid offers him sex again he might just -
“Can I just stay in here with you? I promise, I’ll be quiet. I’ll just sit on the floor, here, I won’t do anything.”
Yesung feels his heart go out to the slightly scared note in the boy’s voice. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, before lying back down.
“Thanks.”
There’s silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by the mingled sounds of their breathing. Yesung, though, is still wide awake, his every nerve tingling with the knowledge that Ryeowook is somewhere on the floor next to him, probably trying to make himself comfortable on the hardwood floor, and he feels guilty again, all of a sudden. He sits up in his bed and looks over, making out a faint shadow crouching just where his feet are. Great, now he feels absolutely terrible.
“Ryeowook,” he says gently.
“Yes?”
“Come up here, you’ll be more comfortable.” He slides over to the other side of the double bed as he says it, watching Ryeowook hesitate. “Just come up, it’s okay.”
Slowly, the figure unfolds itself and climbs on his bed, arranging itself next to him, keeping a careful distance. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. Just go to sleep.”
There’s another silence, longer this time, and Yesung thinks Ryeowook’s fallen asleep. Good. Now maybe he can try to go to sleep too, it’s been an insane day, and he needs to go into the office tomorrow and salvage as much as he can. He realizes that he hasn’t called Kibum back at all and sighs inwardly, thinking of the screaming he’s going to get the next day from his colleague. And of course, there’s still the matter of Ryeowook. Yesung’s quite prepared to have Ryeowook put up at his place for as long as possible and be able to go to school free of worries, but will the boy himself agree? And in all honesty, why is he even doing so much for the kid?
24 hours, he thinks to himself. 24 hours, one child, and my life is turned upside down.
“Yesung? Hyung?” Ryeowook’s voice sounds uncertainly again, and he jumps a little; he’d been thinking he was already sleeping.
“Why are you still awake?” he says, more harshly than he’d intended. “Sleep, you have school tomorrow.”
Ryeowook only says something completely unexpected. “Why are you so nice to me, hyung?”
“Huh?” Yesung can only say stupidly, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. “I think I should be the one asking you why you’re suddenly not speaking to me as if I’m your worst enemy.”
Ryeowook ignores his sarcasm and plunges ahead. “I just - hyung, you’re a nice man. A really nice man.”
“Uh, okay,” Yesung’s beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“I mean, I… I had my doubts at first. No one’s ever been nice to me unless they wanted to fuck me, you know?” Yesung winces at the coarse words coming from Ryeowook, but keeps his mouth shut, waiting for him to continue. “I thought you were like that at first, but you don’t even seem to want to touch me. I’ve been doing this since I was 14, and no one’s ever treated me like this. I don’t know, maybe you think I’m ugly or something, but you seem - I think you’re genuinely nice, hyung, and I - I really want to know why.”
Yesung turns around at his words, so that he’s facing Ryeowook. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he can make out Ryeowook’s face, just an arms’ length away from his own, and he feels his heart clench at the beauty of this young boy. So it’s unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected, when his first confused words are “I - I don’t think you’re ugly, oh my god, no.”
Ryeowook just stares up at him, eyes wide and inquiring, and he swallows, cursing himself mentally. “No - I mean, 14? You’ve been like this since you were that young?”
Ryeowook rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah. I had a family, with my mother and stepfather. My mom died when I was 12. And after she died, well, things got… terrible with my stepfather. And I couldn’t really take it anymore after 2 years, so I ran, and found a place for myself. And of course I had to support myself, so really, this was the only thing I could think of to do.”
Yesung decides not to ask what terrible things happened between Ryeowook and his stepfather - he thinks he can guess, and it sickens him, the idea of a tiny, defenceless 12-year-old Ryeowook at the mercy of someone whom Yesung’s mind conjures up as bearing a strong resemblance to a demon. Or a pig. He opts to say instead, “You could have done something else.”
“Like?” Ryeowook laughs bitterly. “I’m underaged. Not many places want to employ underaged kids, even part-time, thanks to child labour laws. The only area where I’m actually sought after for being young is prostitution. And school is expensive, working part-time at a café or something wouldn’t bring in enough to get me through. The only reason why I’m even determined to get a good education is so that I can stop whoring for good. I hate this life too, in case you didn’t know.”
Yesung feels as if someone’s reached into his chest and gripped his heart and squeezed it tight as he listens to Ryeowook. “This is why I want to help you.,” he whispers hoarsely.
“What?”
“I don’t really know, actually.” He shuts his eyes, closes them so the tears that he can feel hovering won’t come out. “I see you, all alone, doing something as shitty as this just to get an education and put food in your stomach. I mean, you’re a much, much better person than me. I admit, I’m no angel. I have my vices. I drink, and I smoke probably too much, and I’ve had my fair share of one-night-stands with partners I just use and discard. I’ve always been caught up in my pursuit of the almighty dollar.”
Still keeping his eyes closed, he waves an arm vaguely around. “This apartment, my car, my credit cards and holidays and what-not… they were all I cared about. I couldn’t give a damn about my own family, my friends, all I wanted was to make money and be selfish about it. Then - then I met you, and I don’t even know why, but there’s just something about you…”
He pauses, wondering if he sounds too creepy, but when Ryeowook doesn’t react, he continues. “It’s just, seeing you like this, I admire your guts. I admire you for wanting to break out of this and carrying on with school. And shit, look around me, I have all this, and I have never once put it to good use. So since I found you - or rather, you found me - I might as well use what I have to - to help you, somehow, because... oh, shit, just forget it. I'm crap at this. i don't know what the hell's wrong with me, something in the food earlier, maybe."
Yesung laughs a little and falls silent after that, wondering if he’s gone too far, saying all that sappy stuff. Really, he doesn’t know what came over him. Ryeowook’s probably terrified by now, and he wouldn’t blame him; he’s sure he sounded like a psycho, when ironically, he meant every word.
But then he feels something warm press against his arm, and when he turns, Ryeowook’s scooted the few inches across the bed to him and snuggled against him, and his arm goes automatically around him, again reminded of how frail and tiny he really is. Ryeowook buries his face in his chest and he tips his head down, smelling the scent of shampoo and something sweet and all Ryeowook in his hair.
“Thank you, hyung, thank you,” Ryeowook whispers into his chest, his body shaking, and Yesung holds him tighter, rubbing a hand up and down his spine until he feels Ryeowook relax little by little and finally fall asleep, a soft warm creature in his arms.
For once, Yesung isn’t tempted; all he wants to do now is protect Ryeowook.
Then Ryeowook stirs slightly and sighs, his breath tickling Yesung’s neck as he burrows even closer, and Yesung squeezes his eyes shut and swears softly. So fine, maybe the kid is still tempting.
