FIC: Knight in Shining Armour: A fairytale that never was.
Title: Knight in Shining Armour: A fairytale that never was.
Author:
virginangelic
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Pairing/s: Yehwook
Length: One-shot
Summary: There are no knights in shining armour for him. There will never be any.
Warnings: Slash, failed attempt at writing smut again, character death. Sligh OOC.
A/N: Usual Disclaimers apply. Don't like, please don't read. Otherwise, read and review please?
Knight in Shining Armour: A fairytale that never was.
Finally, he sighs as the old man shuts the door behind him.
Crawling to the window, he pushes it open, allowing the stench of sex to dissipate. It's while in the showers when he realises what day it is. Towelling himself dry, he unlocks a drawer and grabs the candle he’s saved for today. He stands near the window, lighting the candle with some difficulty with the lighter one of his clients left behind. Cupping the dying flame, he sings softly to himself, with only the full moon as his audience.
“Saengil chukka hamnida. Saengil chukka hamnida. Saengil chukka hamnida.”
He shuts his eyes and wishes hard. And he blows.
There is no fanfare, no congratulatory claps or pats on his back. He merely watches the smoke tendrils rise to the heavens, wondering if he has been wasting his wishes every year. His cell phone comes to life, illuminates the dimly lit room and he scrambles to check the incoming message. Was his wish coming true after so long? He checks his inbox, only getting his hopes crushed. It is from him. Again. Another year perhaps.
"Big Fish bookd 4 da nite. 8pm. Trt him well."
There’s the unspoken threat ‘or else’ - he’s very well acquainted with the latter’s blows. He knows he’s toeing a fine line, having rejected about five clients this month alone for refusing to wear a condom. It's one of the perks of being one of the top whores in the business. He knows he has little rights over his body but he prevails. He remembers that week when he had no money to pay the ‘rent’ when he came down with syphilis. Once bitten, twice shy, they say. It wasn’t as though the medication was free anyways - it always came out of his pocket.
He wonders how long more he needs to work to be able to buy his freedom back. How low he’s fallen, he thinks, from the son of a merchant to another warm body in the infamous red light district. He grabs the handful of bills on the table and stuffs them into a drawstring bag he keeps in the drawer before changing.
Rereading the message, he grins - at least there's only one person before he books out for the night. Only one desperate man to satisfy for the night instead of some twenty odd different cocks stuffed up his ass or in his mouth. He attempts to hide the love bites with the free foundation sample he grabbed from the super mart a few hours ago. A small smile graces his face as the tell tale signs disappears from view.
He checks the time when he hears approaching footsteps. It is only a quarter to eight. He sighs. It’s too early, he thinks. He wishes Time could be on a standstill; that he’d be allowed to rest - he was no Energizer bunny.
There is a gentle rap on the door before the door knob turns. And he remembers the night he was traded.
The incessant knocks on his door wakes him up even before the door knob turns.
“Get up, boy.”
He does so, out of fear. He can smell the rancid odour of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarettes that clings to the mad man before him. Through blurry vision, he ambles out the door, his eyes taking some time to acclimatize to the sudden brightness of the living room when he is pushed down the floor.
“Here. Take him.”
His heart is racing even as his sleep-addled mind tries to catch up with the conversation.
“So my debt’s cleared?”
“Yes. Pleasure doing business with you.”
He is fifteen when he meets Zhou Mi for the first time. And it is the last he sees of his home.
Sitting by the bedside, his legs crossed, he awaits as the man approaches him. From the darkened corridor, he can only make out the man’s height (tall) and his dressing (impeccable). He has a nagging suspicion that the other man looks very familiar but he ignores that tiny voice in his head.
Only when the man steps through the doorway - his distinctly sharp features illuminated by the overhead lights - does his mind goes momentarily blank before it all comes rushing back horribly.
It is the first day of high school and he is late.
"Watch out!" someone yells.
"Whuh?" He blinks momentarily before piles upon piles of books fall on him.
"Sorry about that. I'm J..Yehsung."
He takes the outstretched hand and stands up. He has a good mind to give the person a piece of his mind when he actually notices Yehsung. He notes how disturbingly good-looking the other boy is, with his silky raven locks and pleasant smiles. But it is the twinkling eyes that makes him change his mind.