It doesn’t make Yesung want to love him any less, though.
____________________________________________________________________
When Yesung wakes up, it’s to unfamiliar smells and sounds drifting in through his closed bedroom door. He still feels bone-tired, as if he hadn’t rested at all for some reason; he glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand and sees that it’s almost 45 minutes before his usual wake-up time, and he groans involuntarily, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. Why is he even up this early? And what are those clanking sounds, and the smell of bacon frying? His neighbours, god, he needs to complain about them, being so loud so early in the morning -
Then he remembers. Ryeowook.
He looks over and Ryeowook isn’t there in his bed, and he bolts upright immediately, hopping out of the bed and running to the door, flinging it open as he roars, “Ryeowook! Ryeowook, where are you?”
“Here!” Ryeowook says, sliding out from the kitchen and sounding much too chirpy for the early hour or Yesung’s head, pounding and dizzy from fear. “I hope you don’t mind, hyung, I got up early and dug in your fridge and found some stuff to make breakfast with - are you okay? Are you mad at me?”
Yesung skids to a stop just before Ryeowook, staring at him and trying to take deep calming breaths. “Fuck, I thought you - “ and then he pauses.
“You thought I left?” Ryeowook says softly, spatula in one hand and pepper shaker in the other, and Yesung can’t help but think how cute he looks, even at this moment. But he just scratches his head uncomfortably, and looks down at his feet.
“No, no way,” he mumbles, and then he hears a strange, unfamiliar sound, something high and clear and uplifting and which somehow makes his heart tingle. He looks up, and realizes that Ryeowook is laughing, and realizes also that he looks and sounds utterly enchanting.
“I’m going nowhere,” he says, as he turns to walk back into the kitchen. “I could get used to this.”
Yesung stands at the door and watches as he cracks eggs expertly into a sizzling frying pan, his face shining and magically erased of the shadows of fear and unhappiness that had been there just the day before, and thinks to himself, I could get used to you too.
____________________________________________________________________
it’s nice, what they have; Yesung likes it, likes the domestic lifestyle he’s settled into, likes how Ryeowook puts on weight and becomes happy, secure and calm over the next 2 years he lives with him. He likes watching Ryeowook excel in school, likes coming home every evening to home-cooked meals, likes giving up clubbing and drinking despite little jokes from Kibum or his other friends about how he’s turned into a wuss because of his “young boyfriend” (and truth be told, he likes hearing Ryeowook being referred to as that, though he isn’t quite so amused when Kibum starts calling him “the statutory rapist”). He likes that Ryeowook no longer has to suffer, and likes that he’s stopped having nightmares of his past.
But most of all, he likes the feel of Ryeowook snuggling beside him every night, familiar and needed and he thinks he probably wouldn’t ever be able to sleep again without the feel of him in his arms and his smell in his nose. And despite quite a few slip-ups over these years where he came rather close, he’s pretty damned proud that he is not, whatever Kibum says, a statutory rapist.
Then one day Ryeowook comes home late, after staying in school to study for his upcoming high school graduation exams, and walks into Yesung’s bedroom still in his school uniform. Yesung’s reading a manhwa and waiting for Ryeowook, so he smiles when he sees the boy, putting the comic aside and sitting up straighter against the headboard. “How did revision go?” he asks.
“Good, it’s good,” Ryeowook replies, swinging his bag to the floor and walking over, and before Yesung can tell him to go and take a bath and then sleep, he climbs swiftly onto the bed and straddles Yesung, pushing him into the headboard, hands on his shoulders and a wicked little grin playing on his lips.
“What are you doing, Ryeowook, get off me,” Yesung says, unnerved by the sudden dark look in Ryeowook’s eyes, a look that is all at once familiar and yet strange to Yesung.
“I turned 18…” Ryeowook looks at the clock. “20 minutes ago, hyung.”
“Yes, I know, you’ve been telling me this for days, and I do remember I promised to bring you to that French place to celebrate. Now will you get off and stop bugging me about it?”
“I’m legal now, hyung,” Ryeowook says, his smile still devious, and it suddenly registers on Yesung what he’s getting at, and oh god, are Ryeowook’s hands slipping under his t-shirt? Ryeowook bends closer, until his lips are brushing Yesung’s cheek, and whispers, “I’m so, so legal.”
This time, Yesung’s mind is silent when he turns his head and kisses Ryeowook full on the lips. Fuck you, conscience, he’s legal now, he thinks triumphantly as Ryeowook whimpers needily into his mouth.
Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook
Author: thundersquall
Rating: R
Summary: When Yesung meets a young kid working as a prostitute to support himself, it changes his entire day - and his life - in ways he can never foresee.
This was meant to be a relatively short fic for Yesung’s birthday. Sometime during the writing, it veered off from the original plot I meant for it to have, and became a complete monster. And it wasn’t even the first thing I started writing for his birthday; it was the third, after I gave up on the first two. And it ate my soul, and my life, and deprived me of sleep for two days.
Nevertheless, happy early birthday to Yesung, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect Yesung! And marry Ryeowook now, please, I implore you.
Many many thanks to darleenk and
shiryu_yugure for all the support they gave me during the days this monster devoured my soul, I love you girls. Also,
shiryu_yugure is completely and utterly to blame for me adding in that last part. DDD:
__
Yesung eyes the boy in front of him, noting how small he is, how delicate the bones in his face and arms are. Now that his pullover is off, Yesung can see that he's wearing a white shirt under it that’s already halfway unbuttoned, a school crest sewn on the left chest pocket, and he lets his arms drop from the boy's sides and takes an involuntary step back.
"Holy crap," he says disbelievingly. "Holy crap, you're still a student."
The boy flushes, but steps forward boldly - Yesung moves back again - and retorts, "So what if I am?"
"You - you're underaged," Yesung says.
"You obviously never noticed if you wanted to buy me," he says.
Yesung shuts his eyes and drags his palm down his face. Big mistake - the next moment he feels a small warm form against him and he's being pushed backwards, pushed until his back hits the wall, and his eyes fly open. "Hey, kid - " he begins.
The boy scowls. "I'm not a kid, I have a name, and it's Ryeowook."
Yesung pauses. "Okay, Ryeowook." The name comes out unfamiliar, yet there's something about the way it tastes on his tongue that he likes very much. "Okay, you're what, 16? Why are you doing this?"
Ryeowook flushes deeper, even though he's still pressed insistently against Yesung. "For money, obviously, isn't that why everyone else does this? Look, mister, if you don't want this, I can leave, I can find someone else who'll be willing to fuck me and pay me."
"Shit," Yesung swears. Now he feels inexplicably guilty. And to be honest, can he leave a 16-year-old boy to walk back out on the streets?
Ryeowook senses his advantage and pushes himself even closer, audaciously pressing his thigh between Yesung's legs, and Yesung tries to shrink backwards as much as he can, away from Ryeowook's touch, but goddamn, why do brick walls have to be so unyielding? Ryeowook tilts his head up to him and runs a tongue over his lips slowly, leaving them pink and glistening, and Yesung swallows as he follows the path of that tongue and wonders how it feels to have that on him, what it's like to be sucked off by a 16-year-old high school student who's also the most absolutely gorgeous thing he's ever laid eyes on -
"Don't you want me?" Ryeowook breathes as he leans in closer, warm breath ghosting over Yesung's own lips, and Yesung jerks out of his dirty thoughts and curses himself and his disobedient libido because this kid is 16, and still in a school uniform, and could he not have been approached instead by that other man further down the same street, the one that was, at least, obviously not underaged?
But oh, yes - that other man wasn't half as beautiful as this boy, and Yesung probably wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he’d been the one to proposition him, seeing as he’d never ever needed or wanted to have to pay for it anyway; but there had been something about this kid when he’d stopped him while he was walking past, basically offering himself to Yesung on a silver platter.
Yesung mentally slaps himself at being dumb enough to fall for this kid’s wiles even as he dimly sees Ryeowook lean in closer, closer, until their lips brush ever so gently and it's insane, because Yesung swears this boy has the softest, most lush lips he's ever had the pleasure to kiss.
He gathers the last coherent bits of his mental faculties together and pushes Ryeowook away, holding him at arms’ length. “Stop, stop,” he says breathlessly. He can’t do this to a 16-year-old boy, a child, god. And how had he ended up being pressed into the wall of a dirty dark alley when all he’d been doing was walking along the street and minding his own business, at least until this boy had come up to him with innocent eyes and an even more innocent smile?
“Why?” Ryeowook whines, wriggling in his grip. Yesung’s hand slips a little on his arm and catches on the fabric of his long sleeve, dragging it downwards so it falls over his shoulder. Ryeowook’s skin is pale and unblemished and perfect, and Yesung can’t stop staring at the way his collarbone forms a sharp raised ridge underneath that delicious skin.
But he takes a deep breath and merely lets go of Ryeowook, tugs his shirt back up, and begins buttoning it up again for him, his fingers brushing over the school crest. The feel of the thick waxed threads under his fingers helps to ground him and remind him that Ryeowook is still a child; he finishes buttoning him into his shirt, picks his pullover up from where it was earlier discarded on the filthy floor of the alley, and dusts it off before pulling it over him.
Now that he’s calmer, he can’t believe what possessed him to want to have sex with this child. Dressing him up, he realizes how small and thin the boy really is, and a rush of shame washes over him. Fuck, he’d just wanted to pay him for sex, and the kid was probably starving. Ryeowook, however, is pouting when he finally looks up at him. “What is wrong with you, mister?” he whines again.
Yesung opens his mouth to reprimand the kid, order him to go back home or something, but what comes out is, “Have you eaten?”
Ryeowook looks surprised for a moment, then scowls again. “What’s it to you? If you’re not sleeping with me, you don’t need to know about my eating habits.”
There’s a slight shakiness behind the snark, though, something that Yesung’s sharp enough to catch because he’s 10 years older and he’s seen more, and he sees that under all his bravado, Ryeowook really is just a child, alone against the world in goodness only knows what awful circumstances have pushed him to this, and Yesung feels his heart squeeze in on itself at the thought.
“Come on,” he says firmly, straightening up and taking Ryeowook’s slim wrist, dragging him out of the alley (fuck, he didn’t even have the decency to bring this kid to a hotel; all he’d wanted was to get his rocks off, and now he feels like the biggest asshole in the world). “Let’s go get you some food.”
____________________________________________________________________
They’re in a restaurant, a nice one (Yesung’s determined to bust his credit card, if only as an inadequate apology for wanting to take advantage of a child). Ryeowook was practically howling all the way as Yesung dragged him to his car earlier, and the only way he could get him to shut up was to promise to bring him home after that. Now, as he watches Ryeowook scarf down a plate of fettuccine like it’s his last meal on earth, he wonders how he’s going to get out of that promise.
He derives an odd pleasure, though, from watching Ryeowook eat. He’d ordered salad for him, ever mindful that growing boys need vegetables, and encouraged him to try escargots and calamari (he’d ordered it fried, against his better judgment, because Ryeowook certainly needs the calories and he finds that he really doesn’t care if it means a couple more hours of working out for him), and now Ryeowook’s on his pasta, his face glowing and happy and really, he’s so much of a child Yesung wonders why he didn’t see it the first time round.
That’s because you just wanted to fuck him, a treacherous voice in his mind whispers, and Yesung winces, wishing his conscience would shut up.
“For someone so small, you sure have a bottomless stomach,” he mumbles, more to distract himself from his guilty thoughts than anything.
Ryeowook stops eating and turns slightly pink. “I was hungry,” he says defensively, putting his fork down. Yesung feels bad again, and reaches over, picking up the fork and placing it back in Ryeowook’s hand.
“Carry on then,” he says, more gently than he’s spoken to Ryeowook so far, and Ryeowook hesitates only a moment before he resumes attacking his food.
Yesung twirls strands of linguine idly around his own fork, watching Ryeowook’s evident enjoyment, and then asks, “Dessert after this?”
Ryeowook, his mouth full, can only manage a nod. Yesung grins at him and waves at a waiter, and when one comes over he says decisively, “After our dinner, could you bring us some tiramisu? Oh, and panna cotta.” He pauses, looking over at Ryeowook, who’s still going strong with no signs of stopping, and adds, “Chocolate gelato too, please.”
The waiter bows and moves away, and when Yesung turns his gaze back on Ryeowook, he sees that Ryeowook’s grinning at him too.
_____________________________________________________________________
In the car, on the way back to Yesung’s place, Yesung’s still desperately trying to figure out a way to put Ryeowook somewhere safe and not bring him back home. The boy obviously expects that they’re going to have sex, and Yesung really, really doesn’t want to go there again.
“Where do you stay?” he asks, glancing over at the boy, who’s curled up on the passenger seat and leaning against the car door.
“Why’re you asking?” he replies, but with less snappishness than before; the meal must be making him sleepy, judging by his half-closed eyes.
“Just asking, nothing more,” Yesung replies smoothly.
Ryeowook hesitates, then names a street which Yesung knows is in the middle of a pathetic little shanty town.