"I...I'm Ryeowook," he bows.
“Let’s be friends. I’m guessing you’re a freshie. And I'm guessing you're late and lost. So what’s your first class?”
"Ye...yehsung?" he whispers to himself. The situation is surreal. Too surreal. He fervently starts praying that he’s trapped in a lucid nightmare; that he would wake up soon. But the horrible reality was soon in front of him.
"Ryeowook."
The man spoke, barely above a whisper but he could hear the other like a booming siren. As if it wasn't degrading enough, the other man spoke to him with a gentle, reassuring tone laced with pity. He reaches for the bottle of scotch left behind by the previous client, gulping down what little is left. The lukewarm viscous liquid burns down his parched throat and he suppresses the urge to retch. Yet his mouth is still dry.
He thinks his heart has stopped beating. It hurts - he feels the all too familiar blush creeping up his cheeks, burning. He wipes away the stray tear that falls down his cheeks - whether due to the humiliation of having his best high school best friend-crush finding out about his double life or due to the aching soreness down there, he isn’t certain. Hell, it could be a combination of the two. But seeing the other decked in a crisp business suit, a part of him is glad the other has made it in Life but the other part of him seethes at the unfairness of it all. And he is all too aware of the disparity between them.
It is lunch.
"You write songs? That’s cool. Maybe one day, you can write a song for your hyung eh?”
A hand clasps his shoulder, eliciting a gasp from him. He tries to hide his smile when he feels the seat dip slightly.
“A…Anything Yehsung hyung.”
His heart is racing like never before. A funny warm feeling descends into the pits of his stomach. Yehsung’s hand on his shoulder burns.
“You’re blushing. You’re cute when you blush.”
The bell rings.
“Hyung…we'll be late for class.”
“Oh. Thanks Wookie! Talk to you later!”
His cell phone vibrates when the other boy leaves. 7.30 pm sharp. Hotel Indigo.
He bites back the tears that threaten to choke him. Steeling himself, he stands up shakily (He knows it's not because of the alcohol, his senses are all too awake). He clenches his eyes shut, mentally counting backwards from ten. He doesn't want to see the other man at all.
He’s angry. He’s furious. He's livid. Rage consumes him from within, bubbling and simmering, just waiting to explode. Was this Zhou Mi's perverse idea of a joke? Damn the bastard. Fucking asshole. He sees himself choking the older man, watching him turn blue; his eyeballs bulging out of their sockets. Only, he knows he has neither the pugnacity nor courage to stand up against him. He turns around, facing the window.
"Get out." he yells, rooted to the spot, his heart beating furiously - watching from the reflection off the window. A bittersweet smile graces Ryeowook’s face - at least he’s faced a figure from his past. He knows now that he can somehow...move on once the debts are cleared.
“Who did this to you?” Yehsung demanded.
“Did what?” he stops chewing the sandwich he's given, praying hard Yehsung hasn't seen the love bites near his collar bones.
“That bruise near your lips."
“Oh, I…I fell." he lies. He's all too aware of the bruise from two nights ago when the drunken client went mad and punched him when he accidentally used his teeth.
“Your father...he hit you, didn’t he?”
Instinctively, he covers the bruise, cupping his chin.
“You trust me, don’t you Wookie?”
“Yes…no. I mean… I fell.”
“Don’t be so clumsy then ba…dongsaeng. If there’s anything you need, I’ll always be here for you. You know that right?”
He wants to confide in somebody, anybody but he knows he’ll only be imposing on them. It wasn’t good to impose to others. So he doesn’t tell. He can never tell - he knows the horrible consequences. It's a secret that may get him kicked out of school.
He merely nods, his heart beating when the other man clasps his hands and they just continue to sit that way until it was time to let to go.
“I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”
The other man squeezes his hand.
“I know.”
That night, he's slave to a client who had a bdsm fetish.
Two weeks later, he's taken out from school.
He watches in a mix of horror and disbelief when Yehsung takes one step towards him. Then another step and another; approaching him: his heart beats in sync and he’s unable to breathe.