“That’s where you live?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“With your family?”
Ryeowook’s mildly contented expression grows sulky. “I have no family.”
“You live alone? In that sort of place?”
“It’s the only place I could get,” Ryeowook says, defensive again. “I can’t really afford to live anywhere else, I still need to go to school and it’s expensive everywhere else.”
“Oh, shit,” Yesung mumbles under his breath, because the thought of this delicate tiny boy, away from his family for whatever reason, living in that shanty town with its drug peddlars and prostitutes and other undesirable denizens, selling himself to be able to go to school, is making his heart ache.
And you wanted to fuck him, the little voice in his brain starts up again. You wanted to fuck him in a dirty alley for a miserable eighty bucks, Yesung. What kind of person are you?
He groans aloud, ignoring Ryeowook’s startled look at him, and guns down on the accelerator, speeding towards his home as fast as he can.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook can’t stop staring at the view when they get up to Yesung’s apartment, 12 floors up in a nice complex in the heart of Seoul. He stands at the glass doors of the balcony, eyes open in awe as he gazes at the twinkling lights of the cityscape spread out breathtaking before him, as Yesung goes into his bedroom and rummages around.
When he emerges, spare clothes and a towel in his hands, he sees Ryeowook standing before the doors to the balcony, hands clasped to his chest and his face shining. The light from the outside falls on his face, highlighting those high cheekbones and making his skin glow almost sliver, and Yesung almost has to tear his eyes away as he shoves the bundle of clothing into Ryeowook’s arms. “Here,” he says brusquely.
“What are these for?”
“Go take a bath and go to bed, you must be tired, and you have school tomorrow, don’t you?”
Ryeowook frowns in puzzlement. “And you?”
“I’m going to bed,” Yesung announces, turning and walking towards his bedroom. “You can use the spare bedroom, I have a sleeping bag in there. Just don’t mess up my work stuff, I’ll kill you.” He stalks off without waiting for Ryeowook’s reply.
___________________________________________________________________
Yesung’s almost asleep when he hears the door to his bedroom open and soft feet pad in, stopping right next to his bed. He grunts unhappily, turns to bury his face in the pillow. “Go ‘way, Ryeowook,” he mumbles.
“Yesung?” Ryeowook’s voice sounds, soft and a little fearful.
“Go ‘way,” Yesung mumbles again, but this time he feels small hands on his shoulders, pushing at him, until he’s rolled onto his back. He hasn’t even forced his eyes open when he feels the bed dip next to him, indicating that Ryeowook’s sat down on it.
“Dammit, I’m trying to sleep, Ryeowook, you - “ and then he stops as he feels Ryeowook’s hand, warm and incredibly heavy, somehow, for its size, on his chest.
“Yesung… hyung,” Ryeowook whispers, and it’s the sound of the honorific more than anything else, that makes Yesung pry his eyes open, only to watch flabbergasted as Ryeowook climbs right over him and sits on his stomach, peeling his oversized (Yesung’s) t-shirt off in one smooth movement.
“What the fuck, Ryeowook!” he explodes, as he sits up violently, dislodging Ryeowook from his abdomen. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ryeowook blinks at him, his features indistinct and hazy in the darkness of the room. “I - didn’t you want this?”
“No!”
Ryeowook stares at him disbelievingly. “But you bought me food… and you brought me home… and you’re nice to me, why would you do all that and be so nice if you didn’t want me to sleep with you?”
Yesung exhales shakily, running a hand distractedly through his hair. Ryeowook’s sprawled in between his legs, pale smooth skin and delicate bones exposed to full view even in the dim moonlight, face pouting and pretty. Very pretty.
Very tempting.
Yesung clears his throat, wondering why his conscience only starts speaking at the most inopportune moments and doesn’t wake up at times like these, but nevertheless he fumbles beside Ryeowook for his t-shirt and pulls it back down over Ryeowook’s head, taking his arms and pushing them through the sleeves as if he’s a baby, ignoring the boy’s plaintive whine of, “Why?” Once Ryeowook’s dressed, he scoops him up and swings him over the side of his bed, setting him back down on his feet.
“Why?” Ryeowook asks again, only now his voice is trembling and Yesung’s afraid to look up at him, afraid he might see something in Ryeowook’s eyes that he doesn’t want to see.
“Look, Ryeowook,” he begins carefully, “I’m not doing all this because I want to sleep with you, okay?”
“You did earlier,” the boy says accusingly, and Yesung groans.
“I know, I did, and I’m sorry,” he says placatingly. “But that was a mistake, and - well, just take it as this is my way of apologizing, okay?”
There’s a pause, then Ryeowook says, “I don’t understand why you even have to apologise. I’m a prostitute, this is what I do.”
Yesung passes a hand over his eyes, feeling something in him break at the way Ryeowook tosses the words out so casually. “Just - just go to sleep, Ryeowook,” he replies before lying down and closing his eyes.
He hears Ryeowook’s footsteps pad disconsolately away, and then the sound of the door opening, but before Ryeowook steps out he says, “Hey.”
“Yeah,” he hears Ryeowook say, the inflection tilting up at the end inquiringly.
He keeps his eyes closed. “I’ll send you to school tomorrow morning. Wake me up when it’s time for you to leave.”
Ryeowook doesn’t reply, and the next moment Yesung begins to regret what he said - maybe Ryeowook’s thinking of leaving in the middle of the night? - when he hears, “Why?”
Yesung turns, so he’s not facing the direction of the door. “Because everyone deserves a second chance. And I don’t think many second chances have come your way.”
___________________________________________________________________
Ryeowook directs him to an all boys’ school which is, surprisingly, pretty near to Yesung’s office. He pulls up outside the school gate and watches as Ryeowook gathers his things into his rucksack. The boy’s uniform is rumpled, in stark contrast to the smooth, sharply creased shirts and pants of his schoolmates who are strolling through the gates, and Yesung again feels a pang of compassion for him.
“Do you have any money?” he asks, just as Ryeowook reaches for the door handle.
“Nope,” Ryeowook replies, quite casually. “All thanks to you, I didn’t get any work done last night.”
Work. Yesung doesn’t know why it hurts so much hearing Ryeowook speak like this. But he bites back the admonishing words that are threatening to spill out of his mouth anyway as he searches for his wallet. Hell, he’s no angel himself, after all he had wanted to sleep with the kid. He digs the leather wallet out from his back pocket and pulls out a stack of notes - a thick stack, but then he has a sneaking suspicion Ryeowook will need every dollar in there anyway.
“What’s this for?” Ryeowook asks suspiciously as Yesung hands him the money.
“Uh… don’t you need money to get you through the day?” Yesung asks foolishly, the notes flapping gently in the air blasting out of the air conditioning vents.
“You didn’t even let me sleep with you and you’re paying me?”
“This isn’t payment.”
“Then what’s this supposed to be? Charity?”
“No,” Yesung swallows; he hasn’t quite expected Ryeowook to be this proud. “No, it’s just, uh - “
Ryeowook looks coldly at him. “Keep your money. You’ve done enough for me already, and besides, I’m fine earning my own keep. I don’t need your pity, or charity.”
He opens the car door and slides out gracefully, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for everything, Yesung-hyung.”
“Ryeo - !” Yesung begins, but Ryeowook’s already shut the door with a loud thud and walked off, his head low as he disappears from view among the throng of students.
“Shit,” Yesung swears, slamming his palms down on the steering wheel; the notes slip out of his hand and flutter all over him and the car seats, but he doesn’t bother. “Shit, Ryeowook, don’t go back there.”
____________________________________________________________________
Yesung can’t concentrate while he’s at work at all; he stares blankly at his screen until the numbers on it blur into unintelligible blobs of black. He looks at his clock - it’s 1 p.m., and his stomach growls as if on cue.
But he’s not thinking about his stomach, or his lunch for once - he’s thinking about that boy he found last night, the boy with the flawless skin and tiny frame and cheekbones so high they’re almost arrogant, the street kid who’s eking out a miserable existence all by himself to go to school and eat and survive and - god, he can’t carry on thinking of him or he’ll go insane.
“There’re loads of kids like him, all over the world, there’s nothing special about him,” Yesung mumbles under his breath, and in the cubicle opposite him his colleague, Kibum, stands up and looks over the partition at him.
“Were you talking to me, Yesung?” he asks.
Yesung jumps a little and looks up; he hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud. “No, no I wasn’t, just thinking of something.”
Kibum eyes him shrewdly. “You seem distracted.”
“No,” Yesung says, sitting up straighter and trying to pull himself together (and pull his thoughts away from Ryeowook). “I’m okay.”
“Good, because we’re in deep shit, Yesung, River Tech’s share price just dropped again, and we’re already out almost US$200,000. Yesung, if this goes on, we won’t be able to recoup, I say we sell right now - “
Yesung’s stomach growls again, and suddenly his mind blanks out and he can’t hear anything Kibum’s saying anymore, all he can see is the image of Ryeowook at the restaurant they were at last night, eating and eating while his face shone with joy, and abruptly he stands up, pushing his chair back and walking away from his desk.
“Yesung! Fuck, Yesung, where are you going, we don’t have time for this! River Tech - “
“Sell, just sell the shares, whatever,” Yesung calls back, breaking into a run. “Do whatever you want, I’m not coming back to the office today.”
___________________________________________________________________
He’s been waiting in his car outside the gate of Ryeowook’s school for almost an hour when the final bell rings and he tenses up. Sure enough, kids begin coming out after a few minutes, slowly at first, but then it becomes a veritable deluge as they swarm out, and Yesung curses because he’s never going to be able to find Ryeowook in this crowd.
He’s about to get out of his car and go right into the stream of students when the crowd parts just for a moment and he spots Ryeowook - his heart actually gives a little leap - leaning against the gate with an expectant look on his face. He’s looking around, as if he’s waiting for someone, and Yesung wonders for a split second if Ryeowook’s actually waiting for him, as inexplicable as it seems.
Even so, he can’t help the smile that spreads over his face, and he gets out of his car and begins walking briskly, preparing to call Ryeowook’s name when he sees another boy, wearing the same uniform, walk up to Ryeowook. He doesn’t speak to him, but it’s obvious he’s the one Ryeowook’s been waiting for, because he unfolds himself from the gate and begins walking off with the other boy, both of them heading back into the school and disappearing behind the side of the building.
Yesung stops for a moment, confused. Why is Ryeowook going back in?
Then the realization strikes him with all the force of a hurricane, and he begins running, running in the direction Ryeowook went, pushing past the students who give him startled looks, but he can’t help himself; it’s as if his legs are moving automatically, dragging him towards Ryeowook.
But when he goes around the corner of the building, they’re gone.
_____________________________________________________________________
It’s almost an hour later when Yesung finally sees Ryeowook trudging towards the school gates where he’s been pacing up and down angrily. Ryeowook’s head is down and he can’t really see the expression on his face, but he does notice that Ryeowook’s shirt is untucked and completely wrinkled and the buttons are halfway undone, though the other boy he left with is nowhere in sight.
There’s a sudden surge of fury that wells up in him, so abruptly and unexpectedly that he actually chokes, and at the sound Ryeowook looks up and sees him. He stops short at the sight of Yesung, and his face darkens.
They both speak at the same time.
“What are you doing here?”
“Where the hell did you go?”
They pause, staring at each other, intense black eyes boring into brown that’s no less hard. Ryeowook breaks the silence first.
“You have some nerve. What do you think you’re doing, coming to my school to wait for me?”
“I - “ and here Yesung falters, the anger ebbing out of him just as suddenly as it had appeared. Why had he come here? Frankly, he’s not too sure himself. He stares at Ryeowook’s face, slightly pink from anger, and tries to find words that can adequately explain why he’s been waiting outside a high school for a 16-year-old prostitute he met the day before.
But before he can form a coherent sentence, his eyes land on a mark on Ryeowook’s neck, exposed by his shirt that's half falling off him. It’s small and oval and deep purple, right at the crease where his neck meets his shoulder, and Yesung’s sure as hell that it wasn’t there yesterday.
The fury swells up in him again, unstoppable and burning, and he closes the few steps between him and Ryeowook and grabs the boy’s wrist, tightly, before turning and walking, pulling Ryeowook behind him as he goes.
“What the - fuck you, let me go!” Ryeowook shouts, twisting in his grip, but he’s relentless and much, much stronger than the smaller boy; he literally drags him to his car, never once letting up on his grip, until they reach the vehicle and he opens the front passenger side door and tosses Ryeowook into the seat before slamming the door on him.
He gets into the driver’s seat, shutting his own door and activating the lock. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns Ryeowook. “Thanks to you, I just lost my company US$200,000. Don’t you step out of my car.”
He starts the car up and floors the accelerator. His heart’s beating like a trapped bird in a cage, fluttering against his ribcage so fast he thinks it’s going to jump right out of his throat, and he forces himself to slow his breathing down.
“I don’t care about your stupid company and what your own incompetence did to it. Where the fuck do you think you’re taking me?” Ryeowook snarls from beside him, hands pulling at the door handle despite the high speed they’re going at. “Fuck, Yesung, let me out of here!”