He balls his hands into fists - he feels his fingernails digging into the palm of his hands but he ignores the stinging pain. But the pain could never rival the ache in his heart. He knows he’s trembling - he’s on the verge of collapsing. He tries desperately to breathe.
"Get out. I said get the hell out!” he screams (although he isn’t sure if it comes out as a scream). He resists the urge to pummel the other man down despite the clear disparity in sizes. And because his feelings for the other hadn’t changed, instead getting stronger.
He can feel the taller man, breathing down on him - he knows they're only standing mere inches apart. He can smell the man’s cologne, a sensuous, comforting mix of spice and something unidentifiable yet familiar. He feels the other man's hesitance, wanting to touch his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s rooted to the spot, allowing the other man to step closer to caresses his cheeks, softly, almost lovingly. He grits his teeth, rage coursing through his stream before he lets loose a chortle. A fragile doll, was that what the other man thought of him - too delicate, too ephemeral to touch?
Yehsung momentarily stops his gentle ministrations and Ryeowook uses the chance to fling the other man's hand away. He glares at the other with his red eyes, blinking away the stinging tears. He can see in those questioning eyes, screaming for an explanation. He has none - he has no answers to the questions he just knows the other is dying to ask. He will give him neither the time nor the chance to do so. He knows he’s slowly unravelling, like a ball of string.
"Bastard. I said get out."
He feels his willpower and strength leaving him - he knows his knees are about to buckle together. He struggles to get himself back together but he refuses to meet the other man's eyes. He doesn't want to see the sympathy within those orbs. Breathing is getting difficult - it feels as though something is constricting his heart and his lungs. He clenches his eyes shut, tighter this time.
"Just...get out."
His voice is shaky and it cracks. He knows he barely has enough energy to yell again.
“Just leave me alone…please.”
It comes out as a mere whisper, barely leaving his lips. He glances away, shutting his eyes. But his head is jerked back by the other man before his lips get crushed by another pair, tongue prodding forcefully for access. His mind is reeling, unable to comprehend the other man’s actions. He couldn’t grasp the fact that the other man has him pushed against the wall, unbuttoning his shirt while his hands roam further south. Hot tears of humiliation laced with hate falls; he presses his lips tightly, refusing to reciprocate. This…this wasn’t how he wanted it to be - his knight wasn’t supposed to be another villain. He refuses to open his eyes, not wanting to witness the horrible reality.
“Look at me. Wookie. That’s your name, right?”
“I’m moving, Wookie.”
“Oh.”
He fights the urge to cry, his mind unsure of what to say. Could he beg the other not to leave? But then he knew it would be selfish of him. Who was he to stop the other any ways? He was...just a dongsaeng to the other, even if he wanted to be more than that. He can feel the beginnings of the water works but suppresses it.
“You’re quiet.”
He doesnt' dare look at Yehsung, focusing instead on the ground. He knows he has to respond soon, he just doesn't know how.
"I'll miss you. Promise we’ll keep in touch?”
It feels as though he's saying goodbye forever. He doesn't want to part forever. He wants to cling selfishly to Yehsung, wants to be held by those arms. He wants to be caressed lovingly and be loved. He wonders if it's possible in the future.
“Of course. Don’t forget my name yeah? Kim JongOon. That’s my real name.”
“Kim JongOon.” He whispers, relishing in the way it rolls off nicely off his tongue.
He stares hard into the other man’s onyx orbs, unable to accept that the man had forgotten him.
“JongOon.” he whispers softly to himself.
He hasn’t forgotten the other at all.
He shoves the other man off him before he starts laughing bitterly. The other man merely smirks before shoving up against the wall, kissing him aggressively. He resists the other man’s advances but Yehsung merely grins and starts grinding their groins together, practically tearing their clothes off.
He cries out when the other man takes him roughly, without preparation. Hot tears run down his cheeks as he allows his body to be used. He curses his fates - this…this isn’t what he has fantasized since a long time ago. He wonders why he ever thought the other man as his knight. It was a ludicrous and silly fantasy - his knight was no better than the other men. All the men he had met were the same, what made this one different. All they wanted was sex, he thinks as his head bangs against the head board several times.
The excruciating pain is nothing, compared to the anguish inside.