Yesung ignores him and keeps driving. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, to be honest. He just wants to go away and bring Ryeowook with him, take him somewhere safe, where he doesn’t ever have to do this, where he can be away from his sordid life, where Yesung will be the only one leaving marks on him, not anyone else -
And here his train of thoughts pauses, because he did not just think that.
Oh, but you did, a teasing voice says again in his mind. Oh Yesung, you want this boy so badly, don’t you?
“Shut up, shut up,” Yesung says aloud through gritted teeth, foot pressing down on the accelerator for all he’s worth, and beside him Ryeowook stops yelling and looks over at him, apparently under the impression that Yesung was talking to him.
“You jerk, you come to my school and practically kidnap me and you’re telling me to shut up? I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but stop it, stop your damned car and let me out!”
“No,” Yesung grunts, though he isn’t sure what he’s replying to; his mind’s still fogged from anger, and too focused on his dirty thoughts. He tries to divert them by fixating on the anger, but his thoughts keep flashing back to that one mark on Ryeowook’s pale skin, that maddening little bruise, and between the mess of emotions and thoughts roiling in him he doesn’t notice when Ryeowook suddenly climbs over the gear stick and onto his lap, wedging himself between his body and the steering wheel, his bony knees digging into Yesung’s thighs.
“Ryeowook!” Yesung shouts, startled; the car swerves as he jerks the steering wheel to one side in his shock. “What the hell are you doing, get away, I can’t see!”
“Stop the car!” Ryeowook’s screaming; his hands are on Yesung’s shoulders, shaking hard, and his knees slide off until he’s kneeling on the seat itself, his full weight on Yesung’s thighs and preventing his legs from moving. “Stop the fucking car and let me get off!”
“Fuck you, Ryeowook, move, move, I can’t fucking see!” Yesung yells, and the car is now a cauldron, both of them hot and screaming and pulling at each other, all the sounds and movements meshing into a blur. Yesung’s trying to crane his neck over Ryeowook’s shoulder and trying to dislodge Ryeowook from his lap so he can slam on the brakes when Ryeowook’s shirt, in his struggling, slides off, and that dark purple bruise on his shoulder looms right before Yesung, stark against Ryeowook’s skin, and something in Yesung just snaps.
Just before his car plows into the kerb, his hand finds the handbrake and pulls at it, and the car screeches to a stop as Yesung reaches his other hand out and grabs Ryeowook by the collar and pulls him down, crashing their lips together so hard that Ryeowook’s teeth cut into his lips and he tastes the metallic tang of blood.
But he doesn’t care, because Ryeowook’s stopped screaming and shouting, stopped struggling, and are those his arms that are coming up to wind around his neck? He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, as this 16-year-old child sits in his lap, in his car, in the middle of some road, and cards fingers in his hair to pull roughly at it, as their lips and tongues and teeth clash against each other and it’s sloppy and violent but so, so addictive. Yesung pulls him closer and kisses him harder, biting at his lips none too gently, and Ryeowook responds just as passionately, scraping his teeth against Yesung’s bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, his every touch burning into Yesung.
Yesung crushes his lips harder against Ryeowook, tasting the blood in his mouth again, only he doesn’t know now if it’s his or Ryeowook’s because everything is mingled and confusing and the heat of them in this small space is addling all his senses. He’s blanking out already, losing himself in the feel of Ryeowook grinding down on him and his tongue in his mouth when Ryeowook whimpers, just a small helpless little sound.
That’s enough to snap Yesung back to his senses. He wrenches himself away from Ryeowook with herculean effort (underaged! Underaged, you bastard! his conscience shrieks at him), and stares at him but regrets it almost immediately, because the smaller boy is flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust, and his lips kiss-swollen and gleaming with Yesung’s saliva.
“Oh, fuck,” Yesung says, breathless. “Fuck, what am I doing, oh my god.” Shakily, he lifts Ryeowook off him and almost flings him back into the passenger seat.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, are you insane?” Ryeowook shouts, as Yesung disengages the handbrake and drives off again, trying to still his pounding heart.
Yes, insane for a child whom you barely even know, his mind whispers. Fucking traitor, Yesung thinks angrily.
_____________________________________________________________________
They’ve been driving around for hours, aimlessly, driving in circles because Yesung doesn’t know where he’s going or what he wants to do. Kibum’s been calling from the office, making his phone vibrate insistently in his pants, but he doesn’t bother. He’ll go in tomorrow and deal with the aftermath.
All he really cares about now is Ryeowook and what he’s going to do about him.
Ryeowook’s already asleep, tired out from all the shouting he’d been doing. After the screaming, he’d started to cry, and Yesung had felt like a complete prick as the kid completely fell apart in his car, but he didn’t stop, didn’t let him out. He couldn’t. So he’d driven round and round, until the sun began to set, until Ryeowook’s sobs had turned into soft sniffles and then gentle breathing as he nodded off, curled up in the car seat.
The orange light from the dying sun shines right into the car, making Yesung squint. He glances over at Ryeowook, noting that he’s still fast asleep, tear tracks still visible on his face and gleaming in the light. He hesitates, wondering if he should bring him home, or wake him up; he still has no concrete plans for the boy. But then a lingering growl from his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten all day, and neither has Ryeowook, and that decides at least his next course of action. He squints into the light and pulls over at the side of the road, at the first restaurant he sees that looks halfway decent.
“Hey,” he says to Ryeowook gently when he stops the engine. “Hey, kid.”
Ryeowook blinks himself awake, sitting up with a jerk as he runs his hand distractedly through his hair. “Where are we?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse from all the crying earlier. Yesung finds himself drawn to his lips, which are - fuck - still swollen, still slightly bruised, and he tears his eyes away with difficulty.
“Getting food,” he says. “Come on.”
He tenses up when he gets out of the car, because he thinks Ryeowook may try to make a break for it - but he just shuffles after Yesung, head down and hands tucked in his pockets, all the fight and the combativeness drained out of him.
Yesung doesn’t know if he should be relieved at that, or carry on feeling like the scum of the earth for taking advantage of him and making him cry.
______________________________________________________________________
it suddenly occurs to Yesung, when they’re having barbequed meat in the restaurant, that it’s almost 24 hours since he’s met Ryeowook, in what is possibly the most tumultuous day of his life.
He spends some time just watching Ryeowook, who’s eating with as much gusto as he did the night before, and feels another nagging pang of guilt. It’s crazy, really, how much this boy’s welfare has grown to mean to him in such a short period of time. But he’s no nearer to deciding what he should do about him, and so he just chews thoughtfully and regards Ryeowook contemplatively, not really paying attention to the food as plans tumble in his head.