“Say my name. Yehsung. Scream it,” Yehsung demands, nipping his ear lobes as he thrusts deeper.
“Ah…Yehsung.”
He hates how his body always betrays him. He knows he’s close. He can feel it.
“Here it comes! Oh yeah baby!”
He screams out loud, eyes clenched shut.
“JongOon!”
He opens his eyes hesitantly when the other man pulls out too quickly (it hurts like…fuck) and silence reigns in the room.
“What…what did you call me?”
“Yehsung.” he mutters it, with a peculiar mix of disdain and misplaced affection.
“No. You called me by something else. How…how did you…Did someone set you up to this? Is this a fucking trap? Tell me. Tell me where the cameras are. TELL ME!” the other man starts yelling in his face, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders.
Like a broken record, he keeps repeating for Ryeowook to confess, shaking him violently like a rag doll. Ryeowook gasps in pain, the grip getting tighter and tighter. He tells him the truth but knows he'll never be trusted. There is no value in the words of a whore.
He shrinks back against the headboards, fear gripping his heart when he is released from the vice-like grip. He doesn’t know why the other man is so infuriated, throwing things around the room, knocking down the lamp and kicking the chair. He desperately tries hard to stop the water works, wiping away furiously at them. Hadn’t he done what the other man had told him to do?
Then it hits him. He hadn’t called him Yehsung. He had called him…
“JongOon.” he whispers.
The other man stops in his destructive path, standing rigidly like a statue, stark naked. Yehsung turns around, his teary eyes widening. Had he finally remembered, Ryeowook wonders.
“W…wookie? As in...”
“J…Jong…JongOon, I mean, Y…yes…Y…ye…Yehsung,” he stutters, terrified by the unpredictable nature of the man before him.
“Oh fuck god no. Fuck. Oh god. I’m…oh god. I’m…oh fuck god shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”
Ryeowook watched haplessly as the other man continued to shake his head, running his fingers through his silken hair, tears running down his cheeks. Something in him was sparked and he cautiously approaches the other man.
The rustling of the sheets startles the other man and he starts backing away from Ryeowook slowly.
“Stop. Oh god. Wookie. I’m…I’m sorry.”
Ryeowook watches haplessly as his former best friend-crush scrambles to pick up his clothes strewn across the floor, stumbling over his steps before running out the room naked, attempting to salvage his modesty by covering his privates.
The door slams shut. There is no one but him left in the room.
He attempts to run after Yehsung but crumples to the ground, allowing the bitter tears to run down his cheeks. There are no knights in shining armour for him. There will never be any. He wonders if the other could just forget (remember) tonight. He wonders if he could do the same or would tonight last forever. The horrible reality hits him hard like a ton of bricks. He has no future; there never will be a fairy tale ending for him.
He just sits in the middle of the room - he has no idea how long he's been in the same position - his entire body is numb. He toys briefly with the idea of slashing his wrists. There is nothing holding him back anyways. But the bathroom, he realizes is too far. (In reality, he is petrified. Scared of what he would face, if there was anything to face.)
He hears approaching footsteps and his heart does a little leap. Was his life going to look up? Was he going to…oh.
He raises his head and fear grips his heart in an iron vice when he sees the looming figure before him but he tries to hide it from the other man. He feels his face being drained of blood, turning ashen white.
Henry.
The younger man, seemingly innocent, is far worse, far vicious than the beasts he faces each night. Henry smirks. Ryeowook whimpers; bracing himself for blows to his body and instinctively covers his face. His face is his selling point - this, he knew. It’ll be his third beating in a month and it is just the first week of the month. He wonders if things could have been different if he had just ran away from home before he was listed as a commodity, worth less than a thousand. He wonders how much longer he has to serve before he was free. Could he ever be free?
He wonders if things could have been different if he had just approached someone. Could he have finished high school? He wonders if he could have led a simpler life. Or could Life be more complex? Lost in his thoughts, he never hears the click, his mind reeling from the possibilities.
A shot rings out into the air and a body lies crumpled in a heap before being unceremoniously dumped out the window, landing beside the overflowing trash bins and onto the open bags of garbage. He picks up the phone and presses the speed dial button.
“Hello? Zhou Mi ge? It’s done.”
"Good. Rubbish belongs with rubbish after all."
End.
Counter Stats
gold coast accountant Counter
Author:
virginangelic
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Pairing/s: Yehwook
Length: One-shot
Summary: There are no knights in shining armour for him. There will never be any.
Warnings: Slash, failed attempt at writing smut again, character death. Sligh OOC.
A/N: Usual Disclaimers apply. Don't like, please don't read. Otherwise, read and review please?
Knight in Shining Armour: A fairytale that never was.
Finally, he sighs as the old man shuts the door behind him.
Crawling to the window, he pushes it open, allowing the stench of sex to dissipate. It's while in the showers when he realises what day it is. Towelling himself dry, he unlocks a drawer and grabs the candle he’s saved for today. He stands near the window, lighting the candle with some difficulty with the lighter one of his clients left behind. Cupping the dying flame, he sings softly to himself, with only the full moon as his audience.
“Saengil chukka hamnida. Saengil chukka hamnida. Saengil chukka hamnida.”
He shuts his eyes and wishes hard. And he blows.
There is no fanfare, no congratulatory claps or pats on his back. He merely watches the smoke tendrils rise to the heavens, wondering if he has been wasting his wishes every year. His cell phone comes to life, illuminates the dimly lit room and he scrambles to check the incoming message. Was his wish coming true after so long? He checks his inbox, only getting his hopes crushed. It is from him. Again. Another year perhaps.
"Big Fish bookd 4 da nite. 8pm. Trt him well."
There’s the unspoken threat ‘or else’ - he’s very well acquainted with the latter’s blows. He knows he’s toeing a fine line, having rejected about five clients this month alone for refusing to wear a condom. It's one of the perks of being one of the top whores in the business. He knows he has little rights over his body but he prevails. He remembers that week when he had no money to pay the ‘rent’ when he came down with syphilis. Once bitten, twice shy, they say. It wasn’t as though the medication was free anyways - it always came out of his pocket.
He wonders how long more he needs to work to be able to buy his freedom back. How low he’s fallen, he thinks, from the son of a merchant to another warm body in the infamous red light district. He grabs the handful of bills on the table and stuffs them into a drawstring bag he keeps in the drawer before changing.
Rereading the message, he grins - at least there's only one person before he books out for the night. Only one desperate man to satisfy for the night instead of some twenty odd different cocks stuffed up his ass or in his mouth. He attempts to hide the love bites with the free foundation sample he grabbed from the super mart a few hours ago. A small smile graces his face as the tell tale signs disappears from view.
He checks the time when he hears approaching footsteps. It is only a quarter to eight. He sighs. It’s too early, he thinks. He wishes Time could be on a standstill; that he’d be allowed to rest - he was no Energizer bunny.
There is a gentle rap on the door before the door knob turns. And he remembers the night he was traded.
The incessant knocks on his door wakes him up even before the door knob turns.
“Get up, boy.”
He does so, out of fear. He can smell the rancid odour of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarettes that clings to the mad man before him. Through blurry vision, he ambles out the door, his eyes taking some time to acclimatize to the sudden brightness of the living room when he is pushed down the floor.
“Here. Take him.”
His heart is racing even as his sleep-addled mind tries to catch up with the conversation.
“So my debt’s cleared?”
“Yes. Pleasure doing business with you.”
He is fifteen when he meets Zhou Mi for the first time. And it is the last he sees of his home.
Sitting by the bedside, his legs crossed, he awaits as the man approaches him. From the darkened corridor, he can only make out the man’s height (tall) and his dressing (impeccable). He has a nagging suspicion that the other man looks very familiar but he ignores that tiny voice in his head.
Only when the man steps through the doorway - his distinctly sharp features illuminated by the overhead lights - does his mind goes momentarily blank before it all comes rushing back horribly.
It is the first day of high school and he is late.
"Watch out!" someone yells.
"Whuh?" He blinks momentarily before piles upon piles of books fall on him.
"Sorry about that. I'm J..Yehsung."
He takes the outstretched hand and stands up. He has a good mind to give the person a piece of his mind when he actually notices Yehsung. He notes how disturbingly good-looking the other boy is, with his silky raven locks and pleasant smiles. But it is the twinkling eyes that makes him change his mind.