Just don’t touch him, his conscience admonishes him sternly, and he growls a little.
Ryeowook looks up, startled. “What’s wrong?” he says, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He seems more relaxed now that he’s had some food in his belly, and Yesung blinks at him.
“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “Uh, you full yet?”
“Yeah,” Ryeowook says, taking the last bite from his chopsticks and then putting them down on the table. “Yeah, I’m done.”
Yesung calls for the bill and when it comes, Ryeowook fishes his own battered wallet out and pulls some notes out. “I can pay for my share.”
Yesung stares at the notes in his hand, remembering how Ryeowook hadn’t had any money at all that morning. He can feel the rage rising in him again, simmering in his belly; but he suppresses it with difficulty, choosing instead to smile at the boy. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
He can almost feel Ryeowook’s eyes burning into him as he signs the check and stands up. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Back home, of course.”
“Home?” Ryeowook’s eyes are wide and his voice is hesitant.
“Yes,” Yesung says firmly. “We’re going home. Together.”
__________________________________________________________________
Yesung can’t sleep as he tosses and turns in his bed, ever mindful of Ryeowook in the spare bedroom just a wall away, Ryeowook wearing his clothes, Ryeowook curled up in the sleeping bag and soft and vulnerable.
Can you really do this? his mind whispers. Can you really take this child in and trust yourself to not do anything stupid? Because Yesung, you have no self-control to speak of whatsoever.
Yesung scowls, even with his cheek pressed into his pillow. Really, he doesn’t understand why his own brain is so traitorous.
And just then, he hears his bedroom door open, and he scrambles to sit up immediately, before he even hears Ryeowook’s soft “Yesung? Are you awake?”
He squints at the door, where the darkness of the bedroom and the living room outside combine to show only a slender silhouette in the doorway. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.” The shadow moves inside his room and shuts the door with a soft click, and with that he can’t even see anything anymore, can only hear the light shuffling of Ryeowook’s footsteps as he makes his way closer to the bed. Yesung stiffens. God, this can’t be happening again, if the kid offers him sex again he might just -
“Can I just stay in here with you? I promise, I’ll be quiet. I’ll just sit on the floor, here, I won’t do anything.”
Yesung feels his heart go out to the slightly scared note in the boy’s voice. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, before lying back down.
“Thanks.”
There’s silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by the mingled sounds of their breathing. Yesung, though, is still wide awake, his every nerve tingling with the knowledge that Ryeowook is somewhere on the floor next to him, probably trying to make himself comfortable on the hardwood floor, and he feels guilty again, all of a sudden. He sits up in his bed and looks over, making out a faint shadow crouching just where his feet are. Great, now he feels absolutely terrible.
“Ryeowook,” he says gently.
“Yes?”
“Come up here, you’ll be more comfortable.” He slides over to the other side of the double bed as he says it, watching Ryeowook hesitate. “Just come up, it’s okay.”
Slowly, the figure unfolds itself and climbs on his bed, arranging itself next to him, keeping a careful distance. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. Just go to sleep.”
There’s another silence, longer this time, and Yesung thinks Ryeowook’s fallen asleep. Good. Now maybe he can try to go to sleep too, it’s been an insane day, and he needs to go into the office tomorrow and salvage as much as he can. He realizes that he hasn’t called Kibum back at all and sighs inwardly, thinking of the screaming he’s going to get the next day from his colleague. And of course, there’s still the matter of Ryeowook. Yesung’s quite prepared to have Ryeowook put up at his place for as long as possible and be able to go to school free of worries, but will the boy himself agree? And in all honesty, why is he even doing so much for the kid?
24 hours, he thinks to himself. 24 hours, one child, and my life is turned upside down.
“Yesung? Hyung?” Ryeowook’s voice sounds uncertainly again, and he jumps a little; he’d been thinking he was already sleeping.
“Why are you still awake?” he says, more harshly than he’d intended. “Sleep, you have school tomorrow.”
Ryeowook only says something completely unexpected. “Why are you so nice to me, hyung?”
“Huh?” Yesung can only say stupidly, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. “I think I should be the one asking you why you’re suddenly not speaking to me as if I’m your worst enemy.”
Ryeowook ignores his sarcasm and plunges ahead. “I just - hyung, you’re a nice man. A really nice man.”
“Uh, okay,” Yesung’s beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“I mean, I… I had my doubts at first. No one’s ever been nice to me unless they wanted to fuck me, you know?” Yesung winces at the coarse words coming from Ryeowook, but keeps his mouth shut, waiting for him to continue. “I thought you were like that at first, but you don’t even seem to want to touch me. I’ve been doing this since I was 14, and no one’s ever treated me like this. I don’t know, maybe you think I’m ugly or something, but you seem - I think you’re genuinely nice, hyung, and I - I really want to know why.”
Yesung turns around at his words, so that he’s facing Ryeowook. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he can make out Ryeowook’s face, just an arms’ length away from his own, and he feels his heart clench at the beauty of this young boy. So it’s unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected, when his first confused words are “I - I don’t think you’re ugly, oh my god, no.”
Ryeowook just stares up at him, eyes wide and inquiring, and he swallows, cursing himself mentally. “No - I mean, 14? You’ve been like this since you were that young?”
Ryeowook rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah. I had a family, with my mother and stepfather. My mom died when I was 12. And after she died, well, things got… terrible with my stepfather. And I couldn’t really take it anymore after 2 years, so I ran, and found a place for myself. And of course I had to support myself, so really, this was the only thing I could think of to do.”
Yesung decides not to ask what terrible things happened between Ryeowook and his stepfather - he thinks he can guess, and it sickens him, the idea of a tiny, defenceless 12-year-old Ryeowook at the mercy of someone whom Yesung’s mind conjures up as bearing a strong resemblance to a demon. Or a pig. He opts to say instead, “You could have done something else.”
“Like?” Ryeowook laughs bitterly. “I’m underaged. Not many places want to employ underaged kids, even part-time, thanks to child labour laws. The only area where I’m actually sought after for being young is prostitution. And school is expensive, working part-time at a café or something wouldn’t bring in enough to get me through. The only reason why I’m even determined to get a good education is so that I can stop whoring for good. I hate this life too, in case you didn’t know.”
Yesung feels as if someone’s reached into his chest and gripped his heart and squeezed it tight as he listens to Ryeowook. “This is why I want to help you.,” he whispers hoarsely.
“What?”