"I...I'm Ryeowook," he bows.
“Let’s be friends. I’m guessing you’re a freshie. And I'm guessing you're late and lost. So what’s your first class?”
"Ye...yehsung?" he whispers to himself. The situation is surreal. Too surreal. He fervently starts praying that he’s trapped in a lucid nightmare; that he would wake up soon. But the horrible reality was soon in front of him.
"Ryeowook."
The man spoke, barely above a whisper but he could hear the other like a booming siren. As if it wasn't degrading enough, the other man spoke to him with a gentle, reassuring tone laced with pity. He reaches for the bottle of scotch left behind by the previous client, gulping down what little is left. The lukewarm viscous liquid burns down his parched throat and he suppresses the urge to retch. Yet his mouth is still dry.
He thinks his heart has stopped beating. It hurts - he feels the all too familiar blush creeping up his cheeks, burning. He wipes away the stray tear that falls down his cheeks - whether due to the humiliation of having his best high school best friend-crush finding out about his double life or due to the aching soreness down there, he isn’t certain. Hell, it could be a combination of the two. But seeing the other decked in a crisp business suit, a part of him is glad the other has made it in Life but the other part of him seethes at the unfairness of it all. And he is all too aware of the disparity between them.
It is lunch.
"You write songs? That’s cool. Maybe one day, you can write a song for your hyung eh?”
A hand clasps his shoulder, eliciting a gasp from him. He tries to hide his smile when he feels the seat dip slightly.
“A…Anything Yehsung hyung.”
His heart is racing like never before. A funny warm feeling descends into the pits of his stomach. Yehsung’s hand on his shoulder burns.
“You’re blushing. You’re cute when you blush.”
The bell rings.
“Hyung…we'll be late for class.”
“Oh. Thanks Wookie! Talk to you later!”
His cell phone vibrates when the other boy leaves. 7.30 pm sharp. Hotel Indigo.
He bites back the tears that threaten to choke him. Steeling himself, he stands up shakily (He knows it's not because of the alcohol, his senses are all too awake). He clenches his eyes shut, mentally counting backwards from ten. He doesn't want to see the other man at all.
He’s angry. He’s furious. He's livid. Rage consumes him from within, bubbling and simmering, just waiting to explode. Was this Zhou Mi's perverse idea of a joke? Damn the bastard. Fucking asshole. He sees himself choking the older man, watching him turn blue; his eyeballs bulging out of their sockets. Only, he knows he has neither the pugnacity nor courage to stand up against him. He turns around, facing the window.
"Get out." he yells, rooted to the spot, his heart beating furiously - watching from the reflection off the window. A bittersweet smile graces Ryeowook’s face - at least he’s faced a figure from his past. He knows now that he can somehow...move on once the debts are cleared.
“Who did this to you?” Yehsung demanded.
“Did what?” he stops chewing the sandwich he's given, praying hard Yehsung hasn't seen the love bites near his collar bones.
“That bruise near your lips."
“Oh, I…I fell." he lies. He's all too aware of the bruise from two nights ago when the drunken client went mad and punched him when he accidentally used his teeth.
“Your father...he hit you, didn’t he?”
Instinctively, he covers the bruise, cupping his chin.
“You trust me, don’t you Wookie?”
“Yes…no. I mean… I fell.”
“Don’t be so clumsy then ba…dongsaeng. If there’s anything you need, I’ll always be here for you. You know that right?”
He wants to confide in somebody, anybody but he knows he’ll only be imposing on them. It wasn’t good to impose to others. So he doesn’t tell. He can never tell - he knows the horrible consequences. It's a secret that may get him kicked out of school.
He merely nods, his heart beating when the other man clasps his hands and they just continue to sit that way until it was time to let to go.
“I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”
The other man squeezes his hand.
“I know.”
That night, he's slave to a client who had a bdsm fetish.
Two weeks later, he's taken out from school.
He watches in a mix of horror and disbelief when Yehsung takes one step towards him. Then another step and another; approaching him: his heart beats in sync and he’s unable to breathe.
He balls his hands into fists - he feels his fingernails digging into the palm of his hands but he ignores the stinging pain. But the pain could never rival the ache in his heart. He knows he’s trembling - he’s on the verge of collapsing. He tries desperately to breathe.
"Get out. I said get the hell out!” he screams (although he isn’t sure if it comes out as a scream). He resists the urge to pummel the other man down despite the clear disparity in sizes. And because his feelings for the other hadn’t changed, instead getting stronger.
He can feel the taller man, breathing down on him - he knows they're only standing mere inches apart. He can smell the man’s cologne, a sensuous, comforting mix of spice and something unidentifiable yet familiar. He feels the other man's hesitance, wanting to touch his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s rooted to the spot, allowing the other man to step closer to caresses his cheeks, softly, almost lovingly. He grits his teeth, rage coursing through his stream before he lets loose a chortle. A fragile doll, was that what the other man thought of him - too delicate, too ephemeral to touch?
Yehsung momentarily stops his gentle ministrations and Ryeowook uses the chance to fling the other man's hand away. He glares at the other with his red eyes, blinking away the stinging tears. He can see in those questioning eyes, screaming for an explanation. He has none - he has no answers to the questions he just knows the other is dying to ask. He will give him neither the time nor the chance to do so. He knows he’s slowly unravelling, like a ball of string.
"Bastard. I said get out."
He feels his willpower and strength leaving him - he knows his knees are about to buckle together. He struggles to get himself back together but he refuses to meet the other man's eyes. He doesn't want to see the sympathy within those orbs. Breathing is getting difficult - it feels as though something is constricting his heart and his lungs. He clenches his eyes shut, tighter this time.
"Just...get out."
His voice is shaky and it cracks. He knows he barely has enough energy to yell again.
“Just leave me alone…please.”
It comes out as a mere whisper, barely leaving his lips. He glances away, shutting his eyes. But his head is jerked back by the other man before his lips get crushed by another pair, tongue prodding forcefully for access. His mind is reeling, unable to comprehend the other man’s actions. He couldn’t grasp the fact that the other man has him pushed against the wall, unbuttoning his shirt while his hands roam further south. Hot tears of humiliation laced with hate falls; he presses his lips tightly, refusing to reciprocate. This…this wasn’t how he wanted it to be - his knight wasn’t supposed to be another villain. He refuses to open his eyes, not wanting to witness the horrible reality.
“Look at me. Wookie. That’s your name, right?”
“I’m moving, Wookie.”
“Oh.”
He fights the urge to cry, his mind unsure of what to say. Could he beg the other not to leave? But then he knew it would be selfish of him. Who was he to stop the other any ways? He was...just a dongsaeng to the other, even if he wanted to be more than that. He can feel the beginnings of the water works but suppresses it.
“You’re quiet.”
He doesnt' dare look at Yehsung, focusing instead on the ground. He knows he has to respond soon, he just doesn't know how.
"I'll miss you. Promise we’ll keep in touch?”
It feels as though he's saying goodbye forever. He doesn't want to part forever. He wants to cling selfishly to Yehsung, wants to be held by those arms. He wants to be caressed lovingly and be loved. He wonders if it's possible in the future.
“Of course. Don’t forget my name yeah? Kim JongOon. That’s my real name.”
“Kim JongOon.” He whispers, relishing in the way it rolls off nicely off his tongue.
He stares hard into the other man’s onyx orbs, unable to accept that the man had forgotten him.
“JongOon.” he whispers softly to himself.
He hasn’t forgotten the other at all.
He shoves the other man off him before he starts laughing bitterly. The other man merely smirks before shoving up against the wall, kissing him aggressively. He resists the other man’s advances but Yehsung merely grins and starts grinding their groins together, practically tearing their clothes off.
He cries out when the other man takes him roughly, without preparation. Hot tears run down his cheeks as he allows his body to be used. He curses his fates - this…this isn’t what he has fantasized since a long time ago. He wonders why he ever thought the other man as his knight. It was a ludicrous and silly fantasy - his knight was no better than the other men. All the men he had met were the same, what made this one different. All they wanted was sex, he thinks as his head bangs against the head board several times.
The excruciating pain is nothing, compared to the anguish inside.
“Say my name. Yehsung. Scream it,” Yehsung demands, nipping his ear lobes as he thrusts deeper.