“I don’t really know, actually.” He shuts his eyes, closes them so the tears that he can feel hovering won’t come out. “I see you, all alone, doing something as shitty as this just to get an education and put food in your stomach. I mean, you’re a much, much better person than me. I admit, I’m no angel. I have my vices. I drink, and I smoke probably too much, and I’ve had my fair share of one-night-stands with partners I just use and discard. I’ve always been caught up in my pursuit of the almighty dollar.”
Still keeping his eyes closed, he waves an arm vaguely around. “This apartment, my car, my credit cards and holidays and what-not… they were all I cared about. I couldn’t give a damn about my own family, my friends, all I wanted was to make money and be selfish about it. Then - then I met you, and I don’t even know why, but there’s just something about you…”
He pauses, wondering if he sounds too creepy, but when Ryeowook doesn’t react, he continues. “It’s just, seeing you like this, I admire your guts. I admire you for wanting to break out of this and carrying on with school. And shit, look around me, I have all this, and I have never once put it to good use. So since I found you - or rather, you found me - I might as well use what I have to - to help you, somehow, because... oh, shit, just forget it. I'm crap at this. i don't know what the hell's wrong with me, something in the food earlier, maybe."
Yesung laughs a little and falls silent after that, wondering if he’s gone too far, saying all that sappy stuff. Really, he doesn’t know what came over him. Ryeowook’s probably terrified by now, and he wouldn’t blame him; he’s sure he sounded like a psycho, when ironically, he meant every word.
But then he feels something warm press against his arm, and when he turns, Ryeowook’s scooted the few inches across the bed to him and snuggled against him, and his arm goes automatically around him, again reminded of how frail and tiny he really is. Ryeowook buries his face in his chest and he tips his head down, smelling the scent of shampoo and something sweet and all Ryeowook in his hair.
“Thank you, hyung, thank you,” Ryeowook whispers into his chest, his body shaking, and Yesung holds him tighter, rubbing a hand up and down his spine until he feels Ryeowook relax little by little and finally fall asleep, a soft warm creature in his arms.
For once, Yesung isn’t tempted; all he wants to do now is protect Ryeowook.
Then Ryeowook stirs slightly and sighs, his breath tickling Yesung’s neck as he burrows even closer, and Yesung squeezes his eyes shut and swears softly. So fine, maybe the kid is still tempting.
It doesn’t make Yesung want to love him any less, though.
____________________________________________________________________
When Yesung wakes up, it’s to unfamiliar smells and sounds drifting in through his closed bedroom door. He still feels bone-tired, as if he hadn’t rested at all for some reason; he glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand and sees that it’s almost 45 minutes before his usual wake-up time, and he groans involuntarily, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. Why is he even up this early? And what are those clanking sounds, and the smell of bacon frying? His neighbours, god, he needs to complain about them, being so loud so early in the morning -
Then he remembers. Ryeowook.
He looks over and Ryeowook isn’t there in his bed, and he bolts upright immediately, hopping out of the bed and running to the door, flinging it open as he roars, “Ryeowook! Ryeowook, where are you?”
“Here!” Ryeowook says, sliding out from the kitchen and sounding much too chirpy for the early hour or Yesung’s head, pounding and dizzy from fear. “I hope you don’t mind, hyung, I got up early and dug in your fridge and found some stuff to make breakfast with - are you okay? Are you mad at me?”
Yesung skids to a stop just before Ryeowook, staring at him and trying to take deep calming breaths. “Fuck, I thought you - “ and then he pauses.
“You thought I left?” Ryeowook says softly, spatula in one hand and pepper shaker in the other, and Yesung can’t help but think how cute he looks, even at this moment. But he just scratches his head uncomfortably, and looks down at his feet.
“No, no way,” he mumbles, and then he hears a strange, unfamiliar sound, something high and clear and uplifting and which somehow makes his heart tingle. He looks up, and realizes that Ryeowook is laughing, and realizes also that he looks and sounds utterly enchanting.
“I’m going nowhere,” he says, as he turns to walk back into the kitchen. “I could get used to this.”
Yesung stands at the door and watches as he cracks eggs expertly into a sizzling frying pan, his face shining and magically erased of the shadows of fear and unhappiness that had been there just the day before, and thinks to himself, I could get used to you too.
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it’s nice, what they have; Yesung likes it, likes the domestic lifestyle he’s settled into, likes how Ryeowook puts on weight and becomes happy, secure and calm over the next 2 years he lives with him. He likes watching Ryeowook excel in school, likes coming home every evening to home-cooked meals, likes giving up clubbing and drinking despite little jokes from Kibum or his other friends about how he’s turned into a wuss because of his “young boyfriend” (and truth be told, he likes hearing Ryeowook being referred to as that, though he isn’t quite so amused when Kibum starts calling him “the statutory rapist”). He likes that Ryeowook no longer has to suffer, and likes that he’s stopped having nightmares of his past.
But most of all, he likes the feel of Ryeowook snuggling beside him every night, familiar and needed and he thinks he probably wouldn’t ever be able to sleep again without the feel of him in his arms and his smell in his nose. And despite quite a few slip-ups over these years where he came rather close, he’s pretty damned proud that he is not, whatever Kibum says, a statutory rapist.
Then one day Ryeowook comes home late, after staying in school to study for his upcoming high school graduation exams, and walks into Yesung’s bedroom still in his school uniform. Yesung’s reading a manhwa and waiting for Ryeowook, so he smiles when he sees the boy, putting the comic aside and sitting up straighter against the headboard. “How did revision go?” he asks.
“Good, it’s good,” Ryeowook replies, swinging his bag to the floor and walking over, and before Yesung can tell him to go and take a bath and then sleep, he climbs swiftly onto the bed and straddles Yesung, pushing him into the headboard, hands on his shoulders and a wicked little grin playing on his lips.
“What are you doing, Ryeowook, get off me,” Yesung says, unnerved by the sudden dark look in Ryeowook’s eyes, a look that is all at once familiar and yet strange to Yesung.
“I turned 18…” Ryeowook looks at the clock. “20 minutes ago, hyung.”
“Yes, I know, you’ve been telling me this for days, and I do remember I promised to bring you to that French place to celebrate. Now will you get off and stop bugging me about it?”
“I’m legal now, hyung,” Ryeowook says, his smile still devious, and it suddenly registers on Yesung what he’s getting at, and oh god, are Ryeowook’s hands slipping under his t-shirt? Ryeowook bends closer, until his lips are brushing Yesung’s cheek, and whispers, “I’m so, so legal.”
This time, Yesung’s mind is silent when he turns his head and kisses Ryeowook full on the lips. Fuck you, conscience, he’s legal now, he thinks triumphantly as Ryeowook whimpers needily into his mouth.