“Ah…Yehsung.”
He hates how his body always betrays him. He knows he’s close. He can feel it.
“Here it comes! Oh yeah baby!”
He screams out loud, eyes clenched shut.
“JongOon!”
He opens his eyes hesitantly when the other man pulls out too quickly (it hurts like…fuck) and silence reigns in the room.
“What…what did you call me?”
“Yehsung.” he mutters it, with a peculiar mix of disdain and misplaced affection.
“No. You called me by something else. How…how did you…Did someone set you up to this? Is this a fucking trap? Tell me. Tell me where the cameras are. TELL ME!” the other man starts yelling in his face, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders.
Like a broken record, he keeps repeating for Ryeowook to confess, shaking him violently like a rag doll. Ryeowook gasps in pain, the grip getting tighter and tighter. He tells him the truth but knows he'll never be trusted. There is no value in the words of a whore.
He shrinks back against the headboards, fear gripping his heart when he is released from the vice-like grip. He doesn’t know why the other man is so infuriated, throwing things around the room, knocking down the lamp and kicking the chair. He desperately tries hard to stop the water works, wiping away furiously at them. Hadn’t he done what the other man had told him to do?
Then it hits him. He hadn’t called him Yehsung. He had called him…
“JongOon.” he whispers.
The other man stops in his destructive path, standing rigidly like a statue, stark naked. Yehsung turns around, his teary eyes widening. Had he finally remembered, Ryeowook wonders.
“W…wookie? As in...”
“J…Jong…JongOon, I mean, Y…yes…Y…ye…Yehsung,” he stutters, terrified by the unpredictable nature of the man before him.
“Oh fuck god no. Fuck. Oh god. I’m…oh god. I’m…oh fuck god shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”
Ryeowook watched haplessly as the other man continued to shake his head, running his fingers through his silken hair, tears running down his cheeks. Something in him was sparked and he cautiously approaches the other man.
The rustling of the sheets startles the other man and he starts backing away from Ryeowook slowly.
“Stop. Oh god. Wookie. I’m…I’m sorry.”
Ryeowook watches haplessly as his former best friend-crush scrambles to pick up his clothes strewn across the floor, stumbling over his steps before running out the room naked, attempting to salvage his modesty by covering his privates.
The door slams shut. There is no one but him left in the room.
He attempts to run after Yehsung but crumples to the ground, allowing the bitter tears to run down his cheeks. There are no knights in shining armour for him. There will never be any. He wonders if the other could just forget (remember) tonight. He wonders if he could do the same or would tonight last forever. The horrible reality hits him hard like a ton of bricks. He has no future; there never will be a fairy tale ending for him.
He just sits in the middle of the room - he has no idea how long he's been in the same position - his entire body is numb. He toys briefly with the idea of slashing his wrists. There is nothing holding him back anyways. But the bathroom, he realizes is too far. (In reality, he is petrified. Scared of what he would face, if there was anything to face.)
He hears approaching footsteps and his heart does a little leap. Was his life going to look up? Was he going to…oh.
He raises his head and fear grips his heart in an iron vice when he sees the looming figure before him but he tries to hide it from the other man. He feels his face being drained of blood, turning ashen white.
Henry.
The younger man, seemingly innocent, is far worse, far vicious than the beasts he faces each night. Henry smirks. Ryeowook whimpers; bracing himself for blows to his body and instinctively covers his face. His face is his selling point - this, he knew. It’ll be his third beating in a month and it is just the first week of the month. He wonders if things could have been different if he had just ran away from home before he was listed as a commodity, worth less than a thousand. He wonders how much longer he has to serve before he was free. Could he ever be free?
He wonders if things could have been different if he had just approached someone. Could he have finished high school? He wonders if he could have led a simpler life. Or could Life be more complex? Lost in his thoughts, he never hears the click, his mind reeling from the possibilities.
A shot rings out into the air and a body lies crumpled in a heap before being unceremoniously dumped out the window, landing beside the overflowing trash bins and onto the open bags of garbage. He picks up the phone and presses the speed dial button.
“Hello? Zhou Mi ge? It’s done.”
"Good. Rubbish belongs with rubbish after all."
End.
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